Even before the sun could crawl over the edge of the frozen plains, Ludger was already knee-deep in snow.

His breath misted in short, steady bursts as he crouched beside the foundation of a new structure, his gloved hands pressed into the frost-bitten soil. The air around him shimmered faintly with mana, vibrating like the hum of a buried forge. Slowly, sections of the frozen ground broke apart, softened, and reshaped under his will — slabs of compacted stone rising from beneath the ice to form another wall.

Each pulse of magic sent a dull ache through his limbs, but his core felt strong. His mana regeneration had improved dramatically these last few weeks — almost doubled thanks to his refined control and higher levels. It would’ve been a waste to sleep while his reserves refilled this fast.

By the time the first threads of sunlight peeked over the horizon, faint and weak through the clouds, several northerners were stirring.

Men and women emerged from the shelter and tents, bundled in thick furs, their breath curling in the cold as they stopped to stare. There was Ludger — a boy barely taller than their youngest hunters — shaping the land as though it were clay.

They didn’t speak. Some simply crossed their arms. Others whispered low in their guttural tongue. The expressions ranged from disbelief to discomfort. It wasn’t easy for them to accept that an imperial—the same kind who’d hunted their ancestors—was helping them rebuild.

And a child, no less.

Ludger ignored the looks. He was used to them. Let them think what they wanted; the walls would stand either way.

After another hour, his mana ran thin and the dull sting of exhaustion set in. He exhaled, straightened up, and dusted off his gloves. “Alright,” he muttered to himself, “break time.”

But even while resting, he couldn’t stop his curiosity.

He picked up a rough, round stone from the ground and rolled it in his hand before focusing his mana into his palm. The familiar brown glow of [Stone Grip] flickered to life. Slowly, the stone hardened — its color deepening, its weight increasing as the density climbed beyond normal rock.

Within seconds, the pebble had turned into something closer to forged stone — heavy enough to strain his arm just by holding it. He could feel each layer of mana compressing the structure, like tightening invisible coils.

“Still not metal,” he murmured, turning it under the weak sunlight. “But close.”

The surface gleamed faintly, the edges sharper than before. The skill wasn’t meant for refinement, just reinforcement — but he could feel it evolving in small ways the more he used it. Maybe one day, it would reach a stage where his grip could compress stone into something harder, purer…

Maybe that’s what real masters could do.

Gaius had never mentioned it. The old man probably wanted him to figure it out on his own.

Ludger smirked faintly, letting the hardened stone drop with a dull thunk that sank slightly into the frozen ground. “Tch. Always making me guess, old man.”

He cracked his neck and looked at the next plot of land waiting to be worked on, the faint blue light of dawn washing over the frost-bitten plains. His mana wasn’t full yet, but it was close enough. Break time was over.

Before long, the camp began to stir again—this time with purpose. Darnell’s voice cut through the crisp morning air, sharp and commanding as he barked orders to the soldiers. They were loading more of the Froststeel crates onto reinforced wagons, the horses snorting clouds of steam as they braced against the cold.

The plan was simple enough: haul the ore back to the border town, melt it down once the glow faded, and start testing its value. The faster they turned the material into coin, the faster the alliance would stand on its own legs instead of bleeding Torvares’ treasury dry.

Ludger watched the operation from a short distance, his arms crossed and his boots half-buried in snow. Each crate of Froststeel shimmered faintly under the pale sun, mana light pulsing through the wooden slats like slow heartbeats. 

He exhaled, a wisp of vapor curling from his mouth. I should’ve talked percentages with Torvares before leaving, he thought, rubbing his chin. Fifty percent for the guild sounds fair, right?

He grimaced. Fair to him, at least.

After all, he was the one freezing his ass off in the north, building walls and bridges while playing peacemaker between two sides who’d been at each other’s throats for centuries. If anyone deserved a cut, it was him.

He was still lost in thought when a massive shadow fell over him.

“Morning,” rumbled a familiar voice.

Ludger turned his head—barely in time for Kharnek’s hand to slam into his back with a sound like a hammer hitting armor.

The world tilted.

Snow exploded around him as he face-planted straight into the ground, arms sprawled, mana leaking from his nose in protest.

“…The hell kind of good morning was that?” he grumbled, his voice muffled against the ice.

Kharnek let out a booming laugh that made a few nearby soldiers flinch. “That’s how we greet strong men in the north!”

“Yeah?” Ludger lifted his face just enough to glare at him, snow plastered to his hair and eyebrows. “Then remind me not to visit when you’re in a good mood.”

The towering northerner only laughed harder, clearly enjoying himself. Even some of Darnell’s men cracked reluctant smiles before pretending to focus back on the wagons. Ludger had planned to face the man instead of his father, but perhaps that would have been a bad idea without magic.

Ludger groaned, pushing himself up and brushing off the snow. His palms stung from the impact, but his pride hurt worse.

Still, as he straightened, he caught sight of the soldiers and northerners working side by side—grunting, hauling, shouting in equal measure. For a bunch of people who were killing each other a week ago, they were doing surprisingly well.

He smirked faintly. “Alright, fine,” he muttered. “If the alliance starts with a beating, I guess that makes sense.”

Kharnek slapped him on the shoulder again—lighter this time, though it still felt like being hit by a boulder. “You’ll get used to it, boy. That’s northern hospitality!”

“Right,” Ludger said dryly. “Hospitality that breaks ribs. It makes me recall my mom… maybe she has northern blood on her.”

But he didn’t complain further. For all the chaos, the camp was finally starting to feel alive again. And for the first time, the air carried not just the bite of frost—but the faint scent of something better. Progress.

By noon, two new buildings stood firm against the biting northern wind. He exhaled, brushing the snow from his gloves and stepping back to examine the work — simple, sturdy, functional. Nothing fancy, but they’d hold against storms or raids just fine.

He’d been shaping stone since dawn, and though his mana pool wasn’t running dry, his body was starting to protest. His arms felt heavy, his fingers numb even beneath his gloves. Still, seeing the foundations rise so quickly brought a rare flicker of satisfaction to his face.

As he was adjusting one last support beam with a subtle pulse of [Earth Manipulation], he heard boots crunching through the snow behind him.

“Master Ludger.”

He turned to see Captain Darnell approaching, breath visible in the cold air.

“We’re heading out,” Darnell said, nodding toward the line of wagons behind him. Horses stamped their hooves impatiently, their riders already mounted. “The Froststeel shipments need to reach Lord Torvares’ estate as soon as possible. He’ll decide how to process and distribute them. Do you want me to deliver any message? To your family, the baron?”

Ludger shrugged lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into his usual half-smirk. “Tell them all the same thing: I’m fine, I’m working, and I’ll keep doing both until this place stops trying to freeze me to death.”

Darnell chuckled under his breath. “Efficient, as always.”

“Learned from the best,” Ludger said dryly.

The captain nodded once, his expression turning serious again. “We’ll be back soon enough. Once the materials are secured and under Lord Torvares’ control, I’ll send word—or maybe come myself if the roads hold.”

“Good,” Ludger said, glancing at the wagons. “We’ll keep building in the meantime. Hopefully by the time you return, this place will look less like a bandit camp and more like a real town.”

Darnell gave him a firm salute. “If anyone can pull that off, it’s you.”

Ludger waved him off with a tired grin. “Flattery won’t get you warmer rations.”

“Didn’t expect it to,” Darnell said, turning toward his men. “Stay sharp out here, Ludger.”

Ludger nodded and watched as the convoy began to move. The creak of wheels and the snort of horses echoed across the snowfields until the sound faded into the distance.

He turned back to the unfinished foundations, rolled his shoulders, and exhaled through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, flexing his fingers as mana began to swirl faintly around them again.

“Back to work.”

By the time the sun dipped below the gray, frozen horizon, the camp looked almost like the beginnings of a real settlement. Five buildings now stood where there had been only snow and tents that morning — thick-walled structures of packed stone and hardened earth, sturdy enough to shrug off the northern wind. Smoke already curled from one of them where the northerners had started a fire inside.

Ludger stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping. The ache in his shoulders was familiar by now — a dull, rhythmic pain that came from moving too much mana for too long. But despite the exhaustion, he couldn’t help feeling a little… bored.

With Darnell and the imperial guards gone, the work felt quieter. Too quiet. There were fewer people running up to him with updates, fewer arguments about logistics, fewer questions to ignore, actually, there was none. The northerners didn’t work like that. Just the sound of hammers in the distance, the crackle of fire, and the endless whistle of wind through the snowfields.

The northerners mostly gave him space. They still didn’t trust him — that much was obvious from the way their eyes followed him whenever he passed. But none dared to approach too close, not while Kharnek lingered nearby.

The massive chieftain wasn’t hovering, exactly, but Ludger could feel his presence — a quiet weight always within thirty paces or so. Whenever one of his warriors looked like they might do something stupid, Kharnek’s heavy gaze was enough to make them think twice.

Ludger wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted.

He dropped the last block of stone into place, dusted off his gloves, and leaned against the wall, watching his breath fog in the cold air. “You know,” he muttered under his breath, “if he’s that worried, he could at least help shovel snow or something.”

He looked over his shoulder. Kharnek stood near the edge of the camp, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The giant’s attention flicked between Ludger and the workers, scanning for trouble like a guard watching over a forge fire.

Ludger sighed. “Yeah, I get it. You don’t want me dead before I finish building your new home.”

He smirked faintly at the thought. Maybe that was the real reason. Maybe Kharnek didn’t care about him so much as he cared about keeping the alliance running.

Still, Ludger couldn’t blame him for that. He was the same way — he didn’t trust half the empire’s nobles to keep their promises either.

He kicked a bit of snow off his boots and glanced at the five completed shelters. “Guess we’re both just protecting our investments, huh?”

The wind carried his words away before anyone could hear them. And with the camp growing quieter as night fell, Ludger found himself already thinking of what to build next — not because he had to, but because sitting still was worse than any cold.

Eventually, Ludger made his way toward the northern edge of the camp, where Kharnek stood half-buried in snow like some ancient statue carved from muscle and frost. The man’s breath steamed in the cold as he oversaw a group of his warriors unloading supplies near the newest longhouse.

Ludger stopped beside him, stretching his back with a quiet groan. “At this pace,” he said, eyeing the newly built structures, “everyone in camp should have a roof over their heads in three days. Maybe less if your people stop staring at me like I’m about to curse them and start helping more.”

Kharnek turned his head slightly, a grin breaking through the ice on his beard. Then, without warning, he laughed — a deep, booming laugh that rolled across the snowfield like thunder.

“Three days?” he said, still chuckling. “Boy, what you see here is just a handful of my people. A few clans who followed me when the war began. The rest? Scattered across the north. Some live near the frozen coasts, others deep in the frost valleys or the mountains. Tens of thousands. You’d need more than three days to build homes for all of them.”

Ludger blinked, then exhaled, his voice flat. “You mean to tell me I’ve been building this much and we’re not even close to a tenth of your people?”

Kharnek smirked. “You’ve barely covered the first layer of snow, imperial. I told you, the north is wide.”

“Right,” Ludger muttered, dragging a gloved hand down his face. “And you expect me to build a city big enough for all of them?”

“That’s the idea,” Kharnek said, crossing his arms, his tone casual as though he’d just asked for another drink. “A city strong enough to house every northerner who wants to live free — not just survive. A place where the empire will think twice before crossing the border again.”

Ludger stared at him, snow crunching under his boots as he shifted his weight. “…You realize I’m one person, right?”

Kharnek’s grin widened. “Aye. But one person who works faster than most. You’ve already done more in two days than we’ve done in years.”

Ludger tilted his head, giving him a flat look. “Unfortunately, I can’t keep this up until the day I die. I’m good, but not immortal.”

Kharnek’s laughter rumbled again, but there was something almost proud in it this time. “Then make it so your work outlives you.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned toward the horizon — the faint line where snow faded into barren rock, and further still, the unseen border where the empire’s lands began again.

“Maybe I can’t build the whole thing,” he said quietly, “but I can lay the foundation. If it keeps growing… maybe one day, it’ll reach all the way to the border — to where the snow stops and the sun actually warms your damn skin.”

Kharnek followed his gaze, silent for a moment. Then he nodded once, firm and slow. “A city stretching from the labyrinth to the border… heh. Sounds like something worth fighting for.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Sounds like something worth building, too.”

The wind howled past them, carrying snow and the faint echo of hammers striking wood in the distance — the heartbeat of a city that didn’t exist yet, but one that both men could already see in their minds.

“While that is fun and all, I think we should start working on the next project.”

“Which project?”

“Going further in the labyrinth.”

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