The days passed with an uncomfortable calm.

Then the date arrived.

Not the duels themselves, just the announcement. Official notices circulated through guild channels, imperial messengers repeated the same words in different accents, and by nightfall every tavern from Lionfang to the inner trade roads was buzzing with it.

The duels for control of the frost labyrinth would take place in three weeks’ time. Imperial arena. Public arbitration. Recorded outcome. Ludger listened without comment. What interested him more came afterward. Yvar brought the second piece of information personally.

“They manage a difficult dungeon,” he said, laying out a fresh set of documents, “that explains why they’re confident.”

Ludger skimmed, then slowed.

“Lizardmen,” he said.

“Yes,” Yvar replied. “An organized strain. Rare beasts. Very feral.”

He tapped the parchment, where a rough schematic had been drawn.

“The dungeon is a layered ruin, stone platforms, flooded channels, vertical shafts. The lizardmen operate in squads. Shields forward, polearms behind. They rotate formations when pressured.”

Ludger nodded faintly.

“And the scales.”

“That’s the core of it,” Yvar said. “When the lizardmen die, their scales don’t crumble like monster hide usually does. They remain intact. Hardened. Mana-saturated.”

He flipped the page.

“The guild harvests them meticulously. Shields forged from fallen scales have exceptional impact resistance. Weapons reinforced with them hold enchantments longer than standard alloys.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“They’re farming them,” he said.

“Effectively,” Yvar agreed. “They don’t rush clears. They maintain the dungeon at a stable population level. Kill squads, harvest bodies, withdraw before destabilization.”

Controlled violence. Efficient.

“They issue scale shields to their frontliners,” Yvar continued. “Layered. Overlapping. It lets them absorb heavy hits while advancing. Their weapons, short spears, glaives, axes, are designed to exploit openings created by that wall.”

“And humanoid monsters mean predictable tactics,” Ludger said.

“Yes,” Yvar replied. “They train against thinking opponents. Retreats. Feints. Ambushes. They’re very good at coordinated engagements.”

Ludger leaned back.

“So they believe their experience gives them an edge,” he said. “Against beings that plan.”

Yvar hesitated, then nodded.

“They believe it prepares them for you

.”

That earned a faint smirk.

“Using fallen scales,” Ludger said slowly, “means their strength is cumulative. Every fight reinforces the next.”

“Yes.”

“And they assume that translates to duels.”

Yvar didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Ludger closed the file. A dungeon of lizardmen who forged their dead into shields and weapons. A guild that specialized in methodical slaughter, efficient harvesting, and formation combat.

Against a single opponent. He exhaled softly.

“Tell me,” Ludger said, “do they know what happens to scales when you break the body underneath them instead of cutting through?”

Yvar paused.

“…I don’t believe they do.”

Ludger stood.

“Good,” he said. “Then they’ll learn something new before the arena does.”

Ludger closed the file and looked at Yvar.

“When we win,” he said, tone even, “start thinking about who we send to that region.”

Yvar blinked.

“…When?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Ludger replied. “Not if.”

He continued without waiting for agreement.

“I’ll build a camp near the dungeon,” Ludger said. “Permanent. Similar to the northerners’ settlement, defensible, expandable. Earth magic for foundations, walls, storage, and emergency shelters.”

Yvar forced a smile. Confidence was one thing. Planning infrastructure on land they didn’t yet own was another. It was… almost humiliating for the guilds on the other side of the contest. Still, he nodded.

“I’ll start evaluating candidates,” Yvar said. “Logistics. Temperament. People who can operate without constant oversight.”

“Good,” Ludger replied. “Send ones who can train others.”

Yvar hesitated, then nodded again.

“I’ll draft options,” he said. “And contingency plans.”

That earned a faint nod of approval. Yvar turned and left, already muttering to himself about transport routes and supply ratios. Ludger remained where he was.

His thoughts drifted ahead, not to the arena, but beyond it. A new region meant new risks. New people. New eyes watching what the Lionsguard built next. He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk. A camp wasn’t enough.

If trouble came, people would need something that didn’t rely on constant manpower. Something passive. Reliable. A sculpture. Not decorative. Functional.

A mana-anchor carved into stone. A structure that subtly reinforced the land, stabilized mana flow, and provided small but persistent advantages to anyone allied with it. Defense without looking like defense. Ludger exhaled slowly. Yes. That would do. He just had to decide what shape it should take.

The next day, Ludger and Raukor finished it.

Not rushed. Not adjusted mid-way. Finished.

The extended components lay on the anvil between them, cooling slowly as faint traces of mana bled back into the metal. Raukor didn’t speak at first. He rarely did when something met his standards.

The gauntlets were a perfect continuation of Ludger’s forearm guards.

Each one fit his hand like it had been grown there rather than forged, fingers articulated with overlapping froststeel plates, thin enough to preserve dexterity, thick enough to stop a blade from biting deep. The inner forearm was fully protected now, a smooth, contoured surface that guarded tendons and arteries without restricting motion.

From wrist to elbow, the metal flowed in clean lines. No unnecessary ornamentation. No excess bulk.

The extension locked seamlessly into the existing forearm guards, mana channels snapping into place with a soft, almost inaudible click. At the elbow, the armor flared slightly into a reinforced joint, angled to deflect strikes rather than absorb them head-on.

They were light blue, froststeel’s natural hue, but refined. Polished just enough to catch light without reflecting it sharply. When Ludger fed mana into them, the effect was immediate.

The gauntlets glowed. Not brightly. Not violently.

A calm, crystalline shimmer ran through the metal, like frozen moonlight trapped beneath the surface. The runes pulsed in quiet harmony, earth and ice aspects stabilizing each other instead of competing.

Ludger flexed his fingers. Perfect response. No drag. No resistance. The weight was negligible, balanced so well that his hands felt more stable with them on than without. Raukor finally grunted.

“They will not fail,” he said.

Ludger rolled his wrists, brought his arms up, then down, testing angles, speed, impact paths. The extensions covered everything he needed—hands, inner forearms, elbows—without ever getting in the way.

“They’re good,” Ludger said.

High praise. For both of them. Raukor snorted softly, but there was satisfaction in it. The gauntlets settled into place, froststeel humming faintly as Ludger cut the mana flow and the glow faded. They weren’t flashy. They were right.

And in a few weeks’ time, under imperial eyes and hostile expectations, they would be seen very clearly.

Ludger didn’t stop at wearing them. Once the forge had cooled and Raukor returned to his own work, Ludger moved to the training yard and began to experiment. Slowly. Deliberately.

He activated Overdrive in controlled pulses, cycling through his known variations. The base enhancement came first, neutral reinforcement, just enough to test stability. The gauntlets responded smoothly, mana flowing through the runic channels without resistance.

Then he shifted attunement. Water-attuned Overdrive. The reaction was immediate. The froststeel along his hands and inner forearms began to hum, a low, resonant vibration that traveled up to the elbow joints. Mana flow accelerated, smoothing itself into layered currents instead of pushing forward in raw force. The glow sharpened slightly, taking on a colder, clearer tone. Efficient. Responsive.

Ludger switched again. Wind-attuned Overdrive. The hum intensified. Not louder, but tighter. The mana compressed, circulating faster along the surface plates, reducing drag, improving responsiveness. His fingers felt lighter, faster, like the air itself was carrying their movement forward.

Affinity. The froststeel liked these aspects. He dialed it back and shifted once more. Earth-attuned Overdrive. The response was… slower. Not unstable. Just heavier. The mana settled deeper into the metal, reinforcing mass rather than flow. The hum dulled, replaced by a dense, grounded pressure that favored impact over speed.

Functional, but not optimal. Finally… Fire-attuned Overdrive. The gauntlets accepted it, but reluctantly.

The mana flared, then smoothed, but the resonance never quite matched. The glow was warmer, the channels working harder to stabilize the conflicting aspects. It functioned, but the efficiency drop was noticeable.

Ludger exhaled slowly and cut the flow. Froststeel favored water and wind. Ice remembered motion. Earth and fire still worked—but they fought the material instead of riding it.

He nodded to himself. Against lizardmen with layered shields and formation tactics, speed and control would matter more than brute force. And now, his hands were built for exactly that.

Ludger left the final test for last. Not because it was the most dangerous, but because it was the most telling.

He centered himself, slowed his breathing, and guided mana into the gauntlets with deliberate care. The flow wasn’t heavy, just precise. He shaped it along the familiar pattern, letting the enchantment form naturally instead of forcing it into place.

Freezing Enchantment. The reaction was immediate and unmistakable.

Cold surged outward through the froststeel as if the metal itself had been waiting for the signal. Translucent ice formed over his fists in layered plates, clean-edged and faintly luminous, vapor rolling off in lazy spirals. His hands no longer looked armored, they looked carved, as if sculpted from glacial crystal.

The skill was still at a low level. Ludger could feel the limit clearly.

And yet… The output was far beyond expectation.

The gauntlets didn’t just support the enchantment. They amplified it. Water- and ice-aligned mana nested seamlessly into the froststeel, stacking resonance upon resonance until the effect was easily three times stronger than it should have been.

“…Tripled,” Ludger murmured.

He turned his attention toward the forge.

The anvil still radiated residual heat from recent work, faint distortions shimmering above its surface. Without hesitation, Ludger reached out and placed his frozen hand against it. The response was violent.

A sharp crack split the air as ice exploded outward from the point of contact. Frost raced across the anvil’s surface in thick, aggressive sheets, steam hissing as heat was smothered under sudden cold. The metal groaned, temperature dropping far faster than any normal enchantment should allow.

Behind him, footsteps stopped. Raukor had turned. He stared at the anvil. Then at Ludger’s arm. Then frowned deeply.

“That,” the beastman said flatly, “is my anvil.”

Ludger pulled his hand away. The ice fractured immediately, heavy chunks breaking off and shattering against the stone floor. The remaining frost sublimated into mist, leaving the anvil scarred but intact.

“It’s temporary,” Ludger said calmly.

Raukor grunted. He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t raise his voice. That, in its own way, was approval.

Ludger flexed his fingers, watching the last traces of cold fade from the gauntlets.

“I’m planning to secure another dungeon,” he said, as if discussing tomorrow’s weather.

Raukor stiffened slightly.

“What kind?” he asked.

“Lizardmen,” Ludger replied. “Humanoid monsters. They forge shields and weapons from their fallen scales.”

That made Raukor pause.

“…Scales,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes. Mana-dense. Durable. Harvested properly, they hold enchantments well.”

Raukor’s eyes narrowed, then gleamed.

For the first time since the forge work began, he smiled, a sharp, hungry thing.

“I would welcome such materials,” he said. “Very much.”

Ludger nodded. Good. Froststeel paired with lizardman scales would create something new, ice layered over endurance, control reinforced by resilience. He looked down at his gauntlets once more, froststeel faintly shimmering in the forge light. The arena was coming. And now, when his fists struck, even shields would remember it.

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