“Here’s the plan,” he said, voice low and even. “Derrin, Freyra—you’re with me. We’ll handle direct questions, talk to merchants, and look for anyone nervous around the guild’s name.”

Freyra smirked. “Finally, something that doesn’t involve doing nothing.”

Ludger ignored that. “Taron, Mira—you stay on the outskirts. Find a good vantage point near the well and one near the barns. Watch the people who watch us. Anyone lingering too long or pretending not to stare, I want you to mark it.”

The two of them nodded in unison. “Understood.”

“Callen, Rhea—you’ll do the same as us,” Ludger continued. “Ask questions, help carry things, patch fences, whatever earns trust. Be loud about being with the Lionsguard if anyone asks. It’ll make the cover story consistent and give the name some weight.”

Callen tilted his head. “So… we act like an outreach crew?”

“Exactly,” Ludger said. “Friendly faces. No weapons out unless it’s necessary.”

Rhea crossed her arms, nodding. “And if someone gets suspicious?”

“Smile,” Ludger said simply. “Let them think we’re soft. The stupid ones will relax. The smart ones will panic. Either way, we’ll see who flinches first.”

That earned him a couple of quiet laughs.

He adjusted his scarf and glanced one last time at the empty horizon where Maurien had disappeared. “Let’s move. Stay sharp and keep your ears open. If something feels off, don’t chase it—signal me first.”

With that, the small group started down the slope toward the village, sunlight glinting off their gear. From a distance, they might have looked like an ordinary band of young guild members—half travelers, half apprentices.

But Ludger’s eyes stayed alert, scanning every movement, every shift of dust in the wind. They weren’t just walking into a village—they were stepping into someone’s network. And if Maurien was right, the wrong word in the wrong ear could set the whole thing on fire.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the village, the afternoon sun had begun to tilt westward, casting long shadows across the fields. The villagers were just starting to return to work after their midday rest—hammering shutters, hauling water from the well, and sorting produce by the roadside.

At first, no one paid the new arrivals much attention. Travelers weren’t uncommon this far along the foothills, and the group looked young enough not to seem threatening. But that changed quickly.

One by one, heads began to lift. Hammers slowed. A farmer wiping his brow froze mid-motion when he spotted a spear and bow slung over their backs. And when Freyra’s tall frame stepped into view, her northern braids catching the light, the shift in the air became palpable.

Conversations quieted. People turned away a little too quickly. The blacksmith’s apprentice disappeared back into his forge, and the old woman at the well suddenly decided her bucket didn’t need filling after all.

Ludger didn’t need Seismic Sense to feel the tension ripple through the ground—it was in the subtle hush that fell over the square, the uneasy rhythm of footsteps avoiding theirs.

Freyra frowned, folding her arms. “Everyone’s acting suspiciously,” she muttered. “You’d think we were about to rob them.”

Ludger didn’t even look at her. “You mean they’re acting normally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, scanning the edges of the square, “that most people get nervous when a group of armed strangers walks into town, especially when one of them looks like she could tear a horse in half.”

Freyra scoffed. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Barely,” Ludger replied dryly.

That earned him a snort, but she let it drop.

As they continued forward, villagers sidestepped politely, giving them wide space to pass. The group didn’t push it; they moved with deliberate calm, keeping their hands visible, expressions neutral.

Ludger could feel his recruits glancing around, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Rhea leaned closer and muttered, “This isn’t exactly a friendly crowd.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” Ludger said. “Suspicion means they’re thinking. Thinking people talk. Talking people make mistakes.”

That earned a few puzzled looks, but no one argued.

He tilted his head slightly toward Freyra. “Just try not to look like you’re evaluating their bone structure for sport.”

“I’m not,” she said indignantly—then paused, realizing several villagers had backed away as she spoke. “…Okay, maybe I was standing too close.”

“Exactly,” Ludger said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward for a heartbeat.

He stopped near the well and gestured for the others to spread out. “All right. Groups, as planned. Keep your tone light—help where you can, ask simple questions. No interrogation. We want curiosity, not fear.”

The group nodded and began to move, careful and deliberate, blending into the rhythm of village life one cautious word at a time.

Ludger stayed near the center of the square, arms loosely crossed, watching everything—the old men pretending not to stare, the traders eyeing them over baskets, the faint tremors of movement underfoot.

Suspicious? Definitely. But in his experience, suspicion was the first crack in a wall—and walls, sooner or later, always broke.

Ludger led Derrin and Freyra through the village square toward the largest building on the main street—a squat structure of timber and pale stone with faded blue awnings, the unmistakable mark of a trader’s house. Crates were stacked near the door, full of dried herbs, preserved meat, and roughspun cloth. Unlike the other villagers, the old man standing at the entrance didn’t shrink back when he saw them.

If anything, his eyes sharpened with interest.

Ludger noted that immediately—the man’s posture wasn’t defensive, it was curious. He leaned slightly on a cane, dressed in a merchant’s layered vest, his hair white but his gaze sharp. He was the kind of person who measured strangers in value, not threat.

Ludger stopped a few paces away, offering a brief nod. “Good afternoon, sir.”

The man’s lips twitched. “You’re not from around here. That much is obvious.”

“No,” Ludger said evenly. “Name’s Ludger, Vice Guildmaster of the Lionsguard. These two are my companions.” He motioned to Derrin and Freyra. “We’re passing through, and I was wondering if there’s any work you might need done. We’re willing to lend a hand if it helps the village.”

The old trader tilted his head, studying him in silence for several seconds. Ludger met his gaze without flinching, the faint hum of his Seismic Sense picking up the man’s slow, steady heartbeat—no sign of fear or deception. Just cautious curiosity.

Finally, the merchant asked, “Why would a guild officer want to help a place like this? We’re not exactly a trade hub.”

Ludger allowed a small shrug. “Give and take,” he said simply. “We’re giving first before asking for anything. Makes it easier for people to trust our questions later.”

The old man’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “That’s a very tidy way of putting it.”

“It’s an honest one,” Ludger said.

Freyra, standing slightly behind him, crossed her arms. “He’s like that all the time,” she muttered, earning a small, amused glance from the trader.

The man chuckled. “Well, you’re either honest or you’re very good at pretending. Either way, I won’t turn down free labor.”

He gestured toward the open storeroom behind him. “I could use a few strong hands to move the new shipment before it spoils. You help me with that, and I might remember a few things worth talking about.”

Ludger gave a brief nod. “Sounds fair.”

Derrin stepped forward immediately, rolling his sleeves up. “Where do we start?”

As the trader led them toward the back, Ludger caught the faint gleam of approval in the man’s eyes. Good, he thought. Interest opens more doors than fear ever does.

Now all that was left was to see what kind of information the old merchant would let slip once his shelves were in order.

Ludger didn’t feel like wasting the entire afternoon moving crates one by one, so as soon as the old trader pointed out what needed shifting, he simply raised a hand.

A faint tremor ran through the ground as his mana pulsed outward. The stacked boxes and barrels—some as heavy as a man—rose a few inches into the air and began sliding across the packed dirt in neat, perfectly balanced lines. The sound of grinding wood filled the storeroom as the goods arranged themselves with mechanical precision on the far side.

Derrin blinked, halfway through lifting a single barrel. “Uh… right. Guess you’ve got that covered.”

Freyra, not to be outdone, snorted and tried to speed up, hefting a crate nearly her own width. “I can keep up!” she said, only to misjudge her footing. The box wobbled, and for a heart-stopping second Ludger saw her tilt backward toward the open doorway.

He exhaled sharply. “Freyra.”

She froze, caught herself, and set the crate down with exaggerated care. “See? Nothing wrong here.”

Ludger’s hand lingered halfway in the air before he lowered it again. “You’re going to give me gray hair before I turn twelve,” he muttered under his breath.

The old trader laughed, leaning on his cane as he watched the spectacle. “A young earth mage from the Lionsguard, eh? No wonder you’re moving faster than my hired hands ever could.”

Ludger gave a small, polite nod. “Makes the work lighter.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly as recognition struck. “Wait a moment… you’re that one, aren’t you? The boy who rebuilt the border town—the one they’re calling Lionfang now?”

Ludger glanced up from the floating crates. “I am. I didn’t rebuild the border town, only a good part of the walls.”

The old trader chuckled, clearly impressed. “Well, I’ll be. If I’d realized who you were, I’d have asked for something more impressive than a bit of heavy lifting.”

Ludger allowed a faint smirk. “You still can,” he said. “Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Oh?”

“Help us with information we want,” Ludger replied, setting the last crate down with a soft thump. “We’re looking for anything unusual around here—missing people, strange travelers, new trade lines that don’t make sense. You give us that, and I’ll make sure your storeroom never needs sweeping again.”

The old man’s brows rose at the mix of humor and sharp intent in Ludger’s tone. He studied the boy for a long moment before smiling faintly. The trader chuckled. “Fair enough. Then finish up here, Vice Guildmaster. I think I might have a few stories worth your trouble.”

Freyra’s eyes lit up as Ludger gave a brief nod. Finally, she thought. Something useful.

Ludger, however, just exhaled quietly, dusting his hands. One problem solved, a dozen more waiting—same as always.

When the last of the crates were stacked and the dust had settled, the old trader brought out a jug of watered wine and three tin cups. He poured them each a measure and leaned against the counter, eyeing Ludger over the rim of his drink.

“You work fast,” he said. “Now, why’s the Lionsguard poking around a quiet place like this?”

Ludger took a sip, shrugged lightly. “A client asked us to look into something,” he said. “Can’t share the details. Confidential contract.”

The old man studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Guild business, I suppose.”

He set his cup down, gaze drifting toward the open door where Freyra stood, pretending not to eavesdrop. “You know,” he began, voice lowering, “rumors about people going missing around these parts have been swirling for over a year now. At first, we thought it was the usual—some fool wandering too far into the woods, or a hunter getting too close to the mountain trails.”

He paused, eyes narrowing. “But that wasn’t the whole story.”

Derrin frowned. “What do you mean?”

The trader rubbed his chin, the lines on his face deepening. “A few months back, a group of guards came through. Said they were sent to investigate the disappearances. Spent a week poking around, asking questions. Then they claimed they’d found the remains of those who’d vanished—said it was beasts, attacks, the usual. Told us there was nothing more to worry about.”

He glanced at Ludger. “Problem is, half the folks who disappeared had no reason to be anywhere near the mountains. One was a healer’s apprentice who barely left the village. Another was a lumberjack who hadn’t gone to the forest that week. Even a farmer who was supposed to be tending fields near the river. None of them were the type to wander into danger.”

Ludger’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened slightly. “And you’re sure those guards were legitimate?”

The trader gave a humorless chuckle. “They wore Imperial colors. Had the right paperwork, too. But I’ve lived long enough to know when someone’s rehearsing a story instead of telling it.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice further. “After they left, a few of us started asking questions. Wanted to know where exactly those ‘remains’ were found. What kind of beasts could drag off so many people without leaving a trail. And then…”

He hesitated, jaw tightening. “…then some of the questioners disappeared too.”

A quiet settled over the storeroom, the weight of his words sinking in.

Freyra broke it first, her voice a low growl. “So whoever’s behind this isn’t just taking people. They’re silencing anyone who notices.”

The old trader nodded grimly. “That’s what it looks like.”

Ludger didn’t move, didn’t blink, but his thoughts were already racing. The pattern fit too well with what Maurien had described—the blood, the organized routes, the suppression of rumors. This wasn’t random. This was maintenance.

“Thank you,” he said at last, setting his cup down. “That’s more help than you realize.”

The old man met his gaze steadily. “If you’re really here to find whoever’s responsible… be careful. They’re not just bandits. They’ve got someone powerful watching their back.”

Ludger gave a faint nod. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He turned toward the door, signaling the others to follow. As they stepped out into the sunlight again, Freyra muttered, “This is starting to stink.”

Ludger’s expression was unreadable. “Good. Then we’re close.”

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