He’d seen swords before. Occasionally, some thug would stroll in waving one around, or a guard might stop for a drink. But armor —good armor—meant something else entirely. These weren’t farmers pretending to be fighters. They were a proper party.
And if there was a proper party… there was a chance one of them knew martial arts.
He grinned faintly, ducking behind a stack of dishes so he could watch them without being too obvious. “Looks like the tavern just handed me my next opportunity.”
The group settled at a corner table, their armor and weapons drawing more attention than their voices ever could. Ludger peeked at them from behind the counter, studying each one carefully.
There were five in total.
The first man was unmistakably a swordsman—his longsword rested at his side, the scabbard worn but well-maintained, the kind of blade that had clearly seen battle. He carried himself upright, every movement precise, as if his spine had been hammered straight on an anvil.
Beside him sat a mountain of a man with a massive battle axe leaning against the wall. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and the faint scars across his jaw hinted at more brawls than Ludger could count. He laughed easily, voice booming across the tavern like rolling thunder.
The third man was different. No armor, no weapon—just a heavy tome strapped to his hip. A mage, no doubt, though he didn’t wear the flowing robes of a scholar. Instead, his plain traveler’s clothes gave the impression of someone practical, someone who knew the road as well as the library.
Then came the women.
One carried a longbow much taller than Ludger, her quiver stacked full of arrows fletched in green. Her hunter’s clothes were simple, light, and her sharp green eyes scanned the tavern even as she spoke with her companions. The other wore light armor, pieces strapped mainly to her arms and legs. She moved like a cat, restless even while sitting, fingers drumming against the table as though her body was never truly still.
Ludger’s lips curled into a grin.
A swordsman. An axe-wielder. A mage. A hunter. A fighter.
They were a complete party, each one representing a path he could learn from. If the system only needed a single spark—a single lesson—then this group could give him more than he had ever hoped for.
And he wasn’t empty-handed anymore. Months of helping around the tavern had earned him a small pouch of silver coins. It wasn’t much compared to adventurers’ pay, but for a three-year-old, it was more than enough to buy attention.
“They could teach me everything I need,” Ludger thought, smirking as he clutched the pouch hidden in his pocket. “Now I just have to choose my mark.”
Ludger didn’t hesitate. With his pouch of coins clutched in both hands, he trotted across the tavern floor, weaving between tables until he reached the adventurers’ corner.
The five looked up, their conversation pausing mid-sentence.
A frown settled on the swordsman’s face, sharp as the edge of his blade. The axe-wielder tilted his head, brows knit in mild confusion. The mage’s eyes flickered briefly to the pouch of coins in Ludger’s hands, but his expression remained unreadable. The huntress and the lightly armored fighter exchanged quick glances, silent but cautious.
None of them laughed. None of them made a joke about a child wandering up to seasoned adventurers. Their bearing was too serious, their discipline too ingrained. They simply waited, eyes on him.
Ludger smirked inwardly. That worked in his favor.
“I…” he began, holding the pouch out with both hands. “I’d like to pay for a lesson.”
The words hung in the air, but before any of them could answer, a sharp crash echoed behind him.
Clatter!
Ludger whipped around to see Elaine standing frozen in the doorway to the kitchen, a wooden tray lying at her feet. Her green eyes were wide, her lips parted in shock, staring straight at the armored group as though she’d seen ghosts rise from the grave.
“Mother?” Ludger blinked, confused by her expression.
Elaine’s hands trembled as she gripped her apron, her gaze never leaving the adventurers. Her face had gone pale, her breathing shallow. It wasn’t fear of her son bothering strangers—no, this was something deeper. Recognition.
The party exchanged glances, and for the first time, a flicker of tension crossed their expressions.
And Ludger realized, with a jolt, that there was history here—history his mother had never spoken of.
The first to react wasn’t Elaine, but the swordsman.
He had light brown hair that caught the lantern glow, and eyes of the same shade—steady, sharp, and yet suddenly shaken. His jaw clenched as his gaze flicked from Elaine to Ludger, then back again. Once. Twice. Three times.
Each time he looked at Ludger, his expression grew tighter, his composure cracking piece by piece. By the fourth time, beads of sweat were rolling down his temple despite the cool air drifting from the tavern door.
Ludger frowned. His mother’s shocked expression, the man’s unsteady stare, and the familiar features suddenly clicking into place in his head.
“…Wait,” Ludger thought, eyes widening as the realization slammed into him.
The same hair. The same eyes as his mother. The same build he’d seen reflected in the mirror as his body grew day by day.
This man—this swordsman—was his father.
The silence between the two adults was deafening. Elaine’s hands clutched her apron so tightly her knuckles turned white, her lips trembling but no words leaving them. The swordsman looked like he wanted to speak, but his throat locked, his pride and his panic warring visibly across his face.
And Ludger?
He simply stood there, tiny pouch of silver coins dangling in his hands, staring between them both with a mixture of shock, curiosity… and the faintest hint of smug amusement curling on his lips.
“Well,” he thought dryly. “This is awkward.”
The swordsman swallowed hard, forcing a breath past the lump in his throat. His hand twitched against the hilt of his sword, not from aggression but from sheer nervous habit. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice lower and shakier than one would expect from a seasoned adventurer.
“…Elaine.”
Her name slipped from his lips like a memory dragged out of hiding. Elaine flinched as though struck, but she still said nothing, her eyes locked on him.
He looked back at Ludger, then at her again, his jaw tightening. “This boy…” He paused, licking his dry lips. “Is he… your son?”
Elaine’s shoulders stiffened, her silence answer enough, but the man pressed anyway, his voice rising just slightly with urgency. “How old is he?”
Elaine opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her throat closed around them.
Ludger, however, couldn’t resist. He tilted his head and spoke with the bluntness of a child who absolutely knew how much weight his words carried.
“Four.”
The swordsman’s face went pale. His eyes widened as the number sank in, and he began to do the math in his head. His gaze flicked to Elaine, guilt and panic warring in his features, then back to Ludger, who stared at him with knowing eyes far too sharp for his age.
Four years old.
Exactly the amount of time that lined up with the moment he had walked away.
The swordsman’s hand trembled on the table, sweat beading down his temple.
“…Gods,” he whispered, his voice raw. “He’s mine.”
The silence that followed Arslan’s whispered admission didn’t last long.
Smack.
The axe-wielder dragged a hand down his face, groaning loudly. “Not again.”
The huntress pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even surprised anymore.”
The mage adjusted his glasses, expression flat. “A town, a city, a village—it doesn’t matter. Give him a week and he finds a girl, spins her a tale, then leaves before the ink dries on the lies.”
The lightly armored fighter chuckled darkly, crossing her arms. “Typical player move. Sell them a dream, run off before reality hits.”
One by one, the party looked at Arslan with varying degrees of disappointment and amusement. The swordsman—once their noble, steady leader—now sat stiffly in his chair, pale and sweating bullets, while his comrades shook their heads like exasperated parents scolding a child.
Ludger, standing there with his pouch of coins, felt the urge to facepalm so hard his little hand twitched. “Unbelievable,” he thought, his eyes narrowing at Elaine, who stood frozen and pale in the doorway. “I thought Mother was smarter than this.”
Then again… when he looked at her, at her soft cheeks, her big green eyes, and the way she still didn’t look much older than twenty—maybe it wasn’t that surprising.
“Arslan the Great,” the axe-wielder said mockingly, raising his mug in a half-toast. “Conqueror of labyrinths, breaker of hearts.”
The huntress smirked. “We should start keeping score. What is this, the fifth time?”
“Seventh,” the mage corrected flatly. “At least. It should be his first kid… or maybe not.”
Arslan groaned, burying his face in his hand. “Not now…”
But the tavern had already begun to echo with his companions’ laughter.
And Ludger? He could only sigh, shaking his head as the system’s glowing screen hovered quietly at the edge of his vision, reminding him that this was his father.
The laughter died down slowly, though smirks lingered on every face around the table. Elaine still stood frozen by the kitchen door, pale and trembling, clutching her apron like it was a lifeline.
The axe-wielder leaned forward, his booming voice softer than usual, but steady. “Don’t worry, miss. We won’t be leaving the city for a while. You’ve got my word.”
Elaine blinked, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came.
He jerked a thumb at Arslan, whose shoulders stiffened. “And as for him—don’t you worry. I’ll make damn sure he doesn’t run off this time. Not until things are sorted.”
Arslan shot upright, eyes wide. “Hey! Hold on a second—”
But the words choked in his throat when the entire party turned their eyes on him. The mage’s flat stare, the huntress’s raised brow, the fighter’s smirk, and the axe-wielder’s iron glare all bore down on him in perfect unison.
Arslan froze, beads of sweat trailing down his temple. He opened his mouth again, but under the weight of those looks, he wilted like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“…Fine,” he muttered, sinking back into his chair, sulking like a scolded child.
Elaine exhaled shakily, her grip on her apron loosening just slightly. The tension in her shoulders eased, though her eyes still burned as she looked at Arslan.
Ludger, meanwhile, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well,” he thought, smirking faintly. “Looks like Father’s on a leash. About time.”
Once the noise around the adventurers’ table settled and the tavern’s rhythm returned to normal, Elaine bent down to gather the tray she had dropped. She said nothing to Arslan, nothing to his party—just turned, stiff as a board, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Not long after, she finished her shift early and gathered Ludger. The two slipped out into the cool night air, leaving the tavern’s glow and chatter behind.
The walk home was… awkward.
Elaine kept her eyes forward, her hands trembling faintly as she clutched the small basket of bread she’d brought from work. Ludger padded quietly beside her, his short legs working double-time to keep pace. Normally, he would have filled the silence with his own inner musings, planning his next move or turning over ideas about skills and masters.
But tonight?
He’d completely forgotten his goal.
The image of his so-called father, sweating bullets under his own party’s glares, sulking in his chair like a boy being punished, was burned into his mind. How was he supposed to respect a man like that?
He smirked bitterly to himself. “Impossible. He’s younger than me where it matters, and he acts even younger than that.”
The thought made him snort softly, but it didn’t ease the knot twisting in his chest.
When they finally reached their modest home, Elaine opened the door in silence and set down her things. Ludger climbed onto his small bed, staring up at the ceiling. For once, the glowing system screen didn’t occupy his thoughts.
Instead, all he could think about was how ridiculous his “father” was—and how little he deserved the title.
Later that night, when Ludger was already pretending to doze off, Elaine sat on the edge of his bed. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, but her eyes were unfocused, distant—haunted by memories she clearly didn’t want to carry alone anymore.
“Ludger,” she whispered, her voice softer than usual. “I should tell you… how I met your father.”
Ludger cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it. He had a very bad feeling about where this was going. As long as it didn't turn into a comedy series with who knows how many episodes, it would be fine to listen.
Elaine smiled faintly, though it was tinged with bitterness. “It was like one of those stories—no, the inverse of one of those stories. You know the famous one, where the man saves the girl and stays by her side? Well…” She laughed dryly. “Mine was the opposite. He swept into town, full of charm, full of dreams. He told me everything I wanted to hear, made me believe I was part of something greater. And then, when it mattered most… he was gone.”
Ludger groaned inwardly. “Yeah, just what I needed before bed. A bedtime story about how I was the product of a bad romance.”
But Elaine didn’t stop. She leaned forward, her green eyes shimmering in the dim candlelight. “I was young. Too young, maybe. And he was handsome, bold, a swordsman who looked like he could fight the whole world. I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought he would fight for me, too.”
Ludger clenched his tiny fists under the blanket, resisting the urge to pull it over his head and shut her out. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to picture Arslan as anything other than the blundering fool he saw at the tavern.
But Elaine needed to let it out.
She took a shaky breath. “And then I found out I was carrying you. He never knew. He never stayed long enough to know. And I raised you alone, thinking I’d never see him again.”
Her voice fell quiet, but the words hung heavy in the air.
Ludger sighed silently, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t stand Arslan, not after seeing the kind of man he was—but as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t resent Elaine for falling for him, either. Not when she’d carried everything on her own since.
Still… did she really have to vent to him of all people? He was only four…
Elaine’s words trailed off into silence, her green eyes glistening in the candlelight. For a moment, she looked so fragile—so unlike the cheerful, resilient woman who had worked herself half to the bone to raise him.
Ludger exhaled quietly through his nose. He didn’t have the right words. Honestly, he didn’t want to say anything at all. But he could do one thing.
Slowly, he reached out his tiny hand from under the blanket and tapped her shoulder. Once. Twice. Just enough to tell her he was listening.
Elaine blinked, then smiled faintly. Not her usual bright smile—the tired, cracked one she reserved only for him when she let her guard down. She brushed a hand across her eyes, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“Thank you, Ludger,” she whispered. “I’ll… I’ll get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy. The next few days will be busy, in more ways than one.”
She stood, blowing out the candle before slipping into her own room.
Ludger lay still, staring into the darkness. His mind buzzed with too many thoughts—his mother’s pain, his father’s idiocy, his own goals that had been shoved aside by this family drama.
But for now, at least, Elaine could sleep. And that was enough.
The knock at the door came early in the morning. Elaine hesitated, drying her hands on her apron before opening it.
On the other side stood Arslan—no armor, no sword at his side. Just plain traveling clothes, his hair slightly messy as if he hadn’t slept. Without a word, he dropped to his knees on the doorstep, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the wood.
“I’m sorry, Elaine,” he said, his voice raw. “For leaving. For everything. I know words aren’t enough, but… I had to say it.”
Elaine froze, clutching her apron tightly, lips pressed together.
From the crack of his doorframe, Ludger peered at the scene, his small face expressionless. Inside, though, he was groaning. “Should I tell her to step on his head? …No. Better not. That might awaken some weird fetish for her.”
He sighed, shaking his head. This whole situation was already absurd enough.