Chapter 125

A few hours of forced rest, shade, and plain water worked better than any potion. By late afternoon the hammering behind Ludger’s eyes had faded to a dull echo, his hands had steadied, and the taste of iron in his mouth was gone. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his fingers, and let mana trickle through his veins. No spikes of pain, no tremor.

He crouched at the edge of the tent and pressed a palm to the packed earth. A thin ripple spread out as he nudged a pebble up into a neat spiral, then flattened it again. Another pulse of mana lifted a slab of floorboards a few centimeters before setting it back without a sound. Control was as sharp as ever.

“Still fine,” he murmured. “Just my body throwing a tantrum.” Maybe, if he got stronger, the gap between his mana reserves and his physical limits would close. There had to be a stat, something he could push to fix it. He’d need to study which parameter governed that before the next big job.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Two of the baron’s house servants ducked into the tent with covered trays balanced in their hands. One set a low table, the other laid out a steaming plate of meat and fresh bread. They’d even swept out the dust and set a clean cloth on the bench.

Ludger blinked at the spread. “Guess this is what happens when you build walls faster than a crew,” he muttered dryly.

The servants bowed and slipped out, leaving him alone with the meal. VIP treatment wasn’t bad. He flexed his fingers once more, feeling the mana coiled under his skin, and sat down to eat.

Ludger tore a chunk of bread and chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded as he let a thin stream of mana run through his core. Even without a system prompt he could feel it—cleaner flow, faster response, a heavier “bite” to the earth when he called it. The day’s grind had honed him like a whetstone.

He flicked two fingers under the table. A pebble rose from the packed floor, spun once, and hardened into a dense bead before dropping back soundlessly. No tremor, no lag, no nosebleed.

Geomancer Lv 19

(+6 INT, +3 WIS/level)

[Earth Manipulation Lv 25]

[Stone Grip Lv 22]

[Quicksand Lv 04]

[Seimic Sense Lv 04]

“Not bad,” he muttered around another bite of bread. The same workload tomorrow would hit him less like a hammer and more like a warm-up. His body was already adjusting to the drain. If he kept this pace, his core and muscles might synchronize sooner than he’d expected.

Seismic Sense allowed him to sense the area underneath before he could even change it with mana, so it helped him find and use stones and boulders with his manipulation.

Still, he glanced toward the tent flap where the muted sounds of the garrison drifted in. The border town stretched far beyond the section he’d reinforced. Even with his improved control, there was no easy way to guess how many days—or weeks—it would take to finish the walls, the foundations, and the hidden tunnel.

He washed down the mouthful of meat with water and leaned back on the bench, thoughts ticking over like gears. One day in and his skills had jumped, but the job itself was a mountain.

“Faster,” he murmured to himself. “Smarter. Or I’ll be stuck here for months.”

The tent smelled of clean cloth and hot food. Outside, hammers rang on stone. Inside, a boy with dust still on his boots was already plotting how to bend the schedule to his will.

Two full levels in a single day of work. Ludger’s fingers drummed against the table.

At this rate, a few more months of this and I’ll be shaping earth like it’s water.

The thought of it — stone bending at a gesture, walls rising in minutes, tunnels dug without effort — would make any guild salivate. A power like that would drag his name out of obscurity and pin it to every bulletin board in the region. More contracts. More leverage. More freedom.

Perhaps more enemies. But hey, you win some and you lose some.

He felt the corner of his mouth curl before he could stop it. That familiar, slightly twisted smirk slid across his face, the one he usually wore when a plan started clicking into place. Outside the tent, hammers clanged and voices barked orders, but inside he sat in the clean air with a hot meal and numbers rising in his peripheral vision. Fame for the guild was coming, whether the border town knew it or not.

The first light of dawn spilled across the camp like a blade of pale gold. The air still carried the bite of night as Ludger stepped out of his tent, boots crunching on frost-stiffened dirt. His breath fogged as he stretched his arms once, cracked his neck, and walked straight to the wall.

A handful of guards were already moving along the battlements, spears on their shoulders, eyes heavy with sleep. They nodded at him as he passed, still whispering about yesterday’s pace. Captain Darnell was nowhere to be seen. No barked orders, no scarred grin — just the low murmur of patrols and the clink of armor.

Fine by him.

He crouched at the base of the unfinished section and pressed his palms to the ground. Mana thrummed under his skin, fresh and steady after a night’s sleep. No potions yet; he wanted to feel the raw draw and push, see exactly where his limits sat without artificial boosts. Warm up first, then experiment.

The earth shifted like a sleeping animal rolling over. Rubble slid aside in slow spirals, soil rising to meet his hands. He molded it deliberately, slower than yesterday, testing the new efficiency baked into his skills. Each pulse of power cost less than it had; each anchor felt deeper.

A small, satisfied breath escaped him. Alone, in the thin morning light, he could work without onlookers and push at the edges of what his new level let him do. There were new tricks to try, new structures to test.

The guards glanced over their shoulders now and then, watching the boy at the wall. Dust rose in faint veils around him as stone obeyed his will, shaping itself with a patient precision that promised more speed — and more danger — when he finally let himself off the leash.

For the first hour the work was smooth, almost meditative. He stacked cores, sealed cracks, tested load-bearing patterns; the stone shifted under his palms like obedient clay. But somewhere between one pulse of mana and the next, a prickle crawled up the back of his neck.

It wasn’t fatigue. It wasn’t cold. It was that same, sour-metal sensation he’d felt deep inside the Iron Elementals’ labyrinth—the sense of eyes on his back where no eyes should be. The hairs on his arms rose even as he kept his hands pressed to the earth.

He straightened slowly, letting the mana flow taper off, and let his gaze drift across the waking town. Guards pacing the walls. Merchants pulling carts out of storage. A few sleepy soldiers hauling crates. All normal. But under the surface… something felt off, like a chord slightly out of tune.

Great.

He rolled his shoulders, pretending to stretch.

Either my paranoia’s getting better, or someone really is watching. My spidey senses are tickling…

Ludger had already run the possibilities in his head when he’d accepted this job. Barbarians weren’t the only threat. Plenty of people stood to gain from Lord Torvares’s plans collapsing: rival houses, merchants betting on instability, even old enemies from his past. They didn’t have to be out in the hills waving axes. They could be inside the town’s walls—quiet, patient, ready to make a “misfortune” happen at the right moment.

And right now, Ludger was the variable messing up their equation.

He forced his expression to stay neutral, crouched again, and pressed a palm to the earth as if he were simply working. Inside, his mind clicked through contingencies, testing the edges of his new [Seismic Sense] in a slow pulse to feel for anything moving where it shouldn’t.

If someone thought they could watch or sabotage him unnoticed, they were in for a surprise.

The pulse from his [Seismic Sense] rolled out under the cobblestones like a ripple in a pond. Dozens of feet walking, carts rumbling, soldiers pacing the ramparts. All movement. All normal. Nothing that stayed in one place long enough to give him a clear mark.

Ludger frowned faintly, one hand still pressed to the ground.

Coming and going, nonstop,

he thought.

No stationary watchers, no heavy vibrations waiting on me. Smart.

Whoever it was either knew how to blend into the traffic or was using someone else to keep eyes on him in shifts.

He flicked a pebble up into his palm and rolled it between his fingers, letting his mana swirl in a slow, hidden coil.

If they’re moving, I can’t nail them with Seismic Sense. Not yet. Either I draw them out or make myself boring enough they get sloppy.

Another ripple of mana. The same chaotic pattern — footsteps, carts, hammer blows — no single heartbeat fixed on him. He exhaled through his nose and kept his head bent over the stone, playing the part of a boy focused on his work while his mind ran three steps ahead.

He had options. He could feign exhaustion again, let them think he’d burned himself out and see who came sniffing. Or he could plant a few traps in the fresh sections of wall, little seismic tripwires keyed to a signature vibration. Or he could wait for Captain Darnell to show and quietly ask which guards were new.

His lips twitched in a faint, familiar smirk.

Fine. If you want to watch, watch. I’ll give you something to watch.

With that thought he turned back to his work, deliberately slowing his movements, letting the pattern of his mana shift just enough to look like fatigue. Beneath the surface, though, he sent a thin line of power snaking out, marking stress points and subtle tremors, laying down the first strands of a net.

Ludger stayed crouched by the wall, fingers splayed over the cold stone as if checking for cracks. In reality, thin skeins of mana were already snaking through the ground like tripwires. He wove them between the new cores, setting faint signatures—barely a whisper—so that any unusual step, any slow stalk instead of a casual walk, would ping against his senses like a plucked string.

It wasn’t a real trap, not yet. Just a warning web. Enough to tell him if someone tried to loiter or sneak up while he was “working.”

First one who gets curious will show their hand.

A faint tremor reached him from the edge of his net—steady, heavy, purposeful steps. Not the nervous shuffle of a spy. He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Captain Darnell.

Ludger straightened and wiped dust off his palms as the scarred man approached, boots crunching on the packed dirt. The captain’s expression was its usual mix of wry and watchful.

For a heartbeat Ludger almost said something—almost told him about the prickling sense of being watched, about the moving “ghost” in the traffic. But then he caught himself. He didn’t know the man well. He didn’t know who in this town might be compromised, or what deals were being cut behind closed doors.

He let his hand drop casually to his belt instead, smothering the impulse.

Better to keep quiet for now. Watch first. Decide later.

Darnell stopped beside him, eyes flicking over the flawless section of wall. “You’re up early,” he said.

“Habit,” Ludger replied, tone neutral. He forced a faint smile and went back to kneading a lump of stone into place, his hidden net humming quietly under their feet.

Inside, his mind ticked over plans and contingencies, weighing how much to reveal and how much to hold back until he knew exactly where the captain stood.

Darnell folded his arms, boots planted wide, and watched the boy work for a moment longer. Then his voice cut through the morning quiet, low but firm.

“You’re going to pace yourself today,” he said. “That’s not a request.”

Ludger glanced up, eyebrow raised but saying nothing.

The captain’s scar twitched as he went on. “Even if you are not Lord Torvares’s grandson, you’re someone he clearly values. If something happens to you under my watch, it’s not just my neck on the block, it’s the whole town’s supply of walls and morale. We’re already running light on good mages, in our ranks. I won’t lose you to exhaustion.”

He held Ludger’s gaze a beat longer, tone still calm but edged with steel. “So we’ll set a rhythm. You build, you rest, you eat. I’ll make sure you get time off before you start bleeding again.”

Ludger just shrugged, dust sliding off his shoulders with the motion. “Do what you want,” he muttered, turning back to the stone. His hands moved with the same careful precision, but his eyes had cooled.

The captain gave a single short nod, satisfied enough for now, and stayed nearby—silent, watchful—as the boy’s mana flowed into the ground once more.

Ludger pressed his palms to the earth and let the mana slip free, falling back into yesterday’s rhythm. Pillar after pillar rose, seams sealing shut under invisible pressure. The wall grew thicker, cleaner, higher with every cycle of pull, compress, anchor, seal.

He worked the same way as before but with a colder efficiency—pausing every so often to breathe, drink water instead of potions, and let his core settle. His body already felt the difference. Less strain. Faster recovery. The foundation spread like a gray tide, dust curling around his boots. Still, he would drink a potion every half an hour or so.

The guards on patrol slowed as they passed to watch. Whispers started up again about “the boy mason” and “magic faster than a crew of mages.” Darnell kept to his word, hovering close enough to check on Ludger but not barking orders.

Ludger stayed quiet, but under the surface his detection net still pulsed. Every footstep, every wagon wheel, every hammer strike thrummed through his [Seismic Sense]. He’d set the trap. Now he was waiting for someone to step in.

He laid another block into place, jaw tight.

Anytime now,

he thought.

Show yourselves.

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