Ludger was sitting on the edge of the wagon again after fixing the roads for a while, half-bored and half-focused, absently molding a few stones into perfect spheres between his fingers when the world decided to stop making sense.

One second, the air was crisp and cool, carrying the smell of fallen leaves. The ground beneath them was firm, the grass faded gold beneath the orange light of early autumn.

Then he blinked—just once—and the scenery ahead had changed completely.

“What the fuck…?”

He straightened instantly, squinting at the horizon. It wasn’t a gradual shift. It was like someone had drawn a line across the land with a blade. Behind them stretched the empire’s fading autumn—trees shedding their last leaves, soil still warm. Ahead lay an endless blanket of white. Snow as far as he could see. Frost glittered in the air like dust, the sky an unnatural pale gray.

It wasn’t even cold yet where they stood, but he could feel the temperature dropping by the second. The horses stomped nervously, their breath coming out in quick, hot bursts that turned to mist.

“Alright,” Ludger muttered, staring ahead with a mix of disbelief and annoyance, “what the fuck is going on here?”

Kharnek, who was riding up front, didn’t even look concerned. The giant northerner simply shrugged, his heavy furs creaking with the motion. “That’s how things are,” he said gruffly, as if that explained everything.

Ludger turned toward him, eyes narrowing. “That’s your answer? ‘That’s how things are’? The sky’s splitting in half and winter’s chewing on the ground in front of us, and you’re telling me that’s normal?”

Kharnek grunted. “It is—for us. The land changes north of the border. Always has.”

Darnell, who had been walking beside the wagons, stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “He’s not wrong, sir. There are regions like this—places where the mana from nearby labyrinths spills into the world.”

Ludger looked over at him, one eyebrow twitching. “Spills?”

The captain nodded. “Think of it like… a wound in the world. The deeper and more complex a labyrinth is, the stronger its influence becomes. The mana it leaks can warp the environment for miles—sometimes even change the weather outright.”

“Fantastic,” Ludger muttered. “So we’re walking into a magic frostbite zone.”

Darnell ignored the sarcasm and pointed north, where the pale glow of ice glinted faintly on the horizon. “I’ve heard there are several frost labyrinths beyond this stretch. Old ones. Some probably collapsed long ago but still pour out unstable mana.”

Kharnek gave a short, heavy nod. “Aye. The land freezes and thaws as it pleases. The shamans say the frost is alive. I say it just hates warmth.”

Ludger rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling a puff of white vapor as the chill finally reached them. “Wonderful. Snow, monsters, and cursed air. Just the welcoming committee I expected.”

Kharnek’s grin was faint but knowing. “You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

Ludger gave him a dry look. “After I came this far? Yeah. I’m too annoyed to turn back now.”

The northerner laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the frost-bitten plain.

Ludger pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and muttered under his breath, “Next time I make an alliance, remind me to pick one that doesn’t live in a frozen deathtrap.”

Ludger pulled his cloak tighter as the cold started biting through the seams. The further north they went, the more the frost thickened around them—grass turning brittle, trees frozen mid-bend like they’d been caught in the middle of a scream. His boots crunched against a crust of ice with every step.

He looked toward the horizon where the faint outline of the labyrinth’s ridge shimmered through the veil of snow and mist. “You know,” he began, tone somewhere between pragmatic and irritated, “if the labyrinth’s that close, wouldn’t it make more sense to build the first settlement beyond the border? Saves us time hauling supplies, and the ground there’s flatter.”

Kharnek shook his head, his expression unyielding. “No. My people won’t leave the labyrinth’s shadow until they’re certain this alliance benefits them. That place is home to them, even if it’s cursed. To step too far from it before they trust you would be… disrespectful.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose. “Disrespectful,” he repeated flatly. “Right. Because frozen death zones are sacred ground now.”

The northerner didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to worry,” he said simply. “The clouds don’t snow every day. And we’ve been lazy about clearing the paths—war leaves little time for shovels. That’ll change.”

Ludger gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Yeah, clearing a few paths won’t stop frost from falling from the sky, but sure, let’s pretend it helps.”

Kharnek grunted, clearly done with the discussion. Ludger could tell pushing further would only earn him another wall of stone-faced silence. He’d had enough of those for one lifetime.

“Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your people, your rules. I’ll focus on building the damn roads and houses. Just don’t expect me to do something about the weather.”

As the caravan crested a small ridge, Ludger glanced up—and froze.

The clouds above weren’t drifting naturally. They were spinning. A slow, deliberate rotation, like a vast wheel of gray and white turning endlessly over the frozen plains. The movement was confined to this region alone; beyond the border, the skies were calm, golden, and clear.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ludger said under his breath.

Kharnek followed his gaze but didn’t seem surprised. “The sky’s been like that for generations,” he said. “The shamans say it’s the breath of the labyrinth itself. The storm moves in circles, same as the maze below.”

Ludger stared upward, watching the slow swirl of clouds with a quiet mix of awe and dread. Even the weather was bending around the labyrinth’s influence. It wasn’t just a wound on the land—it was a scar that never healed.

“Guess that explains a lot,” he muttered. “Even the sky’s stuck in a loop.”

Kharnek smirked faintly. “A good omen for builders. Circles mean endurance.”

Ludger just snorted. “Yeah. Or they mean you’re walking in circles and not getting anywhere.”

Still, he couldn’t help glancing back at the swirling clouds once more as the wagons pushed forward into the frost. Whatever awaited them near that labyrinth, it wasn’t just another frontier. It was something older—and far more alive—than the maps ever showed.

Once they left the border town and regrouped with the northerners who had been waiting for Kharnek, Ludger immediately felt it—an almost physical wave of hostility.

Dozens of eyes turned toward him as he approached. Not curious, not cautious—hostile. Men and women built like warriors, their faces marked by scars and frostburn, their hands still rough from wielding axes and spears. A few gripped their weapons just a little tighter when they saw him walking beside their commander.

It didn’t surprise him. He’d killed a lot of them during the siege, back when they’d been the enemy. From their point of view, he was the boy who’d crushed their comrades and buried half their camp in the dirt. That kind of memory didn’t fade easily.

Still, the sheer weight of their glares made the air feel heavier with every step. He could feel it pressing on the back of his neck. And when they finally reached the main camp—if you could even call it that—the tension only got worse.

The northern camp sprawled across the frozen plain in a rough crescent shape around the labyrinth’s entrance. Their tents were made from stitched hides and rough canvas, half-covered in frost, arranged in haphazard rows around smoking fire pits. Spears and broken weapons were jammed into the ground as makeshift poles. The scent of cooked meat and burnt wood hung thick in the air, but even the fires seemed subdued, flickering low under the endless gray clouds.

Children peeked from between tents, wide-eyed and pale, while warriors gathered near the outer edge of the camp, their eyes tracking every move Ludger made.

He caught sight of a few with bandaged arms and shoulders—injuries that hadn’t fully healed even after a week. Wounds he’d likely caused.

The hostility was thick enough to taste.

Ludger let out a slow sigh, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I should’ve brought a fruit basket or something.”

Kharnek’s brow twitched. “They’ll come around.”

“Sure,” Ludger muttered, scanning the crowd. “Right after they stop imagining how I’d look buried headfirst in the snow.”

The stares didn’t waver. He could practically feel them sharpening like knives the deeper he walked into camp. Every step crunched over ice and resentment.

Finally, he gave up on pretending not to notice and cracked his usual smirk. “Didn’t realize I was this popular. Should’ve charged admission for the glares.”

No one laughed. Not a single person.

Kharnek gave a low grunt that might’ve been a warning—or amusement, it was hard to tell with him. “They’ll stop once you build something worth looking at.”

Ludger rolled his shoulders, glancing at the frost-bitten tents and cracked ground. “Then I’d better start soon. Hate to disappoint my fans.”

That earned him a few darker glares and a muttered curse or two, but Ludger didn’t flinch. He’d been hated before. Hatred was easy to deal with—it was predictable.

What mattered was turning that hostility into something useful. And if he could build a town on top of the battlefield they’d once shared, maybe—just maybe—they’d stop seeing him as the enemy and start seeing him as the only one crazy enough to make this place livable.

The deeper they moved into the frozen camp, the more the world seemed to quiet. Even the wind stopped screaming after a point—as if it was holding its breath.

And then Ludger saw it.

The labyrinth.

The entrance jutted out from the icy earth like the corpse of something ancient, something that had died clawing its way to the surface. Jagged spires of frozen rock formed a rough, uneven arch, the ice along its edges sculpted into shapes that looked unsettlingly organic—fangs, or maybe claws. From a distance, it resembled the open maw of a monstrous beast, half-buried in permafrost, waiting for the next fool to walk willingly into its throat.

Pale mist drifted from the dark opening, swirling around the edges like breath from a sleeping predator. The cold that came out of it wasn’t natural—it bit through layers of fur and cloth, seeping into bone. Even the snow refused to pile too close, as if the ground itself didn’t dare touch it.

Ludger approached carefully, boots crunching over the frost. He placed a gloved hand against the frozen surface, feeling the faint pulse of mana beneath it—slow, steady, and ancient. “So this is it…” he murmured. “The labyrinth of the frost skeletons.”

It didn’t feel like a structure. It felt alive.

Behind him, the light was fading fast. The sun dipped low, turning the sky into a bruised swirl of gray and violet. The last rays of daylight glinted off the ice fangs above the entrance, making them shimmer like polished blades. They didn’t have much time before full darkness fell.

Ludger straightened and turned to Kharnek. “We’ll have to start soon if we want something usable before the night’s over,” he said. “How do you want the place to look?”

Kharnek, standing like a statue against the wind, merely grunted and shrugged. “I’m no builder. Make whatever you want, just don’t make it look like the empire, though.”

His tone was firm, not angry—just resolute. “My people don’t need monuments. We need shelter. Something that keeps the cold out and the wind off our backs. That’s enough for now.”

Ludger nodded. “Understood.”

He glanced at Darnell, who was already studying the terrain, eyes tracing the lines of the frozen ground. “Captain,” Ludger said, “start drafting something usable. A design that can hold a few hundred people for now, but something we can expand later.”

Darnell nodded sharply. “Aye. I’ll get my men on it.”

As the soldiers moved to unload tools and supplies, Ludger turned back toward the icy maw. His reflection stared back faintly on the frozen surface—small, almost insignificant against the size of it.

“Let’s see if we can make this place livable,” he muttered, stretching out his hands as mana began to ripple faintly beneath the snow. “If not… at least it’ll stop looking like a frozen grave.”

The wind howled once more, carrying the sound of shifting ice from within the labyrinth’s dark throat—like something ancient stirring at the edge of its sleep.

Before long, Darnell came back from his survey of the frozen terrain with a rough sketch on a wooden board. He’d used charcoal and a steady hand despite the biting cold. The plan was simple—efficient, like everything he did.

“Nothing fancy,” the captain said, holding it out for Ludger and Kharnek to see. “A long hall—low roof to hold the heat, thick walls for insulation. Center fire pits for warmth and cooking. Divided sleeping sections on the sides. It won’t win any noble’s prize for design, but it’ll keep everyone alive through the night.”

Kharnek nodded, approving the practicality. Ludger didn’t waste time; he pointed toward the cluster of tents nearest the area and said, “Move those back. Give me about thirty meters of space.”

The northerners grumbled, but when Kharnek barked an order, they moved fast. The sound of boots crunching in the snow mixed with the creak of poles being pulled from the frozen ground.

Once the area was clear, Ludger rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “All right,” he muttered, kneeling and pressing both hands to the ground.

The mana pulsed through him instantly—thick, heavy, and sluggish, as if the cold itself resisted his call. Still, the ground began to tremble. Snow shifted, sliding away in sheets as chunks of ice cracked and split under invisible pressure.

The frozen soil beneath came alive. Earthen veins rose and twisted upward in thick columns, pushing aside the frost like breaking through armor. Ludger gritted his teeth as he guided the flow, focusing on shaping the foundations—broad, compact, and firm.

Steam rose where mana and frost collided, turning the air hazy. Darnell called out instructions over the noise:

“Raise the central pillars! —Good, now the beams!”

Ludger followed, lifting slabs of compacted earth and stone into position. The material hardened under his will, smoothening into the shape of carved stone. The floor leveled out as the walls rose, forming a long, rectangular structure—like a massive lodge carved from the very land itself.

When the roof formed, Ludger angled it downward to let snow slide off easily. At Darnell’s suggestion, he added small ventilation openings along the top for smoke to escape and layered the walls with packed soil and stone to hold warmth.

Within an hour, the skeleton became a proper shelter—fortified and solid, its surface faintly glowing with the warmth of fresh mana. Or maybe it was thanks to Ludger’s high intelligence parameter.

Even the northerners who had been glaring at him earlier stood frozen, watching in disbelief. A building big enough for several hundred people had appeared where there had only been frost and snow.

Ludger exhaled sharply, his breath coming out ragged. The last portion—the roof supports—made his vision blur.

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