An hour later, the group finally stumbled out of the labyrinth’s mouth.

The morning light hit their faces like salvation — pale gold against a landscape of ice and snow. The recruits were breathing hard, their boots dragging through frost, every one of them looking like they’d just crawled out of a blizzard and wrestled it for good measure.

Their cloaks were torn in places, their cheeks raw from the cold. Mira’s braid was stiff with frost. Rhea’s gloves were ripped at the knuckles. Derrin’s spear hung low, trembling. The two mages — Taron and Callen — were pale and glassy-eyed, like they’d aged five years in sixty minutes.

Ludger walked out last, calm as ever, brushing some snow from his sleeve.

He gave the group a once-over. “Not bad,” he said simply. “You all made it back in one piece. That’s already more than most do on their first run.”

The recruits didn’t exactly beam with pride. They looked miserable — bruised, exhausted, and quietly humiliated. They’d thought the first floor would be easy. After all, their commander could clear it alone.

Reality had hit harder than the monsters.

Even the weaker frost skeletons moved fast — unnaturally fast — and their strikes were heavy enough to numb an arm through leather and steel. The ice floor didn’t help either; half the group spent more time sliding than standing.

Rhea kicked at a patch of snow, muttering, “They were just bones… how the hell do bones hit that hard?”

“Dense mana,” Ludger said absently, already healing a gash on her forearm with a faint green glow. “And bad assumptions. You all thought they’d be slower.”

Callen grimaced as Ludger moved next to him, healing a cracked rib with a faint pulse of light. “You could’ve warned us.”

“I did,” Ludger said dryly. “You just didn’t believe me.”

He moved between them methodically, closing wounds one by one — nothing flashy, just clean and efficient. His healing magic was warm; it felt like liquid sunlight running through their veins, numbing the pain but leaving the fatigue intact.

He hadn’t helped much inside — only when a wound clearly crippled movement. Otherwise, they’d been forced to adapt, fight smarter, and take the hits that came with inexperience.

Now, though, with the frost skeletons behind them and the air no longer biting through armor, he let them breathe.

When the last cut closed and the glow faded from his hands, Ludger straightened. “That’ll do for today.”

The recruits stood in silence, panting, sweat and frost mixing on their skin.

“You all did well,” Ludger said after a pause. “First runs aren’t about winning — they’re about surviving. You did that.”

Derrin looked up, still grimacing. “Barely.”

Ludger’s lips twitched. “Barely counts.”

The recruits exchanged tired looks, half-smiles breaking through the frustration. It wasn’t much, but the sting of failure dulled a little.

Behind them, the labyrinth’s frozen maw shimmered faintly in the sun — a silent reminder of what waited for their next run. They had survived. Next time, maybe they’d fight.

Ludger crouched near a campfire, sorting through the froststeel shards they’d brought back — ten in total, each one glimmering faintly with that familiar blue-white sheen. They were roughly the size of a man’s finger , jagged and sharp-edged like frozen glass, still humming faintly with mana.

The recruits gathered around, still bandaged and shivering slightly, curiosity pushing through their exhaustion.

“So,” Rhea asked, rubbing her hands together for warmth, “what’s the haul worth?”

Ludger held one shard up to the light, watching it catch the sunrise. “Ten shards total,” he said. “Not bad for an hour’s work.”

Mira leaned forward. “And how much does that go for?”

“Twenty silver coins,” Ludger said simply. “Froststeel prices fluctuate, but that’s the average. Forty percent goes to you — the ones who fought for it.”

The group straightened slightly at that, surprise flickering across their faces.

“Another forty goes to the guild,” Ludger continued, “since Lionsguard officially owns the labyrinth. The last twenty percent goes to the local lord — in this case, Lord Torvares.”

Yvar, standing nearby and taking notes, gave a small approving nod. “The standard imperial breakdown. Fair enough.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Which means your share comes to eight silver total — split five ways, that’s about one point six silver coins each.”

The recruits blinked. Callen frowned, doing quick math in his head. “Wait, that’s… actually not bad.”

“For one hour,” Derrin said, eyes widening a bit. “We made more than most guards earn in a day.”

Even Taron, still drained from mana exhaustion, cracked a small smile. “Guess this job pays better than we thought.”

Their fatigue seemed to melt away a little — a rare flicker of pride lighting up their faces.

But then Ludger spoke again, tone perfectly even. “Of course, my healing isn’t free.”

They all froze.

Rhea turned slowly. “…What?”

Ludger started stacking the shards neatly in a small pouch. “Healing magic’s expensive. Takes mana, stamina, focus. And I healed each of you a few dozen times in there.”

Taron’s face went pale. “You—you’re joking, right?”

Ludger looked up with the straightest expression imaginable. “Nope.”

The recruits blanched. Mira visibly reached for her coin pouch, and Derrin muttered under his breath, “We’re doomed.”

Then Ludger’s lips twitched — the smirk they’d all come to dread. “Relax,” he said finally. “I don’t charge guild members for basic healing.”

There was a collective sigh of relief so loud it could’ve blown the fire out.

“You’re still recruits,” Ludger added, standing up and tightening his gloves. “But you earned that much at least.”

Rhea exhaled, muttering, “You’ve got a dark sense of humor, vice guild leader.”

Ludger shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Or quit.”

He slung the pouch of froststeel shards over his shoulder, his tone returning to that calm, pragmatic edge. “Get some rest. Next run, we aim for fifteen shards. You should get used to it fast, though. I can’t babysit you everyday.”

The recruits groaned — but they were smiling this time. Even if their muscles ached and their pride still stung, they’d survived, earned coin, and learned the first rule of the Lionsguard.

If Ludger laughed after saying something terrifying… It was usually too late to relax.

After the recruits settled down to rest and Yvar left to log the froststeel haul, Ludger made his way through the camp, hands in his coat pockets, boots crunching against the frozen dirt. The morning light was sharp now, cutting through the mist and reflecting off the walls of ice that surrounded the northern fields.

He stopped at one of the open lots — a wide, snow-covered patch of ground near the southern edge of the town. No buildings stood there yet, just a layer of untouched white. It was quiet, and that was exactly what he needed.

Ludger exhaled, then raised his hand. A faint brown glow pulsed around his fingers as the snow began to slide away in neat, circular ripples — revealing hard earth beneath. He pressed his palm down, and the soil trembled in response.

With a deep rumble, the ground began to rise and shift. Blocks of compacted stone surfaced like the skeleton of a new structure, shaping into clean lines and solid foundations. Walls formed, smoothed by a second wave of mana. Within minutes, the empty lot had transformed into a sturdy stone building — rectangular, single-story, but wide enough for a small team to live in comfortably.

Ludger let the mana fade and crossed his arms, studying his work. The new dormitory stood steady against the cold, steam rising faintly from its surface where his magic still radiated heat.

It wasn’t fancy — he didn’t have time for fancy — but it was functional.

They’ll need their own place to rest, he thought. Running back and forth between the border town and here wastes too much time. I could be training them instead.

He was still calculating floor space in his head when a heavy voice came from behind him.

“What in the frost are you doing now, boy?”

Ludger turned slightly to see Kharnek approaching, the chieftain’s huge frame cutting through the mist like a moving wall. His arms were bare as usual despite the cold, his breath forming thick clouds.

Ludger nodded toward the new building. “Housing.”

Kharnek stopped beside him, tilting his head as he studied the fresh structure. “You’re building them a home already? Thought Imperials made recruits sleep in the mud first.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “I could. But that’d just make them slower. If I want them to get stronger, and making me money. I need them running and fighting, not freezing half to death.”

The northerner grunted, crossing his arms. “Heh. You’ve got a strange way of training. No yelling, no beatings, no drinking contests.”

“Not my style,” Ludger said simply. “Discipline’s one thing. Efficiency’s another. Every hour they waste walking from the camp to town is an hour they could spend learning how not to die.”

Kharnek barked a laugh. “Hah! That’s one way to put it.”

He walked around the new building, inspecting it like a smith checking a new weapon. “Sturdy work. You raised this in minutes?”

Ludger shrugged. “Five, maybe. I’ve been practicing.”

“Show-off.”

“It is my modus operandi.”

The chieftain chuckled again, clapping a hand on Ludger’s shoulder — carefully, for once. “You’re a strange one, kid. Not quite a noble, not quite a Northerner. But I’ll give you this—you build fast, and you think ahead.”

Ludger’s smirk returned. “That’s why things work.”

Kharnek grinned wide, showing teeth. “Keep thinking like that, and these kids might actually survive you.”

Ludger looked back at the dormitory, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “That’s the idea.”

The two stood there for a moment — the young strategist and the northern chieftain — as the cold wind swept across the fields. The new building stood firm against the frost, a small but tangible sign that Ludger’s guild was growing roots in the north.

Kharnek stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting from the new stone building to the horizon, where the faint shimmer of the labyrinth’s frozen entrance cut through the mist. His breath came out in a heavy sigh before he spoke again.

“So,” he rumbled, “how many of my people do you plan to take into this guild of yours?”

Ludger looked at him from the corner of his eye. “For now? Just you and the five I already approved. You know how it works—limited licenses, limited pay, limited oversight. The Empire doesn’t like it when we expand too fast.”

Kharnek’s brow furrowed, the scar across his nose tightening. “Hmph. Five, huh?”

“Five’s enough to bring back froststeel daily without raising attention,” Ludger said, tone even. “They know the labyrinth, they know how to handle themselves. Any more, and the southern merchants start whispering that the ‘savages’ are taking their jobs.”

The northerner grunted in annoyance. “Savages,” he echoed, the word like gravel in his throat. “If only they knew how many of us die keeping that cursed ice from spreading.”

Ludger didn’t argue — there was nothing to argue. The Empire would always fear what it didn’t control.

Kharnek crossed his arms, muscles flexing beneath the froststeel ornaments. “Still, I’ve been thinking. I want to send more of my people to join your guild. The young ones.”

Ludger blinked. “The young ones?”

“Aye.” Kharnek’s tone softened slightly, though the edge never left his voice. “They’re strong, but they’ve got no direction. No sense of what comes after fighting. All they know is blood and frost.”

He looked toward the new recruits’ quarters, still steaming faintly from Ludger’s earth magic. “You Imperials have order—ranks, pay, order. The young ones need to learn that. Learn how to build something, not just swing a weapon.”

Ludger frowned slightly, his analytical mind already calculating. “You want to send them south.”

Kharnek nodded. “Let them see how the Empire runs things. Have them work under your banner. Hunt, guard, trade—whatever it is your guild does. They don’t have to fight frost skeletons all day.”

Ludger thought about it for a moment, his breath misting in the cold air. The idea had merit — he’d seen what Kharnek’s people could do. Hardy, disciplined when commanded right, and fearless in a fight. Integrating them would strengthen Lionsguard… and prove that the alliance wasn’t just words.

Still, his expression stayed serious. “It’s a good idea,” he said finally. “But if we send them south, they’ll need a leader.”

Kharnek raised a brow. “You doubt my warriors?”

“I doubt anyone without authority,” Ludger said bluntly. “If they’re not trained or guided properly, the Imperial guards will treat them like outsiders — or worse. They’ll need someone strong. Someone who can command respect and remind them who they represent.”

Kharnek grinned, sharp and wolfish. “You mean someone like me?”

Ludger met his gaze evenly. “You can’t leave the north. You’re the chieftain. But if you’ve got someone who can stand in your place — someone your people respect — send them to me.”

The chieftain’s grin faded into a thoughtful hum. “…I might have someone in mind.”

“Good,” Ludger said, brushing frost from his gloves. “We’ll start with a dozen, then expand once they settle in. The Empire needs to get used to seeing Northerners in order— the sooner, the better.”

Kharnek’s grin returned, broader this time. “You talk like a general already, boy.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Just someone who’s tired of stupidity.”

The chieftain laughed, deep and booming, echoing through the camp. “Hah! You’ll fit in with us more than you think.”

“Already do,” Ludger said quietly, turning back toward the building — and in that moment, between frost and fire, both men knew this was no longer just an alliance. It was the start of something larger — the foundation of a shared future neither the Empire nor the North could ignore.

Ludger crossed his arms, eyeing Kharnek with that usual skeptical calm. “You said you had someone in mind. Who?”

Kharnek’s grin widened immediately, which was never a good sign. “My daughter.”

Ludger blinked. “…Your what?”

“My daughter,” the chieftain repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s fifteen. Strong-willed, sharp tongue, and hits harder than most of my warriors when she’s angry.”

Ludger frowned. “You never mentioned having a kid.”

Kharnek’s booming laugh rolled out over the cold air. “Ha! That’s because she and her mother are both too stubborn to come near me. They live further north — said they wouldn’t waste their time on some fool chasing Imperial alliances.”

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