As they approached deeper into the capital, the sheer scale of the event became impossible to ignore. This was not merely a birthday. It was a performance of imperial strength. A reminder. A claim. A carefully staged declaration that the empire was rich enough to celebrate like this, orderly enough to gather like this, and powerful enough that everyone worth noticing had come to witness it.
Viola looked out at the city with the kind of interest that belonged to someone who had grown up near power and still enjoyed seeing it dressed properly. Luna’s gaze moved in a much colder pattern, noting exits, rooftops, sightlines, crowd density, and anything else worth killing around if it came to that. Torvares watched with the eyes of an old lord who understood exactly how much gold, labor, fear, and ambition had gone into making a capital shine this brightly.
And Ludger? Ludger looked at it all and thought the capital had never resembled itself more. A gorgeous monster, smiling with painted lips while sharpening its teeth behind the curtains.
By the time they reached the Torvares manor in the capital, the light had already begun to soften over the city. The gates opened before them. Servants were already waiting.
The moment the runic carriage rolled into the courtyard, the calm order of a well-run noble household took over. Servants began organizing luggage with such smooth coordination that even Viola’s absurd amount of baggage did not manage to disrupt the flow for long.
Soon, they were unpacking.
Cases were lifted down. Trunks carried inside. Instructions passed in low, efficient voices. A maid nearly disappeared under the visual weight of one of Viola’s larger travel trunks, but recovered quickly enough not to embarrass herself in front of the household staff.
Ludger stepped down from the front and stretched one shoulder lightly, already feeling the shift that came with entering a place like this. The road was over. Now came the capital version of battle, clean floors, polished smiles, hidden daggers, and too many people pretending not to measure each other constantly.
Torvares barely paused before work found him again.
A servant approached with the posture of someone carrying actual information rather than polite nonsense, and within moments the old lord had received a small stack of reports. He glanced through them with the same calm, heavy presence he always had, but Ludger could tell from the faint tightening at the corner of his eyes that at least some of what he was reading mattered.
Which meant he would be occupied. That left Ludger free for a while.
And there was one place in the capital he wanted to visit before getting trapped in noble schedules and imperial festivities. So after making sure nothing immediately required his attention, Ludger left the manor and headed into the city toward Fendrel’s shop.
The man was still there. Still selling sculptures. Still making money. Still looking like someone who had personally discovered a divine truth and that truth was that people would, in fact, pay extremely well for the right kind of obsession.
When Ludger reached the shop, he could already see some of the pieces displayed near the front, arranged carefully to catch the eye. Small statues with subtle magic effects woven into them. The enchantments were not strong enough to do anything obvious, but they carried a faint pressure to them. A strange little pulse that made people feel more motivated for reasons they probably could not explain.
Not inspired in some grand heroic way. Just… slightly more driven. A little more upright. A little more ready to do something. It was ridiculous. And they were selling like hotcakes.
Ludger stood near the front for a second and watched one customer pick up a sculpture, stare at it with a slightly puzzled expression, then nod to himself like he had suddenly remembered he ought to do something meaningful with his life.
Truly absurd. Then Fendrel noticed him. The merchant’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Master Ludger!”
His voice boomed with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a man greeting both an admired sculptural subject and the source of a very profitable business model.
He came forward almost at once, smiling broadly, hands spread wide, looking every bit like a merchant who had been blessed by fortune and had no intention of pretending humility about it.
“You’ve returned!” Fendrel said. “And just in time! Business is excellent, better than excellent, actually. These pieces are vanishing faster than I can keep the right sort of people from buying two at once.”
Ludger glanced at the shelves again. “I noticed.”
Fendrel followed his gaze and looked deeply pleased with himself.
“They love them,” he said. “Some say they feel more focused after keeping one at home. Others say they become strangely motivated in the morning. One nobleman bought three after claiming your sculpture gave him the will to finally discipline his servants properly.”
Ludger stared at him.
“That sounds unfortunate for the servants.”
Fendrel laughed loudly.
“Perhaps! But fortunate for us.”
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There it was. The true heart of the man. Merchant first. Sculpture enthusiast second. And now, increasingly, someone making an absolute killing every day from the overlap between both.
He gestured toward the interior of the shop with the grand pride of a man eager to show off his treasure.
“I’ve refined the presentation,” he said. “Improved the spacing. Better arrangement. Better light. And I have some ideas for future pieces too, if you’re willing to hear a genius at work.”
Ludger already suspected those ideas would be dangerous to his peace of mind.
Still, as he stepped further into the shop, with Fendrel practically glowing from the joy of profit and artistic fixation, he had to admit one thing.
The man looked healthier than most nobles. Money, purpose, and obsession were apparently a powerful combination.
Fendrel guided him deeper into the shop while still radiating the sort of excitement only merchants and madmen could sustain for long periods.
“Our stock is decreasing fast,” he said, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a valuable secret rather than the most obvious consequence of successful selling. “So I was hoping you might send more a little more often.”
Ludger glanced at the shelves.
There were still pieces on display, but noticeably fewer than before. Empty spaces had been filled with other works where possible, yet the absence remained obvious once one knew what to look for.
“I’ll think about it,” Ludger said.
Fendrel smiled like that was already a victory. Of course it was. The man probably treated any answer that was not a direct refusal as the first step toward profit.
Ludger let his gaze drift over the shop again, then asked in an offhand tone, “Have unusual people been buying them too?”
Fendrel blinked once. “Unusual?”
“People who don’t look like they’re from the capital,” Ludger said. “Or from the empire.”
Fendrel nodded at once, and far too enthusiastically for someone being asked about potentially important strangers.
“Yes, yes, absolutely! Even people clearly from abroad can see the value of your sculptures.”
Ludger’s expression stayed flat, but his attention sharpened.
Fendrel, naturally, continued speaking with all the energy of a man who enjoyed customers regardless of where they came from, as long as they came with money.
“Not just merchants or curious nobles either,” he said. “Even warriors feel the need to buy them.”
That made Ludger narrow his eyes slightly.
“Warriors?”
Fendrel spread his hands. “Oh, yes. Very striking people. The sort who walk like they expect the road to make room for them. A few had strange gear. Excellent posture. Impressive physiques. The kind of customers that make everyone else in the shop pretend not to stare.”
Ludger said nothing. But inwardly, the thought aligned almost immediately. The same ones Torvares had mentioned? Foreign warriors. Impressive enough to stand out. Arriving in the capital in greater numbers than expected.
It fit too neatly to ignore. Still, Ludger did not press the question further. Not here. Not with Fendrel.
The merchant was useful, but only within the limits of his own interests, and those interests mostly began and ended with selling carved versions of Ludger to increasingly motivated buyers. Asking too much too directly would only sharpen the wrong kind of attention.
So Ludger simply gave a small nod, as though the answer meant little.
Fendrel mistook that for calm and grinned again. “Your appeal clearly crosses borders.”
“That sounds terrible,” Ludger said.
Fendrel laughed. “Terrible? It sounds profitable.”
That, unfortunately, was also true.
After talking with Fendrel for a while longer, Ludger left the shop and stepped back into the capital’s night.
The city had changed with the sunset.
During the day, the capital’s festivity felt loud, swollen, and dressed in banners. At night, it became something richer and more dangerous. Lanterns burned overhead in long glowing chains, their light painting the streets gold, red, and amber. Music drifted through the avenues from taverns, plazas, private estates, and temporary stages set up for the emperor’s celebrations. Laughter rose from one street while arguments broke out in another. Perfume, roasted meat, smoke, wine, sweat, and wax mixed into a scent that could only belong to a large city pretending to enjoy itself.
Ludger walked through it all with his hands tucked into his coat, expression calm, senses spread wider than most people would have imagined.
He was looking for those foreign warriors. He moved through the busiest streets first, taking the paths where outsiders with money, pride, or curiosity would naturally drift. Large avenues full of noble traffic. Crowded plazas with performers and drink stalls. Taverns loud enough to attract mercenaries, guards, travelers, and men who wanted to be seen among dangerous company.
If Torvares’ information was right, and if Fendrel had not simply exaggerated in the way merchants often did when talking about interesting customers, then at least some of these foreign visitors should have stood out. Not by clothing alone. Clothing lied too easily. But aura was harder to fake. Real fighters carried themselves differently. So he searched for that.
There were strong people, obviously. The capital always had those. Imperial guards with polished discipline. Noble escorts with real skill buried under ceremony. mercenaries swaggering too loudly.
Still, none of them felt truly strange. None had that weird, foreign edge he had expected. No aura that stood out enough to make his instincts narrow. No pressure that felt out of place. Ludger clicked his tongue softly as he left the third tavern worth checking and stepped back into the lantern-lit street.
Either the foreigners were staying somewhere more private… Or they were better at hiding than he had hoped. He kept moving anyway. Another street. Another busy square. Another tavern full of noise, cards, boasting, and mediocre alcohol.
Nothing.
Eventually, after enough circling to confirm he was not missing something obvious, Ludger shifted his attention toward another possibility.
Horth.
If anyone in the capital might know something useful about unfamiliar strong people moving through the city, it would be the drunkard-spy from Argarthia. The man had a disgusting talent for remaining half useless on the surface while somehow knowing things that actually mattered underneath.
So Ludger went looking for him.
That search proved even more irritating.
He checked the places where Horth should have been easiest to find. Taverns where cheap drink flowed freely. Streets where informants and gamblers tended to gather. Corners of the city where a man like that could disappear without really leaving.
Nothing.
Ludger’s frown deepened slightly as the night stretched on. Not finding strange foreign warriors was one thing. Not finding Horth at all was another. Because men like Horth did not simply vanish from their favorite dens unless they had a reason.
And reasons, in the capital, were rarely good.
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