Ludger pressed his palm against the coral pillar below him, channeling mana downward as another coral pillar began to take shape beneath the waves. The process had become almost rhythmic by now—push, sense, compress—but it demanded focus. Every misstep could crack the structure or stir the ocean’s wrath again.

He was halfway through stabilizing the mana flow when a familiar pulse of foreign energy brushed against his senses. Sharp. Moving. Multiple signatures.

Ludger froze, eyes narrowing. “…Damn it.”

He turned toward the shoreline, and even from the distance, he could see it—shapes crawling out of the water.

Sahuagins.

Their scaled bodies glistened in the sunlight, eyes glowing faintly green, fins flaring as they clutched makeshift weapons of coral and bone. They hissed, crouched low, ready to spring.

And right in their path—Elaine. Standing near the water with the twins’ troller at her side, calmly showing them the waves.

Ludger’s blood ran cold.

“Not today,” he muttered.

Mana flared through his hands, golden dust rising from the sand. Before anyone else could react, he fired—

A storm of Mana Bolts erupted from the beach, streaking across the air like miniature comets. The bolts struck the sahuagins dead-on, tearing through scale and sinew, the water erupting into steam where the energy hit.

The monsters never made it ten steps.

By the time the spray settled, all that was left were drifting corpses and the hiss of boiling surf.

Ludger exhaled sharply, lowering his hand. “So much for a peaceful morning.”

From further down the beach, he heard Arslan’s voice. “Son!”

His father and Viola were already there, weapons drawn—Arslan’s blade humming with condensed mana, Viola’s sword glinting in the sun. They both looked ready for a fight that had already ended.

Ludger waved them off. “Handled it.”

Viola groaned, lowering her weapon. “You couldn’t wait five seconds? We were right here!”

“You were late,” Ludger said flatly. “And I’m not taking chances with my family on the beach.”

“Overprotective much?” she shouted back. “You sound just like your mother did two years ago!”

Ludger gave her a deadpan stare from across the sand. “Yeah, and she was right. You’re welcome.”

Viola huffed, muttering something under her breath as she cleaned her weapon. Arslan only sighed and sheathed his sword. “Next time,” he said, “warn us before you start blasting the coastline.”

“No promises,” Ludger said. “Monsters don’t send invitations.”

From behind him, Gaius chuckled softly. “He’s not wrong.”

Elaine, unbothered as ever, merely rocked the twins’ cradle gently with one foot. “Well,” she said calmly, “that was loud.”

Ludger turned toward her, exasperated. “You think?”

She smiled faintly. “They’re asleep. You didn’t even wake them.”

Gaius barked a laugh. “Looks like you’ll have to try harder, boy.”

Ludger just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The sea was calm again, but the faint pulse of hostile mana still lingered in the depths—like a warning.

If the sahuagins were attacking this close to shore in daylight, something deeper was stirring.

And next time, it wouldn’t be just a handful of them.

As expected, the sahuagins weren’t drawn to the workers or the wooden scaffolds this time.

Without mana cores embedded in the pillars , the monsters had no reason to attack the structure.

Instead, they went straight for the source—the mana signatures they could sense.

Ludger and Gaius.

The ocean’s surface rippled in warning long before the first heads broke through. Dozens of sleek, scaled forms lunged from the waves, eyes glowing with that same sickly green light, hissing through rows of jagged teeth.

But Gaius had seen it coming. He slammed his hand down, ripples of earth-aspected mana racing through the water, shifting the seabed under their feet. The sahuagins stumbled mid-charge—only for Ludger to finish the job with a clean barrage of mana bolts that tore through them like shrapnel.

The beach turned quiet again.

Further down the shore, Viola and Arslan were already hunting stragglers. Arslan’s sword cut clean arcs through the air, shearing scales and flesh, while Viola’s sword flashed bright under the noon sun. They moved like clockwork—he drove the sahuagins into her range, and she finished them before they could flee.

It was efficient and brutal.

By the time the last creature fell, only the crash of waves and the hum of distant work remained.

Under a nearby palm, Elaine sat with the twins, rocking their troller to keep them calm. The shade barely covered her, but she didn’t seem to mind. The sea breeze caught her hair, the sunlight catching in her eyes as she watched the chaos from a safe distance.

Ludger wiped sweat from his forehead, exhaling slowly. “That’s the third wave today.”

Gaius grunted, adjusting his grip on his footing. “They’re not stupid. They’re testing our rhythm. But it’s fine—without mana cores in the pillars, the bridge is no longer their target. They’re after us.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Guess that makes us the bait.”

“Good bait,” Gaius said, cracking his neck. “Let them come. The more we kill, the more we learn about them.”

Before Ludger could answer, the sound of heavy boots crunching sand drew his attention.

Rathen himself was making his way toward them, his spear strapped across his back, armor gleaming dull silver under the sunlight. The man’s expression was as calm as ever, but there was a flicker of surprise behind his eyes as he took in the sight of the coral pillars stretching out into the sea.

“Well,” Rathen said, stopping a few meters away, “I see I underestimated you two.”

Ludger turned to face him. “You’re late to the show.”

“I wasn’t expecting a miracle,” Rathen admitted, looking out toward the horizon where the pale, living stone of the pillars caught the waves. “The first section’s foundation isn’t even one-third done, and yet…” He let out a quiet whistle. “You’re already working on the fourth set?”

Gaius smirked. “We don’t do slow.”

Rathen laughed softly. “Apparently not. My engineers told me coral and sediment wouldn’t hold for a structure like this, but I’d say you’ve proven them wrong.”

“It’s holding because it’s alive,” Gaius said. “We’re not forcing the sea to bear the bridge—we’re making it part of it.”

Rathen nodded appreciatively. “I can’t claim to understand the magic, but I can recognize results.” His gaze shifted to Ludger. “At this rate, we’ll have to expand the work teams just to keep up with you two.”

Ludger wiped his hands clean on his trousers, squinting against the sun. “Don’t get too excited. The sea’s not done fighting us. You might want to keep those guards close—next time they’ll come in bigger numbers.”

Rathen grinned. “Then we’ll be ready. The Ironhand Syndicate didn’t get its name for delicate work.”

Behind them, the ocean shimmered under the noon light. The fourth set of pillars was already taking shape—massive coral columns rising like the ribs of some forgotten titan, glistening with salt and mana.

Elaine glanced over from her patch of shade, a faint smile on her face as the twins babbled softly beside her. “I told you they’d be fine,” she murmured.

Ludger didn’t hear her, but if he had, he might’ve agreed—for now.

Because for the first time since the project began, the bridge truly looked alive.

And deep beneath it, something else was starting to take notice.

Rathen lingered after the inspection, his easy smile and deep voice drifting closer to the shade where Elaine sat with the twins. He was polite—complimented the children, thanked her for letting the Lionsguard assist, and even brought her a cup of water from the work tents.

Arslan didn’t say a word the entire time.

He stood a few paces away, arms folded, expression unreadable—but Ludger could practically feel the tension radiating off him. His father wasn’t the jealous type, never had been. But there was a certain look in his eyes—a mix of suspicion, protectiveness, and maybe just a flicker of husbandly pride being challenged on his own beach.

Elaine, of course, noticed none of it. She spoke with her usual calm grace, smiling politely while Rathen gestured toward the horizon, talking about the progress of the bridge and how “refreshing it was to meet someone so composed amidst chaos.”

Yeah, Ludger thought dryly, I bet that’s what caught your eye, pal.

He turned away before his father’s patience gave out, heading toward Gaius, who was knee-deep in wet sand, scribbling rough measurements into a plank with a piece of charcoal.

“Hey,” Ludger said, glancing toward the stacks of lumber piled along the shoreline, “you think we’ve got enough planks to even cover two hundred meters of the bridge?”

Gaius gave the pile one long look, then snorted. “Not a chance. The Hakuens and Ironhand seriously underestimated the scale of our skill. The bridge’s width alone is twenty meters—do the math. At this rate, we’ll run out of wood before we hit a tenth of the distance.”

Ludger sighed, scanning the materials himself. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The older mage grumbled under his breath. “I swear, nobles always think wood grows out of thin air.”

Ludger rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing slightly. “Well… maybe it can.”

Gaius turned, raising a brow. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to say.”

Ludger shrugged. “I mean, I can make plants grow. Trees too, if I channel enough mana and give them a bit of push. It’s a Druid technique—wasn’t exactly my main focus, but I’ve used it before.”

Gaius stared at him, unimpressed. “A Druid technique?”

“Yeah.”

The old mage blinked, slowly. “Which part of your mother or father looks remotely like a Druid to you?”

Ludger smirked. “Neither. Guess that’s just talent.”

Gaius let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Talent, he says. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me you can talk to the coral too.”

Ludger crossed his arms. “Didn’t plan to, but now that you mention it…”

“Don’t push it, boy.”

The banter drew a faint grin from Ludger before he glanced back toward the dunes. Arslan was still standing there, clearly trying very hard not to glare in Rathen’s direction. Elaine was laughing softly at something the guildmaster said, one of the twins grabbing his beard with a delighted squeal.

“…You think we should save him?” Ludger asked under his breath.

Gaius followed his gaze, smirked, and shook his head. “No. Let him stew. Builds character.”

Ludger chuckled. “Yeah, sure. But if he snaps, I’m blaming you. Still, some random guy being too chummy with my mother… I guess I will make him run instead and save my father from the embarrassment.”

“I’ll take the blame,” Gaius said, returning his focus to the coral sketches. “You just worry about your miracle forest, druid boy. If you can grow timber faster than we can run out, maybe this bridge will actually reach the damn island before we’re both gray.”

Ludger grinned faintly. “Deal.”

He turned back toward the sea, the sunlight reflecting off the half-built structure. For the first time since they’d started this job, he could almost imagine it finished—stretching across the horizon, strong enough to outlast even the tide.

Now he just had to find enough saplings to make that vision real.

Ludger had used his druid skills before—just not like this.

Back in Lionfang, he’d grown grass for the cattle fields in the north, coaxed seedlings into sturdy pasture, and thickened the roots of wheat to keep the soil from washing away. Simple, practical work. Never once had he bothered with trees. There’d been no reason to.

Until now.

When the sun set that night, the air around their coastal base was still warm and heavy with salt. Most of the others were inside the house, laughing softly over dinner. Elaine had finally gotten the twins to sleep. Viola was scribbling notes on the day’s progress, and Arslan was pretending not to read over her shoulder.

Outside, Ludger crouched near the edge of camp, where the dunes met the packed soil they’d leveled earlier. A few small saplings lay beside him—thin, rough, maybe knee-high at best. He’d taken them from the inland hills during the day, roots bundled carefully in damp cloth.

Now, under the moonlight, he planted them one by one.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s see if this works.”

He rested a hand on the first sapling and let his mana flow. The familiar green aura spread from his palm into the soil, spiraling outward. Plant Growth.

The connection came immediately—raw, responsive, alive. The seedling trembled, its stem thickening as if waking from a long sleep. Leaves unfurled, stretching toward the moon.

Ludger narrowed his focus, channeling more energy into the roots. The sapling began to grow faster.

Five meters. Seven. Ten.

By the time he realized how much mana he was pouring into it, the tree towered above him, its bark dark and wet, its leaves glinting faintly silver in the night air. The branches creaked softly, settling into place like bones clicking into socket.

Ludger stumbled back a step, panting lightly. “…Well,” he muttered, “that’s one way to skip twenty years.”

But the awe didn’t last long.

As his mana receded, he felt something off. A dryness clinging to the edges of his senses—like ash on his tongue. He looked down.

The ground around the tree was gray.

Not dry—drained.

The sand and soil looked as if life itself had been pulled straight out of it. The faint mana flow he could usually sense under the surface was just… gone.

He crouched, pressed a hand against the dirt, and frowned. “It’s almost dead.”

The soil didn’t respond. No pulse, no trace of natural energy. The roots of the new tree stretched deep, far deeper than they should’ve been able to overnight—and they’d taken everything.

It wasn’t just feeding. It had devoured.

Ludger exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing on the ten-meter trunk that now loomed above the base. “You greedy bastard…”

The leaves rustled softly in the sea breeze, as if mocking him.

He glanced toward the longhouse where light spilled faintly through the window, voices muffled inside. No one had noticed yet.

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