David S.R
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Chapter 142 (Thank you for your support, Msakr!)
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 21:00:07 +0000 UTCOnce Ludger finished saying goodbye to his parents—his mother’s final hug nearly breaking a rib, as usual, and his father’s parting grin promising another spar the moment he returned—he adjusted his heavy pack and set out toward the north.
The air outside the town carried the crisp bite of early autumn. Perfect weather for travel, if you ignored the weight digging into his shoulders and the faint regret of agreeing to carry half the house with him.
As his boots crunched over the dirt road, he considered his route. He could go straight to the border, resume the construction, and check in with Captain Darnell first. But his mind drifted toward another destination—the Torvares estate in Meronia.
The old bull had been quiet lately. Too quiet. Ludger remembered the deep lines on the Baron’s face during their last meeting, the weariness that clung to his every movement. Even for a man who’d spent his life carrying the weight of a noble family, it was clear his body wasn’t keeping pace anymore.
“Wouldn’t hurt to pay a visit,” Ludger muttered to himself. “At least before the empire decides to pile more trouble on his plate.”
He took the turn toward Meronia. The estate came into view a few hours later, its walls standing as firm and tired as the man who ruled it. Normally, guards would have been posted along the outer path, spears gleaming, eyes sharp. Now, there were fewer than half that number.
Ludger slowed, his brow furrowing. “That’s… not a good sign.”
The gates opened without question the moment they saw him. The servant who greeted him bowed low but spoke softly, his tone respectful and tinged with fatigue.
“Young master Ludger. The Baron will be pleased to see you. Please, wait in the living room while I inform him.”
Ludger nodded, stepping inside the familiar halls. The air smelled faintly of ink, the scent of overwork and sleepless nights.
He took a seat on the couch by the tall windows. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. No scribes rushing through corridors, no distant clatter of training from the courtyard.
His eyes drifted to the empty chair across from him, the one the Baron usually occupied during his talks. He could almost picture the old man there—head buried in paperwork, grumbling about incompetent nobles, yet somehow still finding the strength to bark orders like a commander in his prime.
The seconds stretched into minutes as he waited, the heavy silence of the estate pressing in around him like the calm before a storm.
Eventually Baron Torvares showed up.
Ludger rose immediately out of respect. The old bull looked… slightly better than before, but only just. His complexion had regained a touch of color, and his gait was steady, yet the faint tremor in his hand as he gripped his cane betrayed the truth—his strength was waning, and every step came with effort.
Still, his eyes burned with the same unyielding will Ludger remembered.
“So,” Torvares began, his voice gravelly but carrying the weight of command even now, “the prodigy of the border finally decides to visit his old sponsor.”
Ludger allowed himself a faint smirk. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
The brief flash of humor faded quickly, replaced by the measured look of an old general assessing his successor. “Still… I heard about what you did in the borderlands. The walls, the coordination with the northerners, the duel between your father and their commander. You’ve done a lot.”
Ludger shook his head. “I had help. Father, Viola, even Darnell. Without them, it wouldn’t have worked. I just did my part.”
Torvares’ lips curved in a small, knowing smile. “That kind of humility doesn’t suit someone who just reshaped half a fortress. But… I’ll take it.”
He leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose. The faint sound of his breathing filled the room for a few moments before he continued.
“I you want to ask about Viola, too. She’s not here.”
Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Not here? Where’d she run off to this time?”
Torvares chuckled weakly, though it came out more as a rasp. “Not running, for once. She’s in the western region, meeting with the Marquis of Velgrath—on my behalf.”
That made Ludger pause. “The Marquis? That’s… not exactly light work.”
“She insisted,” Torvares said with a hint of pride. “My health’s not what it used to be, and someone has to keep the vultures from circling. The Marquis respects strength, not age. Viola can speak his language better than I can now.”
Ludger exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. He had expected her to be out training, or perhaps helping organize the reconstruction—not meeting with one of the most powerful nobles in the region.
“She doesn’t do anything halfway, does she,” he muttered.
Torvares’ smile widened slightly. “She’s my granddaughter. If she ever starts doing things halfway, that’s when you should start worrying.”
Ludger gave a small laugh at that, but the sound faded quickly. Beneath it all, the sight of the old man—still proud, still sharp, but clearly fighting the inevitable—left a faint ache in his chest.
Torvares leaned his cane against the side of his chair and sighed, his expression turning serious. “She didn’t just go to shake hands and drink tea with the Marquis,” he said, voice low and steady. “She also went to negotiate the results of the border conflict.”
Ludger tilted his head slightly. “Negotiate?”
The old man nodded. “You see, we are already spinning our own tale. According to the reports spreading through the capital, it was my army alone that subjugated the ‘savage barbarians’—no help from the crown, no aid from the other border lords. A nice story, but one that makes certain nobles very nervous. They don’t like the idea of one family holding the entire northern frontier without their approval.”
Ludger crossed his arms, piecing it together. “So Viola’s out there trying to make that story stick.”
“Exactly,” Torvares said. “She declared she wouldn’t return until the Torvares family had formal control of that region and the labyrinth beneath it. And with my health keeping me confined here…” He gave a faint, humorless smile. “She’s taken it upon herself to fight the political war in my stead.”
Ludger huffed through his nose. “That sounds like her. She’ll probably end up terrifying half the noble council before she’s done.”
“She already has,” Torvares muttered dryly. “The Marquis respects her resolve, from what I have heard, though. That counts for something.”
Ludger leaned back, thoughtful. For their plans to move forward—the guild, the alliance with the northerners, the stabilization of the frontier—Viola had to succeed. If she didn’t secure Torvares’ claim, the empire would swoop in, replace them with some obedient lackey, and the fragile peace they’d built would collapse overnight.
“Well,” Ludger said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “if she needs extra persuasion, I could always parade Kharnek around a bit. Show them what kind of ally they’re dealing with. That’d make anyone think twice about starting trouble.”
Torvares let out a short laugh that turned into a cough. When he caught his breath again, his eyes had that familiar glint of iron authority. “We can’t solve everything with brawl and bravado, boy. Not now. The empire’s watching, and every move we make will be weighed in their ledgers. We win this phase with words, not weapons.”
Ludger shrugged. “You say that like I’ve got a talent for words.”
“You don’t,” Torvares said bluntly, though his tone carried amusement. “But your actions speak loud enough. Let Viola handle the nobles, it will be a good lesson for her as well. You keep building that guild. Between the two of you, we might just pull this off before the vultures realize what we’re doing.”
Ludger nodded slowly, the faint smirk returning to his face. “Guess that’s our specialty—making impossible things happen before anyone can stop us.”
Torvares’ lips curved in a weary grin. “Then keep doing it, boy. The north’s depending on you.”
Ludger watched the old bull exhale, the sound heavy and rough, like air escaping from an overworked forge. Even seated, Baron Torvares looked imposing—broad shoulders, hands like stone, a presence that still demanded respect. But time had carved deep trenches into that strength. His once-steady breath came with effort, his skin pale beneath the glow of the hearth.
For all his resources, for all the physicians and rare potions at his disposal, not even he could wrestle with the truth of age. Ludger could see it in the faint tremor in his hand and the dull edge in his eyes. The man who once commanded armies now fought a slower, more merciless enemy—and losing ground inch by inch.
Ludger’s jaw tightened. Torvares was more than just an ally. He was the kind of figure the north needed—respected by warriors, feared by nobles. If he fell, everything they’d built together would become far more fragile.
Maybe twenty years left, Ludger thought grimly. Ten if something unexpected happens.
He pushed up from his chair and extended his hand. “You’ve done enough for today.”
Torvares arched a brow, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Hmph. Don’t start treating me like an invalid.”
“I’m not,” Ludger said simply. “Just hold still.”
The Baron frowned, but he reached out regardless. Ludger clasped his hand firmly—his grip steady, deliberate—and mana began to hum between them. Green light flickered faintly from Ludger’s palm, spreading across the old man’s arm like warmth through winter air. The faint lines of fatigue on Torvares’ face softened, the pallor in his cheeks easing as if life had been coaxed back, drop by drop.
When Ludger let go, the glow faded. “Healing Touch,” he said under his breath, stepping back. “It’s not much. But it should help with the fatigue for a while.”
Torvares blinked, his brows lifting slightly as he flexed his fingers. “...Hah. I actually feel lighter.” His voice carried something like disbelief—and maybe, beneath it, gratitude. “What kind of earth mage are you, boy? My physicians work with royal certifications and they can’t do half that.”
Ludger shrugged. “Guess I just don’t like watching people crumble when I can do something about it. Besides, I never claimed to be an earth mage.”
The Baron chuckled softly, rubbing his arm. “You really are a strange one, Ludger. Building walls one day, commanding soldiers the next, and now outclassing my medics.”
Ludger gave a faint, crooked smirk. “Jack of all trades. Master of too many headaches.”
Torvares let out a low hum, his eyes narrowing slightly as if reassessing the boy before him. “Whatever you’re doing, keep at it. The empire breeds a thousand mages, but only a handful like you. Just don’t forget—power’s only worth something if it’s used for the right people.”
Ludger nodded once, quietly. “That’s the plan.”
But in the back of his mind, his thoughts drifted elsewhere—to the faint shimmer of mana still lingering in his palm, to the theoretical upper limits of [Healing Touch], and the silent, dangerous curiosity that whispered: I wonder how far I could take this skill… or this class. Reaching level one hundred with it, should help me unlock some crazy skill that can help the old bull stay with us for a bit longer.
Ludger adjusted the strap of his pack and exhaled. “Anyway,” he said, tone casual but his eyes sharp, “I’ll be heading north again soon.”
Torvares raised an eyebrow. “Back to work already?”
“Someone has to keep things moving before the nobles find new excuses to stick their noses into our business,” Ludger replied. “Besides, the northerners still need housing, and I’m not trusting anyone else to build it properly.”
The Baron nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “That’s a heavy burden for someone your age.”
Ludger gave a small shrug. “Better I carry it now than let someone ruin it later.”
He turned toward the door, but paused halfway there. “Oh, and if Viola wants to come back before I return…” He smirked faintly over his shoulder. “Tell her it might not be a good idea to visit the north anytime soon. The place can live in peace for a while without her noise.”
Torvares frowned at first, his protective instincts kicking in. “She’s my granddaughter, boy. Watch your tongue.”
Ludger raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Just saying—if she starts shouting orders up there, half the northerners will think another war’s breaking out.”
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Torvares’ frown cracked, and a deep, gravelly chuckle escaped him. “You’re impossible. That is something she says often” He shook his head, amusement glinting in his tired eyes. “You two aren’t exactly alike. But both are too proud to admit how much you actually care.”
Ludger smiled faintly at that but didn’t comment. He simply adjusted his pack again and headed for the exit.
“Take care, Ludger,” Torvares called after him. “And keep that sharp tongue of yours from starting another conflict before I’m dead.”
“No promises,” Ludger said over his shoulder, his smirk lingering as he stepped out of the quiet estate and into the brisk air of the road north.
Ludger resumed his run north, the road stretching ahead in an endless ribbon of packed dirt and wind-bent grass. The pack on his shoulders—stuffed with enough gear to outfit a small expedition, thanks to his mother—dragged against his spine like a slab of stone.
At first, he kept a steady pace, his breathing even. But after the first few hours, the strain started to build. His thighs burned, his calves felt like lead, and each step began to thud heavier than the last.
He muttered under his breath, “So this is what carrying half the pantry feels like…”
When the dull ache began turning sharp, he pressed a hand against his leg and used Healing Touch. Warm light pulsed from his palm, seeping through muscle and tendon. The pain dulled; the stabbing edges softened—but it wasn’t enough. Within minutes, the ache crept back like a stubborn echo.
He frowned. Healing Touch could mend damage—tears, sprains, open wounds—but what he was feeling wasn’t an injury. It was strain. The accumulated stress of muscle fibers pushed to their limit. Healing Touch restored what was broken; it didn’t strengthen what was simply overworked.
He sighed. “Guess there’s no skill that can replace proper rest.”
Still, the thought nagged him. Healing Touch drew on pure mana. If he could control it better—refine its flow the way he shaped earth through Geomancy—maybe he could adjust how the magic behaved. Not just mend, but reinforce.
His mind drifted to his other discipline—the Sage class. It wasn’t just about spellcasting; it was about understanding the essence of mana itself. If he learned to manipulate that flow with Sage techniques, he could reconfigure the healing spell into something new—something that could adapt to different conditions.
Ludger slowed his pace, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. Mana flowed through him like a second bloodstream, faintly humming against his skin. He tried to picture it bending to his will, shifting not to restore damage, but to fortify the body before the damage occurred.
The attempt fizzled, of course. He wasn’t skilled enough yet. But the concept held promise.
“Huh,” he muttered, cracking a small smirk despite the fatigue. “Maybe I’ve been healing too literally.”
The idea stuck with him as he resumed his run—each step a test, each ache a reminder that his magic still had room to grow. If he could bridge the gap between healing and reinforcement… then even exhaustion would become just another obstacle to outthink.
Comments
Michael Weis
Truth.
Desmond Willey-peck
Tftc the joke about the mother breaking a rib is a little over used imo please dont hate me for saying that
