Before Ludger discovered the process of sculpting his large statues, he believed something quite fundamental about the system he lived in: crafted items, tools, and weapons simply didn’t display parameters or effects for him. He could make all sorts of gear, hardened earth knives, dust knuckles reinforced with mana, makeshift stone plates, but whenever he attempted to inspect them through the system interface, he got nothing. No grade. No description. No stats. Just empty silence.

  At first, he assumed that was just how it worked. Perhaps those items didn’t qualify as “true crafted gear” because they were improvised, temporary, or purely geomantic. After all, he wasn’t a blacksmith or runic engineer. The system, it seemed, recognized only items forged through traditional means or runic workshops, but not like Ludger saw the sculptures.

  Then came the sculptures. First the bull in the capital, then the statue of Aronia outside the guild. Those works were different, they weren’t born out of necessity or battle improvisation. They were intentional, constructed over multiple sessions with clear emotional intent. They were permanent, visually impressive, and infused with mana in precisely controlled ways. When Ludger touched those pieces, the system responded instantly: a full object screen, detailing the sculpture’s grade, effect radius, enchantment, and duration. It was as though the world finally acknowledged, something he had truly created.

  That realization was like a jolt. He realized that the system recognized objects that met certain thresholds: a defined structure, stable mana signatures, emotional or intentional imprinting, and permanence. His makeshift weapons lacked those qualities, they were tactical tools, not “crafted gear.”

  With that insight came a clear conclusion: If Ludger wanted his own gear, his weapons, armor, tools, to be recognized by the system and carry meaningful magical effects, he needed to learn how to truly craft them. Not just shape them with geomancy, but forge them with metal, hammer them in fire, finish them as an artisan would. If he combined blacksmithing with his earth magic and intent, then his creations could become system-recognized items, complete with stats and effects.

  It wasn’t just a lofty ambition anymore; it was a strategic necessity. He found himself thinking: If he stepped into another battle, like the one with Verk, he would be facing foes with advanced tech, runic innovations, and perhaps entire estates of weapons. To keep up, he needed gear that didn’t just rely on raw power, but on crafted magic backed by the system.

  In short, blacksmithing was no longer optional, it was the next logical evolution of his abilities. And he needed to start sooner rather than later.

  Ludger dusted off his hands and turned toward the small crowd still lingering around the guild entrance. His eyes settled on Yvar, who was cautiously edging out from behind Aronia after narrowly avoiding death-by-elbow.

  “Yvar,” Ludger said, “who’s the best blacksmith in Lionfang?”

  Yvar blinked. Then blinked again, slower, more confused.

  Normally, he would’ve asked why Ludger suddenly wanted to learn blacksmithing of all things… but this was Ludger, someone who could go from fighting runic warlords to sculpting magical monuments to running a trading shop in the capital with no warning. So instead, Yvar sighed through his nose.

  “I suppose asking for an explanation would be pointless.”

  “Correct,” Ludger replied.

  “Right… well.” Yvar adjusted his glasses and rubbed his chin. “We don’t really have a true blacksmith in town. Not in the sense you’re thinking of.”

  Ludger frowned. “We don’t?”

  “We sell most of our froststeel shipments to the League,” Yvar explained. “Because of that, nobody in Lionfang deals with high-grade metal. Most of the local workers only do repairs or basic ironwork, shoeing horses, fixing tools, that kind of thing. No actual forging of quality weapons or armor anymore.”

  Ludger considered this, mildly annoyed. “So I can’t learn anything from them.”

  “Not much,” Yvar admitted. “If you want someone who can teach you to forge real gear, especially enchanted gear, you need someone experienced.”

  He paused, thinking for a moment.

  “Actually,” he added, “you should ask Lord Torvares.”

  Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Why him?”

  “Because he’s the one who commissioned your armguards,” Yvar pointed out. “Whoever forged those must’ve been exceptional. They survived… well… you.”

  A few of the recruits nearby nodded vigorously. Aronia gave an approving hum. Kaela muttered something like, “I still want my statue.”

  Yvar continued, “If the blacksmith who crafted your armguards is still around, that’s the person you want. Anyone capable of producing something that durable, given the abuse you’ve put it through, is definitely skilled enough to teach you.”

  Ludger glanced down at the armguards on his forearms, tracing the faint scratches from Verk’s armor and the stress fractures in the metal. Yvar was right, despite everything, they were still intact. Not perfect, but intact.

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  “Alright,” Ludger said with a decisive nod. “I’ll talk to Torvares.”

  Yvar smiled faintly. “Just… don’t surprise him with another underground project, please.”

  “The next one is still on the drawing board.”

  Yvar sighed. Aronia sighed. Kaela sighed loudly on purpose. And Ludger walked away, already planning how he would learn to forge, how he would combine it with geomancy, and how much stronger the guild would become with real system-recognized gear. Another project had begun.

  Ludger didn’t even bother stopping by the guild again. He went straight home, scooped up the twins, one under each arm like squirming sacks of potatoes, and told them they were going on a “ride.”

  That was all it took. Arash and Elle immediately began cheering.

  A moment later, the stone under their feet rippled into the familiar platform of Ludger’s stone cart, which surged forward the moment he stepped onto it. The kids leaned into the wind, laughing as the tunnel blurred around them. Ludger kept one hand raised to regulate the flow of mana, because at their max speed, the cart could take corners sharp enough to turn a grown adult into wall paste.

  He slowed for curves, then accelerated through straightaways. The twins screamed with joy every time the cart tilted as he redirected the earth under them.

  To Ludger, it was routine. To the twins, it was the greatest roller coaster in the world.

  Before long, they surfaced through a hidden stone lift beneath the Torvares estate. Ludger dissipated the cart and stepped into the back gardens, where Viola and Luna were mid-training session, Viola practicing her Overdrive footwork and Luna moving like a wraith through a series of knife drills. Both turned at once.

  “…Ludger?” Viola blinked.

  He didn’t explain. He simply deposited Elle into Viola’s arms and Arash into Luna’s, the twins immediately grabbing onto their new “carriers”.

  Then, before either girl could ask a question:

  “This is to keep you on your toes,” Ludger said, already turning around.

  Viola stared at the twins clinging to her like two overexcited barnacles.

  Luna blinked, momentarily stunned out of her normally serene composure.

  “Ludger—wait—what does that even—?”

  But Ludger was already walking toward the manor, hands behind his back, humming to himself as if he hadn’t just delivered two magical toddlers into the arms of two highly dangerous women without warning. It was, in his mind, excellent training for everyone involved.

  Ludger entered Torvares’s office without ceremony, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud. The room was quiet except for the ticking of a clock and the distant laughter of children from the garden. Torvares stood at the window, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of an old warhorse pretending to be a dignified noble. His gaze was fixed downward, watching Viola struggle to balance both twins while Luna tried to stop Arash from scaling a tree like he planned to duel it.

  Without turning, Torvares exhaled, a deep, tired breath that carried equal parts relief and exhaustion.

  “As usual,” he said, voice low, “it is impossible to understand what goes through your head.”

  He finally turned to face Ludger, eyes narrowing with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You survive a battle that leveled an entire manor, exposed deep corruption in the capital, made enemies out of one of the oldest families in the empire… and now you walk around as if you merely stubbed your toe on the way to the market.”

  Ludger shrugged, completely unfazed by the summary of the last two catastrophic weeks.

  “Well,” he said, “there’s no point in worrying too much about all that. I just have to keep improving, get stronger, and make things harder for anyone who tries something stupid in the future.”

  Torvares stared at him for a long moment, long enough for Ludger to wonder if the man was trying to determine whether he was joking or had simply lost all sense of normal human priorities. In truth, Ludger wasn’t sure either.

  “And speaking of making things harder for my opponents…” Ludger continued, dusting some lingering stone grit from his sleeve, “I wanted to meet the blacksmith who forged my armguards and shin guards.”

  Torvares blinked slowly, once.

  “That is why you came to see me?”

  “Yes,” Ludger said, tone completely unapologetic. “Those armguards survived Verk’s runic armor. Well, mostly. I need something even better. So I figured I should meet the one who made them.”

  For a moment, Torvares simply stared at him. Then he ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

  “Only you,” he said finally, “would treat a capital-level catastrophe as background noise and immediately pursue blacksmithing as your next priority.”

  Ludger scratched his cheek, expression unbothered. “Everyone needs hobbies.”

  Torvares fought the urge to sigh again, but a faint smile, barely visible, tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting,” he said at last. “Though I suspect the gods will regret letting you anywhere near a forge.”

  Ludger crossed his arms and leaned slightly to one side, eyebrow twitching with mild annoyance. “So… we can’t just skip the pleasantries?” he asked. “You can write an introduction letter, hand me a map, and I’ll handle the rest. Saves time. Saves hassle. Saves everyone the trouble of watching me wander around the city.”

  Torvares gave him a patient, almost fatherly stare, the kind reserved for brilliant children who occasionally said something catastrophically stupid.

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  Ludger frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because the man you want to meet,” Torvares said, clasping his hands behind his back again, “has… issues.”

  Ludger squinted. “…Issues?”

  Torvares nodded, far too calmly for Ludger’s liking. “Yes. Complications. Circumstances. A certain ‘temperamental nature,’ you could say.”

  “That sounds like more than issues,” Ludger replied flatly.

  Torvares lifted a hand as if to reassure him. “Compared to the problems the Lionsguard deals with daily? Compared to your recruits blowing up training grounds, northerners wrestling livestock in taverns, Kaela’s general existence, and you singlehandedly provoking international incidents?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you, this is nothing.”

  For some reason, that didn’t ease Ludger’s concern at all.

  In fact, it made him more worried.

  “…Why does it feel like I’m being set up for something strange?” Ludger muttered.

  Torvares only chuckled, the calm, ominous kind of chuckle that promised absolutely nothing good.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” he said.