Chapter 151

The sound of axes echoed through the cold morning air — rhythmic, steady, almost musical in the silence of the plains. Northerners moved between the tree line and the open fields, hacking down the dark pines that bordered the growing settlement. Their laughter mixed with the creak of timber and the snort of cattle from the pens nearby.

Ludger stood a short distance away, gloves off, palm resting against the dirt. The faint glow of earth-aspected mana rippled through the soil as he focused, flattening uneven ground and pulling rocks aside like invisible hands smoothing out wrinkles. Each shift made the work faster, the ground safer — fewer dips meant fewer twisted hooves or broken legs once the herds were fully moved in.

When he finally stood, brushing soil from his hands, he caught himself sighing. “Guess I am not the only one stayed behind after all,” he muttered.

A faint scratching sound answered him — the whisper of a quill.

Yvar was walking a few steps behind, head bent over a small leather-bound journal, scribbling in neat, precise lines. He hadn’t stopped since the others left three days ago. The man somehow managed to walk, write, and occasionally avoid tripping over roots all at once.

“You’ve been doing that since morning,” Ludger said, eyebrows raised. “Planning to write the north’s biography?”

Yvar didn’t look up. “Something like that.” His tone was quiet, distracted but sincere. “It’s not every day one gets to witness the merging of two cultures in real time. The northerners adapting to Imperial methods… your magic reshaping the terrain… it’s all valuable data.”

“Data,” Ludger repeated, half amused. “You’re starting to sound like a sage.”

“I

am

a researcher,” Yvar reminded him, eyes still on his parchment. “And technically, I’m working.”

Ludger blinked. “Working?”

Yvar finally looked up, adjusting his glasses. “I joined your guild before coming north. Lionsguard, correct? That makes this an official field observation.”

Ludger snorted. “You joined

my

guild? Well, I invited you first… but I wasn’t informed of it.”

Yvar nodded. “You were just too busy to notice.”

Ludger rubbed the bridge of his nose, half laughing. “Of course.”

The younger man smiled faintly. “I thought it would be useful. You’re changing the shape of the land, Young master Ludger — quite literally. If I can document how mana rebalances ecosystems, it might redefine how the Empire approaches long-term restoration.”

“Or it’ll redefine how many bureaucrats try to ‘supervise’ me next month,” Ludger muttered.

Yvar chuckled quietly and went back to writing. Around them, the northerners hauled another tree trunk to the pens, driving stakes into the softened ground Ludger had shaped for them. The air smelled of sap and wet soil, alive and raw.

For a moment, Ludger just stood there, watching it all — Imperials and Northerners working side by side, the grass bending under new life, and the faint warmth of the earth beneath his boots.

He sighed again, this time softer. “Alright, fine,” he murmured to himself. “Maybe staying behind wasn’t such a bad idea. I need information, after all.”

Yvar didn’t look up from his journal. “Good. Because from what I can tell, history just started taking notes.”

Ludger watched the workers finish another section of fencing before glancing over his shoulder at Yvar, who was still half-buried in his notes. The scratch of quill against parchment hadn’t stopped once.

“Yvar,” Ludger said, voice cutting through the wind. “You’ve been digging into more than soil reports, haven’t you?”

The scholar paused mid-sentence. “Define

more.

”

“I mean the berserker potions,” Ludger said plainly. “The ones that turned half of Kharnek’s clans into raging lunatics last season.”

The quill froze.

From somewhere in the distance, Kharnek’s deep laugh drifted across the field — until the word

berserker

reached his ears. Then the sound died fast.

Ludger saw the chieftain straighten, eyes narrowing, and start heading their way.

Yvar exhaled through his nose, closing the journal slowly. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Ludger shrugged. “My mother’s not here to tell me to watch my mouth, so no, I don’t have to pretend to be diplomatic.”

By the time Kharnek reached them, the air had grown heavy. He folded his arms across his chest, gaze sharp. “You’re still chasing ghosts about those potions?”

“Not ghosts,” Ludger said. “Just people with too much coin and not enough conscience.”

Kharnek grunted, planting his axe into the dirt beside him. “Then I want names.”

Yvar adjusted his glasses, the reflection of the sun flashing over the lenses before he met the chieftain’s gaze. “If I had them, Chief, I’d give them to you. But I don’t. Not yet.”

He glanced back at Ludger. “I

do

have theories. Enough to make the right people nervous, but not enough to say them out loud.”

“Which people?” Ludger pressed.

Yvar’s expression darkened slightly. “Noble houses. Several of them. The kind that invest in alchemical contracts and trade routes along the border. I’ve already reported what little I confirmed to Lord Torvares.”

Ludger crossed his arms. “To what end?”

Yvar’s tone lowered, measured but grim. “Chaos. The potions that were spread among the northern clans. There are reports of beastfolk tribes south of the frontier using them now too — same formula, same side effects.”

Ludger frowned. “So whoever’s producing them isn’t just targeting the north.”

“Exactly,” Yvar said. “Someone wants both ends of the Empire bleeding at once. It’s efficient destabilization — create enough internal conflict, and no one looks too closely at where the ingredients come from.”

Kharnek’s hand tightened around his axe. “And that’s the

obvious

explanation, you said.”

Yvar nodded. “Yes. Which means the real reason’s probably worse.”

The wind pushed through the trees again, rattling branches like bones. Ludger stared northward, toward the horizon where the frost still lingered beyond the reach of his magic.

“Worse,” he echoed quietly. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

He turned back to Yvar, eyes sharp again. “Keep digging. If whoever’s behind this wants to hide between borders, we’ll drag them out by the neck.”

Yvar gave a small nod, flipping his journal open once more — though this time, his hand hesitated before the quill touched paper.

Kharnek’s voice was low, steady, dangerous. “If it

was

Imperials, boy, you’d better hope your sister's grandfather gets to them before I do.”

Ludger met his glare without flinching. “If it’s true, I’ll hand you the axe myself.”

The chieftain’s expression softened just enough to show the faintest grin. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

And as the three of them stood amid the half-built pens and thawing earth, the faint pulse of the labyrinth could be felt far to the north — like something listening, waiting, beneath the ice.

Ludger stood at the edge of the pastures, arms crossed, watching the organized chaos unfold. The herd — all five hundred heads of it — moved like a living tide of snorting, lowing noise. The air was thick with mud, breath, and frustration.

Darnell was in the middle of it, barking orders with a voice that had grown hoarse days ago. His armor was half-unbuckled, shirt sleeves rolled, sweat freezing at the edges of his hairline. He looked like a man one bad order away from collapsing face-first into the mud.

Ludger exhaled slowly. “If he keeps that up,” he muttered, “we’ll have a corpse before we have a fence.”

Yvar looked up from his journal but wisely didn’t comment.

Ludger walked closer, raising a hand. “Darnell, take a break.”

The captain turned, eyes bleary. “With all due respect.”

“I’m not asking.” Ludger’s tone cut clean through the noise. “You’ve been working since dawn. Go breathe, eat, do anything that doesn’t involve yelling or slowly dying.”

Darnell hesitated, glancing toward the still-gaping fence line. “Someone has to make sure this doesn’t fall apart.”

“Yeah,” Ludger said dryly, “and that someone doesn’t need to drop dead from exhaustion before the next herd arrives.”

Darnell finally exhaled through his nose — a sign of surrender — and trudged off toward the campfires.

Kharnek watched the exchange from a distance, leaning on his axe with an amused grin. “You command your men like a chief,” he said. “But you sound like your mother.”

“Probably genetic,” Ludger said, half-smirking. “But you’re right about one thing — I’m not much of a soldier right now.”

He turned toward the chieftain, eyes narrowing. “So you’re going to teach me.”

Kharnek’s grin faltered. “Teach you?”

“Your fighting style,” Ludger said simply. “The way you Northerners fight — the rhythm, the stance, the flow.”

Kharnek blinked. “You’ve already got your magic. I’ve seen you use the land itself as a weapon. Why bother with a weapon when the ground moves for you?”

“Because I need both,” Ludger replied. “I’m good at thinking, at building — not at surviving when everything goes wrong. And when we go into that labyrinth again…” He looked northward, where the half-buried ruin still pulsed faintly beneath ice. “...that won’t be enough.”

Kharnek frowned, studying him. “You really want to learn

my

way of fighting? It’s brutal. No elegance. Just instinct and will.”

“That’s fine,” Ludger said. “I’ve got enough elegance for both of us.”

The chieftain barked a laugh. “Ha! You’ve got the arrogance too.”

“Occupational hazard,” Ludger said evenly. “But if I’m going to keep up with whatever’s waiting down there, I need to be more than a mage with a shovel. Well, I already am, but the more, the merrier.”

For a long moment, Kharnek just looked at him — eyes narrowing, weighing the intent behind the words. Finally, the grin returned, slow and sharp.

“Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow, sunrise. We’ll see if that southern blood of yours can handle it.”

Ludger nodded once. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been hit in the face before breakfast.”

Kharnek’s laughter rolled across the field again. “Good. You’ll fit right in.”

He turned to leave, slinging his axe over his shoulder. “And boy—bring a weapon. My fists aren’t gentle.”

Ludger smirked, eyes flicking back toward the labyrinth’s distant glow. “Didn’t expect them to be.”

The wind swept cold over the fields, carrying the faint echoes of the labyrinth’s heartbeat — a reminder of what waited below. Tomorrow, the real preparation would begin.

After a while, Kharnek stood bare-armed despite the cold, muscles carved like stone, a grin tugging at his mouth. Across from him, Ludger arrived wordlessly, cloak thrown aside, armor gleaming under the light.

He wasn’t carrying a weapon.

Instead, he wore his usual matched set of crimson and silver armguards and shin guards, engraved with the Torvares crest. The metal shimmered faintly showing its quality.

Kharnek frowned. “That’s not what I told you to bring.”

Ludger flexed his fingers, the gauntlets giving off a soft hum as mana rippled across the surface. “You said to bring a weapon.” He smiled slightly. “I did.”

Kharnek’s grin widened. “Hah. So the noble fights with his hands now? Fine. Show me what you think a fist can do.”

Ludger exhaled once, steady and deliberate. His eyes narrowed — then the faint blue lines of mana flared across his body. “I am not noble.”

Steam hissed from the armguards as the runes lit up in bright crimson. The snow around Ludger’s boots cracked from the mana pressure.

“Ready?” he asked.

Kharnek crossed his arms, planting his feet firmly in the snow. “Come at me, boy. Don’t hold back.”

Ludger moved.

The ground burst beneath his step, snow exploding outward as he launched forward like a red streak. The impact came an instant later — his fist slamming against Kharnek’s crossed forearms with a metallic

clang

that echoed across the field.

The shockwave rippled through the air, sending snow flying in a wide arc. Kharnek’s boots skidded back several meters, carving twin trenches into the frost before he caught himself.

He glanced down at his braced arms, where the faint glow of impact still lingered. “Hells,” he muttered. Then his gaze flicked up, sharp and amused. “You hit like a boulder rolling downhill.”

Ludger rolled his wrist, shaking off the sting. “Good. Means that I didn’t get rusty.”

The chieftain’s grin faded into something more curious than mocking. “How does a mage have that kind of power?”

Ludger smirked, his breath misting in the cold. “Who said I was

just

a mage?”

Kharnek stared for a long moment — then laughed, loud and deep, the kind of laugh that made even the watching Northerners pause their work.

“Fine then,” he said, dropping into a loose stance of his own. “Let’s see what else you’ve been hiding, boy.”

Ludger tightened his stance again, snow crunching under his boots, armguards still glowing with molten light. “Your move, Chief.”

And as the wind howled between them, the frost-steeped north prepared to watch a kid strategist and a northern warlord collide — not in battle this time, but in a test of strength that could shake the ground itself.

Kharnek didn’t waste time with more words.

He lunged forward, the snow cracking under his boots as his first punch swung in a heavy arc — fast for a man his size, but telegraphed just enough to test, not kill.

Ludger raised both forearms to meet it. The impact rang out like hammer on steel. The force pushed him half a step back, snow spraying at his heels, but he didn’t buckle.

The chieftain’s grin widened. “Good. You didn’t flinch.”

He followed with another punch, then a kick aimed at Ludger’s ribs. This time the younger man pivoted, bringing his shin guard up to block. Sparks flared as the two collided — enchanted metal meeting raw muscle.

Kharnek barked a laugh and pressed harder, chaining three more strikes in quick succession — jab, elbow, low sweep. Ludger moved with precision, arms and legs shifting smoothly, blocking each hit by inches. His expression stayed calm, focused, eyes tracking every movement.

The final punch came in heavier — enough to rattle his arms when he caught it. But Ludger held his ground, boots digging into the frost.

For a moment, the field went still.

Kharnek stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “So that’s it,” he said finally. “That smirk of yours — it’s not arrogance.”

Ludger tilted his head. “No?”

The chieftain’s grin returned, wolfish. “No. You actually

can

take a hit.”

Ludger gave a half-shrug. “I’ve had practice.”

Kharnek snorted. “Practice doesn’t stop most Imperials from breaking their teeth when they meet northern fists.”

He circled slowly, studying Ludger with new eyes — not as a unusual kid or a strategist, but as a fighter who might actually understand what he was asking to learn.

“My style,” Kharnek said, tapping his chest with a thick finger, “comes from rage. From the heartbeat before the kill. The stronger the emotion, the harder the body hits. That’s how our ancestors fought — burning from the inside out.”

He threw a lazy punch through the air, the movement rippling with coiled strength. “Most of us lost that instinct. Now they use those cursed potions to fake it. Makes them wild, faster… but not

alive.

”

Ludger nodded slowly, remembering too well the berserk clansmen from the war — men whose eyes burned purple before they tore themselves apart.

Kharnek grinned again, baring his teeth. “Still, it’ll be fun watching an Imperial try to channel that kind of fury. You’ve got the control for it. Let’s see if you can handle the chaos.”

Ludger rolled his wrists, the red glow of his armguards pulsing faintly. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The chieftain cracked his neck, stance shifting lower. “Then come on, boy. Show me if a Torvares can roar.”

“I am not a Torvares.”

The next exchange began with no warning — Kharnek charging again, fists swinging like warhammers, and Ludger meeting him head-on, the sound of clashing strikes echoing across the frozen plain like drums of a long-forgotten war.

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