Chapter 106

The next five days blurred into a grind of dust, sweat and mana. Dawn after dawn the three of them took their places in the courtyard, the rhythm becoming almost ritual. Gaius barked corrections, gave the occasional demonstration, then leaned back against the wall with his arms folded, letting the kids work.

Ludger threw himself at the magic. Every morning he sank his mana into the ground, shaping towers, walls and blades; every afternoon he drilled the same exercises without touching the soil, coaxing his power outward through his boots, his breath, his will. With the stone weights still strapped to his arms and legs, each repetition bit deeper into his core. The progress was obvious: his towers went from shoulder-high to full height without a tremor, his stone weapons hardened smoother each day, and even his first attempts at shaping from a distance began to form a faint ripple now and then. Anyone watching could see the difference from one sunrise to the next.

Viola’s path was messier. She took Gaius’s advice and spent more time with her sword than with towers, trying to pour the earth’s pulse into her Weapon Enhancing instead of just brute mana. Some days it clicked and her blade sang with a gritty brown glow that made her strikes heavier, sharper. Other days nothing happened at all and she ended up growling at the dirt, the sword heavy in her hands. Her progress came in bursts — sudden leaps forward when inspiration hit, followed by plateaus where nothing would stick.

Gaius didn’t interfere much, only grunting now and then when a breakthrough landed. He watched the boy grind like a craftsman and the girl wrestle her own nature into a new shape. The courtyard back and forth turned into a maze of trenches, half-erased towers, and scorched patches of earth — a physical record of their training. By the end of the fifth day the difference between them was stark: Ludger’s movements were steady, precise, layered with growing power; Viola’s a string of bright, erratic flashes, but each one just a little stronger than the last.

And under Gaius’s scowl, a faint satisfaction flickered every time he looked at them.

By the fifth evening the dust floated in the air like smoke. Ludger wiped his palms on his trousers, his latest wall sinking back into the ground, while Viola stood a few paces away, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms after another round of weapon-infusing drills.

Gaius pushed himself off the wall where he’d been watching. “Alright,” he rumbled, voice like gravel sliding down a chute. “Enough drills. Let’s see what’s actually stuck.”

Viola looked up, blinking sweat out of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“A spar,” Gaius said simply. “You and me. Show me how much progress you’ve made with that earth affinity in your fighting style. No more practice swings. Real movement. Real strikes.” He jabbed a thumb at the open patch of ground. “Here. Now.”

A flicker of something passed over her tired face — surprise, then excitement. Her lips curved into a confident smile, brighter than anything she’d shown all week. “Finally. I was waiting for this,” she said, slipping into a low stance and drawing her short sword. The faint brown aura she’d been struggling to keep steady flickered along the blade, thicker and more even than before.

She twirled the weapon once, eyes gleaming. “You’re going to see something good this time.”

Ludger leaned against a knee-high tower of his own making, one brow raised. He could feel her mana pulsing in a steadier rhythm than it had five days ago, heavier in the blade, anchored in her stance.

Looks like she really did get somewhere,

he thought, crossing his arms as he settled in to watch.

Gaius cracked his neck and stepped into the sparring ring with a slow grin. “Then don’t keep me waiting, girl.”

Viola wrapped both hands around the stone sword Ludger had shaped for her. The blade was rough and heavy, streaked with hardened seams of earth—but she had been training with it for days, letting her mana sink into it until the weight felt almost natural. Now, as she squared off with Gaius, the brown aura running along her forearms shimmered faintly, anchoring the weapon to her stance.

She exhaled once, then moved.

Her boots kicked up dust as she dashed forward, the stone blade cutting a dark arc through the air. Despite its mass she moved like she was wielding steel, her stride sure and her swing sharp. Whether it was the training or the mana she’d been feeding into the weapon to lighten it, her speed hadn’t dropped at all.

She brought the sword down in a clean, heavy cut at Gaius’s chest. He didn’t dodge.

Instead, the old man lifted one hand lazily, index finger extended. A deep pulse rolled through the courtyard as his earth-attuned mana surged into that single point, hardening it like a spike of compressed stone.

The blade slammed into his finger with a deep thud. It stopped dead.

Viola’s eyes went wide. “You—” She had been ready for a block, but not for a single finger stopping her full-force strike. Even with the stone sword, even with her mana running through it, the blow just… ended.

Gaius’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. “Good,” he said, his voice gravel and pride at once. “You’re controlling your mana well enough to make the weapon lighter, that’s why you’re moving this fast. Not bad at all.”

Then his expression hardened again. He flicked her blade back with a tiny twist of his finger, forcing her to step away. “But that’s still not enough. Lightening a weapon isn’t mastery. You need to anchor, reinforce, and strike as one. Otherwise you’re just swinging a fancy club.”

Viola swallowed, tightening her grip on the sword. Her heart was pounding, but under the shock a spark of determination flared. If she could make him take her seriously, she’d have to go beyond just making the blade lighter.

Viola gritted her teeth, the shock of his one-finger block still buzzing in her arms. She took a breath, let the aura settle over the stone blade again and stepped back into her stance. This time she adjusted, trying to anchor the weapon’s weight through her shoulders and into her legs the way Ludger had described. The earth-brown glow crawled a little further up her arms.

She lunged again, stone sword slashing in a low arc toward Gaius’s ribs.

He didn’t bother with his hands this time. Instead he shifted his weight and slammed one boot down into the courtyard. A deep, rolling pulse of earth-attuned mana burst from the impact, rippling out under their feet. The ground shuddered like a drum skin, a wave of grit and dust fanning outward.

Viola’s stride faltered. The tremor knocked her off balance mid-swing; her blade dipped and the weight dragged her forward, forcing her to stumble and catch herself.

Gaius watched her regain her footing and rumbled, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Unless you can use the same mana to harden your stance—root yourself into the ground—anybody who knows this trick will toss you around. Earth magic isn’t just about weapons, it’s about footing. Anchor first, then strike.”

Viola straightened, cheeks flushed but eyes fierce, gripping the heavy blade. The lesson burned as hot as her frustration. If she wanted to wield the weight of the earth, she’d have to stand like it too.

Ludger stood off to the side, arms crossed, the stone weights still clamped to his armguards and shin guards. He watched silently as Viola squared up again and Gaius barked another correction, this time guiding her through a shift of stance instead of a swing. Dust rolled across the courtyard from their movements, settling on his boots.

What struck him wasn’t the spar itself but Gaius. The old man had stopped pretending to be bored. He was stepping in, adjusting Viola’s grip, stomping the ground to show how to anchor, even offering tips to Ludger between rounds. The gruff reluctance from that first morning had faded; now he was just teaching, voice low and steady like a craftsman showing apprentices his trade.

Ludger narrowed his eyes.

He’s giving us everything he’s got.

That flicker of guilt he usually pushed aside surfaced for a heartbeat. They’d arrived in Meira with a letter, stirred up the city, used Gaius’s name to build their own reputation, and now were soaking up his experience for free. Once they left, they’d walk away stronger, leaving the old guildmaster behind with nothing but dust on his boots.

Maybe it wasn’t about keeping score—who had helped whom the most. The labyrinth progress, the rumors they spread, the training, it all blurred together. Still, watching Gaius lean into another demonstration, Ludger felt the thought lodge in his chest like a pebble in a boot:

It’s going to feel wrong walking away without paying this back.

He shook it off and refocused on the spar, eyes sharp. For now the only thing he could do was absorb every detail and make sure the old man’s effort wasn’t wasted.

Viola lunged again, Gaius barked a correction, the ground shuddered. A soft shadow fell across him. “What are you thinking about?” Luna’s voice was low, calm as ever. She stood a step away, hands clasped behind her back, eyes following the same fight he was watching.

Ludger shook his head and forced a dry little smile. “Nothing. Just admiring the scenery.” He flicked a glance at her. “Why? Jealous you’re not in the ring?”

Luna arched an eyebrow. “That kind of joke only works on Viola.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t answer. She turned her gaze back to the courtyard, her tone still even. “I’ve been watching, too,” she said quietly. “Not just them. The edges of the street, the rooftops. The same faces show up. Men who pretend to loiter, a few women who never buy anything from the stalls. They’re watching us.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed a little, but he didn’t turn his head. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for days,” Luna said. “And I think Gaius has noticed as well. That’s probably why he agreed to train us properly. He doesn’t want to send us back into the labyrinth without something solid to defend ourselves with. If someone’s planning to ambush us, he’d rather we be ready.”

Ludger let out a small breath through his nose, the joke gone from his face. “Hnh. Guess the old man’s not as grumpy as he acts.”

Luna tilted her head slightly, still watching the fight. “Or he’s just practical. Either way, it’s working.”

Ludger gave a faint, crooked smile, but his eyes stayed sharp on Gaius and Viola. “Then we’d better make the most of it before the curtain drops.”

When the sparring ended and Gaius barked at them to get some food, Ludger stayed quiet, the weight of Luna’s words still sitting in his chest. He lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling of the guild hall’s cramped room, the smell of dust and old ale thick in the air.

We’re taking more than we’re giving back,

he thought.

If we’re going to leave soon, at least leave something better behind.

An idea came to him, simple but clear. He closed his eyes with a small, dry smile.

Yeah. That’ll do.

The next morning, long before the first light bled over Meira’s rooftops, Ludger slipped out of bed and into the cool dawn. The city streets were empty, just the creak of old wood and the scurry of a few rats. He went straight to the courtyard where they trained, the ground still littered with half-crumbled towers and trenches.

He planted his boots, rolled his shoulders, and let his mana sink into the earth. With slow, deliberate motions he began to sweep the dust and debris away, breaking down the jagged lumps into fine grit and pulling them back into the soil. The gouges and pits they’d carved out filled smoothly. Cracked stones shifted and settled under his will. Bit by bit the courtyard leveled out until it looked like a fresh slate, the scars of their training erased.

When he finished, he didn’t stop. He walked out into the narrow street in front of the guild hall. Loose cobbles and uneven flagstones bulged where carts had worn them down. Ludger pressed a palm to the ground and drew his mana outward, setting stones back into place, filling gaps, smoothing edges. Even a few cracked lintels on nearby buildings received a subtle push of his earth manipulation until they were no longer in danger of falling.

He knew Gaius could do this in ten minutes, probably while whistling. But that wasn’t the point. This was about leaving a place better than they’d found it, about balance, not applause.

By the time the sun’s first rays hit the street, Ludger was already back inside, slipping his dusty hands under cold water. He didn’t brag. He didn’t even mention it. Each morning he rose a little earlier, kept a low profile, and worked until the scars of their training were gone. He didn’t like the buzz, didn’t want rumors. This was just something he did — a quiet way to square the ledger before they left Meira.

At first, Gaius didn’t pay much attention. He’d stumble out into the courtyard at dawn, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and find the training ground suspiciously clean — towers gone, trenches filled, the dust swept into neat little piles. He just grunted, assuming the boy had some quirk about keeping things tidy.

Kid’s a neat freak,

he thought,

better than tripping over mounds every morning.

But as the days passed, the pattern kept widening. A smooth section of street appeared outside the guild one morning. Two days later, the rutted cobblestones by the bakery were level again. A week after that, even the cracked corner of a neighbor’s foundation had been quietly reinforced. The “neat freak” routine was creeping far beyond the guild’s walls.

One afternoon Gaius trudged down to the market to buy his usual bottle. The shopkeeper, a gray-haired woman with flour on her hands, gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you for fixing the street out front, Master Gaius. My cart hasn’t wobbled once all week.”

Gaius blinked. “Wasn’t me.”

On his way back another neighbor hailed him. “Guildmaster! The lintel you repaired is holding beautifully. Thank you!”

He scowled. “Didn’t touch your lintel either.”

They only laughed. “Then thank you for raising such good disciples. Those brats of yours are making the whole block better.”

By the third thank-you, Gaius was shaking his head as he walked back up the lane, bottle under his arm.

Those brats,

he thought, a grudging smile tugging at his mouth. He’d started this training to keep them from getting carved up in the labyrinth; now they were quietly patching up the city behind his back.

When he reached the guild hall and saw Ludger kneeling in the courtyard again, palms pressed to the ground, the old mage didn’t say anything. He just leaned against the doorframe, watching, a rough warmth in his chest he’d never admit aloud.

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