Ludger exhaled slowly, letting the last remnants of tension bleed from his muscles. Renvar’s wind-charged style was impressive, rough, instinctive, unrefined, but undeniably talented. If Ludger wanted to, he could overrun Renvar completely. His mana reserves dwarfed the boy’s. His control, his precision, his elemental synergy, he could sap Renvar’s stamina, wear down his Overdrive, or simply crush his footing until the kid had no choice but to yield.
But Ludger didn’t feel like spending the next five minutes babysitting a drawn-out duel. He had lessons to teach afterward, errands to run, and a rising ache at the base of his skull from dealing with Renvar’s presence all morning. He wasn’t invested enough to prolong this.
So he shifted his stance with a single clean motion, lowering his hips, planting both feet firmly, and letting his Earth-aligned Overdrive settle through his limbs. The ground beneath him didn’t shake or split. Instead, it grew dense, steady, resonant. His weight synced with the soil, mana filtering down through his bones like roots anchoring into the earth.
It wasn’t a flashy stance, but it was the kind of stillness that carried danger. Renvar felt it instantly.
His sharp eyes flicked over Ludger’s posture, noticing the absence of tension where tension should be, the stability where vulnerability should exist. His own mana flickered, wind currents stuttering in uncertainty.
Standing still against speed was suicide. Unless the one standing still wasn’t planning to dodge at all. Renvar’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t reckless pride from Ludger. This was calculation. Preparation. The quiet confidence of someone who had already run every possible outcome and found all of them in his favor.
And despite sensing that, Renvar didn’t back down. He never did.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Ludger said, voice level, almost bored.
Renvar clicked his tongue. “You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”
Ludger didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Renvar inhaled deeply, re-centering his stance, and then launched himself forward with a burst of wind so sharp it sent dust spiraling behind him. His silhouette blurred, zigzagging in tight arcs around Ludger. He cut the air with rapid stutter-steps, each one trying to throw off Ludger’s tracking. To the watching kids, Renvar looked like a streak of motion flickering around a pillar.
He circled Ludger once. Twice. A third time, darting in and out of striking range like a wasp probing for an opening.
But Ludger didn’t move. Not an inch. Not a muscle.
His Earth Overdrive hummed quietly, tethering him to every vibration, every shift in pressure, every displacement of mana caused by Renvar’s sprinting. Tracking Renvar wasn’t difficult. His speed was impressive, but predictable; his wind affinity made his steps light, but it also made his movements traceable.
Renvar pressed harder, pushing his Overdrive to intensify, lowering his stance and letting the wind drag him horizontally across Ludger’s field like a living arrow. Then he committed.
Renvar dropped low and burst forward, blade angled in a rising diagonal slash aimed to slip under Ludger’s guard and hit the ribs, fast, aggressive, clean. It was the exact moment Ludger had been waiting for.
Ludger shifted, not much, just enough. A subtle turn of the hips, a tilt of his shoulders, a slight drop of weight. Renvar had committed to attacking Ludger’s left side, and Ludger adjusted accordingly. It was almost disappointing. Had Renvar gone for Ludger’s back or blind spot, the exchange might’ve been more interesting…but no. Renvar was still trying to look cool in front of the kids, still performing even in the middle of a real clash.
Idiot, Ludger thought. Talented idiot, but still an idiot.
Ludger raised his left forearm, the guard glinting under the sunlight as he angled it like a shield. Then he kicked off the ground.
The earth cracked under his heel as his Earth Overdrive surged, dense, heavy, brutal. He launched forward at the exact moment Renvar completed his slash, turning the collision into a head-on meeting of force versus force. Renvar’s eyes widened in the instant before impact.
He tried to twist his blade, to redirect Ludger’s incoming strike, but the moment their power collided, Renvar felt it, Pressure. Not wind. Not speed. Not agility.
A boulder. A mountain. A landslide wrapped in the shape of a twelve-year-old boy. The clash wasn’t an exchange. It was annihilation.
Renvar’s guard collapsed immediately. His sword shuddered, bending at an ugly angle, and the shockwave blasted through his arms. The force ripped him off the ground and sent him spinning violently into the air like a rag doll caught in a hurricane.
Gasps erupted from the onlookers. A few kids screamed. Kaela’s grin widened.
Renvar twisted midair, instincts and acrobatics kicking in, trying to recover. His Overdrive flared, slowing his descent, bleeding off the lethal momentum. Instead of crashing like a sack of potatoes, he managed to land on his feet in a surprisingly graceful stance, for exactly one second. Then the pain hit.
He dropped to one knee with a strangled breath, hand clutching his elbow. His arms vibrated from the shock, nerves screaming. His sword, once pristine, now had an unmistakable dent warping its curve. His elbows throbbed violently, pure agony radiating down to his wrists.
He looked up at Ludger, panting, sweat dripping, still dazed by the raw force he’d taken head-on.
“Wh… what… the hell was that…?” he rasped, voice cracking.
Ludger lowered his guard, dusting off the forearm plate like the exchange had been nothing more than a warm-up stretch.
“That,” he said calmly, “was what happens when you stop showing off and run straight into someone who doesn’t play around.”
Renvar winced, trying to straighten but failing. His arms were shaking too much. The yard was dead silent. Everyone had just witnessed the difference between talent… and a monster.
Renvar sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself upright, wobbling for a second before his legs stabilized. The cheers and murmurs from the watching recruits blurred into the background as he focused on the throbbing pulse in his arms. He lifted his sword with a grimace, the dent along the curve was obvious, a deep warping that would’ve made the blade useless in a real fight.
He clicked his tongue, but not at the damage. The sword could be repaired. His elbows, on the other hand, felt like someone had decided to replace the joints with hot coals. Ludger approached him without hurry, without triumph, without ego. Just practical efficiency.
“Give me the sword,” he said flatly.
Renvar blinked in surprise but handed it over with both hands, immediately regretting the movement as pain shot through both elbows. He hissed between his teeth, shoulders trembling.
Ludger didn’t spare him a glance. He simply summoned an earth-forged hammer with a single pulse of mana. The tool materialized in his hand, shaped from the ground beneath them, compact and dense as metal. Blue light rippled from the hammer’s head, the glow of repair, channeled through the [Magic Blacksmith] skill.
He set the curved blade across his knee and began tapping along the dented area with measured, precise strikes. Each impact hummed with mana, stone resonating against steel in rhythmic pulses. The damaged metal softened, reshaping under the glowing hammer like it was clay being gently molded back to its original form.
The watching kids held their breath. Even Kaela leaned forward, eyes narrowing in interest. Minute by minute, the dent smoothed out. The curve returned to its elegant taper. The sword regained its sheen, as though the damage had never happened at all. After a few more taps, Ludger flipped the blade, inspected it once, then handed it back without ceremony.
“It’s fixed.”
Renvar took it carefully, swallowing a groan as his elbows protested. “Thanks,” he managed, lifting his arms slightly as if expecting Ludger to heal them next.
Ludger turned around and walked away without hesitation.
Renvar blinked. “Uh, my arms? You can use healing magic, don’t you?”
Ludger raised a hand dismissively over his shoulder.
“You wanted the duel,” he said. “So you can endure the pain of your own ideas.”
Renvar’s jaw dropped. The kids burst into scattered laughter. Kaela cackled from the wall. Renvar stood there, sword gleaming, arms on fire, dignity somewhere six feet underground. And Ludger didn’t look back once. Lesson delivered.
Kaela hopped down from the wall with a sigh loud enough to rattle Renvar’s already-bruised pride. She grabbed him by the collar like a misbehaving stray dog and slung his arm over her shoulder, ignoring the grunt of pain that slipped from him.
“Come on, idiot,” she muttered. “Aronia will fix you up before your arms fall off. If she lets you live, anyway.”
Renvar paled. “L–Lets me live? Why wouldn’t—”
“She hates extra work,” Kaela said sweetly.
Renvar went silent.
The crowd parted as Kaela escorted him toward the healer’s office. The kids watched with wide eyes, whispering excitedly about his flips, his speed, and the way Ludger had folded him like laundry. Renvar would be healed by sunset, but Aronia would absolutely lecture him for abusing his joints, bending a perfectly good sword, and creating more work for her. She’d likely give him a list of exercises to avoid next time, followed by a lecture about “young idiots with more mana than brains.”
Ludger didn’t feel particularly sorry for him. As he watched Kaela drag the half-broken teen away, something clicked in the back of his mind. An idea. Kaela handled kids surprisingly well.
Tali’s presence had softened her edges over time. The newcomers, many of whom had been wary of adults, were slowly warming up to her too. They admired her strength, listened eagerly to her stories of hunting kidnappers, and treated her like some kind of local legend. Her blunt honesty and chaotic confidence made her someone they instinctively trusted.
And Ludger needed someone like that. Someone who could influence the new students.
Someone who could teach them the basics of staying alive without turning them into wannabe Renvars. Someone they respected.
Kaela, despite all her violent tendencies and questionable life choices, was perfect for it. Ludger rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
She was used to being around kids now. She already had their attention. And more importantly… She could scare the stupidity out of them if necessary.
A slow smile crept onto Ludger’s face.
“Yes,” he muttered to himself. “That could work.”
If Renvar wanted to be a walking disaster, fine. Ludger would use him as a teaching tool.
And Kaela? Kaela could help shape the next generation of Lionsguard recruits.
With a little guidance, and a lot of threats. she might actually become the perfect instructor for the wild, energetic, occasionally feral batch of newcomers gathering in Lionfang.
Kaela marched back into the guild’s courtyard with a fully healed, if emotionally traumatized, Renvar shuffling behind her. His arms worked again, and he’d regained some color, but he still looked like a man who had stared death in the face… and then been scolded by death’s mother.
She was halfway through telling him not to swing his sword until she said so when she suddenly froze mid-step.
The kids were gathered in a tight circle near the training yard entrance, whispering excitedly, pointing, admiring something with a kind of awe usually reserved for legendary heroes or freshly baked desserts. Kaela narrowed her eyes.
“What are you brats crowding around—”
Then she saw it.
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