The morning sun crawled higher as the group finally left the town behind, hooves crunching against the frostbitten road. He turned around and then saw a board with the name, Lionfang… when they did name the town after Dad’s special technique? In any casey they had seven riders in total—six half-trained, one half-patient. Their breaths fogged the air in rhythm with the horses’ huffs, the smell of leather and cold iron hanging heavy.

Ludger rode near the middle, reins loose in one hand, scarf fluttering against his cheek. He wasn’t fond of horses. They were noisy, unpredictable, and occasionally tried to eat his sleeve and scarf when he wasn’t looking. But running the entire way east wasn’t exactly an option.

He glanced at the others: Rhea’s grip too tight, Derrin sitting too stiff, Callen mumbling something. Freyra looked the most comfortable—legs long enough to make the saddle look undersized—while Mira adjusted her quiver with the focus of someone pretending not to be nervous.

Ludger sighed quietly. Few people cross long distances on foot these days, he thought. Guess it’s just me and my bad habits.

Still, he knew better than to push them. The group needed to conserve stamina for actual emergencies, not waste their energy pretending to be hardened scouts. Most threats out here could be handled by posture alone—the guild seal, the Torvares name, and a firm tone of voice.

And if that failed?

Ludger let his fingers drift over the saddle’s edge, fixing the terrain in the packed dirt as they rode. The earth hummed under the trail, quietly responsive to his mana even through layers of grass and stone. He could use earth magic without touching the ground now, but it was slow and not very efficient cost-wise.

He didn’t need to say it aloud, but the thought carried a certain comfort:

If anything really gets in our way… I can just bury it.

The horse beneath him snorted, as if in agreement—or protest.

“Don’t start,” Ludger muttered, adjusting his grip. “You’re getting paid more than I am for this.”

Freyra rode a few paces ahead, laughing at something Rhea said about her saddle skills. The recruits followed, their chatter a blend of nerves and eagerness, their youth showing with every laugh that broke the morning’s silence.

Ludger kept his eyes on the road ahead—the ribbon of pale dirt winding east through pine and frost. He didn’t expect trouble this early. But he’d learned long ago that expectations were just invitations for the world to prove him wrong.

The first few hours passed without a hitch. The road east wound gently through frozen fields and sparse woods, the only sound the rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional puff of laughter from the recruits.

For once, the air wasn’t filled with the clatter of bone or the shriek of frost skeletons. No narrow labyrinth corridors, no panic about mana depletion or broken weapons. Just open sky and steady travel.

The recruits were loving it.

Rhea leaned back in her saddle, exhaling. “If this is what missions outside the labyrinth are like, I could get used to this.”

“Paid to sit still,” Derring said, grinning. “My kind of assignment.”

“Don’t say that too loud,” Mira murmured, glancing at Ludger. “You will annoy the captain… vice guild master?.”

They weren’t wrong. Ludger was near the front, eyes scanning everything—the treeline, the road dips, the clouds shifting overhead. His posture never fully relaxed.

While the others enjoyed the rare calm, he was quietly mapping escape routes and possible ambush lines in his head, earth-sense sweeping under the trail every few minutes. The soil told him more than the air ever could.

He was making sure that if something went wrong, he’d spot it before it could breathe down their necks.

That’s when Freyra nudged her horse closer, a smirk already forming. “You’re awfully quiet, pipsqueak. What’s got you twitching like a hound in the rain?”

Ludger didn’t look at her, still watching the horizon. “Keeping you alive,” he said dryly. “And making sure nothing unpleasant sneaks up on us while you’re busy calling me names.”

“Ha! You sound like an old man,” she said, snorting. “Relax, we’ve got six guards and me.”

He finally turned his head, eyes half-lidded. “Right. A formation of six kids and one overgrown mad dog. Forgive me if I don’t feel completely secure.”

Her grin faltered for a heartbeat before she laughed. “Mad dog, huh? Careful, pipsqueak. I bite.”

“I know,” Ludger said. “That’s why you’re walking in the middle of the group.”

The recruits snickered quietly, trying to hide their smiles. Freyra glared at them but said nothing, and for a while, the only sounds again were hooves, wind, and distant birds.

The peace held—thin, fragile, but real. Ludger allowed himself a small breath, eyes still sweeping the road ahead.

Calm hours were rare currency in his line of work. He wasn’t about to waste them.

By mid-afternoon, the cold plains gave way to a modest stretch of farmland—patchwork fields and a small village resting at their heart. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, and the scent of bread drifted faintly through the cold air.

Ludger slowed his horse, raising a hand. “We’ll stop there,” he said. “Buy food, refill our packs, and move on.”

The recruits perked up at the idea of warm food and maybe a few minutes off their saddles.

Derring—the tall, quiet spearman who rarely spoke—cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to rest there until morning, sir? The horses could use it, and—”

Ludger shook his head before he could finish. “No. We’re making good time, and daylight’s worth more than comfort. Resting now means wasting hours we’ll need later.”

The recruits exchanged glances, half-reluctant but understanding. It was hard to argue with someone who looked like he’d already calculated every minute of their route.

They rode through the village just long enough to buy sacks of bread, dried fruit, and smoked meat. A few villagers stared curiously—seven strangers wearing Lionsguard insignia, two swords behind the head of a lion, weren’t common this far east—but no one asked questions.

By dusk, they were back on the open road, the horizon bleeding orange into blue.

When the sun finally dipped below the trees, Ludger stopped his horse near a sparse grove. The cold wind cut across the plain, sharp enough to make a campfire alone miserable.

He dismounted, brushed frost from his gloves, and said simply, “Here’s good enough.”

The recruits looked around—just frozen dirt and scattered pines. “Uh,” Rhea started, “you sure? There’s no shelter, and—”

Her words died as the ground trembled.

Ludger extended a hand, his mana threading through the earth. The soil rose, shaped, and hardened—first walls, then a roof, then partitioned rooms and a small stable beside it. In under a minute, a squat, two-story stone lodge stood where there’d been nothing but dirt. Warm air radiated faintly from the stone’s mana lines.

Rhea blinked, jaw slack. “I lost a fist fight to a mage who can do this?”

Ludger brushed dust from his coat, utterly unfazed. “To be fair, I don’t claim to be a mage.”

She muttered something that sounded like “still embarrassing.”

Ludger turned toward the rest. “Prepare the fire. Cook something before it freezes. Make sure the horses are fed and settled in the stable.” He adjusted his scarf, eyes scanning the tree line. “I’ll check the perimeter.”

No one argued.

Within minutes, firelight flickered inside the conjured stone walls, laughter beginning to seep through the exhaustion. Outside, Ludger walked the silent grove, every step sinking lightly soil. His mana pulsed through the ground in short bursts, mapping everything within a hundred meters.

So far—no movement, no danger. Just wind and snow.

He exhaled, slow and steady, watching his breath fade into the dark. For the moment, all was quiet. Too quiet, maybe—but he’d take it.

By the time Ludger circled back to the stone lodge, the night had settled thick and still. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney he’d shaped, and the warm light spilling through the windows looked almost too domestic for a field camp.

Inside, the recruits had already made themselves at home—armor stacked by the walls, boots drying near the hearth, and a large pot of stew bubbling over the fire. The smell hit him before he even took his cloak off: roasted meat, wild herbs, and something faintly sweet.

“Vice Guildmaster,” Callen said with a grin, ladling soup into a bowl. “You’re just in time. Sit down before Freyra eats everything.”

“I heard that,” Freyra said, voice muffled by the spoon in her mouth. She held up an empty bowl. “Seconds.”

“Thirds,” Mira corrected under her breath.

Ludger sat anyway. Callen handed him a bowl, steam rising in fragrant curls. He took one cautious sip—and blinked.

“…You can cook,” Ludger said, mildly surprised.

Callen shrugged. “I can follow instructions. Mira caught a hare earlier. Everything else was guesswork.”

Ludger ate another spoonful, then another. The stew was hearty, simple, and warming—good enough that for a moment he almost forgot he could cook too. His Cook job wasn’t high-level, but his meals always came out balanced and precise. Tonight, he didn’t mind letting someone else handle it.

Across the fire, Freyra slammed her bowl down. “More!”

Callen raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had enough to feed two people.”

“Then I’ll cover for someone who skipped lunch,” she said.

Ludger watched her eat with faint dread, calculating mentally. Three bowls tonight… at least double portions per meal. That’s, what, enough to bankrupt me in a few weeks?

He sighed. At this rate, I’ll need to start charging her rent.

Derring leaned back against the wall, watching Ludger shape another log into the fire with a flick of earth magic. “You know, you could make a killing building houses like this, captain” he said. “One of those in every town and you’d retire before hitting sixteen.”

Ludger didn’t even look up. “Not interested.”

“Really? It’s easy work.”

“That’s the problem,” Ludger said flatly. “If I start mass-producing homes, half the masons and builders in the region will lose their jobs. I build what’s necessary, nothing more.”

Rhea chuckled. “Easy but ethical. That’s new.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “It’s not ethics. It’s efficiency. Unemployed builders complain more than broken walls.”

The recruits laughed quietly, tension easing as they ate. Even Freyra cracked a grin, though she was mostly focused on scraping the bottom of her third bowl.

Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the stone walls, but the hearth burned steady, warm, and alive. For the first time that day, Ludger leaned back, finishing his meal without hurry.

Tomorrow would bring more marching, more noise, and likely more trouble. But for now, surrounded by crackling firelight and the smell of good food, he allowed himself a rare moment of calm.

When the bowls were emptied and the fire had burned down to a lazy glow, the recruits started to settle. Rhea and Mira argued over whose turn it was to wash dishes; Taron scribbled runic notes by candlelight; Callen was already half-asleep against the wall.

Then Freyra stood up, stretching her long arms until her joints cracked like kindling.

“All right,” she said, grinning. “Who’s up for a spar? I need to work off all that food.”

The room went quiet.

Ludger didn’t even bother looking up from the parchment he was pretending to read. “That’s a fast way to throw up everything you just ate.”

Freyra ignored him, scanning the room. “Come on. One of you at least. Rhea? You look like a decent warm up.”

Rhea gave her an incredulous look. “I value my ribs.”

“Coward.”

Ludger finally sighed and looked up. “No one’s sparring tonight.”

Freyra frowned. “Why not?”

“Because weapons clashing or fists hitting armor make noise,” he said evenly. “And noise means we won’t hear anyone else coming.”

Her grin faded slightly. “You really think someone’s going to bother stopping a bunch of kids doing a job?”

Ludger met her gaze across the firelight. “Yes.”

The air in the room shifted—quieter, heavier. The crackle of the flames filled the silence.

“There are still plenty of people who don’t like what we’re doing,” he said. “You’re not the only person who hates the idea of this alliance. And we’ve got plenty down south who think working with your people makes us traitors. That’s reason enough for someone to take a shot at us on the road.”

Freyra’s expression hardened. “Then let them try.”

“They will,” Ludger said simply, rolling the parchment closed. “But not tonight. Tonight we rest and listen. If anything moves outside, I want to hear it before it hears us.”

For a moment, she stood there—jaw tight, pride and unease wrestling behind her eyes. Then she snorted, grabbed her cloak, and dropped back down beside the fire with a heavy thud.

“Fine. But if I get rusty, I’m blaming you, pipsqueak.”

Ludger smirked faintly, adjusting his scarf. “I’ll take the risk, overgrown mad dog.”

The room eased back into calm again, the recruits trading small whispers before sleep. Outside, the cold wind swept over the stone walls, carrying the sound of distant wolves. Inside, the only thing that moved was the fire, burning steady against the dark.

Freyra didn’t even last five minutes lying down.

The others were already drifting off—somewhere between exhaustion and the comfort of a full stomach—but she just kept turning in her blanket, grumbling under her breath. Finally, she sat up, muttering, “Can’t just sleep after eating that much.”

Ludger didn’t bother to argue. He just sighed, stood, and crouched by the floor. With a few gestures, the stone beneath his hands rippled upward, shaping into a rough pair of dumbbells—dense, solid, and perfectly balanced.

“Here,” he said, pushing them toward her. “If you can’t stay still, lift those. Quietly.”

She eyed them, smirked, then hefted one in each hand. “Heh. Not bad for something you pulled out of the ground.”

“Try not to crack the floor,” he murmured, returning to his seat by the fire.

Freyra started lifting, slow at first, then faster, finding rhythm. The soft grunt of effort and the faint scrape of stone filled the silence. Ludger leaned his cheek against his hand, watching her train in the flickering light.

She was tireless—too alive to settle, too loud to blend in. It reminded him of another night, when Viola had been just as restless. She’d complained about “doing nothing” until he’d shaped makeshift weights for her too—lighter ones, back then. She’d turned it into a contest by sunrise.

A small, uninvited smile ghosted across his face.

He wondered what she was doing now. It was strange that she hadn’t volunteered to come along. Normally, she’d be the first to drag him out on some ridiculous detour, pretending it was strategy. Maybe Torvares had kept her close for political reasons. Or maybe—just maybe—she was getting involved in whatever the Empire was playing at behind the scenes.

The thought left a faint weight in his chest.

Freyra finished her set with a satisfied grunt, flexing her shoulders. “There. Now I can sleep.”

“Congratulations,” Ludger said dryly. “You’ve finally discovered the secret to not keeping me awake.”

She snorted, dropped the weights with a dull thud, and curled up near the fire. Within minutes, she was snoring softly.

Ludger stayed where he was, eyes on the dying flames, the echo of old laughter and cold suspicion tangled somewhere in the back of his mind.

It wasn’t like Viola to stay quiet for long.

He didn’t know why, but the thought made the night feel just a little colder.

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