Ludger’s smirk deepened slightly. “Oh, I can imagine. Probably half the border would end up buried under the snow again.”

Freyra clicked her tongue, muttering something under her breath about “southern arrogance,” but didn’t move.

Kharnek just laughed, clapping his hands together. “Then it’s settled! No punching, no kicking, and no collapsing the alliance before dinner.”

“Fine by me,” Ludger said, already turning to leave. “I’ve got enough broken bones on my record for one lifetime.”

Kharnek’s laughter echoed across the cold plains, but Ludger caught Freyra still glaring after him — not with hatred, though.

There was challenge there now. A flicker of the same fire that burned in her father’s eyes.

And Ludger could already tell: sooner or later, she would fight him.

The only question was whether it’d be in training gear… or in the middle of a blizzard.

By the third day, Ludger was starting to think the gods had a personal grudge against his patience.

He sat on a stone chair he erected, scarf pulled up against the biting wind, watching Freyra and her merry band of frostbitten lunatics do absolutely nothing productive.

When they’d first shown up, he’d figured they’d raise hell for a day or two, get bored, then march back north where Kharnek wife could babysit them. But no — they stayed.

And not quietly.

They wandered through the camp like they owned the place, laughing too loud, tossing snow at each other, occasionally sparring right next to supply carts, and somehow managing to make everything feel just a bit more chaotic.

He caught them heading to the labyrinth a couple of times, too — no permission, no plan, just swagger. They’d come back bruised, frostbitten, and grinning like idiots, which only confirmed Ludger’s suspicion: they weren’t here for glory or coin.

They were here to annoy him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Freyra sitting on a fence post, arms crossed, staring off toward the frozen horizon with that same proud, half-bored expression her father wore when he pretended to be thinking about the future. Her squad — eight other northerners around her age — were laughing over some story that apparently required yelling every other sentence.

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

He’d considered just ignoring them — let them get cold, tired, or hungry enough to go home — but something in his gut told him that was a bad idea.

If he left, something was going to explode.

A brawl, a burned tent, someone wrestling a frost boar because of “honor.” With northerners, it was hard to guess, but easy to expect.

So he stayed.

He trained the recruits, managed guild logistics, checked the cattle, and kept one eye always angled toward the direction of Freyra’s group.

Every time one of them even looked like they were planning something, Kharner’s voice cut through the air like an ice blade:

“Don’t even think about it.”

It usually worked… usually.

Ludger sighed again, rubbing his temples as he watched them from afar, the wind tugging at his scarf.

He could be home right now — warm meal, quiet house, siblings who didn’t scream about blood feuds every five minutes. But no. He was stuck babysitting a group of teenage northerners who thought intimidation was a full-time job.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I’ve fought assassins , labyrinth monsters, and berserkers hopped up on potion fumes… but this?”

He looked at the group again, Freyra laughing with her friends.

“This might actually kill me.”

Before long, Ludger learned — yet again — that there’s no such thing as “it can’t get worse.”

He was standing near the watchtower, trying to enjoy five minutes of peace, when he saw a shape in the distance — a carriage trudging slowly through the snow, escorted by a few Lionsguard soldiers. His brow furrowed.

“No…” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “No, no, no.”

When the carriage drew close enough for him to see the crest painted on the side — silver and red bull horns gleaming in the frost — Ludger’s face fell into his hand.

“Of course.”

He didn’t even wait for it to stop. He dashed across the frozen field, boots crunching hard against the snow until he reached the carriage door — which opened right as he arrived.

And there they were.

Elaine, radiant but stubbornly pale, stepping down with that familiar calm smile — and Arslan right behind her, each of them carrying a baby wrapped in thick fur blankets.

Ludger skidded to a stop, hair ruffled by the wind, staring at them like the world’s most exasperated parent catching his own parents sneaking out.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “It’s freezing! The twins shouldn’t be out in this weather — and you should still be recovering, Mother!”

Elaine tilted her head, smiling gently. “I’m not made of glass, Ludger.”

He opened his mouth — but she cut him off before he could continue.

“We came because we were worried. You haven’t come home in a while.”

Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, his breath misting in the cold. “I was busy,” he muttered. “You didn’t have to drag the entire nursery up here. It was only for a couple of days”

Before he could explain further, a deep voice boomed behind him.

“My fault!”

Ludger turned — and of course, Kharnek was there, stomping toward them with a grin big enough to split a glacier.

“I might’ve joked around that Ludger’s been skipping his meals again,” the chieftain admitted with absolutely zero guilt. “Didn’t expect the whole family to charge north, though!”

Ludger gave him a flat stare that screamed, I’m going to bury you in the snow later.

“Would you like to hold Arash and Elle for a bit, Kharnek? Aren’t they the cutest?”

Kharnek froze. “Hold them?”

“Of course,” Elaine said, smiling like this was the most natural offer in the world.

Even Ludger frowned, tilting his head at her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Kharnek blinked, sweat forming despite the cold. “I… it’s been a while since I held a child. And an Imperial one at that.”

Elaine moved them. “Relax, they don’t bite.”

Kharnek scowled. “That’s not the poin. The last baby I held was Freyra — and she tried to bite me. Strongest jaws in the north even back then.”

Ludger smirked. “Yeah, sounds about right. Genetic menace.”

Elaine just laughed and carefully handed little Arash into Kharnek’s massive arms. The sight was… absurd — the enormous northerner holding a baby that barely filled his hands.

Kharnek froze, standing perfectly still like he was defusing an explosive.

Arash blinked up at him, yawned, and promptly drooled on his beard.

Ludger snorted. “Well, congratulations. You’ve been blessed.”

Kharnek grimaced, trying not to move. “Feels more like… never mind.”

Elaine giggled behind her hand while Arslan just shook his head, amused.

And Ludger — for all his complaints, all his worries — found himself smiling too.

Because somehow, against all odds, seeing his giant of a friend holding his baby brother in a field of snow… made the frozen north feel a little warmer.

It didn’t take long for peace to die a loud, embarrassing death.

Another voice boomed across the snow — cutting through the calm like an axe through ice.

“WHY IS THERE AN IMPERIAL CARRIAGE IN OUR LAND LIKE IT OWNS THE PLACE!?”

Ludger didn’t even turn. He just closed his eyes for a second, muttering, “Of course… because the gods hate silence.”

Freyra stormed up the path, her long braids whipping in the wind, her boots crunching heavy against the frost. Her presence alone was enough to startle the nearby recruits — and unfortunately, also enough to wake up one of the twins.

Elle’s tiny face scrunched, her lip trembling before she broke into a full, echoing wail.

Freyra froze mid-step. “…Did I—?”

“Yes,” Ludger said flatly. “You did.”

Arslan gently rocked the baby in his arms, trying to soothe her. “Shh… it’s alright, Elle, it’s alright…”

But Elle wasn’t having it. Her cries grew louder, little fists flailing in protest. Even Elaine tried to calm her down.“There, there, little one—”

She wailed louder.

Ludger sighed, then reached out. “Here, give her to me.”

Arslan hesitated only a moment before passing her over. The second Elle touched Ludger’s chest, she stopped. Just like that.

Her tiny hand gripped his scarf, and she blinked up at him, calm as if nothing happened.

Everyone went silent — even Freyra.

Elaine blinked, smiling softly. “How do you do that?”

Ludger shrugged, voice casual but his expression betraying a hint of pride. “Older brother charm, I guess.”

Elaine chuckled, then turned toward Freyra, finally giving the tall girl her full attention. “You must be Kharnek’s daughter, aren’t you? You have his eyes.”

Freyra blinked, caught off guard by the calm tone. “…And his temper,” Kharnek muttered behind her.

Ludger smirked. “Really? I was going to say she should’ve inherited his crooked nose. That’d make more sense.”

Elaine shot him a sharp look. “Ludger.”

He whistled and looked off to the side, pretending to study a snowflake.

Freyra folded her arms, glaring at her father. “I am his daughter — this poor excuse of a chieftain who thinks alliances fix everything.”

Elaine ignored the jab completely, still smiling that patient, motherly smile. “Would you like to hold Elle, dear?”

Freyra’s head snapped toward her. “Hold—what? No! I don’t want to touch an imperial d—”

Her words cut short when the air changed.

A pressure rolled through the snow like a low growl. Freyra’s muscles locked as her eyes met Ludger’s — and she saw it.

That calm, sarcastic boy was gone.

What looked back at her now had the eyes of a beast — restrained, but ready to break the bars of its cage. Fury coiled behind that faint, unnatural glow, quiet but unmistakable.

Ludger didn’t move or speak. He didn’t need to. His stare alone said finish that sentence, and see what happens.

Elle stirred in his arms — a small sound, a soft motion — and just like that, the killing intent vanished, replaced by that calm again.

Elaine’s tone was gentle but firm. “Ludger. Calm down.”

He exhaled, the mist of his breath fading. “…My bad.”

“Let her hold Elle for a bit.”

Then, without saying another word, he extended Elle toward Freyra, his expression blank, unreadable.

Freyra hesitated. For a moment, she looked ready to refuse again — but then, perhaps out of guilt or maybe out of something deeper she didn’t understand, she slowly reached out.

Her large hands trembled slightly as she took the baby, who blinked up at her, bright-eyed and curious.

Elle’s tiny fingers reached up, brushing against the rough leather of Freyra’s gauntlet.

The girl froze, staring down at the infant who now studied her — quiet, fearless, and oddly calm.

For once, Freyra didn’t have anything loud to say. And Ludger — watching that unlikely scene unfold — allowed himself the smallest, most private of smiles before it disappeared again.

Kharnek finally stirred from where he’d been awkwardly holding Arash like the baby might explode if he sneezed too hard. After a long, tense moment, he carefully returned the boy to Arslan, exhaling like he’d just survived battle.

Then, suddenly, the chieftain’s chest rumbled, and a booming laugh burst out of him — deep and echoing, shaking the cold air.

“Hah! Being fearless really does run in this family!” he said, still laughing as his breath fogged the air. “Even dire wolves turn tail when they see me coming, but this little one just drooled on my beard like I was a rock to chew on!”

Elaine chuckled, covering her mouth politely. “That sounds about right,” she said, then turned her warm smile toward Freyra, who was still standing stiff as a spear, holding Elle gingerly like she wasn’t sure which end was more dangerous.

“Don’t you think she’s cute?” Elaine asked gently.

Freyra froze. For a moment, she just looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms — big green eyes staring back up at her without fear or judgment. Elle gurgled softly, waving one tiny hand.

The mighty northerner’s jaw tightened. Then, after an uncomfortably long pause, Freyra huffed through her nose and looked away, pretending to study the snow. 

Freyra said nothing else. Instead, she quietly stepped forward, her heavy boots crunching in the snow, and carefully handed Elle back to Elaine — gentler than Ludger expected from someone who could probably crush boulders with her bare hands.

Then, without a word, she turned and walked off, her long braids swaying behind her, leaving only the sound of her fading footsteps.

Kharnek watched her go, still grinning, his beard twitching with pride and mild exasperation. “Clumsy girl,” he said with a fond sigh. “Just like her old man.”

He folded his arms, eyes following his daughter’s retreating form. “But I think we both know what her answer was.”

Ludger glanced at him sidelong, a faint smirk forming. “Yeah. She didn’t punch the baby, so I’ll take that as yes.”

Kharnek roared with laughter again, and for once, even the icy wind seemed to carry the warmth of it.

As the laughter died down and the wind carried away the last of Kharnek’s booming voice, Arslan cleared his throat — the calm, steady tone he used when he was about to drop something serious into an otherwise peaceful moment.

“Alright,” he said, shifting Arash gently in his arms. “Before this turns into a drinking contest between me and Kharnek, we actually came here for another reason.”

Ludger looked up, immediately catching the weight in his father’s voice. “Another reason?”

Arslan nodded. “Guild business.”

That was enough to straighten Ludger’s posture. “Go on.”

“We finally managed to track down Maurien,” Arslan continued, his expression softening slightly at the name. “Your old teacher.”

Ludger blinked in surprise. “You found him?”

“Found and contacted,” Arslan confirmed. “I sent a letter in the guild’s name. Told him about the Lionsguard, about the alliance, about what we’re building here.”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes were already narrowing in thought. “And?”

Arslan hesitated for a moment before adding, “He replied.”

That made Ludger raise a brow. “He did?”

“Mm,” Arslan said. “He said he wouldn’t mind joining the guild. But…”

There it was — that pause. The kind that meant “this is where things get complicated.”

“But?” Ludger repeated, voice edged with curiosity.

Arslan adjusted his grip on the baby, glancing at Elaine before continuing. “He needs help with something first. Something important enough that he’s asking for you personally.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep