“Time to return,” Luna said at last, her voice clipped. She adjusted the basket on her arm—half-filled with token purchases to keep up appearances—and guided Ludger back toward the main street.

He fell beside her without complaint, though his mind was still turning over the Silent Steps–Dash combination like a blade on a whetstone.

They walked in silence for a stretch. Then Luna slowed, her eyes flicking over the rooftops, the narrow alleys, the flow of the crowd.

“What is it?” Ludger asked, keeping his tone low.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her fingers flexed against the basket handle, knuckles pale. Finally she murmured, “A shiver. Like a knife dragged along my spine.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “Bloodlust.”

She nodded once, lips pressed thin. “Faint, but deliberate. Someone let it slip for only a breath, then smothered it again. Enough to tell me they’re close. And watching.”

The crowd around them buzzed as normal, merchants hawking wares, children darting past. To everyone else it was just another afternoon. But to Luna, the air had turned heavy.

“They’re planning to move soon,” she said, tone flat. “Whether they wait for the war’s turn or for Lord Torvares’ return, their blades are already itching.”

Ludger smirked faintly, though his eyes were cold. “Good. Patience breaks. When they move, we’ll be ready to bite back.”

Luna glanced down at him—this boy with too-sharp eyes and a grin that didn’t fit his age. “Then we must be sharper still. One mistake, and we don’t get a second chance.”

The two of them walked on, silent but steady, the city’s noise rolling off them like waves against stone. Somewhere above, unseen eyes tracked their path, waiting.

That evening, dinner played out like any other. Elaine fussed over whether Ludger was eating enough greens. Viola bragged about a new sword drill she had “perfected.” Luna poured tea with her usual grace. Ludger chewed quietly, answering in clipped words, his mind elsewhere.

They couldn’t know. Not yet.

Later, when the house finally settled into sleep, Luna slipped into the courtyard where Ludger was already waiting. The moon was thin, shadows long, lanterns extinguished.

“Midnight,” he said. “Less risk of them noticing Viola’s aura or Mother’s temper flaring if something goes wrong.”

Luna inclined her head, cloak drawn tighter around her shoulders. “Agreed. Lady Elaine’s wrath alone would make them retreat, but that would also expose everything. Best they remain in the dark.”

“Viola too,” Ludger added. “If she catches a whiff of this, she’ll want to charge out swinging. And then we’d spend more time dragging her out of trouble than dealing with the actual threat.”

A rare flicker of amusement tugged at Luna’s lips. “Accurate.”

They fell into silence again, each checking their gear. Ludger flexed his hands inside the red-and-silver armguards, mana humming faintly through them. Silent Steps tingled at the edges of his muscles, waiting. Luna tested the straps on her knives, each movement practiced and crisp.

“Once the house sleeps, we move,” she said. “We’ll circle the estate first. If they’ve grown bold, they’ll be close. If not… we draw them out.”

Ludger’s grin sharpened, cold and precise. “Perfect. Midnight it is.”

The courtyard lantern guttered out, leaving only the pale light of the moon. Two shadows stood against the silence, already waiting for the hour when the hunt would begin.

When the bells rang at midnight, the house was wrapped in silence. Elaine’s chamber glowed faintly with the ember of a dying lamp. Viola snored faintly, sprawled like a soldier who’d fought ten duels in her dreams.

Ludger eased his door open, hinges barely whispering. He slipped into the hall, his feet already gliding into the rhythm of Silent Steps. Not a creak, not a shuffle. The shadows swallowed him whole.

Luna was waiting just ahead, already moving like a wraith. She gave him a single nod before turning toward the rear of the estate. Together, they ghosted through the corridors, past the empty kitchens, and toward the garden door.

The latch clicked open with Luna’s careful hand. They slipped into the night.

The backside of the house was drenched in shadow, the moonlight smothered by tall oaks and the high stone wall. It was the perfect place for predators to lurk—or for hunters to stalk unseen.

Ludger stepped down onto the grass. No crunch. No rustle. Just silence. The damp blades barely bent under his weight.

Luna watched him, her sharp eyes reflecting the faint gleam of moonlight. She inclined her head, a gesture of approval rare and precise. “Good. Your silence holds. Even the grass does not betray you.”

Ludger smirked faintly, lips curling without sound. Silent Steps works in the field. Better than I thought.

The two of them slid deeper into the shadows, their figures vanishing into the night like whispers carried on the wind.

They circled the yard like phantoms, slipping from shadow to shadow. The grass muffled beneath their boots, every step measured, every breath tight and low. The lanterns along the outer wall had burned out hours ago, leaving the house backside swallowed in darkness.

Ludger kept his eyes scanning—windows, tree line, the faint gaps in the wall. But the night gave nothing away. No whisper of movement. No glint of steel. Just the occasional insect hum and the cool breeze dragging through the branches.

Too quiet.

He stuck close to Luna’s side, mimicking her deliberate pace, the way her gaze swept like a blade across the dark. She was practiced at this, every step a probe, every pause a warning.

They completed one circuit, then a second, when Luna suddenly raised two fingers and pointed—first to the left flank of the house, then to the right. Her head barely tilted, but her meaning was clear.

“Closer,” she mouthed.

Ludger froze, eyes narrowing as he followed her gesture.

He didn’t see them, not yet—but his skin prickled, as if the night itself was watching. A faint pressure, a weight at the edge of perception. Bloodlust buried under patience.

Luna leaned just close enough to whisper, her voice like thread against silk. “They’ve shifted positions. Both sides now. Not far. That means they’re preparing.”

Ludger’s jaw tightened. So they’re done waiting. About time.

The two of them melted deeper into the shadows, neither making a sound, each step a test of nerve as the noose began to tighten around the house .

They crouched in the lee of the garden wall, the estate looming silent behind them. The air felt heavy, like the calm before a storm.

“What now?” Ludger whispered.

Luna’s eyes stayed fixed on the dark stretch to their left. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “If they split their presence on both sides, we can divide. I can engage those to the right alone.”

“And leave me with the others?” Ludger asked, one brow raised.

Her gaze finally flicked toward him, sharp and unyielding. “You can fight, yes. I’ve seen that much. But fighting and killing are not the same.”

Ludger tilted his head, silent.

“Hesitation is the difference,” Luna pressed. “A swing you pause halfway, a thrust you doubt—those moments kill you. Not them. You.” She shifted her weight, the faint moonlight catching the steel at her belt. “I am not worried about whether you can stand. I am worried about whether you can finish.”

The words cut deeper than she realized. Ludger’s lips tugged into a thin line, no humor behind it. Finish… huh?

He remembered the fishmonger’s back turned, the guard’s half-glance, the way Silent Steps had made him invisible. Easy. But this? Putting steel through someone’s throat, ending them before they ended him—that was different.

Luna’s voice softened, though the edge never left. “I will not lie to you. On the battlefield, doubt is death. Decide now. If you cannot strike without hesitation, then stay behind me.”

The night pressed down around them, watchers waiting in the dark. Ludger exhaled slowly, the red-and-silver armguards glinting faintly as he clenched his fists.

Ludger stayed crouched in the grass, the cold night biting against his skin. Luna’s words lingered like steel pressed against his throat. Finish… hesitation… death.

He clenched his jaw. He’d fought, sure. Sparred Viola into the ground, blasted through training dummies, even thought about assassins like “problems” to solve. But killing? Real blood, real flesh? That line he hadn’t crossed so far.

He stared at the house behind them—Elaine sleeping, Viola snoring, both blissfully unaware. Targets. That’s what they were to the shadows circling the estate.

And suddenly, the line didn’t matter anymore.

He thought of his mother’s face when she shielded him with that suffocating aura, willing to burn the world for him. He thought of Viola’s reckless grin, swinging a blade like she had something to prove. He thought of Luna, calm but fragile against real killers.

Anyone who dared point blades at them? Anyone who thought it was clever to watch, to wait, to plan their deaths?

Ludger’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. They don’t deserve to breathe.

He exhaled slow, steady, almost relieved at the clarity. “You’re wrong about one thing, Luna.”

Her eyes cut toward him, questioning.

“I’ve never killed anyone,” he admitted, voice low, flat. “But I don’t feel like hesitating. Not when they’re aiming for my mother. Or Viola.” His hands flexed inside the red-and-silver guards, mana crackling faintly under his skin. “Anyone who even thinks of targeting them… doesn’t deserve to live.”

Luna studied him for a long moment, unreadable in the dark. Then, for the first time that night, she inclined her head—not approval, not comfort, but recognition. “Then you’re ready.”

The words hung between them, sharp as drawn blades.

They moved like a pair of shadows peeling apart. Luna flowed right, her steps dissolving into the darkness beneath the trees. Ludger slid left, the grass parting without a whisper under his Silent Steps.

It was impossible to count them. One, two, maybe more—shapes too patient to reveal themselves fully. Just faint impressions at the edge of vision, ripples in the dark. It didn’t matter. The noose was there, tightening.

Luna paused before the hedge line. Her hand slipped beneath her skirt with a practiced motion and came back with steel: a wicked, curved blade, darkened to drink the moonlight rather than reflect it. A killer’s tool, meant to open throats and leave nothing but silence behind.

Ludger caught her eyes across the courtyard. She didn’t speak, but her look said everything: Stay sharp. No hesitation.

He nodded once. The red-and-silver armguards hummed faintly as he flexed his fists, mana gathering low and quiet.

The night seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere, the estate’s shutters creaked in the wind. A dog barked faintly in the city streets beyond. But here, in the shadows, it was just them—the hunters and the hunted, waiting to see who struck first.

Ludger shifted deeper into the dark, the weight of the armguards grounding him. His breath slowed, shallow and measured, his body sinking fully into Silent Steps. The night wrapped around him like a cloak.

Then he felt it—just a flicker at the edge of his senses. A shadow that didn’t belong. The faint crunch of grass, quickly stifled. Too careful, but not careful enough.

Got you.

He angled his approach, circling wide, letting the figure’s faint outline sharpen. Tall. Broad shoulders. A gloved hand rested on the hilt of something long—sword, maybe spear. The kind of man who thought standing still in the dark made him invisible.

Every step brought Ludger closer, his heart steady, his body humming with a low current of mana. Not fear. Not doubt. Just focus.

At five paces, the target shifted slightly, scanning the courtyard. Ludger froze mid-step, body balanced perfectly, weight spread. Not a sound. The man’s head turned, eyes sliding over the shadows—past Ludger, never on him.

When the watchful gaze moved on, Ludger eased forward again. Four steps. Three.

His hands flexed inside the armguards, mana sparking, muscles primed. He could feel it now—that line Luna spoke of. Not sparring. Not practice. The next step forward would be the first step into blood.

And yet… he didn’t feel hesitation clawing at him. Only the quiet certainty that this man had chosen the wrong family to stalk.

Ludger’s lips curled into the faintest grin. Time to finish.

Ludger’s breath stilled. Mana surged. [Overdrive] — veins lit with fire. [Weapon Enhancing] — red-and-silver guards thrummed like they were alive. [Dash]

— the world blurred.

He exploded forward. Grass parted in silence under Silent Steps, his killing intent spiking like a knife to the throat. The man’s head whipped around, instincts screaming. Steel hissed as his hand flew to his weapon—

Too late.

The air cracked as Ludger’s fist punched forward, every ounce of force channeled into a single strike. His armguard gleamed crimson in the moonlight as it sank into flesh.

The man’s eyes went wide. A strangled grunt left his throat as a sharp, wet sound filled the night. He staggered, clutching at his stomach. The smell hit first—iron, thick and bitter, spilling into the floor.

He looked down in shock. Blood seeped between his gloves, hot and slick. Something had torn straight through him.

Ludger pulled back, his face flat, detached. His heart wasn’t pounding with fear, but with clarity. The man swayed, tried to rasp out a warning—then his knees buckled.

The body hit the ground with a dull thud.

For the first time in his new life, Ludger stood over a corpse. No hesitation. No regret. Just a sharp certainty burning in his chest: This is what happens when you target my family.

The man crumpled at his feet, blood steaming in the night air. Ludger flexed his right hand, the red-and-silver guard dripping. He could feel it—hot, sticky, clinging between his fingers where his strike had pierced through flesh like a spear. The stink of iron hit his nose, sharp and nauseating, but his focus didn’t waver.

So this is killing…

The thought barely formed when a chill raced down his spine. Bloodlust. Sharp and deliberate, aimed square at him.

His instincts screamed.

From the alley beside the wall, steel burst from the dark—long, gleaming, lunging for his skull.

Ludger’s body reacted before his mind did. He threw himself back with every ounce of strength, boots tearing at the grass as he sprang away. The spearhead ripped past his face, close enough for him to feel the wind of its edge brush his cheek.

He landed low, eyes narrowing, armguards humming with mana.

The corpse at his feet still bled into the soil. And beyond it, a second figure pulled free of the shadows, spear poised, eyes glinting with the cold intent of a professional.

Not just one, then.

Ludger smirked despite the pounding in his chest. “Fine. Two it is.”

The spear-wielder advanced without a word, his stance coiled and precise. No flashy swings, no wasted motion—just quick, direct thrusts meant to kill cleanly and quietly.

The first strike snapped forward like lightning. Ludger slid sideways, Silent Steps carrying him into the dark. The spear missed his ribs by a breath, the polished steel head vanishing into the night before snapping back.

He’s trying to keep it quiet too, Ludger realized. No shouts, no grunts. Just death in silence.

Perfect.

The man lunged again, each thrust fast and surgical. Ludger weaved away, arms rolling with Weapon Enhancing, Dash surging in bursts to blur his outline before the spear could find him. His feet left no sound on the grass, no hint of where he would pivot.

It became a deadly dance—two shadows moving in near silence, one striking, the other vanishing, reappearing at impossible angles.

The spearman’s eyes flicked, tracking. Ludger saw the faint twitch of frustration: the man was hunting prey that wasn’t there, every thrust hitting air and whispering into nothing.

Silent Steps and Dash… insane combo, Ludger thought, lips curling into a grin. Let’s see who breaks first.

He melted back, body low, aura tucked tight. The spear stabbed into the hedge where he’d stood a heartbeat earlier, leaves trembling from the force. Ludger was already circling, already behind.

The hunter didn’t even realize the roles were shifting.

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