Ludger broke the silence first.

“Based on what we know,” he said evenly, “there are only two realistic possibilities.”

Viola and Rathen turned their attention fully to him.

“Either Lucius was taken,” Ludger continued, “or he left on his own in search of power and knowledge he had no business touching.”

He didn’t soften it. There was no point.

“If he was kidnapped,” he went on, “then whoever did it understood him well enough to move him without resistance. That means preparation. Conditioning. Influence before the act.”

Viola nodded slowly. “And if he left willingly…”

“Then someone pointed him toward something dangerous,” Ludger finished. “And made it sound reasonable.”

Rathen let out a slow breath. “Neither option is good.”

“No,” Ludger agreed. “But they narrow the field.”

Viola crossed her arms. “And in both cases, someone with access to obscure knowledge is involved.”

Her gaze shifted to Rathen. “Do you know anyone like that?”

Rathen didn’t even hesitate this time. He shook his head. “No. Not anyone who would deal in that kind of material without leaving a trail.”

Ludger was quiet. Then he lifted his head and stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused as his thoughts moved elsewhere.

Obscure knowledge.

Forbidden texts. Old paths. Things that existed outside imperial academies and sanctioned doctrine. He exhaled softly.

“I might,” he said.

Viola looked at him. “Who?”

“Raukor,” Ludger replied. “He’s a blacksmith, but not just that. He’s been around long enough to hear things most people don’t. Old routes. Old warnings.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Rathen asked.

Ludger’s gaze remained on the ceiling for another second before he lowered it.

“Then we go back to the Primal Groves,” he said. “We speak to the elders.”

Viola stiffened slightly at that. “They won’t like this.”

“I know,” Ludger said calmly. “But they’ll know something. They always do.”

Rathen nodded once, expression grim.

Because if Lucius had gone looking for power that predated the Empire… or if someone had dragged him toward it… then the answers wouldn’t be found in port records or noble ledgers. They’d be buried in places older than the Empire itself.

Ludger and Viola left the Ironhand building together.

They walked back toward the beach camp without speaking, the noise of the port fading behind them as the wind picked up, carrying salt and distant surf. Recruits and trainees moved around them in disciplined clusters, weapons slung, armor clinking softly. No one joked. No one broke formation. The mood had shifted, and everyone felt it, even if they didn’t know why.

Viola’s gaze stayed fixed ahead, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Lucius.

The image of him as he used to be, reserved, careful, always measuring his words, kept resurfacing. Not weak. Not foolish. Just… tired. She wondered when the doubt had first taken root, when curiosity had turned into something dangerous. And whether, if she had noticed earlier, any of this could have been avoided.

Beside her, Ludger walked with steady, even steps, his attention split between the camp’s layout and his own thoughts.

The coast always brought mysteries with it. He’d learned that the hard way.

The last time he had come here, he hadn’t known whether to trust Lucius, or the Ironhand Syndicate. The sahuagin attacks had been too coordinated. Too deliberate. And the discovery of their hidden mana core storage beneath the docks had made everything worse. At the time, it had felt like proof. Like confirmation that someone on the coast was playing a deeper game.

But in the end, it turned out differently.

Ironhand hadn’t been the enemy. The cores had been a contingency, not a conspiracy. The sahuagin threat had been real, not manufactured.

He’d overthought it back then.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly as the camp came into view—stone structures rising from the sand, runic lights pulsing faintly as trainees moved inside.

He wondered if he was doing the same thing now. Seeing patterns because he expected them. Assuming hidden hands because the alternative felt too simple. The thought didn’t make him relax. It made him more careful. Because the coast had a habit of punishing assumptions, whether they came from trust or suspicion. And this time, the cost wouldn’t just be his.

They were almost halfway back to the camp when Viola spoke.

“Ludger,” she said suddenly.

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

She hesitated, then asked it anyway. “If you studied it… could you use necromancy?”

He stopped.

Turned his head and looked at her as if she’d just asked whether he could turn the sky green.

For a heartbeat, the wind and the surf were the only sounds between them.

“…That’s an odd question,” he said at last.

Viola grimaced slightly. “I know. I just—after everything we heard—”

“I understand why you’re asking,” Ludger cut in calmly.

What he didn’t say was that, given his system, the answer was probably yes.

Classes. Skill paths. Forbidden branches. If something existed as a concept and the system recognized it, then in theory, it was reachable. With enough conditions met, enough risk accepted, enough… compromises.

He didn’t share that thought. Instead, Ludger went quiet.

For a moment, his attention drifted inward, not to mana flow or terrain or threats, but to something older. Deeper.

He was a reincarnated person.

Given a second life for reasons he still didn’t fully understand.

No divine voice had explained it. No ledger had justified it. He simply was, alive again, conscious again, carrying memories that shouldn’t exist. So who was he, really, to speak about the sanctity of life?

Could he claim some moral high ground and say that meddling with life and death was wrong, when his very existence was proof that the boundary wasn’t absolute?

The thought didn’t sit comfortably. In the end, Ludger exhaled and answered honestly, but carefully.

“I’d rather not,” he said.

Viola watched him closely.

“Even if it’s possible,” Ludger continued, “that kind of power never comes alone. Necromancy isn’t just spells and techniques. It changes how you think. How you value things.”

He resumed walking, eyes forward.

“The cost is too high,” he said. “And the demerits stack faster than the benefits. Loss of trust. Loss of allies. Loss of… perspective.”

He paused, then added quietly, “Some knowledge makes everything else cheaper. Including people.”

Viola swallowed and nodded. That answer sat heavier than a simple refusal. Because it wasn’t fear speaking. It was experience.

They reached the edge of the camp as the light of the campfires bled into the sea.

The recruits were already settling into routines before going to bed. Efficient. Quiet..

Ludger stopped and turned to Viola.

“I’m going to check the surrounding towns,” he said. “Villages. Smaller cities along the coast and inland routes.”

Viola frowned slightly. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She knew better than to argue that point.

“You should stay here,” Ludger continued. “Train with the others. Keep your routine normal.”

“Normal,” Viola echoed dryly.

“As normal as it gets,” he said. “Rathen is preparing the ship. That’ll take a couple of days, at least. So we don’t need to move yet.”

Viola tilted her head. “You’re already planning to use it.”

“Maybe,” Ludger said. “Even if we don’t need it to find Lucius… I think we will.”

She studied his face. “Based on what?”

Ludger didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looked out toward the dark waters, where the horizon swallowed the last of the sun a long time ago. The sea was calm. Too calm.

“A hunch,” he said.

Nothing more. Viola waited a moment, then realized that was all she was going to get. She didn’t press him for details. If Ludger trusted a hunch enough to plan around it, that meant it wasn’t just instinct, it was pattern recognition working ahead of proof.

“…Fine,” she said. “I’ll stay. Train. Keep people from getting lazy.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I appreciate that.”

They stood there for another second, the camp alive behind them and the coast stretching wide and uncertain ahead.

Then Ludger turned away, already mapping routes in his head.

Whatever had taken Lucius… or whatever Lucius had gone looking for… the answers wouldn’t stay hidden forever. They never did.

Ludger returned to the camp with Viola and moved through it without hurry.

He checked in with the recruits first. A few words here. A correction there. He listened more than he spoke, asking about mana fatigue, formation timing, minor injuries. The answers were efficient. Focused. No cracks. The discipline held.

He spoke with the trainees next, briefly. Encouragement where it was needed. Boundaries where it wasn’t. He made sure they understood the next few days would be training-heavy, not idle. No one complained.

After that, he found Renn, Marie, and Bramm and confirmed night rotations. Perimeter coverage. Shift overlaps. Nothing flashy. Just layers.

Only when everything was settled did he change direction. Raukor’s forge burned in the distance, well away from the main camp. It always did.

The beastman had learned early that constant hammering and roaring flames did not pair well with sleeping teenagers. His forge never stopped unless he was exhausted, and that took a lot. So he placed it far enough that the sound faded into the surf and wind.

Sparks flew as Ludger approached, the rhythmic clang of metal carrying through the night. Raukor stopped before Ludger reached him. Not because he heard footsteps. Because he sensed him.

The beastman straightened, rolling his shoulders once before turning around. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“You look serious,” Raukor said. “That’s usually bad news.”

Ludger didn’t waste time.

“I need to know what you’ve heard,” he said. “About magic related to life and death.”

The hammer paused midair. Raukor stared at him.

Confusion crossed his face first, ears twitching slightly, followed by something heavier as his gaze sharpened and began to study Ludger properly. Not as a vice Guild Master. Not as an ally. As a problem.

“…That’s not a question people ask lightly,” Raukor said slowly.

He lowered the hammer and rested it against the anvil.

“Why?”

Ludger didn’t dodge the question.

He explained.

Briefly. Cleanly. No speculation layered on top of speculation. Just the facts as they stood—Lucius’ disappearance, the timing, the political pressure, the books. Mysticism. Necromancy. Old alchemy. Creation myths. A noble isolating himself while searching for answers that shouldn’t have been necessary.

Raukor listened in silence.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t scoff. The forge crackled beside them, heat washing over stone and metal as sparks drifted into the night. By the time Ludger finished, the beastman’s expression had changed.

Understanding replaced confusion.

He nodded once.

“Yeah,” Raukor said. “That tracks.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not surprised.”

“No,” Raukor replied. “Concerned. Not surprised.”

He leaned back against the anvil, thick arms folding over his chest. “When someone starts digging into that kind of knowledge after losing family, it usually means they’re being nudged. Or they’re desperate enough to listen to things they normally wouldn’t.”

He glanced at the forge fire. “Either way, it rarely ends clean.”

Ludger didn’t argue.

“… I have heard things from the elders… they lived for centuries and they found people like Lucius. Let’s just say that they not only had tragic ends.”

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