The trip home was uneventful—Viola filled the carriage with chatter while Elaine’s eyes never left Ludger, and he kept his replies short enough to avoid more suspicion. By the time they reached the house, he was already dreading the noise Viola would bring into their quiet routines.

But when the luggage was hauled in, it wasn’t Viola who caught his eye. It was Luna.

The maid wasted no time. While Viola strutted through the house declaring which room she’d take, Luna slipped off her cloak and went straight to work. She tied her chestnut-brown hair back with a ribbon, rolled up her sleeves, and moved with practiced efficiency.

Her frame was slender, still young—Ludger guessed thirteen at most—but her hands already bore the faint roughness of someone used to chores. Her uniform wasn’t the stiff noblehouse kind either; it was a simple dark dress with a white apron, patched at the seams, meant for labor rather than show.

She worked without fuss, shadowing Elaine through the kitchen and storerooms, her steps light and quick. When Elaine carried laundry, Luna was already there to take half the weight. When she began chopping vegetables, Luna’s hands were steady with the knife, faster than Ludger expected.

It didn’t take long for Elaine to notice. Her sharp, possessive aura usually bristled at strangers in her space, but watching Luna move so naturally beside her softened the edges of it. She didn’t smile—Elaine rarely did—but her silence was almost approval.

From the doorway, Ludger leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Efficient. Knows her place. Doesn’t waste words. Not bad.

Viola, of course, barged in a moment later, throwing her arms wide. “See? Didn’t I tell you? Luna’s the best. You’ll thank me later, Ludger.”

He gave her a flat look. “If she keeps you too busy to shout at the walls, I might.”

Luna only dipped her head politely, her amber eyes flicking toward him for the briefest second before returning to her task.

The first few days felt like chaos waiting to happen. Viola stormed around the house with all the subtlety of a marching band, already trying to bend the rhythm of the place around her.

But Luna didn’t bend.

Every morning, after helping Elaine with chores, she marched straight into Viola’s room carrying a stack of books and a slate. “Lessons first,” she said in her calm, steady voice.

Viola groaned, sprawled across her bed. “But I already trained! Why do I have to read too?”

“Because Lord Torvares said so,” Luna replied, unflinching. “And because you’ll embarrass yourself if you can swing a sword but can’t add a column of numbers.”

Viola opened her mouth to retort—then froze when she noticed Elaine standing in the doorway, arms folded, her aura leaking like the slow hiss of a predator about to pounce.

“…Fine,” Viola muttered, snatching the book from Luna’s hands.

She complained plenty, of course, huffing as she scratched through writing exercises, pouting over math problems, or sighing loud enough to rattle the shutters. But she did them. Every time her eyes flicked to Elaine’s silent, razor-sharp stare, her pen kept moving.

From his corner, Ludger watched it all with a faint smirk. So even Viola has a weakness. Luna’s persistence, plus Mother’s aura. Deadly combination.

And it wasn’t just studies. Luna kept pace with Elaine in the kitchen, made sure the laundry was never left to pile, and even shooed Viola outside for sword drills when she tried to slack.

Ludger found himself grudgingly impressed. The girl didn’t waste time, didn’t waste words, and didn’t crack under pressure.

Competent, he thought. Viola might actually be less unbearable with her around.

Of course, Viola didn’t see it that way. “She’s bossy,” she muttered one evening, flopping onto a chair at dinner. “Always telling me what to do.”

Ludger arched a brow. “Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Viola glared, Luna hid a tiny smile, and Elaine’s aura flared just enough to restore order.

Ludger’s days had once been simple—his own drills, his own pace, pushing his body and mana until steam rose off his skin. Now, with Viola and Luna in the house, “simple” was dead.

Viola refused to let him train alone. Every time he headed to the courtyard, she followed, wooden sword already in hand.

“You’re not running away from me this time,” she’d say, grinning ear to ear. “We’re sparring. Every day.”

At first, Ludger tried to ignore her, keeping to his push-ups, stretches, and mana control exercises. But Viola was relentless. She pestered him until he gave in, and once they started sparring, she demanded more.

One session a day became two. Then three. By the end of the first week, Ludger found himself blocking her strikes more often than his own drills.

She used every trick she had—Overdrive, Weapon Enhancing, even feints she picked up during the tournament. But with a dull blade in hand, her attacks were more exhausting than dangerous.

For Ludger, it became practice in patience. Dodging. Countering. Testing new uses for [Dash] without showing too much. He kept his real cards hidden, but each spar was still work. His arms ached. His legs burned. And his pride took a hit every time Viola shouted across the courtyard:

“Ha! You’re sweating, so I’m winning!”

Luna kept score from the sidelines, notebook in hand, coolly informing Viola afterward that she’d left too many openings or wasted her stamina too fast. Viola would pout, but she always came back swinging harder the next day.

Ludger often wondered if this was training—or just babysitting with bruises. Still, as the days stacked, he couldn’t deny Viola’s swings grew tighter, her footwork steadier.

She’s improving, he admitted one evening, watching her collapse in a heap of sweat after their fourth spar of the day. Even if she’s a pain about it.

By the time the house went quiet each night, Ludger slipped back into his own rhythm. Out in the courtyard under the moonlight, he ran until his legs shook, sharpening [Dash] until the bursts came smoother, tighter. He lined the ground with faint glimmers of [Mana Bolts], sending them spinning in wide arcs before letting them fizzle into the night air.

The sparring with Viola had eaten into his time, but he refused to fall behind. Sweat poured down his face, his shirt plastered to his skin, but he kept at it until his lungs burned. Only then did he collapse into the cool grass, whispering to himself: Not enough yet.

Days later, the rhythm of their house shifted again.

Arslan’s party gathered in the courtyard, gear strapped on and weapons freshly oiled. Even battered, they carried themselves with the casual swagger of adventurers who knew danger was just part of the deal. But this time, there was another figure among them.

Aronia.

She stood out like a tree among blades—her leafy cloak shifting in the breeze, staff in hand, her expression calm but firm. Two armored guards flanked her, both bearing Lord Torvares’ crest.

Elaine watched from the doorway, her arms crossed, her aura sharp and heavy. She said nothing, but her glare followed Arslan as he adjusted his sword belt with his usual cocky grin.

“Don’t look so sour, love,” Arslan called, though the grin wavered at the sight of her eyes. “We’ll be back. Just keep the house in one piece till then.”

Elaine’s voice was quiet, but it cut sharper than steel. “Come back alive—or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Arslan chuckled nervously, waving to Ludger as if to soften the tension. “Take care of your mother. And… don’t let your sister kill you during sparring.”

With that, they mounted up, Aronia’s guards falling in line as the group set off toward the north. The sound of hooves and boots on stone echoed down the road until it faded into the horizon.

Ludger stood silently, watching them vanish.

The war pulls them closer every day… but me? I still have time. I need to use it wisely.

The dust hadn’t even settled from Arslan’s departure before Viola spun on her heel, practice sword in hand, eyes bright with stubborn fire.

“Ludger,” she called, planting herself in front of him, “tell me. What do I have to do to finally beat you?”

Ludger blinked, then smirked. “Easy. You’ll need a secret chamber where time passes three-hundred-and-sixty-five times faster than normal, and the gravity’s about ten times heavier.”

Viola frowned, tilting her head. “...What?”

“Exactly,” Ludger said flatly. “You wouldn’t get it.”

She stomped her foot, glaring. “Stop messing around! I’m serious!”

“So am I,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Why should I tell you how to kick my ass? You think I’m that stupid?”

Viola sputtered, her cheeks going red. “It’s not like that! I just—! I want to get stronger! If you’re better than me, then you should help me reach your level!”

Ludger gave her a dry look. “You want me to hand you the key to beating me? Viola, that’s not training—that’s charity. And I don’t do charity.”

She clenched her fists, groaning in frustration, before collapsing onto the nearest chair with a dramatic flop. “You’re impossible!”

“Correct,” Ludger muttered, heading for the courtyard.

Of course, he knew exactly what she needed—patience, control, stamina. But handing it to her on a silver platter? That wasn’t happening. If she wanted to bridge the gap, she’d have to scrape for it.

Viola shot up from her chair as soon as Ludger’s back turned. “Fine! If you won’t tell me, then fight me again! I’ll figure it out myself!”

Before he could answer, she lunged at him with her wooden sword, reckless as ever. Ludger sighed, raising his forearm guard just in time to catch the blow.

“Seriously?” he muttered, blocking another swing.

“Yes!” she barked, sweat already beading her brow. “If you won’t give me answers, I’ll beat them out of you!”

The courtyard rang with the sound of wood slamming against steel and guard. Viola pressed forward with wild determination, Overdrive flickering faintly at her heels, while Ludger deflected with the same bored precision as always. He could’ve ended it in seconds, but instead, he let her burn herself out, testing, experimenting, crashing into the same wall she always did.

When she finally stumbled back, chest heaving, Ludger lowered his arms and exhaled. “Happy now?”

“Not… even close…” she panted, collapsing onto the ground, her sword clattering beside her.

Ludger stood over her for a moment, his usual dry smirk tugging at his lips—before his expression cooled, and his thoughts turned inward.

What do I actually get out of this?

Every spar made her sharper. Every push dragged her closer to his level. And while training her was a nuisance, there was something in it for him too.

If she gets stronger, that takes eyes off me. Nobles will look at Viola, the loud heir, and think she’s the one carrying the Torvares blood. Meanwhile, I stay in the shadows, free to grow without the spotlight. And if trouble comes knocking… a stronger sister isn’t the worst shield to have.

He folded his arms, watching her wipe sweat from her face. Yeah. Making her stronger isn’t charity. It’s an investment. And investments pay off.

Ludger leaned back against the courtyard wall, arms folded, watching Viola gasp for air as she sprawled in the dust. His thoughts kept circling like gears. Stronger sister, less attention on me, more cover if things get ugly… an investment.

But the longer he stared, the heavier that word felt.

Investment.

Viola wasn’t a coin pouch or a pawn to move on a board. She was his half sister. Loud, reckless, frustrating—but still just a girl, burning herself up because she wanted to prove something.

A flicker of guilt crept in, sharp and uncomfortable. Am I really so far gone that I only see her as leverage?

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn’t help being pragmatic. Survival demanded it. But sitting here, calculating the “benefits” of making her stronger—it felt cold, even for him.

Maybe, he thought, he didn’t have to think that way all the time.

Maybe, just this once, helping her didn’t need a reason beyond the obvious: she was family.

His lips curved in a thin, reluctant smile as Viola groaned, rolling onto her side. “Don’t think this means you’ve won for good,” she muttered weakly.

Ludger shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Rest before you fall on your face again.”

The words were dry as always, but for once, he didn’t mean them as a jab.

For a while, Ludger just stood there, staring at the twilight sky as the cicadas droned in the distance. Viola was still catching her breath on the ground, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

He exhaled, rubbing at his chin. Fine. If she’s going to hound me anyway, might as well steer her in the right direction.

“Oi, Viola,” he said at last.

She tilted her head up, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Stop blowing yourself up with Overdrive like you’re trying to break the ground under your feet. And quit wasting Weapon Enhancing on every swing. You’ll burn yourself out before the fight even matters.”

Her scowl deepened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“You don’t,” he said flatly. Then his tone shifted—still dry, but more measured. “Sharpen what you already did in the tournament. Use Overdrive and Enhancing in bursts. Just for an instant. One swing, one strike, one moment that counts. Catch them when they don’t expect it, overwhelm them before they know what happened. You don’t have to fight for long if you fight smart.”

Viola blinked, her breath slowing, her face caught between irritation and realization. “…So, like a killing blow, but with magic backing it?”

“Exactly,” Ludger said, arms crossed. “Make it precise. Make it fast. You’ll end fights before they drag you down.”

For once, she didn’t snap back with some loud boast. She just sat there, thinking, chewing over his words. Then slowly, a grin crept across her lips.

“Heh. That actually sounds fun.”

Ludger rolled his eyes, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Figures. Just don’t break your arms trying to look cool.”

Viola leaned forward, eyes gleaming, her grin widening. “So… if I get this right—Overdrive, Enhancing, strike in the blink of an eye—could I beat you with it?”

Ludger looked down at her, deadpan. “No.”

Her grin faltered. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean it’s impossible,” he said flatly, brushing dust from his shin guards. “You could sharpen that trick a hundred times, and you still wouldn’t take me down. Not unless you got your hands on a holy sword… or maybe a cursed one strong enough to split me in half.”

Viola’s jaw dropped. “…That’s the only way?”

“Yep.” He straightened, expression calm and merciless. “Otherwise, you’ll just burn yourself out trying.”

For a moment, she sat there, stunned. Then her face twisted, cheeks red with outrage. “You arrogant little—!”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Don’t get mad at me. You asked.”

Viola groaned, flopping backward into the dust with her arms spread. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Good,” Ludger muttered, heading toward the house. “Means I’m doing something right.”

Despite herself, Viola laughed, the sound echoing across the courtyard.

Over the next few days, Ludger let Viola swing away in the courtyard. She threw herself into sharpening the tactic he’d suggested—short bursts of Overdrive, sudden Enhancing strikes. Most of the time she ended up panting in frustration, but Ludger watched carefully, eyes following the faint shimmer of mana crawling over her blade.

So that’s how it flows, he thought. Not poured, but layered. You coat the weapon, then keep it stable under pressure.

While Viola grunted through another round of swings, Ludger sat on the steps, his forearm guards glinting in the sun. He closed his eyes and focused, sending mana pulsing into the metal. At first, it bled out uselessly, sparking and fading like water dripping off stone. But day by day, the control sharpened. The shimmer grew thicker, steadier, clinging to the surface instead of slipping away.

By the end of the week, the armguards glowed faintly, wrapped in a thin, solid film of mana. Ludger flexed his arms, the energy clinging tight, humming with power.

When Viola noticed, she nearly dropped her sword.

“Wait—what the hell?! You—your guards—how did you—?!” She rushed over, eyes wide, staring at the gleam across the red-and-silver metal.

Ludger raised one arm, letting the mana ripple across the surface in a perfect sheath. “Weapon Enhancing,” he said simply.

“You… you copied me?!” Viola’s jaw hung open, her voice a mix of outrage and disbelief.

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. “I was bored watching you flail around.”

“Bored—?!” She sputtered, pointing at his guards. “It took me months to keep Enhancing steady, and you just—just slapped it on like paint?!”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Guess you’re not the only genius in the family.”

For once, Viola was completely speechless.

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