The next three days blurred into a steady rhythm of hoofbeats, creaking wheels, and dust trailing behind the caravan. Mornings were stiff, afternoons long, nights lit by firelight and the endless chatter of Viola needling him into conversation.

For Ludger, the pattern was broken only by stolen hours of practice. Each night, after the camp quieted, he returned to his drills. [Mana Bolt] still bucked like a wild colt, but it was less wild now—less eager to fly wherever it pleased. Slowly, stubbornly, he learned to nudge it. Curve it. Send it higher into the sky before it fizzled. The progress was tiny, but real, and he clung to it with the quiet satisfaction of someone chiseling at stone to reveal a shape only he could see.

By the fourth morning, the horizon changed.

The capital rose in the distance—stone walls climbing so high they caught the sunlight like pale fire. Towers dotted the skyline beyond, their peaks sharp as spears stabbing the clouds. Roads grew wider, busier, as merchants and travelers funneled toward the massive gates where banners snapped in the wind.

The closer they drew, the more imposing the walls became. Fresh-cut stone, unmarred by cracks or moss. Mortar gleamed pale in the morning light, and guards patrolled the battlements with crisp precision. These walls hadn’t grown old with the city—they were new.

Ludger narrowed his eyes at them. Strange. No siege in decades. No great wars that reached this far. So why make it this big?

He let his gaze trace the sheer size of the barrier, the way it towered over the caravans and wagons lined up at the gate. They didn’t raise these just for show. Someone’s expecting trouble. Or preparing for it.

Behind him, Harold whistled low. “By the Saints, you could stack three taverns on top of each other and still not clear those walls.”

Selene grunted in agreement, scanning the ramparts. “New work, too. Not just maintenance. Someone’s been planning.”

Arslan rode a little taller in his saddle, grinning wide as if he owned the city itself. “Magnificent, isn’t it? Nothing like seeing the heart of the realm up close. Viola, this is where the world begins to notice names.”

Viola leaned halfway out the carriage window, eyes blazing with excitement. “I’ll make sure they notice mine.”

Ludger adjusted the reins, his gaze lingering on the unweathered stone. And I’ll make sure to notice why those walls look so new. Because cities don’t sharpen their teeth without expecting something to bite.

The caravan rolled on, swallowed by the shadow of the capital’s gate, and the hum of the crowd grew louder—merchants bargaining, guards barking orders, and the restless pulse of the human realm’s beating heart.

They crossed the gates under the watchful eyes of the city guard, and the capital unfolded around them like a stage curtain pulled wide.

Streets sprawled in every direction—paved stone under hoof and wheel, lined with stalls bursting with bright cloth, roasted meats, polished trinkets, and all the noise of ten thousand voices clashing at once. The air smelled of smoke and spice, sweat and steel, a heady mixture that clung to the skin.

It didn’t take long for people to notice them.

Children darted forward between adults, pointing at the carriages and whispering loudly about “nobles from the countryside.” Shopkeepers leaned over their stalls to get a better look, some calling out blessings, others hawking wares even louder in hopes of catching a coin from passing retainers. Travelers from other regions—judging by the accents, clothes, and sunburns—paused mid-step to watch.

The competition wasn’t just for noble eyes. The capital was alive with outsiders, families and wanderers, merchants and adventurers, all here to see the next generation clash. To them, this was as much spectacle as politics—a chance to gossip, to gamble, to cheer for strangers as if they were champions.

Whispers followed the caravan like a tide:

“Torvares colors… must be their young heiress.”

“That’ll be Viola then, I heard she’s fierce for her age.”

“And who’s that boy on the horse? Looks young. A squire, maybe?”

Ludger shifted in his saddle, ignoring the stares. Great. Barely set foot in the city and already I’m a curiosity. Exactly what I needed.

Viola, on the other hand, soaked it in. She leaned out of her carriage window, chin lifted high, eyes glittering with the thrill of attention. Every glance, every whisper seemed to fuel her.

Arslan grinned at her unabashed display, clearly pleased. Selene rolled her eyes. Harold waved cheerfully at anyone who looked his way, which only made them laugh harder. Aleia just smirked, soaking in the way nobles and commoners alike craned to see them pass.

Ludger let his gaze roam the streets, not for applause but for detail. So it’s not just nobles showing up. This event is half-festival, half-political theater. Which means if I play my cards right, I’ve got more than one kind of audience to exploit.

The noise of the crowd swelled as they moved deeper into the city, the pressure of eyes thick on their backs.

One week of travel, two weeks of competition, one week home. A full month.

Ludger straightened in his saddle, face unreadable. Fine. Let them stare. If they want a show, I’ll give them one.

The main avenue of the capital dazzled with noise and color, but Ludger’s eyes wandered past the clamor. Away from the cheering faces and bustling stalls, the edges of the crowd told a different story.

In the alleys branching off the broad stone road, shadows clung to doorways. Men and women lingered just a little too long, their eyes sharp, their posture still. No cheering, no curiosity—just silent watching. The moment Ludger’s gaze swept their way, they melted back into the crowd, swallowed by stone and smoke.

He frowned, tugging slightly on his reins to steady his gelding. That wasn’t petty crime. Too sharp, too disciplined. They were studying us.

A low voice drew beside him. Cor had edged his horse closer, the older man’s expression calm but his eyes sharp. “You saw them too.”

“Yeah,” Ludger muttered. “Didn’t look like thieves.”

“They weren’t,” Cor said, tone as mild as if he were discussing the weather. His gaze tracked another side street, then returned forward. “Spies. Nobles send them to watch the arrivals—size up entourages, count guards, judge what kind of support their rivals bring. Viola isn’t the only heir being paraded this month.”

Ludger raised a brow. “So this is normal?”

“As normal as breathing,” Cor replied. “The tournament is more than duels and speeches. It’s a gathering of power. Every family here wants to know who might rise, who might falter, and who they can turn into an ally… or a target.”

Ludger leaned back in his saddle, eyes narrowing at the bustling street. So it isn’t just for spectacle. It’s intelligence work wrapped in applause.

Ahead, Viola still waved proudly from the carriage, soaking in every cheer, oblivious to the quiet eyes measuring her worth.

Arslan laughed with Harold about something at the front. Selene scanned rooftops with her usual discipline. The guards stiffened each time a crowd pressed too close, but the capital’s order was strong—patrols marched with spears gleaming, and the watchers always disappeared before they drew attention.

Still, Ludger’s thoughts gnawed at the edges. Spies today, rumors tomorrow, politics forever. And I’m part of this circus now.

Cor gave him a sidelong look, as though reading his thoughts. “Don’t take it too heavily, boy. Their eyes will always be there. What matters is whether you let them shape your steps.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Sounds like a long way of saying: don’t trip in public.”

Cor allowed himself a small smile. “Exactly.”

The caravan pushed deeper into the capital, the main avenue giving way to wider plazas and branching districts. The festival air grew thicker with every turn, but Ludger’s eyes never strayed far from the corners—where shadows lingered, and where whispers carried weight.

The caravan wound its way out of the busy avenues and into quieter, cleaner streets. The air here carried less of roasted meat and sweat, more of polished stone and perfumed gardens. Houses grew taller, their windows lined with colored glass, and crests hung over doorways in proud displays of lineage. Servants bustled about with baskets and ledgers, their steps quick but disciplined—this was the noble quarter.

Eventually, the group turned into a broad courtyard where a modest but elegant estate waited—Torvares colors draped neatly over the gate. Guards in livery bowed as the carriages rolled in, and the heavy doors of the manor opened to receive them.

Ludger slid down from his gelding, stretching sore legs as he scanned the place. A temporary residence, no doubt, but still leagues above what he was used to. High ceilings, stone pillars, gardens neatly trimmed even for a short stay—it screamed wealth that could be summoned on demand.

And yet his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Will Lord Torvares come here?

It would make sense. Nobles from across the realm were flocking to the capital for this competition. For many, it was less about their heirs and more about showing face—meeting rivals, making allies, whispering favors into the right ears. A chance to network while their children fought for prestige.

If he isn’t here, then he’s either truly too busy managing his territory… or he trusts Viola enough to stake his family’s pride without watching her himself.

The image of the old man back at the estate flickered in Ludger’s mind: cane striking stone, gaze sharp enough to make grown warriors sweat. He was not the type to leave things to chance.

Ludger adjusted the strap of his bag, following the others toward the manor steps, but the thought lingered. If he comes, it won’t just be to cheer Viola on. He’ll be measuring everything—me, too. Every spell I cast, every mistake I make. And if he doesn’t come… well, then I’ll be measured by the crowd instead. Let's just make sure that I won't heal her in front of anyone.

Either way, there would be no hiding.

The Torvares residence in the capital wasn’t sprawling like their main estate back home, but it was still leagues above what Ludger was used to. Whitewashed walls, polished stone floors, and staff that seemed to appear out of thin air the moment a bag was set down. Rooms were assigned quickly—Viola’s with the best view of the gardens, of course—while Arslan’s party received chambers along the west wing. Ludger’s quarters were modest by comparison, but after a week of tents and firewood, even a clean bed and a window felt like luxury.

By evening, they all gathered in the dining hall. The table stretched long enough to seat a dozen guests, though only their small entourage filled it now. Candlelight flickered against polished silver, and platters of roasted meats, breads, and fruit gleamed under the glow. Viola, unsurprisingly, commanded the conversation before the first plates were even cleared.

“They’ve posted the schedule for the competition,” she said, practically bouncing in her chair. “And I’ve signed up for the most important events.”

“Of course you have,” Arslan said with his usual grin, swirling a goblet of wine like he was already celebrating her victories.

Viola ignored him and jabbed her fork at the air for emphasis. “First: the duels. One-on-one, blades only, no magic allowed. Victory by clean strike, disarm, or forcing surrender. It’s the main event, everyone watches it.”

Sword fencing, Ludger thought dryly, chewing a piece of bread. Medieval Olympics edition.

“Then there’s the relay sparring,” Viola continued, eyes alight. “Teams of four—each member fights one round in succession. The side that wins the most matches advances.”

Tag-team wrestling, Ludger mused. But with sharpened steel. Lovely.

“The spell trials are also huge,” she added quickly. “Accuracy, control, and power. You shape spells into targets or solve magical tasks under time limits. I want to enter that one, too.”

Archery competition, Ludger decided, except the arrows explode. Someone should hand out fireproof medals.

She leaned back smugly, clearly savoring her own momentum. “And of course, the obstacle run. A brutal course with walls to climb, rivers to swim, weights to carry—only the strongest finish it.”

Ludger sighed inwardly. The decathlon, but designed by someone who hates children. Perfect.

Around the table, reactions varied. Harold looked excited, already stuffing his face like he was carb-loading for the event himself. Selene only nodded with approval, as if Viola’s choices were expected. Aleia smirked into her cup, and Cor merely raised his brows, probably tallying how many healing spells they’d need after this was over.

“And I,” Viola concluded triumphantly, “will compete in duels, the relay, and the obstacle run. Maybe the spell trials too, if Grandfather allows it.”

Everyone glanced at Arslan.

He raised both hands, feigning innocence. “Don’t look at me. I don’t make the final call.”

Viola huffed but didn’t lose her grin. She leaned forward, green eyes blazing. “This is it. My chance to show the Torvares name stands above the rest.”

Ludger sipped from his cup, deadpan. A noble Olympics where reputation is worth more than gold medals. And me? I’m sitting front row like a healer’s kit and a sarcastic commentary track. Wonderful.

Ludger set his cup down, his eyes narrowing as Viola rattled off her grand plans like she’d already won half the trophies. When she paused to breathe, he leaned forward slightly.

“Hold on,” he said, voice flat but sharp. “How are you even supposed to compete in the relay? You don’t go to school. You don’t have a team.”

For a moment, Viola only grinned, like she’d been waiting for him to ask. She leaned back in her chair, fork tapping idly against her plate as she explained.

“Teams aren’t locked to schools. Even the academy students split into different groups—main families and branch families, rivalries and alliances.” Her eyes gleamed as she spoke. “But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are left out. Families like mine? We can field our own teams. Our own banners.”

Ludger’s frown deepened. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning,” Viola said sweetly, “that we can bring in people to fill the slots. People who show the strength of the house. People like Father’s party.”

The words clicked into place with a weight he didn’t like. Ludger’s eyes slid to Arslan, lounging at the table with his usual grin. Selene sat straighter, her expression unreadable; Harold paused mid-bite, suddenly grinning wide as if the idea pleased him; Aleia smirked knowingly, and Cor, ever the careful one, only adjusted his spectacles without comment.

So that’s why they’re here, Ludger realized. Not just to babysit Viola. Not just to keep her safe. They’re part of the act. Hired proof of power. Adventurers paraded under a noble crest, showing the world that House Torvares has the influence to command strength beyond its bloodline.

It was efficient, he had to admit. Brutal, but efficient. Nobles flexing their reach not with coin alone, but with muscle, steel, and skill on display for everyone to see.

Viola smirked wider at his silence. “What’s wrong, little brother? Don’t like the idea of fighting side by side with us?”

“I am fine, the others can play with you.”

Ludger leaned back slowly, frown fixed in place. So this is how the game is played. Nobles build their glory on borrowed backs. And me? I’m the convenient healer piece they decided to add to the board.

The dining hall had grown warm with the clatter of plates and the low hum of conversation when the doors creaked open. The younger of Viola’s maids slipped inside, clutching a folded piece of parchment to her chest. Her steps were quick but careful, her face composed in the way servants practiced—but there was a tightness around her eyes that Ludger didn’t miss.

She stopped beside Viola’s chair and bowed quickly. “Milady. The schedule you requested.”

Viola brightened instantly, snatching the paper as though it were a treasure map. “Finally!” She spread it flat on the table, eyes darting across the lines of ink with eager hunger.

The maid lingered for half a second too long, gaze flicking between Viola, Arslan, and the rest of the table. Her lips pressed together like she wanted to say something—but she didn’t. Instead, she bowed again, murmured, “If you’ll excuse me,” and retreated quietly to the corner of the hall.

Ludger’s frown deepened as he watched her go. The way she’d held herself was wrong. Not fear, exactly, but unease.

So even the servants know there’s more riding on this than a handful of games, he thought, eyes narrowing at the parchment. And whatever’s written there just made the weight heavier.

The paper crinkled faintly as Viola’s eager smile wavered. Her eyes darted over the lines again, faster this time, as though rereading them might undo what she’d just seen. The room quieted—the scrape of Harold’s fork stilled, Selene’s knife stopped halfway through cutting bread, even Arslan leaned forward slightly, grin slipping just an inch.

“…There are changes,” Viola said at last, her voice tighter than before.

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Changes?”

She hesitated, fingers pressing into the parchment. “The rules. They’ve… shifted.”

“Shifted how?” Selene’s tone was sharp, suspicious.

Viola swallowed and forced the words out. “They split the events into divisions. Under fifteen, and above fifteen. Which means—” her voice dipped, frustration leaking in, “—Father’s party can’t participate directly in my brackets.”

For a heartbeat, silence held. Then all eyes turned, slowly, inevitably, to Ludger.

He felt the weight of it settle like a stone on his shoulders. Of course. Why wouldn’t the rules decide to screw me personally?

Viola pressed on, frowning. “And the duels… they’ve been changed, too. No longer one-on-one. They’re paired now. Partners fighting side by side.”

Arslan scratched his jaw, glancing between Viola and Ludger with a sheepish grin. “Well… that’s new.”

“And the obstacle run,” Viola added, her grip tightening on the parchment. “They’ve changed it into an open course. Everyone at once, and anything goes to stop others—as long as it isn’t a mortal attack or lethal spell.”

Ludger froze. “…Anything goes?”

“Anything.” Viola nodded, scowling. “Trips, tackles, grapples. You can even use magic to sabotage others, so long as you don’t kill or maim.”

The table digested that in heavy silence. Harold muttered something about “sounds fun.” Aleia smirked like it was going to be entertaining to watch. Cor pinched the bridge of his nose. Selene’s gaze went straight to Ludger, assessing him as if she were measuring a weapon she hadn’t ordered but was expected to use.

And then, as if the air had agreed on a script, every head turned fully toward Ludger.

He sat back in his chair, meeting their stares with a flat expression. Perfect. Just perfect. Babysit Viola, keep her alive in a chaos pit, and now they expect me to be her partner in duels?

His thoughts whispered darkly: Maybe I should’ve stayed home. At least then the only thing I’d have to worry about is my mother’s spine-cracking hugs.

For a moment, he seriously considered it—packing up, heading back, pretending none of this noble circus existed. But the weight of the parchment, the pride blazing in Viola’s eyes despite the changes, and the expectant silence of the room told him he wasn’t walking away. Not now.

“…Wonderful,” he muttered at last, leaning back with all the sarcasm he could muster. “Sounds like I’ll be solving everyone’s problems for the next two weeks.”

Nobody contradicted him.