Ludger understood immediately. A festive, crowded environment. Security relaxed. Distraction everywhere. Perfect for sabotage. Perfect for assassination. Perfect for planting evidence.

  “And after the Rodericks fled,” Torvares said, “their allies will be searching for a moment to show the Empire that they are not defeated. A noble’s celebration, with children, families, and foreign delegates, would make an excellent target.”

  It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply true.

  Torvares leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. “That is why I called you. I want you and a select few Lionsguard specialists to be on silent alert. Discreet. Invisible, if possible.”

  Ludger nodded slowly. “How many people can know?”

  “Only those necessary,” Torvares replied. “I refuse to spoil my granddaughter’s celebration with visible worry. Viola deserves a day without shadows. A day without enemies looming over her.”

  Ludger appreciated that. Torvares was many things, but he always remembered the people behind the politics. He wanted Viola to be happy, not used as bait.

  Ludger crossed his arms. “Understood. This shouldn’t be difficult.”

  He wasn’t boasting. Just stating a fact.

  “With me, Kaela, Maurien, Gaius, and Cor,” Ludger continued, “we can cover the entire city if necessary. Between mana sensing, wind detection barriers, and geomancy, anyone who uses suspicious spells or carries concealed weight will light up like a torch.”

  Torvares gave a small, satisfied nod. “That is exactly why I trust you with this, Ludger. You and your people see details others overlook. You respond faster. And you… do not hesitate.”

  Ludger didn’t deny it. Hesitation was for people who could afford it. He couldn’t.

  Torvares added, “You will maintain distance. Blend into the crowd. Act only when needed. But eliminate threats quickly and quietly. No panic. No spectacle. Nothing that could mar the event.”

  “Understood,” Ludger repeated.

  This wouldn’t be a battle. It would be a hunt. And Ludger was very good at hunts. Torvares looked relieved, not outwardly, but in that tiny relaxation of his shoulders only someone close would notice.

  “Good,” he said softly. “With you watching… I can allow Viola to enjoy her birthday.”

  Ludger nodded. He would make sure of it. Even if the entire Roderick faction decided to crawl out of whatever hole they were hiding in. This time, Lionfang would be ready.

  Torvares poured himself a small measure of tea, letting the steam rise between them before he spoke again. “There is one more thing,” he said, tone shifting slightly. “Luna informed me of something… interesting. It seems she has taught you a few of her tricks.”

  Ludger stiffened a little. Luna’s “tricks” were not the harmless variety. They were the kind that involved disappearing in the middle of crowds, bypassing locks, navigating blind spots, and eavesdropping without ever being noticed. The kind of things assassins were supposed to keep secret.

  Torvares smiled knowingly. “She rarely teaches anyone. So when she told me that she passed a few of her methods to you, I realized something: your presence here during the preparation days would be invaluable.”

  Ludger raised an eyebrow. “You want me to stay in Meronia?”

  “For five days before the party.” Torvares nodded. “It will allow you to observe the city from within, monitor the steady flow of visitors, caravans, merchants, and guests. If anyone suspicious arrives, if anyone carries something they shouldn’t or uses mana they shouldn’t, you will notice long before the celebration begins.”

  That… made sense. Ludger didn’t like leaving Lionfang next week, he still had forging, Overdrive lessons for the second squad, and the gift crisis weighing on him, but he couldn’t deny the tactical advantage.

  Torvares tapped the letter Ludger still held, his expression softening just a bit. “You will not be alone in this. I will visit Lionfang tomorrow. Officially, to inspect the northerner camps and verify the security progress around the labyrinth routes.”

  A faint twinkle appeared in his eyes, so small most people would miss it.

  “Unofficially, it will allow me to meet with the Lionsguard members you select for this task. And to speak with Elaine.”

  Ludger’s face didn’t move, but something in his spine went rigid. Torvares continued, gentle and sincere, “I should explain the danger to her personally. And apologize for asking her son to take on such responsibility during a family celebration. She deserves that respect.”

  Ludger let out a slow exhale. “Good. Saves me the trouble of explaining it to her.”

  Torvares chuckled softly. “Few men in this land fear war. Fewer still fear facing an Imperial Council. But your mother… she inspires a particular kind of caution.”

  “She does,” Ludger said flatly.

  And both of them knew he wasn’t exaggerating.

  Torvares rose from his chair. “So. Five days. Stay here. Train, investigate, observe, and ensure nothing slips past us.”

  Ludger nodded.

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  “Understood.”

  Tomorrow, Torvares would visit Lionfang. And together, they’d quietly assemble a shield around the party. Enough that even if the Rodericks or the League or anyone else tried something… they’d be caught before they had the chance to breathe wrong.

  Torvares settled back into his chair with the air of a man who had one last card to play. He folded his hands, expression shifting into something lighter—mischief wrapped in nobility—before he spoke.

  “And now,” he said, “to the final topic.”

  Ludger blinked. “…There’s more?”

  Torvares chuckled softly, amused by the flat disbelief in Ludger’s voice. “Of course. A grandfather cannot host a celebration without addressing this.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “In your case,” Torvares said, leaning back, “it is.”

  He paused for effect, then asked, “How is the birthday gift for Viola coming along?”

  Ludger felt his shoulders stiffen just slightly. “I’m working on it.”

  Torvares arched an eyebrow in that, are you sure? manner only old nobles mastered. “I have heard rumors,” he said, voice lilting with amusement, “that you have become quite the sculptor all of a sudden.”

  Ludger sighed. “That’s thanks to my earth magic, and Gaius showing me how not to break stone accidentally. It’s not like he taught me real art.”

  Torvares waved that away with a gentle flick of his wrist, ignoring Ludger’s protest entirely. “Regardless. Your talent has reached my ears.”

  Without another word, he reached into the drawer beside him. Papers shifted softly, wood slid, and he pulled out something wrapped in a thin protective cloth. He set it gently on the desk, then unfolded it.

  A portrait.

  The colors were soft but vivid, preserved with care. The brushstrokes were delicate, forming the face of a young woman in her early twenties. She wore a formal green dress embroidered with faint silver threads, and her dark brown hair fell in gentle waves past her shoulders. Her eyes, clear, bright blue, gleamed with a warmth that felt almost alive. And her smile… soft, gentle, full of a quiet kindness that softened the entire painting. She was beautiful.

  Torvares turned the portrait toward Ludger. “If you wish,” he said, voice lower, touched with something deeper, “you may sculpt Violette.”

  Viola’s mother. The room felt different suddenly, quieter, heavier with the weight of memory.

  “You can check Viola’s room for more portraits,” Torvares added. “She keeps nearly all of them. She has… always held onto them.”

  Ludger lifted the portrait slowly, studying it. His fingers tightened unconsciously around the frame. He massaged his eyebrows, trying to process the implications. So this was Viola’s mother.

  The softness in her features was unmistakable. The strength in her posture, subtle, elegant, felt familiar. And behind her eyes was a spark, a bright core of something that mirrored Viola’s own fire.

  Viola… would have looked like this in a few years if she didn’t spend half her life training hard enough to break bones. Ludger swallowed once, quietly. A sculpture of Violette. Not a weapon. Not a book. Not something absurd or explosive. Something meaningful. Something Viola would treasure. Something only he could give.

  Torvares watched him carefully, the weight of the moment sitting gently between them. “She was extraordinary,” he said softly. “Viola takes after her in ways she does not yet understand.”

  Ludger lowered the portrait, mind already shifting gears. This… might actually work. Maybe for the first time, he had a real direction.

  Ludger let out a long, low sigh as he lowered the portrait. Not out of disrespect—never that—but because the entire suggestion hit a part of him he didn’t quite know how to navigate. Giving Viola a sculpture of her mother wasn’t difficult. With his earth magic, skills, and Raukor’s forging guidance, he could craft something intricate, something beautiful, something that would carry mana for generations.

  The problem wasn’t ability.

  It was sentiment.

  “I don’t know…” Ludger muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. “Giving her something like this feels… awkward.”

  Torvares lifted an eyebrow, and Ludger continued before the man could ask.

  “We’re half siblings,” Ludger said bluntly. “And rivals. At least that’s how she sees it. Viola keeps saying she wants to kick my butt every time she gets stronger.” His lips twisted slightly. “Giving her a sculpture of her mother feels too sentimental. Too… personal.”

  Torvares chuckled, soft but unmistakably amused. “Despite how odd you are, Ludger, you are still a child. And occasionally, you even act like one.” His eyes warmed. “That hesitation—the instinct to step back from the emotional weight, is normal. Healthy, even.”

  Ludger did not look convinced.

  He scratched at the side of his head, shoulders tightening. “And… I don’t want to go into a girl’s room without her knowing. That seems like a bad idea.”

  Torvares exhaled through his nose, amused. “In any other case, I would agree.” Then his voice took on its authoritative calm. “But the girl in question is your sister. And more importantly, the only boy close to her age whom I trust in my entire territory is you and in her room as well.”

  Ludger blinked, a little taken aback. Not flattered. Just… surprised.

  Torvares tapped the desk lightly. “I have no intention of allowing unfamiliar young men near Viola’s private things. Luna would eviscerate them before they even crossed the threshold.” His gaze sharpened affectionately. “But you? You are family. Blood. And someone she respects, even if she masks it under rivalry.”

  Ludger stayed quiet for a long moment. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect. He simply absorbed the weight of the trust being placed on him, by Torvares, by Luna indirectly, and probably by Viola in a way she’d never admit out loud.

  Torvares added, gently but firmly, “If you choose to sculpt Violette, do it your way. You do not need to make it fragile or overly emotional. Even a simple, dignified likeness would mean more to Viola than any weapon or book you could give.”

  Ludger sighed again. But this time… it wasn’t a frustrated sigh. It was the sound of someone resigned to doing something important.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll think about it.”

  Torvares smiled, quietly victorious. And Ludger already knew: He would think about it. Probably too much.

  Torvares rose from his chair and gestured for Ludger to follow. “Come,” he said. “It will be easier if you see for yourself.”

  They moved through the quiet wing of the estate, away from the chaos of preparations and into the older, more private corridors. The air here felt different, still, preserved, almost reverent. Torvares stopped at a door marked with a simple silver emblem: Viola’s personal quarters.

  He didn’t knock.

  Instead, the old lord placed a hand on the handle and opened it with the practiced ease of someone who had watched Viola grow up here, someone who still held the authority to step inside any room in his estate.

  Ludger followed him in, and immediately understood what Torvares meant.

  The room was large, but not extravagant. A wide canopy bed stood against the far wall, draped in dark green fabric matching the Torvares colors. A pair of polished wooden dressers sat beneath the windows, and a rack of training gear leaned in the corner where a normal noble girl would keep jewelry boxes. A pair of well-worn boots rested beside the bed, as if Viola had thrown them off after a long sparring session.

  But none of that mattered. Because what drew the eye, what took up almost every free space on the walls, were the portraits. There were dozens.