The rumors didn’t spread quietly. They moved the way fear and excitement always did, through merchants first, then taverns, then guild halls, until even places far from Lionfang were repeating the same words with different tones.

The frost labyrinth was being contested. Open challenge. Public terms. Duels.

By the third day, the story had grown teeth. Some versions are exaggerated. Some sharpened details. But the core remained intact: the Lionsguard had accepted a challenge, and were raising the stakes instead of backing down.

That was enough. Kharnek arrived at the guild gates before noon. Not alone.

Hundreds of northerners followed him, armed, armored, loud, and unmistakably energized. They didn’t come with hostility. They came with anticipation. The kind that only came from the promise of sanctioned violence.

Freyra was at the front, grinning like this was a festival announcement rather than a political crisis. They didn’t even bother asking permission. They went straight to Ludger.

“You’re telling me,” Freyra said, arms crossed, eyes burning, “that there’s going to be a fight for control of the frost labyrinth…”

“And we’re not invited?” Kharnek finished, voice rumbling.

The northerners behind them murmured, restless. Axes were shifted. Knuckles cracked. Smiles spread.

Ludger didn’t flinch.

“No,” he said.

Silence followed.

“…No?” Freyra repeated.

“I’ll handle it alone,” Ludger continued. “That’s the point.”

Kharnek stared at him, then barked a laugh.

“Alone?” he said. “You plan to steal all the fun for yourself?”

“This isn’t fun,” Ludger replied evenly. “It’s a message.”

Freyra stepped closer.

“We’re right here,” she said. “Our camp is closer to the labyrinth than half those guilds. We’ve bled in that ice. We deserve a chance to crack skulls too.”

Ludger met her gaze without hesitation.

“If you fight,” he said, “it becomes a brawl. A coalition. A shared victory.”

He shook his head.

“I need it to be simple.”

Kharnek frowned.

“You think we’d make it messy?”

“Yes,” Ludger said.

The honesty hit harder than insults.

“This isn’t about proving strength,” Ludger continued. “It’s about making it undeniable. One guild. One representative. No confusion about where authority lies.”

Freyra clenched her fists.

“You can’t hog all the bloodshed,” she snapped.

Ludger ignored the complaint entirely. He turned slightly, addressing Kharnek instead.

“You want your people sharp,” Ludger said. “Hungry. Ready.”

Kharnek nodded slowly.

“There will be other ways,” Ludger continued. “Better ones. Ones that don’t turn this into a political mess.”

Kharnek studied him for a long moment.

Then he grinned, slow, dangerous.

“You’ll give us something,” he said. “Later.”

“Yes,” Ludger replied.

That was enough. The northerners grumbled, complained, laughed, and cursed—but they didn’t push further. They understood enough to know when a decision was final. As they turned back toward their camp, Freyra shot Ludger one last look.

“You owe us,” she said.

Ludger didn’t answer. He was already thinking ahead. There were many ways to use a people’s thirst for blood. This just wasn’t the right one.

It took a full week for the response to arrive.

Not because the contesting guilds were slow, but because they were careful. Lawyers were consulted. Old charters dusted off. Internal arguments dragged on far longer than anyone wanted to admit. Some guilds argued for restraint. Others pushed for escalation. A few quietly tried to withdraw and were reminded, sharply, that their names were already attached.

By the time a formal answer was assembled, it carried the weight of too many compromises. Torvares brought it himself. That alone was a problem.

He arrived in Lionfang without ceremony, cloak dusty from travel, posture rigid in the way of a man who hadn’t slept enough and refused to admit it. His brows were raw, reddened to the point where Ludger was fairly sure the old lord had been rubbing them until skin broke.

He didn’t sit at first. He let out a long, tired sigh and looked at Ludger like he was personally responsible for the last week of headaches.

“You weren’t supposed to force my hand like this,” Torvares said. “I was avoiding direct contact for a reason.”

Ludger met his gaze evenly.

“The situation changed,” he said.

Torvares snorted.

“That’s one way to put it,” he replied. “You caused enough confusion that I finally had an excuse. Congratulations. Every guild clerk in three regions is now screaming about ‘precedent’ and ‘clarification.’”

He dropped the parchment on the table and finally sat.

“I already have too much on my table,” Torvares continued, rubbing his temples again. “And you decided to turn a quiet pressure campaign into a public spectacle.”

Ludger didn’t apologize.

“You were acting suspicious too,” he said instead.

Torvares froze. Slowly, he looked up.

“Explain,” the old lord said.

“You stopped communicating,” Ludger replied. “You avoided written confirmation. And you sent three newcomers who have been training efficiently, learning things they shouldn’t have learned so cleanly, and avoiding me at every opportunity.”

The room went quiet. Torvares grunted, low and irritated.

“…That,” he said, “is a troublesome topic.”

Ludger watched him closely.

“So you noticed,” Ludger said.

Torvares leaned back, eyes narrowing, not at Ludger, but inward.

“I noticed enough to be careful,” he said. “Not enough to move openly. Not yet.”

He tapped the parchment.

“You forced movement,” Torvares added. “Which means whatever was hiding has also adjusted.”

Ludger nodded.

“Good.”

Torvares looked at him sharply.

“You really are impossible,” the old lord muttered. 

He sighed again, deeper this time.

“Very well,” Torvares said. “You’ve created momentum. Now we’ll see who’s brave enough, or foolish enough, to answer it.”

He pushed the parchment forward.

“And for the record,” he added, voice flat, “next time you decide to detonate a political stalemate, warn me first.”

Ludger picked up the document.

“No,” he said calmly. “Then you wouldn’t have had an excuse.”

Torvares closed his eyes. For a long moment, he looked every bit his age.

Ludger read the parchment once.

Then he closed it.

Carefully. Deliberately. As if the contents no longer needed confirmation.

Torvares watched him for a heartbeat, then let out another slow breath.

“Three guilds were prepared to challenge you,” the old lord said. “All of them loud in private. All of them cautious in writing.”

He tapped the table with one finger.

“Only one followed through… for now, they will watch the first guild and see how it does.”

Ludger’s smirk surfaced, thin and sharp.

“So the others blinked.”

“They calculated,” Torvares corrected. “And decided they preferred their labyrinths where they are.”

He leaned back, eyes tired but sharp.

“The one that didn’t back down sent a formal letter to the capital. They invoked arbitration law and requested an imperial arena for the contest.”

Ludger’s eyebrow rose a fraction.

“They’re escalating,” Torvares said. “Public venue. Official observers. Recorded outcome.”

More than Ludger had expected. But not unwelcome. His smirk deepened.

“Who are they?” Ludger asked.

Torvares’s expression hardened.

“The Ashbound Compact.”

The name carried weight.

“They’re not amateurs,” Torvares continued. “They don’t rush through labyrinths. They specialize in controlled environments, sealed spaces, organized resistance, humanoid enemies. Cultists. Rogue sects. Anything that thinks, plans, and coordinates.”

He folded his hands.

“They’re disciplined. Methodical. Used to fighting enemies that adapt and retreat instead of charging mindlessly. Their leadership rotates based on mission profile. No single champion, but several very competent ones.”

Ludger nodded slowly. That explained the confidence.

“They’ve cleared more sealed labyrinths than most guilds combined,” Torvares added. “And they’re careful with their reputation. They don’t challenge unless they believe they can win.”

“Which means they think they’ve accounted for me,” Ludger said.

Torvares grimaced.

“Yes.”

He studied Ludger closely.

“They’re respected,” the old lord went on. “Not loved. But respected. If you humiliate them openly, it won’t just scare opportunists.”

“It will upset balance,” Ludger finished.

Torvares nodded.

“That said,” he added dryly, “they chose to escalate this. Not you.”

Ludger leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the parchment. An imperial arena. Observers. A guild known for fighting thinking enemies. And him. Alone. He couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“Good,” Ludger said. “Then this won’t look like bullying.”

Torvares closed his eyes for a moment.

“I really wish,” he muttered, “that you enjoyed things like a normal child.”

Ludger didn’t answer. He was already picturing the arena. And how quiet it would be by the end.

Torvares leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

“It will take a few weeks,” he said. “Paperwork, venue confirmation, observers, arbitration officials. The capital moves slowly even when it’s pretending to hurry.”

He opened his eyes and fixed Ludger with a tired look.

“So I’m asking you, very clearly, not to do anything insane again until then.”

Ludger tilted his head slightly.

“That depends,” he said. “What qualifies as insane this time?”

Torvares let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

“The capital is unstable,” he replied. “Not visibly. Not yet. But there’s turbulence under the surface. Any sudden chaos will be used as an excuse by people who’ve been waiting for one.”

Ludger’s brows furrowed.

“What kind of chaos?” he asked.

Torvares didn’t answer immediately. That hesitation was enough. Ludger’s expression sharpened. He watched the old lord closely, weighing the pause, the way his fingers curled against the armrest, the slight tightening around his eyes. Eventually, Torvares sighed.

“The Imperial Guard has been moving,” he said. “Quietly, but extensively. Units reassigned. Patrol routes changed. Internal rotations accelerated.”

Ludger didn’t interrupt.

“Information control has tightened,” Torvares continued. “Messages delayed. Reports filtered. It’s difficult to tell what’s rumor and what’s preparation, but this level of coordination doesn’t happen without reason.” He looked directly at Ludger now.

“Something big is coming.”

Ludger felt the pieces begin to align.

“And if it breaks,” Ludger said slowly, “everyone hiding in the cracks will move.”

Torvares nodded.

“Verk,” he said. “The Rodericks. Their remnants. Their patrons. People who have been very careful to stay in the background.”

His jaw set.

“If the capital stumbles, they’ll see it as an opening. A chance to strike back. Or to finally reveal who’s been backing them all along.”

Ludger exhaled.

“So this contest,” he said, “is happening at the worst possible time.”

“At a dangerous time,” Torvares corrected. “Which is why I need you steady. Predictable. No sudden escalations beyond what’s already unavoidable.”

Ludger considered that for a long moment. Then he nodded once.

“I won’t add chaos,” he said.

Torvares relaxed just a fraction.

“But,” Ludger continued calmly, “I also won’t let others use this as cover.”

Torvares closed his eyes.

“…Of course you won’t,” he muttered.

When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp.

“Just remember,” he said, “when storms gather like this, even people standing still get blamed for the lightning.”

Ludger met his gaze evenly.

“Then they should make sure I’m not the one they point at,” he replied.

Outside, Lionfang remained calm. But far away, in places where decisions were made behind sealed doors, the world was shifting, slowly, deliberately, and toward something that wouldn’t stay hidden much longer.

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