They followed his gaze back toward the sea. The trench his blast had carved was already collapsing, the waves swallowing themselves in violent undertow. And through that chaos—dark shapes began to reappear. Dozens. Then hundreds.

The sahuagins were regrouping, rallying along the edges of the ruined channel. More were surfacing from the island’s reefs, their armor glinting faintly in the haze.

Ludger’s jaw tightened. “They’re not breaking. Someone’s still commanding them.”

He stepped back from the edge, mana still flickering around his shoulders like dying embers.

“Fall back! We’re pulling out before the next wave hits!”

Kharnek hefted his axe. “You sure? We could—”

“Retreat, Kharnek.” His tone left no room for argument. “That thing cost me enough mana to sink a fortress. I’m not wasting the rest fighting their reinforcements.”

Gaius nodded, already shaping a new stone path back toward the mainland.

“You heard him! Move!”

The Lionsguard and their allies began to withdraw across the battered bridge, boots splashing through puddles of salt and blood. Behind them, the sea churned again—something massive moving beneath the surface, rising toward the shattered horizon.

Two hours later, they finally set foot on the mainland again. The last stretch of the stone bridge felt twice as long as before, but Gaius’s magic held it together long enough to cross. Their boots hit solid ground with the dull weight of exhaustion.

The sahuagins had chased for a while, dark shadows darting beneath the waves, firing the occasional water bullet, but even monsters had limits. The instant the sea deepened and the pillars of the bridge thickened near shore, the creatures broke pursuit and sank back into the depths. Whatever was commanding them had called them off.

By the time the group reached the wooden pier connecting to the coast, the adrenaline was gone. They dropped where they stood.

Kharnek fell first, landing hard enough to make the boards creak. “Finally,” he groaned. “If those fish freaks had followed another kilometer, I’d have started swimming just to end it.”

Lucius laughed once—short, dry. “You’d sink before you got ten meters.”

“Worth it.”

Varik said nothing, sitting a few paces away, cleaning his spear. His expression hadn’t changed since the blast—still unreadable, still measuring Ludger like a question with too many wrong answers.

Ludger himself sat cross-legged near the edge, elbows on his knees, staring out at the gray water. The smell of ozone still clung to him. Every breath tasted faintly like iron.

The air around them shifted as dockhands and guards approached, first cautious, then curious, then alarmed. Whispers spread like wildfire.

“The southern bridge team’s back!”

“Was that smoke from the sea?”

“Did they actually finish the span?”

Questions piled fast. Then came the familiar faces. Arslan was the first to arrive, his voice echoing across the dock. “Report.” Behind him trailed Viola, still in partial armor, eyes wide and fixed on Ludger; and a moment later, Elaine appeared, carrying one of the twins in a sling.

The camp came alive, all gathering in a loose circle around the exhausted expedition team.

Lucius straightened, brushing sea spray off his coat. His noble calm returned, though his voice carried a weight that silenced the murmurs.

“The archipelago’s worse than we thought,” he began. “There’s… an organized force beneath the waves.”

He glanced toward Ludger before continuing. “We were attacked mid-span. Hundreds of sahuagins, led by armed elites and… something enormous. A siege creature. Possibly artificial.”

A ripple went through the crowd. Arslan’s expression hardened. “Meaning whoever’s behind this isn’t just defending the labyrinth—they’re building an army.”

Lucius nodded grimly. “And it’s waiting for us on the archipelago.”

Silence held for several heartbeats, the ocean wind the only sound.

Then Viola exhaled. “The sea was rought and we heard a loud noise in the distance two hours ago…”

Gaius’s mouth twitched. “That was Ludger.”

Dozens of eyes turned his way. Ludger rubbed the back of his neck, still seated, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Worked, didn’t it?” he said dryly.

Elaine sighed—the kind that said she’d already run out of scolding energy. “You could at least pretend to be injured when you do things like that.”

“I’ll pencil it in for next time,” Ludger said.

Kharnek barked a laugh, the sound rough but genuine. “Ha! Next time he’ll level an island.”

Lucius managed a tired smile, though his tone stayed serious. “If we go back, it won’t be for construction. We’ll need a full campaign force, and proper naval support.”

No one argued. The Lionsguard, for once, obeyed orders without complaint. And as the sun sank over the western dunes, the sea kept its secrets—quiet, for now—but glowing faintly beneath the waves where the archipelago waited.

Not everyone made it to the debrief.

The main camp was packed, but Ludger quickly noticed a few gaps. Freyra, for one. And one of the twins.

He moved through the rows of crates and supply tents until he found them near the guild’s wagons. Freyra sat on a barrel, staring out at the sea, her massive frame oddly still. Arash was curled in her arms, half-asleep, chewing on the end of her braid.

When she noticed Ludger’s shadow fall over her, she blinked, startled. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, she stood, expression guilty as a thief caught red-handed.

“Uh—” she said, then immediately shoved the baby into Elaine’s arms as the woman approached from behind with Elle balanced on her hip.

“Thank you,” Elaine said calmly, as if it were an exchange they’d practiced a hundred times.

Freyra’s shoulders stiffened, hands free again. Her stance shifted back into her usual northern pose—feet wide, chin high, eyes daring anyone to interpret her actions as affection.

Ludger just sighed through his nose. “So that’s where my little brother ended up.”

She grunted, noncommittal, and turned back toward the water. The faintest tint of red crept up her neck, but she didn’t answer.

For a moment, Ludger studied her. She hadn’t been loud or extremely loud lately. Too quiet, too measured. No half-shouted insults, no boasts. He wondered, privately, if Luna’s calm demeanor was rubbing off on her. Or if Freyra had simply found new ways to think instead of hit.

He didn’t ask. Some things didn’t need words. He was about to head back when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Arslan.

His father wore that neutral expression that usually preceded trouble. “Son,” he said, voice low, “I’ve been hearing things.”

“About the sahuagins?” Ludger asked.

“No,” Arslan said slowly. “About your secret technique.”

Ludger exhaled. “Of course.”

“I heard you vaporized half the sea,” Arslan continued, tone utterly flat. “And that you called it” his brow twitched “‘Turtle Shock Wave.’”

From somewhere behind them, Kharnek’s booming laugh echoed. “Aye! He did! You should’ve seen it! Bridge shook like it was scared!”

Gaius pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could have named it anything, Ludger. Anything at all. Why such a goofy name?”

The next morning, the camp was quieter—but not peaceful. The Lionsguard had rested, eaten, and begun repairing what remained of the southern bridge foundation. Still, there was a different sort of buzz drifting through the area. Word had spread, and no amount of damage control could stop it now.

By the time Ludger left his room, Arslan and Viola were already waiting near the shoreline.

His father stood with arms folded, expression carved from granite. Viola leaned against a wooden post, scarf fluttering in the sea breeze, eyes bright with something between awe and disbelief.

Arslan didn’t waste time. “You know why we’re here.”

Ludger sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want a demonstration.”

Viola grinned. “Obviously. Half of everyone says you leveled the ocean. The other half says you vaporized a giant monster. We just want to know which one’s closer to the truth.”

“Neither,” Ludger muttered. “But fine.”

He stepped a few meters away, closer to the waterline, the sand crunching under his boots. He didn’t want to use all of his mana again, but enough to prove a point.

“I’m not firing the full thing again,” he warned. “Unless you want to rebuild the docks.”

“Small-scale’s fine,” Arslan said. “I just want to understand what you did. You don’t just conjure a siege spell out of nowhere.”

Ludger crouched, dragging his finger through the sand to sketch a simple diagram: two circles converging, a line of pressure between them.

“It’s just compression,” he explained. “A Mana Bolt on each hand, condensed until the mana structure hits the collapse threshold. When you push them together—” he clasped his palms slowly “—the opposing currents destabilize and implode inward, releasing everything forward.”

Viola tilted her head. “You make it sound like two firecrackers colliding.”

“Pretty much. Except the firecrackers are made of super condensed mana trying to eat itself.”

Arslan’s brow furrowed. “And you stabilize that?”

“Barely,” Ludger admitted. “The Sage skills keeps it from eating me first.” He lifted his hands and began to gather mana, golden-white light bleeding through his fingers. “Normally, the compression builds until the air starts to vibrate. You can feel it when the streams line up.”

The hum came fast—too fast, even at reduced power. His fingertips trembled, the two orbs of energy flickering like twin suns. Then he snapped them together.

The moment they touched, the light folded inward with a sharp crack, followed by a thunderous boom that rolled over the area. A narrow beam of compressed mana shot across the sea, tearing through the air and slamming into the waves fifty meters out.

Water exploded upward, a wall of spray rising higher than the pier, before collapsing back in a hiss of vapor and mist.

The noise faded. The smell of ozone lingered.

“That,” Ludger said, shaking his hands to cool them off, “is about five percent of the real thing.”

Viola stared at the steaming patch of ocean, blinking. “You call that five percent?”

“Give or take.”

Arslan exhaled through his nose. “And you came up with this alone?”

“More or less,” Ludger said. “Cor taught me the principles of sagecraft for me to be able to do th, but this…”

He glanced back at the sea, where faint ripples still spread outward. “The more complex a spell, the easier it is to interrupt. So I used something brutal and dumb instead.”

Viola grinned, pushing off the post. “You’re seriously calling that simple? You just punched the ocean.”

Ludger shrugged. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Arslan studied him for a long moment before sighing. “You’re going to give your mother a heart attack one of these days.”

That actually made Viola laugh. The sound echoed over the surf as the sea slowly calmed again, a faint shimmer still hanging in the air where the blast had cut through it.

Arslan folded his arms, still eyeing the patch of sea where the waves were just beginning to calm again. After a moment, he turned back to Ludger, one brow raised. “What’s the actual name?”

Ludger’s lips twitched into the faintest grin. “Turtle Shock Wave.”

There was a pause. Viola blinked. Arslan stared. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if unsure it had heard right.

“…Turtle,” Arslan repeated flatly.

Ludger shrugged, utterly deadpan. “Yeah.”

His father rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You just leveled a piece of the ocean and named it after a turtle?”

“It’s a reference,” Ludger said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Old myth. There was a warrior who supposedly fired a blast of energy that could shatter mountains. Hardly anyone remembers the story now.”

Arslan blinked. “And you named that after him?”

“More like a tribute.” Ludger’s tone softened just a little, a rare flicker of warmth under the dry edge.

Viola snorted. “You’re telling me you flattened half the sea with a move called Turtle Shock Wave because of some old bedtime story?”

“Pretty much.”

Arslan stared at him for another long moment, then actually chuckled. “Gods help me, that’s so ridiculous it’s almost respectable.”

“Thanks,” Ludger said.

The older man’s gaze lingered, softer now. “So when did you come up with it, anyway? Don’t tell me it just popped out of nowhere.”

Ludger looked back at the waves, eyes half-lidded, remembering. “Two years ago. After I lost to you during that training duel.”

Arslan raised a brow. “That long ago?”

“Yeah,” Ludger said quietly. “Your Lion Fang technique broke my guard like it was made of paper. I figured if I wanted something for emergencies, I needed something of my own. Something that hit harder, cleaner, faster. So I built it from there.”

For a moment, Arslan didn’t reply. His expression shifted—half surprise, half pride that he didn’t bother to hide. “You built a myth out of losing to me.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Arslan laughed once, a genuine rumble from deep in his chest. “You really are my son.”

Viola crossed her arms, grinning wide. “Well, if Ludger’s got Turtle Shock Wave and you’ve got Lion Fang, then I guess it’s my turn.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to make your own technique?”

“Of course,” she said, fire in her tone. “Can’t let the men of this alliance have all the dramatic names. Crimson Horn is cool, but it isn’t flashy enough.”

Arslan smirked. “Better start training then. Try not to destroy any walls in the process.”

“I make no promises.”

Ludger chuckled, glancing at the sea again as sunlight broke through the clouds, gilding the water in gold. The waves still carried the faint tremor from his earlier blast.

He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and murmured, almost to himself, “Turtle Shock Wave, Lion Fang… maybe it’s time the Lionsguard became known for something more than holding the line.”

Viola grinned. “Then we’d better start giving the world new stories.”

Arslan just nodded, the pride in his eyes unmistakable. “Agreed.”

The three of them stood there a while longer, watching the ocean breathe, already thinking about the battles—and the legends—to come.

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