The next two days passed in a blur of preparation. Rathen wrote reports to those who wanted to hear about the pirates, carefully omitting names and shaping the narrative toward legality. Kaela re-checked every prisoner chain for tampering.

The port itself held a tense atmosphere. Word traveled quickly, pirates defeated, a flagship seized, a plot uncovered that stretched far beyond the coast. Some Ironhand members whispered that letting pirates go was madness. Others insisted it was the smartest political move Ironhand ever made.

But everyone understood one thing:

This wasn’t over. Once supplies were loaded, gear secured, and Rathen signed the official documents for prisoner transfer, the Lionsguard contingent boarded the captured flagship again. The repaired hull creaked as the sails unfurled, catching the early morning wind. The ship eased away from the docks like a wounded beast given new purpose.

Their destination: The waters of the Primal Groves. A place where any misstep could start a war.

Ludger stood near the bow, arms crossed, expression unreadable as the port shrank behind them. Renvar was half-hanging off the rigging, Kaela leaned lazily against a barrel, and Maurien hovered at the rail with calm vigilance. 

The prisoners, half of them, sat in chains near the mast, watching everything with cautious eyes. Some were beastmen. Others were humans. All were exhausted, confused, or silently grateful.

Rathen, standing beside Ludger, muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Ludger didn’t turn. “It’s the deal.”

Rathen sighed heavily. “Given what they were involved in? An underworld guild, an extremist faction in the Groves… Not killing them outright is almost insane.”

“That’s why we’re doing it,” Ludger replied calmly.

Rathen blinked. “…What?”

Ludger finally met his eyes, tone steady. “These men were pawns. Tools. Disposable muscle thrown into a political storm far bigger than them.” He nodded toward the beastmen prisoners, who watched the sea warily, as if expecting it to rise and judge them. “If we execute them, we confirm their fears. That humans want them dead. That Velis wants to poison their lands. That the Empire doesn’t care about their survival.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“Letting them go, once, shows them something else.”

Rathen considered that.

Kaela smirked. “Showing mercy to enemies? How un-Ludger of you.”

Ludger ignored her. “If we want peace someday, someone has to prove we aren’t all the same. Someone has to break the cycle. Letting these prisoners return home alive might be the only chance they ever get to see that not every human wants to pollute their forests or kill their tribes. ”

Maurien nodded. “A seed of doubt in fanatic ideology is worth more than a pile of bodies.”

Rathen’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Even so… this might be one of the strangest decisions I’ve ever agreed to.”

“It’s also the only one that might help,” Ludger said. “Well, if they try something like this again, the mist and pollution from the Velis league will be the last of their problems. I will be the real problem for them.”

The prisoners heard that… The ship cut through the waves, leaving the Ironhand port behind.

Ahead lay dangerous waters, uncertain alliances, and an entire faction waiting for an excuse to unleash war.

And the Lionsguard, just a handful of people on a stolen pirate flagship, were sailing straight toward them. To keep a promise. To return prisoners alive. And to show that not every human or guild followed the path of destruction.

Just this once, mercy was the weapon. Ludger didn’t know if it would matter. But he intended to see it through.

The sea stretched endlessly around them, the repaired flagship cutting through the waves with an uneasy groan. Hours passed in a begrudging rhythm: the creak of rigging, the occasional grunt from a prisoner shifting in chains. Ludger eventually turned his gaze toward Vorak again. The beastman sat with his back to the mast, staring at the horizon, half-lidded eyes tracking the wind like a predator conserving energy.

Ludger stepped closer. “Vorak.”

The beastman tilted his head slightly. “What?”

“You had humans in your crew.” Ludger let his eyes drift toward the small cluster of battered men chained near the beastmen prisoners. They avoided eye contact, some ashamed, some tired, some resigned. “Who are they?”

Vorak let out a slow exhale. “Our allies. That’s all.”

Ludger didn’t react. “Allies from where?”

Vorak frowned, not aggressively, but in irritation at the question. “From the Groves,” he said grudgingly. “Humans who live among us.”

Ludger’s brow rose. “Humans living in the Primal Groves? I thought your people were isolationist.”

Vorak gave a small, humorless grunt. “Most are. But not all. Our clan… we’re not afraid to let outsiders live among us. If they respect the land, the tribes, and our ways, they’re no different from anyone else.” He rolled a sore shoulder. “We don’t kill every outsider who steps into our forests. Only the stupid ones.”

Kaela, listening nearby, smirked. “So most humans.”

Vorak grunted in agreement.

Ludger crossed his arms. “How does that work? Letting humans stay? Practically speaking.”

Vorak stared at him for a long moment, as if debating whether it was worth explaining. Then he sighed, sounding more exhausted than annoyed.

“Our senses,” he said finally. “Beastmen can smell what a person really is. Their stress. Their intent. Their lies. Their fear. Their bloodline. If someone’s there to cause trouble, we know right away.” His nostrils flared slightly. “So the only humans who stay long-term are the ones who truly want to live there. Or have nowhere else to go.”

Ludger nodded slowly. Beastman senses were no joke, especially smell. It made sense. Their trust system was instinctive, not political.

“Even so,” Ludger said after a moment, “they still chose to work for an underworld guild.”

Vorak’s jaw tightened. He didn’t defend them. Didn’t justify it. Didn’t offer excuses. He simply lowered his head a little, the chains clinking faintly as he shifted.

“…I have nothing to say for that,” he muttered.

Ludger stared at him for another moment, then looked away. Even the loyal weren’t immune to desperation. Or manipulation. Or greed.

And in the Primal Groves, where politics were decided by strength, tradition, and instinct, the line between “ally” and “tool” was thinner than most humans understood.

The sea wind picked up again, tugging at the sails and ripple-stirring the surface of the water, but the silence between them remained heavy. Because Vorak had admitted something without saying it outright: Even in the Primal Groves, not everyone could resist the temptation of the underworld.

While the political weight of Vorak’s words still hung over him, Ludger’s mind drifted to future steps, how to handle the handover, how to approach the Groves without triggering a tribal alert, how to press further into the underworld chain without relying on Ironhand bureaucracy. He was halfway through calculating travel times when movement at the starboard side caught his eye.

A handful of Ironhand sailors carried long fishing rods toward the railing. Fishing rods? Ludger blinked. The flagship was gliding across the sea at nearly thirty kilometers per hour, wind-assisted sails and a mana-stabilized keel. At that speed, fishing should’ve been impossible. No way normal hooks could cut water cleanly enough to catch anything without snapping.

Unless they knew something he didn’t.

His brain, ever hungry for new systems, immediately derailed into possibility.

Deep water fishing.Mana nets.Oceanic resource expeditions.Runic trawlers.First major seafood trade monopoly…

He cut his thoughts there before he invented an entire naval industry by accident.

Instead, Ludger walked over to the sailors. “What are you doing?”

One of the older men, sun-tanned face, salt-stiff beard, missing two fingers, looked up at him like the question itself was strange.

“Fishing,” he replied matter-of-factly, tossing his line in a smooth practiced arc. The hook slapped the water, trailed behind the ship, and vanished beneath the wake with surprising stability.

Ludger stared. “At full speed?”

“Aye.” Another sailor grinned. “Big ocean predators chase the wake. They think the ship’s a herd o’ whale. We catch whatever’s stupid enough to bite.”

He tapped his rod. Lightly. Casually. As if hauling sea monsters was normal.

“Also,” he added, “we’ve got fifty crew aboard… and around a hundred-fifty prisoners. We either fish or starve ‘fore we reach the Groves.”

Ludger nodded. That made sense. Feeding two hundred people for two weeks out at sea required strategy, not coin.

He paused, then spoke plainly: “Teach me.”

Renvar nearly dropped his rope coil.

Kaela snorted. “You? Fishing?”

Maurien raised one brow like someone watching a dangerous child pick up tools.

The sailors blinked, surprised for a heartbeat, then shrugged.

“Sure,” the old man said. “Never too young to learn how to feed yourself. Grab a rod.”

Ludger did, testing the weight, feeling the balance, letting his mana flow subtly along the line. The sea tugged back like something alive. Ten minutes later…

A tug. A stronger one. A ripple of tension down the line. Ludger pulled sharply, shifting weight to counter the drag.

The rope snapped tight, something heavy fighting below, thrashing the surface with white spray. Ludger braced, pivoted, and dragged it up with controlled strength.

A sleek, silver-blue predator burst from the water, long, fanged, thrashing violently. Two sailors helped hold it steady as it was hauled onto the deck, flopping like a wild blade. Blood shimmered along its scales.

The system chimed.

[New Job Unlocked: Fisherman Lv. 1]

Bonus per Level: +3 LUK, +3 VIT

Skill Acquired:[Basic Hooking Lv. 1]

Increases success rate in pulling caught prey. Reduces line break chance. Efficiency scales with Dexterity and Luck.

Ludger stared at the notification.

Kaela burst out laughing. Maurien smirked quietly. Even Vorak’s broken lip twitched. Renvar whispered dramatically. Ludger simply wiped seawater from his sleeve.

“Useful,” he muttered.

Not glamorous. Not violent. But useful.

Another piece of progression. Another tool in his expanding arsenal. And with two weeks of ocean ahead… He had time to master it.

The moment Ludger felt how the Fisherman job worked, his brain did what it always did, looked for shortcuts. Efficient shortcuts.

He spent another few minutes watching the sailors cast their lines, measuring timing and tension, memorizing how the sea dragged against the line. Then, without saying a word, Ludger stepped away from them and onto an open section of deck.

He placed both hands against the air, mana seeping downward. A cage of earth emerged from the air, thick bars, latticework tight enough to stop most sizeable prey. It was the size of a small wagon, jagged and crude but sturdy. The crew stared, first confused, then curious, then increasingly unsettled.

Ludger opened one side of the cage like a door, then pushed it into the water with a gesture. Mana held the structure intact as it slid beneath the surface, sinking steadily into the blue depths.

For a moment, only bubbling water showed where it disappeared. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Ludger closed his hand. The cage surged upward in a burst of seawater.

Splashing, flopping chaos erupted as it landed back on deck, filled with fish the size of a man’s forearm, two eel-like things that snapped at the bars, and one bizarre crustacean-creature with too many legs and a glowing purple antenna that clearly whispered do not eat me if you want to live.

Half the crew scrambled back instinctively. Renvar shrieked when one eel wriggled toward him. Kaela burst into genuine laughter. Maurien rubbed his forehead like he’d foreseen this exact day since meeting Ludger. It was a success in terms of quantity. Just… not in terms of progression.

A faint chime rang quietly in Ludger’s mind. Or rather—didn’t. No XP. No job progress. No skill improvement. Ludger stared into the cage, deadpan. So manually trapping fish didn’t count. The system refused to reward efficiency, only the method.  He had to fish with a rod. Personally. Traditionally.

He exhaled slowly, expression flat as a calm sea.

“…Stupid.”

Ludger sighed, restored the cage door, and tipped the stone structure back over the railing. Most of the catch splashed back into the waves, safe. A handful of normal fish remained for dinner. He retrieved his rod again in silence.

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