Morning in the Primal Groves carried a different kind of silence than night. Not empty, but alive, rustling leaves, distant howls, the faint thump of massive beasts moving through underbrush. The air tasted like dew and mana-soaked soil, thick enough to breathe. When Ludger and the others reached the port, sunlight broke through the canopy in diagonal beams, shimmering off the still water and the hull of the captured flagship.

And waiting in front of it were three figures. Trackers. Beastmen chosen by the Elders themselves.

The first was a tall lion-beastman with a mane braided in thick golden cords, standing with the posture of a warrior who woke before dawn every day of his life. His build was broad, not as massive as Raukor’s, but close enough that Ludger felt an odd flicker of familiarity. His fur was a darker shade, his eyes amber rather than Raukor’s deep bronze, but the resemblance still stirred something.

Do all lion beastmen look similar?

Ludger wondered, feeling strangely self-aware.

Or am I just used to Raukor being the only one I’ve met?

He dismissed the thought with a silent exhale. Curiosity was fine. Distraction was not.

Beside him stood Harkun, armor strapped tighter than yesterday, dual axes crossed on his back. Ludger hadn’t expected the wolfman to join personally. Someone of his status guarding ports wasn’t usually deployed for long hunts. It meant something that he was here.

Maybe trust. Maybe scrutiny.

The third tracker was the most visually striking. A woman with layered feathers instead of fur, her arms carved with light bone plates, her legs digitigrade like a predatory bird’s. Not quite harpy, more human in shape, but unmistakably avian. Sharp beak-like features and intelligent eyes that scanned surroundings with rapid, precise micro-movements. Wind stirred when she so much as shifted weight, a subtle mana presence, airy and light.

Kaela’s eyes flicked over her with open interest. Maurien assessed her silently. Renvar… looked intimidated. Harkun stepped forward, voice carrying authority without shouting.

“Good dawn. As agreed, these three will track with you under cooperation.” He gestured to the lion. “This is Ragan, warrior-path, strong nose, good judgment. He leads hunts, but when with you, he follows your lead.”

Ragan crossed his arms and inclined his head, not deferential, but accepting the terms. A quiet respect. Ludger returned the nod.

Harkun continued, placing his hand on his own chest. “I will join the hunt myself. Elders believe a representative is needed for clarity between clans and guilds.” His eyes glinted. “And because if trouble comes, teeth must answer teeth.”

Kaela whispered aside, “I like him.”

The bird-woman stepped forward then, feathers rustling softly like paper fans. Harkun introduced her with a tone of caution and praise.

“And this is Sivra. Keen sight, silent flight, storm-child blood. Where we smell tracks, she sees movement others miss.”

Sivra’s head tilted slightly toward Ludger, curiosity first, challenge second. She spoke only one sentence, voice light but razor-sharp.

“You fight well for one so young. We will see if you lead as well as you strike.”

Ludger didn’t bristle. Didn’t smile. He simply met her gaze.

“We’ll see soon enough.”

Harkun nodded approvingly. Beastmen appreciated directness. He stepped aside, letting Ludger stand at the front among both groups, Lionsguard and beastmen trackers together for the first time, tension like drawn bowstrings but pointed forward instead of at each other.

“Our goals align,” Harkun said. “We hunt the missing. We hunt the sellers. We hunt whatever shadow hand threads war between nations.”

He looked at Ludger next, not as a superior, not as an elder.

As an equal hunter.

“Until the day the trail ends, or one of us falls, we walk as one pack.”

The Groves wind rustled like approval. Story threads converged. Allies from foreign soil. Trackers skilled in wild paths. A boy vice-guildmaster who hunted problems nations ignored.

Ludger inhaled once, gaze moving across his new temporary unit, lion, wolf, bird… wind, claw, scent. Their strengths filled gaps in his own.

They were ready.

“Then let’s start,” Ludger said, tone calm but slicing through the morning like steel.

The hunt for the vanished, and for the underworld across three nations, had officially begun.

With introductions complete, the group returned to the ship. The sea breeze hit their faces as they boarded, and even the hull seemed lighter without the weight of chained prisoners below. The crew, Ironhand sailors hardened by storms and blood, moved with more ease than in the past week. No one whispered about escape attempts now, no night shifts were spent watching shadows for riots. With the beastmen trackers standing at the bow and Harkun overseeing, the ship felt less like a floating cell and more like an expedition vessel.

Lines were cast off. Mana stones flared faintly under the deck, powering the runic engines. The captured flagship eased away from the dock, turning toward open water with a grace unusual for a ship born in piracy. Beastmen eyes followed them from the port, silent guardians ensuring they were truly leaving, not invading.

Only when the Groves disappeared as green silhouettes behind mist did voices ease into open conversation.

Kaela stretched at the railing. “Feels like we’ve been breathing through our teeth for days.”

Renvar exhaled hard. “It’s nice not hearing chains rattle below deck.”

Maurien simply nodded, arms folded, cloak fluttering in the wind.

On the quarterdeck, Ludger gathered everyone, Lionsguard, Ironhand sailors, and the three trackers. He didn’t raise his voice. Not needed. 

“We move to the Velis League next,” he began. “No detours. Once we reach Coria, Linne and Dalan will analyze the runic equipment from the pirates. We need to trace where it was forged, who supplied it, and who paid.”

Ragan listened with both arms crossed, tail sweeping slowly, a lion assessing new hunting routes. Harkun’s posture remained alert, eyes scanning horizon even while attention stayed on Ludger. Sivra perched near rigging like she belonged in the sky more than on deck.

Rathen stepped forward, adjusting his coat with a heavy sigh. “That’s where I step aside. My presence too long in foreign waters will stir rumors Ironhand can’t afford. A guild master disappearing with a warship will raise questions back home.”

Ludger nodded. “You’ve done enough. The Empire needs you more than we do right now. We’ll handle the rest.”

Rathen looked at him with a half-tired, half-resigned expression, the look of a man realizing a terrifying truth:

He trusted a twelve-year-old to handle international criminal networks. And worse, he believed the boy could.

“I’ll arrange passage back on the League’s ports,” Rathen said. “Send letters for communication. If anything goes wrong…”

Ludger finished for him, calm and direct.

“We won’t ask for permission. We’ll act.”

Harkun chuckled low, baring fangs in approval. “Good. War waits for no council.”

Kaela leaned on the rail with a grin. “And neither do we.”

Sivra watched Ludger, eyes narrowing, not hostile, but curious. Testing the shape of his leadership. The boy who fought beastmen, negotiated with elders, and now sailed toward another nation for answers.

Ragan Maneclaw spoke for the first time since boarding, his voice deep, like stones rolling down a canyon.

The flagship cut across waves, leaving the Groves behind like a green myth dissolving into horizon. Ahead lay the Velis League, cities of smoke and metal, academies, traders, engineers.

Where answers waited. Where the underworld sold tools of war. Where missing beastmen might have been taken, probably. It was the obvious first destination.

Below deck, runic crates glowed faintly. Above deck, three beastmen trackers stood watch under Lionsguard command. And Ludger faced the sea like a hunter staring into a dark forest he fully intended to walk into. Not reckless. Not afraid. Ready.

By midday the waters grew darker, deeper, open sea replacing coastal calm. The wind sharpened, steady but cold, carrying the taste of foreign stone somewhere ahead. While the crew worked sails and ropes, Ludger leaned against the railing with Harkun, Ragan, Sivra, and his Lionsguard companions. The ship cut waves cleanly, leaving a foaming trail behind them.

Ludger’s eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. “Your senses are useful in the Groves,” he said, tone slow and thoughtful. “But how reliable will they be in the Velis League? Their cities run on forges. Smoke, mist, mana exhaust… The air is thick there. Harder to breathe, let alone track.”

Ragan grunted, mane rustling in the salt wind. “We won’t follow weeks-old scent trails there. Metal cities swallow smell, burn it, choke it. Tracks turn muddy, mixed with steam.” His lip lifted slightly in distaste. “Too many foreign odors to cut through.”

Harkun nodded. “What we can do is sense presence. Beastmen leave instincts, aura, sound. Trackers like us smell flesh, not fabric. If someone like Vorak passed recently, we’ll feel it, even in fog.”

Sivra’s feathers rippled, voice quiet but firm. “But only if we get close. A street, a warehouse… sometimes only a single room’s distance.”

Not ideal. A trail buried in iron cities was like a needle inside a furnace.

Ludger considered this carefully, tapping his fingers against the railing, gaze narrowed. “So you won’t find old trails easily. But fresh ones? Possible.”

Harkun’s tail flicked once. “Within reason. If beastmen slaves or traffickers with their smell passed through recently, we’ll know.”

Maurien folded her arms. “With my wind sensing, I can spread mana through alleys and detect movement at range. It should fill gaps your noses can’t bridge in smog.”

Kaela leaned forward, smirking. “And I can pressure crowds with cutting wind. People panic when scared. Panic makes them slip, talk, run. Perfect for smoke-filled places.”

Rathen raised a brow slightly. “You’re assuming we walk in and sniff out criminals like truffle hogs. Velis cities are dense. Half the merchants there pay bribes to keep guards blind.”

Ludger nodded. “Which is why we don’t search everything.” His gaze sharpened. “We target entry points. Ports, warehouses, underground markets. The places where slaves vanish between borders.”

Sivra tilted her head, testing him again. “And when we find a target? A slaver house? A warehouse of chained prey?” Her feathers bristled softly. “Do we raid immediately?”

The question hung heavy like storm clouds.

Kaela’s grin sharpened dangerously. She was ready to break bones the moment Ludger allowed it. Maurien remained unreadable, but power pulsed behind her calm eyes. Harkun and Ragan waited, predators willing to follow a young leader, but willing to judge him if he faltered.

Ludger didn’t rush the answer. He let the silence stretch, let the sea speak in their place, waves slapping wood, wind thrumming through sailcloth.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, resolved.

“We don’t storm blindly. We gather proof first. A raid without evidence risks blame on us, not the traffickers.” He met each of their eyes in turn. “But once proof is in our hands, we strike fast and quietly. Free the captives. Capture or kill the slavers. No time for them to scatter.”

Ragan’s golden eyes glinted with approval. “A clean kill is better than loud war.”

Sivra nodded slowly. “Swift as talon. Quiet as snow.”

Harkun’s voice rumbled low. “Good. A plan that respects hunting instead of ego.”

Kaela smirked wide. “And if they resist?”

Ludger turned, eyes cold as forged steel.

“Then they chose death.”

The wind hushed for a moment, as if even the sea paused to listen. No one questioned him after that. Because Ludger didn’t just intend to track slavers. He intended to end them. And in the iron cities of the Velis League, where shadows bought flesh and power with coin,  the Lionsguard was coming.

Thank you for reading!

Don’t forget to follow, favorite, and rate. If you want to read 300 chapters ahead, you can check my patreon: /Comedian0

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep