Chapter 117

Ludger slowed his punches, letting the weights drag his arms back to his sides. His chest rose and fell, sweat dripping off his chin into the dust of the yard. The idea of a signature technique still pulsed at the back of his mind, bright and insistent—but another thought pushed in alongside it.

Money.

He flexed his hands, staring at the faint glow of mana still clinging to his knuckles.

If I’m serious about a guild, training alone won’t cut it. I need coin, contacts, supplies. Reputation buys me attention, but gold buys me freedom.

He walked to the edge of the yard and leaned on the fence, staring at the street beyond. Koa City already had an established guild presence, thick roots and old networks. Trying to plant a new one here would be like tossing seeds on stone.

Starting one in a place that already has a guild… too much trouble,

he thought.

Politics, turf wars, hidden knives. Better to start somewhere with a labyrinth nearby and no real competition. Somewhere I can build from the ground up without having to dodge every old shark.

The weights on his limbs felt heavier as he turned the idea over in his head. Training, money, planning—three fronts at once. But he’d been living in the labyrinth’s grind long enough to know how to juggle survival and progress.

He straightened, wiped the sweat from his face, and smirked faintly to himself.

One thing at a time. Train, earn, plan. When the time comes, I’ll have both the strength and the coin to make it happen.

Then he stepped back into his stance, fists up, and drove another punch into the empty air, the spark of a future guild burning just as fiercely as the thought of his own secret technique.

By mid-morning Ludger had unbuckled the training weights and carried them inside, arms and legs humming from the strain. He wiped the sweat from his face with a damp cloth and began tidying up. In a few minutes he’d be at the back table again, sleeves rolled up, hands glowing green as he healed bruises and mended bones for silver coins. As he worked, another thought crept in — darker, sharper than the steady rhythm of chores.

A guild… but not here.

He paused staring at nothing. There was that town they’d helped recover months ago, the one still scarred but breathing again. It had a labyrinth right next to it, veins of resources and cores waiting to be tapped. No entrenched guild, no old guard. Just an opportunity. And danger.

It sat right on the border, where the barbarian raids came. Setting up a guild there wouldn’t be like opening a shop; it would be throwing a flag down in a warzone. Attacks would be frequent. Supply lines are fragile. One mistake could get people killed.

Ludger rubbed at his jaw.

Could I even start a guild at such a place?

He pictured the labyrinth’s glow, the piles of cores, the stream of adventurers it would draw.

The gains would be huge… if we survived it.

A dangerous idea, but one that made his pulse quicken. He folded the cloth slowly, slipping it over the bar.

Maybe the risk is exactly what would make it mine.

Another day of work, another stack of silver. One piece at a time, laying the ground for something much bigger.

Ludger began to heal another client, but the idea wouldn’t leave him alone. A guild of his own. His banner, his rules. That town on the border, with the labyrinth right there for the taking.

He frowned.

A guild needs people.

Not just coin or equipment — bodies. Fighters, crafters, scouts, healers. In Koa the veterans were already spoken for by the old guilds. Anyone left was green. The kind of recruits he could get for a brand-new guild would be young, untested, maybe desperate.

He pictured dragging a squad of barely-trained kids into a border town that still smelled of burned timber, then pushing them into a labyrinth where barbarians might strike at any moment. His stomach tightened.

Disastrous,

he thought.

And convincing them to go would be even harder than keeping them alive once they got there.

He flexed his fingers, the faint glow of his healing mana still humming under his skin. For now, he still had a steady line of townsfolk who needed his help, silver coins piling up one by one. Training, saving, planning—he could do that without gambling other people’s lives.

When I build a guild,

he decided,

I’ll have to do it with people who can actually survive what I’m asking of them.

He rolled his shoulders, and let the idea settle into the back of his mind like a knife waiting for the right moment to be drawn.

Over the next few days the routine settled in: mornings weighted with training runs, afternoons spent at the tavern mending bruises and splinted arms, evenings scribbling numbers and names on scrap paper at the back table. Each healed client meant another silver toward the goal, but Ludger could feel the gap between what he had and what a real guild would need yawning wide.

On the fourth night he leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the tabletop, and let another thought creep in.

Funds.

Not from Aronia. Not from his parents. Someone with deeper pockets. Someone who might actually want a foothold in a new guild.

Lord Torvares.

Viola’s grandfather already had networks and coin, and he would absolutely like having a guild whose leader he knew—especially if that leader was tied to his granddaughter. With Torvares’ backing the construction could be faster, supplies better, recruitment easier. A clean launch instead of a slow crawl.

Ludger stared at the ceiling, jaw tight.

But owing the old bull that much…

The man was shrewd, every favor a hook, every coin an invisible chain. Ludger could already hear the quiet pressure in Torvares’ voice, the weight of “support” hanging over every decision.

He sighed, rolling the scrap paper into a ball.

Freedom isn’t free. Not even for a guild.

He pushed his chair back and stood, already feeling the iron weights on his limbs for tomorrow’s run.

If I go to him, it’s because I’m ready to pay the cost.

Ludger sat alone. Scrap papers lay scattered across the wood—lists of costs, rough sketches of layouts, numbers for potions and supplies. He rubbed at his temples, eyes half-lidded.

He’d gone in circles for days: training versus coin, coin versus training. A guild needed both, but every path he’d sketched leaned too hard on one side. Either he’d get stronger and stay broke, or he’d get rich and stagnate.

He exhaled slowly.

There has to be a middle road.

His mind drifted to the smaller labyrinths around Koa. One name stood out. The goblin labyrinth. Close enough to reach without draining weeks of travel, dense with XP and materials, full of low-to-mid tier monsters perfect for grinding skills. Not glamorous, but steady. And far less tangled with guild politics than the bigger labyrinths.

Ludger leaned back, a slow grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

That’s it. Train and earn at the same time. No loans. No hooks. Just my own two hands.

He gathered up the papers and snuffed the candle. The decision settled over him like a heavy cloak—but it felt right.

Goblin labyrinth first. Build strength and a war chest. When the time comes, I’ll have both.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, already planning tomorrow’s run and the supplies he’d need.

When the next day arrived, the sky was still black and cold. Most of Koa slept behind shuttered windows, but Ludger tightened the straps on his boots and cinched his pack shut, careful not to make noise.

If he was going to slip into a labyrinth, it was better to go while his father was still at home and unaware. No questions, no delays. And better to do it before breakfast—he couldn’t eat and then dive straight into a dungeon and still be back in time to work as a healer at the tavern.

He buckled his armguards, checked the pouches of potions, and rolled his shoulders. The weight of the iron still clung to his limbs from training, but it felt like a familiar drag now rather than a burden.

In. Grind. Out. Back before midday to heal and earn.

He glanced once toward the quiet room where Arslan and Elaine were still asleep, then slipped the door open and stepped into the predawn chill. The street was empty, only the faint glow of the city’s wards lighting the cobbles. Ludger pulled his hood up, breath misting, and started walking toward the edge of town where the road bent toward the goblin labyrinth.

Every step felt like he was threading a needle between two lives—the boy healer at the tavern and the fighter who would one day build a guild of his own.

Ludger slipped out of the last alley at the edge of town, checked the straps on his weighted armguards and shin guards one last time, then broke into a run. The predawn chill bit at his face, but his legs churned like pistons, each stride hammering the cobblestones and then the packed dirt of the road beyond.

The iron weights dragged at his limbs, turning every movement into resistance training. He leaned into it, breath steady, through his calves to keep his stride smooth. Mist peeled off behind him in ragged sheets as he pushed harder.

By the time the first hints of sunrise stained the horizon he was already cresting the last hill. Seventy minutes. He glanced at the battered milestone at the roadside and smirked.

Used to take me nearly two hours with no weight at all. Getting stronger.

Below, the labyrinth’s entrance yawned black and waiting, the moss-covered stones damp with dew. He slowed to a jog, pulling his breathing under control, and checked his pack. One hour inside—that was the window. Enough to fight, grab some loot, and still get back in time to heal townsfolk for silver.

Ludger adjusted his hood, tightened his gauntlets, and stepped toward the entrance, the weights on his limbs no longer a burden but a reminder of how far he’d come.

Train and earn, all in one run,

he thought.

Let’s make it count.

The air inside the labyrinth was damp and sour, torchlight flickering on slick stone. Ludger slipped through the archway still dragging breaths into his lungs, the weights on his limbs making each inhale feel like a bellows. He barely had time to adjust before the first scuff of claws echoed down the corridor.

Goblin shapes peeled out of the shadows. Yellow eyes flashed as they hissed and rushed him, not even waiting for him to recover.

Ludger’s lips twitched into a dry smile. “Fine. Your mistake.”

He raised one hand, the other still on his thigh for balance, and let mana snap through his fingers. He used Mana Bolt.

The first goblin’s skull erupted with a wet

crack

, greenish blood splattering the stones. Another hissed, bounding over its fallen kin—Ludger flicked his wrist and a second bolt lanced out, punching clean through its temple. The last tried to zigzag in, club raised, but he stepped sideways and fired a third shot point-blank. It dropped without a sound.

[Mana Bolt + 20 XP]

[Mana Bolt + 20 XP]

The corridor went still again except for the echo of dripping water. Ludger exhaled once, flexing his fingers as the glow faded, then crouched by the bodies. Practice made the motion quick: turn pockets, check belts, pry off trinkets.

A few copper coins clinked into his palm, along with a tarnished amulet and a bent silver ring. Not much, but enough to stack up over time—exactly what he’d come here for.

He wiped the blood from his fingers on a goblin’s ragged tunic, stood, and adjusted the strap of his pack. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath, glancing down the corridor. “Fifty-five minutes left. Let’s work.”

Ludger nudged the last goblin’s body out of the way with his boot and moved deeper into the corridor. The flickering torchlight gave just enough glow to keep from tripping, but not enough to see what lay ahead. Perfect for practice.

He slipped a folded scrap of parchment from an inner pocket and a stub of charcoal from his pouch. Each time he reached a bend or a junction, he paused long enough to sketch a quick line, mark a symbol to tell where he was, note the number of enemies. Even little details — loose stones, places where the ceiling dipped, the sound of running water — went onto the page.

If I’m going to make this place my grind spot,

he thought,

I need to know it better than the goblins themselves.

Another hiss echoed down a side passage. Ludger didn’t even glance up from his map. He flicked two fingers and sent a pair of

[Mana Bolts]

down the corridor, the greenish flashes briefly lighting the walls. The sound of two small bodies hitting the floor followed a heartbeat later. He finished his sketch of the fork, tucked the charcoal behind his ear, and stepped over the corpses to check their belts. A few more copper coins. A cracked amulet. Into the pouch they went.

He paused long enough to draw a small “x” on the map.

Loot spot.

Each kill was fast, clean, and quiet now — spells fired on muscle memory, hands already reaching for pockets while his eyes scanned the walls. Mapping and fighting at the same time kept him sharp, and by the fifth intersection the parchment was already spiderwebbed with neat lines and notes.

Two hours later Ludger trudged back through the quiet streets of Koa, the sun finally cresting over the rooftops. His pack empty after he sold the materials to a random merchant, but his limbs heavier still with exhaustion. Even so, his pace stayed steady. Sweat clung to his shirt, and the cold morning air turned the heat rolling off him into visible wisps of steam.

He slipped through the gate of the house and the rhythmic

shhk–thnk

of steel on air reached his ears. In the yard, Arslan was already at work, bare arms flexing as he cut the same arc again and again with his sword, each swing precise and heavy. The sound had the same metronome quality as a hammer on an anvil.

Arslan stopped mid-swing when he caught sight of his son. His brows knit as he took in the sight: Ludger’s hood down, hair plastered to his forehead, skin flushed and steaming, pack slung over one shoulder like he’d just marched through a storm.

“You’ve been out since before dawn?” Arslan asked, lowering the sword.

Ludger shrugged, setting his pack down by the door. “Had some things to take care of and then ran a bit.”

Arslan’s frown deepened. He set the sword against the fence, hands on his hips. “You woke up before your mother, trained for hours without breakfast, and now you look like a forge walking into my yard.” He shook his head, a mix of irritation and reluctant pride in his eyes. “Steam’s coming off you like you’re on fire, Luds. Training is important, but don’t work too hard.”

Ludger just smirked faintly, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Guess I’m warming up.”

Arslan exhaled slowly, still studying him. The kid’s drive was becoming something else entirely — and Arslan couldn’t decide if that scared him or made him proud.

‘Was I that hardworking at his age? Was Elaine like that too?’

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