By sunset, the cage incident had already become ship lore. Two sailors swore they saw the glowing crustacean wink at them before sinking into the waves, Renvar refused to go near the railings for an hour, and Ludger fished in utter silence as if personally insulted by the system’s rules.

It was during this strange peace that Renvar flopped down beside him, arms dangling over the edge like a bored cat. His sword rested across his knees, and his hair was still damp from when an eel nearly dragged him overboard.

“My fighting style is random,” Renvar announced suddenly, staring at Ludger with the seriousness of a man revealing a deep secret.

Ludger raised one eyebrow. “I noticed.”

Renvar pointed at him with the dramatic flair of someone inventing logic on the spot. “But I’ve never met someone who does more random things than me. You leap between magic, blacksmithing, teaching, sculpting, runes, martial arts, interrogation, economics, fishing…”

He waved broadly at the ocean. “Who wakes up one day and decides to become a fisherman halfway through an international piracy crisis?”

Ludger reeled his line in, expression flat. “Knowledge is knowledge. Any good skill is a good skill..”

Renvar stared at him like that was the most chaotic sentence he’d ever heard. Kaela, lounging with her boots crossed on a barrel, snorted. “You’re acting surprised. Ludger just likes trying new things.”

She tossed a dagger upward lazily, catching it without looking. “He’s good at almost everything he picks up. It keeps his brain busy. I think he enjoys the challenge.”

Maurien nodded quietly from where he leaned on the mast. “He doesn’t see categories. Just tools. Skills. Advantages.”

Kaela pointed at Ludger with her dagger. “If he wasn’t twelve, he’d be terrifying. Actually, he is terrifying. Just young.”

Renvar laughed, shaking his head. “Sword dancing, casting, smithing, sculpting, most people choose one path. Ludger chooses all of them and then asks what he can learn next.”

Ludger cast his line again without looking up.

“Being limited sounds inefficient.”

Kaela chuckled. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

Renvar leaned back, shading his eyes from the fading sun. “If you ever decide to become a cook, I’m leaving the boat. I don’t trust you anywhere near knives out of combat.”

Ludger didn’t respond.

The waves turned gold as the sun lowered, and for a moment the ship felt almost peaceful. Wind carried the smell of salt and grilled fish across the deck, someone already preparing dinner from Ludger’s catch.

Renvar watched the horizon with a strangely soft expression, legs dangling over the railing. After a long silence, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You know…” he said, tapping the hilt of his sword with one foot, “I never expected the Lionsguard’s work to be like this.”

Ludger didn’t look away from his fishing line.

Renvar continued, voice a mix of awe, confusion, and mild complaint. “I thought joining would mean monster hunting, guarding caravans… maybe escorting nobles who complain too much and then shutting them up.” He gestured vaguely toward the sea. “But instead it’s fighting pirates on a stolen flagship, negotiating with them, then planning to return them home so we can find even more pirates.”

Kaela laughed under her breath. “Welcome to the Lionsguard. Step one: kill things. Step two: talk to the survivors. Step three: use them to find step one again.”

Maurien nodded with resigned acceptance. “Cycle of violence, diplomacy, and paperwork. Mostly violence.”

Renvar scratched his cheek. “So this is normal for you?”

Ludger reeled in the line, checked the hook, cast it again. “Yes.”

Renvar stared at him. “That’s not reassuring at all.”

Kaela stretched lazily, cracking her neck. “Honestly? It’s fun. Unpredictable. Chaotic. Like life but faster.”

Renvar’s eye twitched. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She grinned. “I enjoy being paid to stab people legally.”

Maurien corrected her gently. “Professionally, Kaela.”

“Same thing,” she said.

Ludger, tone flat as calm water, added:

“If you wanted stability, Renvar, you should have joined the Imperial Guard. It would be interesting to see you try to adapt.”

Renvar choked. “Stable? They’re bored to death half the time.”

“And alive,” Ludger replied.

Maurien huffed a quiet laugh. Kaela smirked. Even some of the sailors nearby cracked a grin. Renvar learned something in that moment, the Lionsguard didn’t just fight threats.

They hunted them. Tracked them. Followed the trail until the source was ripped out by the roots. Pirates, underworld factions, political agitators, targets shifted constantly. There were no routine assignments, no predictable routes.

The Lionsguard didn’t wait for trouble. They walked toward it. Renvar leaned back, staring at Ludger, genuinely impressed now instead of confused.

“…Dangerous people,” he murmured.

Kaela flicked him with her boot. “You joined us. You’re one of those dangerous people now.”

Renvar smiled, nervous, excited, maybe proud. “Guess I am.”

Ludger didn’t respond, but the faint upward twitch of his lips said enough. This was Lionsguard work. Unconventional. Risky. World-shaking. And they were just getting started.

The rhythm of the voyage settled into something almost domestic. Wind, waves, ropes groaning under tension. The fishing lines, surprisingly well-crafted, cut through the wake without snapping. Ludger examined one closely—fine strands braided with something like tendon, flexible but tougher than steel thread.

Monster material.

That explained the durability.

Even with the ship gliding at high speed, the rods bent but never broke. The line hummed faintly under water pressure, absorbing tension like it was alive. Still, the results were… slow.

The fishermen pulled in a catch every now and then, but not often. The ocean was endless, but prey that could keep up with a thirty-kilometer-per-hour ship were scarce, and the edible ones even scarcer.

Hours passed. A few fish, then none. A lot of waiting. Ludger, however, didn’t waste time.

He tested the rod grip, line tension, hook shape, weight distribution. He memorized each sensation, how water dragged differently at depth. How the sea’s mana currents shifted with wind direction. He adapted.

Slowly, bit by bit, he began catching more fish than the others. But it wasn’t enough. Ludger was not built for patience-only progression. Which meant his brain, inevitably, started looking for the next rule to break.

He recalled how his earth cage yielded no XP, manual harvesting didn’t count. But real fishing, hook to hand, skill to reward? That worked.

So what if he simply improved the hook’s appeal?

He held the rod, channeled mana down the line, just a trickle at first. The line absorbed it, faintly glowing, shimmering through the water like a living lure. He pushed more, the mana rippling outward in waves. It moved better through the waters now. Like blood in shark-filled waters.

Something moved below, fast. Predatory. The rod jerked. Hard. Ludger’s reaction was instant. He didn’t haul. He shot.

A compressed mana bullet pierced the ocean surface like a sniper round, water parting around it. A muffled crack echoed below. The line went slack, prey stunned or dead, and Ludger pulled smoothly. A large, silver-bodied fish flew out of the water, limp, clean capture. Hit. Hook. Haul. Perfect sequence.

A system chime followed:

[Basic Hooking +20 XP]

Ludger exhaled through his nose. He found the loophole. He didn’t need patience. He only needed efficiency.

Mana infusion → attract prey.

Mana bullet → circumvent resistance.

Manual retrieval → system-approved.

Kaela stared at him from across the deck, jaw slowly dropping.

Renvar whispered, horrified and impressed.

Maurien only muttered, “I should have seen this coming.”

With each cast, Ludger refined the technique. Adjust mana frequency. Widen the lure aura. Stun without pulverizing the meat. Pull while the body was limp and heavy.

Every catch yielded XP. Every catch raised the skill. Soon, the boy was casually plucking sea life from the ocean like fruit from a tree. The other fishermen watched, first confused, then amazed, then terrified that their jobs might become obsolete. Ludger’s expression remained neutral, but inside, gears turned.

If mana infusion attracted prey

→ then stronger mana = bigger prey.

If bigger prey = more XP

→ then deep sea monsters = jackpot.

He stared at the water thoughtfully. Kaela saw the look.

“Ludger. Don’t.”

He cast the line again, with a little more mana. Renvar backed away from the railing. Maurien sighed into the wind like a man who accepted fate long ago. And in the depths beneath them, something stirred.

The mana-infused line glowed like a beacon beneath the waves, radiating through the dark blue depths. Ludger felt something brush against it, heavy, nothing like the smaller fish earlier. The rod bent, groaned, nearly snapped in half.

Then the surface of the ocean bulged. A massive shadow rose.

Water exploded upward as a colossal octopus burst into view, its body wider than a wagon, tentacles whipping like living spears. One thick arm shot up, wrapped around the line, and bit clean through the hook with a beak the size of Ludger’s torso.

The rod nearly flew from his hands.

Ludger tightened his grip and flooded the line with mana, reinforcing it. The rod hummed violently, wood creaking, line vibrating like it was seconds from shredding. Even enhanced, the pull was insane, if Ludger weighed any less, he’d be underwater already.

Renvar screamed and scrambled up a mast again. Kaela just stared, deadpan. “Of course. Why not summon a sea giant to dinner?” Maurien quietly moved his hands, in case things escalated.

The octopus yanked harder, dragging the back of the ship downward. Ludger’s heels gouged trenches into the deckboards, arms locking in place, teeth clenched. If he let go now, the monster would vanish with half the rod, and possibly a section of railing.

He needed damage. He needed it now. Earth mana gathered above him, condensed into rough rectangular blocks, each the size of a coffin. Six of them. Heavy enough to break a horse’s spine.

He let them go. Gravity did the rest. The blocks plummeted like meteors. They hit the water with thunderous splashes, sinking fast. For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then WHAM.

One stone struck the octopus’s bulbous head underwater. A plume of dark ink and foam burst up. The creature thrashed, tentacles slapping the hull hard enough to rattle cannons. Ludger now had a window, he planted his feet and finally fired multiple mana bullets into the rippling water.

One. Two. Three. The sea churned crimson. The line slackened.

Ludger exhaled once, gripped the rod, and then pulled the corpse with earth magic, lifting its massive bulk like a grotesque prize. Water cascaded off glistening limbs as he dragged it aboard. A ten-meter octopus monster slammed onto the deck with a wet, meaty thud.

[Basic Hooking +300 XP]

Silence followed. Two hundred sailors and prisoners stared at the boy and the creature like neither belonged to this world.

Renvar, halfway up the mast, whispered, “We’re all going to die because he wanted some action while fishing?.”

Kaela pinched the bridge of her nose like she was holding back hysterical laughter. Maurien merely stared at the sea, contemplating his life choices.

Ludger wiped sea spray from his cheek. Then he smiled.

Just a small one, dangerously innocent.

“So,” he said, voice calm and clear enough for half the ship to hear, “who wants takoyaki?”

The entire deck collectively decided they were more afraid of Ludger than the ocean.

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