Chapter 169

A few days later, the landscape began to change.

The frozen cold plains gradually gave way to gentler slopes and denser trees, the air warmer, the ground less brittle under the horses’ hooves. They had officially left the northern territories behind, moving into the eastern stretch of the Empire—less wild, more watched.

Ludger rode at the front, map open in one hand, the parchment marked with Yvar’s neat handwriting and small red crosses. His route cut

between

towns and trade roads, slipping through old forest paths and half-forgotten hunting trails. The plan was simple: avoid being noticed, avoid being delayed.

Every time a spire of smoke hinted at a nearby settlement, Ludger quietly steered the group eastward again, off the main road. The recruits didn’t complain much—by now, they’d learned that his detours usually meant fewer problems.

They camped where the trees grew thick, by rivers, or sometimes on bare ridges where the wind kept the scent of their campfires low. When supplies ran thin, Ludger handled it himself. He’d kneel to the soil, pulse mana through it, and listen—

Seismic Sense

spreading through the ground like ripples through water. Then, with a small gesture, a startled rabbit or even a boar would burst from a burrow or brush patch, only to be caught a second later by a conjured wall or pit.

Callen once muttered, “That’s... easy.”

Ludger only shrugged. “Faster than shopping.”

They ate well enough—roasted game, smoked strips for the road, occasional river fish. It kept morale steady.

Still, Ludger never quite relaxed. Each night, before resting, he extended his senses deep into the earth, searching for the faint tremors of movement—steps, beasts, wagons, anything. So far, nothing.

But that nothing was its own problem.

No patrols, no bandits, no couriers. Just the sound of wind through branches and the soft tread of their horses. It was too quiet, too smooth for a region that bordered Imperial routes.

By the time they reached the foothills that marked the start of the eastern passes, Ludger felt the shift in his bones—the subtle tightening in the air that said the easy part was over.

He folded Yvar’s map, tucked it into his coat, and glanced back at the recruits following behind.

“Stay alert,” he said, voice low but carrying. “From here on, things might stop pretending to be easy.”

None of them argued. The forest around them was silent, waiting—like it knew, just as he did, that the serious part of the journey was about to begin.

The next morning, the wind carried a sharper edge, and when the mist finally lifted, the mountains came into view.

They rose from the horizon like a jagged wall of gray and blue, peaks capped with snow that caught the sunlight in long, blinding streaks. Even from this distance, the scale of them was staggering—ancient, immovable, the kind of landscape that made the world feel older than people deserved to be walking through it.

Rhea whistled under her breath. “That’s… a lot of rock.”

“Congratulations,” Ludger said dryly. “You’ve correctly identified mountains.”

Still, he couldn’t entirely disagree. They were impressive—taller than the northern ridges near the labyrinth, and far more rugged. If Maurien had decided to work out there, it wasn’t just solitude he wanted. It was distance.

As the group pressed forward, Ludger let his gaze linger on the distant peaks. His mind drifted, just slightly.

The “Eastern Mountains,” Yvar had called them. The official border of the Empire. Though, looking at them now, Ludger couldn’t help but frown.

Empire

felt like a stretch. For all the banners, politics, and noble bloodlines, the realm wasn’t that large. He tapped his fingers against the reins, thinking.

Should’ve asked Yvar more about that. Why call it an empire if you can ride across it in a few weeks?

He almost smiled. It was exactly the kind of question that slipped his mind when things got busy—when there were walls to build, recruits to train, Overlords to ignore, and a guild to keep alive. Trivia like that never seemed important until there was silence long enough for it to surface.

The horses trudged on, their breath misting in the cold morning air. Behind him, the recruits talked in low tones about how far the mountains looked, how steep they’d be. Freyra, of course, claimed she could climb one.

Ludger just squinted at the ridges. From here, they looked calm—majestic, even. But he’d learned that anything too still from a distance usually wasn’t once you got close.

The Eastern Mountains loomed higher with every hour. Whatever waited for them there, Maurien included, wasn’t going to be simple.

The night air was still, save for the faint crackle of the campfire and the soft breaths of the horses resting nearby. The recruits were half-asleep, sprawled around the stone shelter Ludger had raised earlier that evening. It had been another quiet day of travel—too quiet for his liking.

At some point, he’d had enough of waiting for something interesting to happen.

So he stood, brushing dust from his coat, and said, very matter-of-factly, “All right. Since nothing wants to happen, I’ll teach you how to use

Overdrive.

”

Six pairs of tired eyes blinked at him.

Callen tilted his head. “You’ll… what?”

Ludger folded his arms, tone calm, almost bored. “Overdrive. You’ve all seen me use it—short bursts of speed, power, sharper control. It’s not complicated once you understand mana flow.”

The recruits just stared, as if he’d announced he was going for a midnight stroll.

Rhea finally spoke, frowning. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re going to

teach

Overdrive? That’s… not a beginner skill, Captain.”

“Never said it was easy,” he replied. “But it’s straightforward. Think of it as forcing your body to cooperate with your mana instead of lagging behind it. Painful, but effective.”

Mira squinted. “That sounds… dangerous.”

“Congratulations,” Ludger said flatly. “You’re beginning to understand the point.”

They all exchanged looks that said

he’s joking, right?

but none of them could quite tell if he was.

Rhea rubbed the back of her neck. “Why now, though? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Shouldn’t we wait until we’re back home?”

“Because I want to learn something too,” Ludger said simply.

That earned him another round of blank stares.

“I need the basics of water and rune magic,” he continued. “Callen and Taron can teach me. Fair exchange.”

Silence.

Then Taron blinked. “You could’ve just

asked

us.”

“I did,” Ludger said. “Just not with words.”

Mira covered her face with both hands, muttering, “Captain is so weird.”

Rhea nodded. “Like,

really

weird.”

Even Freyra, who’d been pretending to ignore the conversation, leaned on her elbows and grinned. “I don’t need to learn any of your imperial techniques.”

“No one asked..”

“Insane.”

The recruits groaned in unison, but beneath the exasperation, curiosity sparked. Rhea was already rolling her shoulders, Taron trying to remember the last time anyone claimed to

teach

Overdrive.

Ludger crouched near the fire, eyes glinting in the glow. “Rest for five minutes,” he said. “Then we start with control drills. If you survive, I’ll learn how to draw a proper rune line.”

That earned a few uneasy laughs, though no one dared assume he was joking.

It wasn’t the kind of lesson anyone expected from a ten-year-old vice guildmaster—but by now, they were starting to accept that

Ludger being strange

was just part of the natural order of things.

There was another reason Ludger decided to start this madness, though he didn’t bother saying it out loud.

As everyone reluctantly stretched and prepared for what promised to be a long night of “learning not to explode,” Ludger sat by the fire, quietly adjusting his scarf and doing the math in his head.

His

Teacher

class was still low-level.. It gave decent bonuses, sure, but experience gain had slowed to a crawl. And teaching Overdrive? That was bound to push it higher.

Two gains for one night’s work: skill practice for them, class progress for him. Efficient, as always.

He smirked faintly to himself, eyes half-lidded as the recruits argued over who should try first.

And if it works…

He pictured it for a moment: a guild where

everyone

could use Overdrive, not just him and a few veterans. Mages, archers, even shield-bearers—all able to burst forward or block with superhuman reflexes for a few seconds when it mattered.

It was an absurd image—dozens of half-trained adventurers burning mana and muscle to fight above their limits—but it also made tactical sense. Overdrive wasn’t just raw power; it was survival, momentum, initiative.

Even a mage who could barely swing a staff could use it to dodge, shove, or

run

when things went bad. Sometimes that mattered more than another spell.

He leaned back, watching the recruits form a hesitant circle around him. They looked uncertain, but curiosity outweighed fear—for now.

Freyra cracked her knuckles. “So, pipsqueak, you’re really going to make them stronger tonight?”

Ludger gave her a lazy half-smile. “If you survive the training, sure. Consider it a bonus.”

Rhea groaned. “Why does he say that like it’s a real possibility?”

Because it was.

Still, Ludger couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation as he stood. This wasn’t just another experiment—it was a small step toward making the Lionsguard more than a regional guild. A real fighting force.

One Overdrive at a time.

The recruits gathered in a rough semicircle, firelight flickering over their faces—half curiosity, half dread. Ludger stood before them, arms crossed, eyes calm and analytical as always.

“Listen carefully,” he began, tone firm but steady. “Overdrive isn’t magic in the usual sense. It’s a controlled burn. You’re forcing your mana to ignite

inside

your body to enhance muscle output, reflexes, and reaction time. Do it wrong, and you’ll just injure yourself. Do it right, and you’ll move faster than your body should allow.”

He picked up a stick from the ground and snapped it in half with a small pulse of mana—just enough to make the motion blur. “It’s not about strength. It’s about synchronization. Your body and your mana have to move at the same pace. If your mana outpaces your body, it’ll tear you apart. If your body outpaces your mana, it’ll stall.”

Callen frowned. “So… we’re supposed to make mana

burn

? How do you even—”

Ludger cut him off with a small gesture. “Not literally. You’re not setting yourself on fire. You’re accelerating your mana circulation until friction starts. It feels like heat, but it’s really pressure. Think of it as forcing mana through smaller channels—like pushing too much water through a narrow pipe. It builds tension.”

He crouched, drawing a rough figure in the dirt—a human outline with small circles marking the arms, legs, chest, and head.

“You don’t need to flood your whole body with mana,” he said, tapping the drawing’s arm. “That’s what most idiots try, and that’s how they pop tendons. Focus on

one

spot. Your arm, your leg, whatever you want to enhance. Burn mana there until it reacts.”

Rhea raised her hand. “React how?”

“You’ll feel it,” Ludger said simply. “It’ll hurt. Not much at first—more like your skin’s buzzing. When that happens, don’t push harder. Hold it steady. That means your mana and your body are syncing. If it starts feeling

cold

instead, stop immediately. That’s your mana rebelling.”

The recruits glanced at one another, expressions skeptical but intrigued.

Taron muttered, “So, we’re basically learning how to almost kill ourselves safely.”

“Correct,” Ludger said. “But think of it as conditioning. You don’t need to master it tonight. You just need to

feel

it. Once your body recognizes the pattern, you’ll be able to expand it gradually. From one limb to two, then your torso, and eventually the whole body. Learn to control on your legs and you will be able to leap much higher and run faster.”

He stood and demonstrated, mana flaring faintly around his right arm. The air shimmered, subtle but visible in the invisible current.

“This is a partial burn,” he said. “I’m accelerating the mana in my arm to match my muscle output. It’s a shortcut to strength. Hold it too long and you’ll tear something. Hold it right, and you can punch through a wall.”

Derrin blinked. “And you’re teaching this to us

here,

in the middle of the woods?”

“Best place for screaming,” Ludger replied, deadpan. “Fortunately, I am a healer, so you can mess up as much as you want, you won’t suffer for long.”

Even Freyra snorted at that.

“Now,” he continued, stepping back. “Pick one limb and start focusing. Don’t flood it—

pressurize

it. Small, sharp bursts. You’re not channeling, you’re compressing. Remember, it’s not a race to light yourself up. It’s a race to not pass out.”

They hesitated for a moment, then started trying—Rhea closing her eyes, Taron muttering to himself, Callen humming softly to stabilize his mana flow.

Ludger walked among them, quietly correcting posture, occasionally tapping someone’s shoulder or wrist to adjust focus.

“Too wide,” he told Rhea. “You’re leaking mana through your fingers. Keep it tight.”

“Don’t overthink it, Taron. It’s not a spell circle.”

“Callen, stop freezing your hand. You’re doing the opposite.”

Within minutes, faint heat began to radiate from a few of them—unsteady, flickering, but real.

Ludger nodded once, faint approval crossing his expression. “Good. That’s the start. When it stops hurting and starts feeling like a rhythm, you’ll know you’re close.”

[Dissection of Knowledge + 100 XP]

He looked at the flow again, then back at his small band of recruits—all trying, all sweating, all on the edge between fear and discovery.

Not bad,

he thought.

If half of them manage it, we’ll have something close to an army one day.

But aloud, he just said, “Don’t pass out. If you do, I’m not carrying you.”

[Dissection of Knowledge + 100 XP]

The training dragged well past midnight. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows that flickered over the recruits as they sat or knelt on the floor, each of them drenched in sweat. Small bursts of heat shimmered here and there—tiny ripples of mana pushing against the air as they struggled to maintain control.

Every few minutes, Ludger felt the familiar

click

of system feedback deep in his mind, like coins dropping into a jar. His Teacher class was leveling faster than he’d ever seen before.

He didn’t show it, of course, but he could feel the subtle shift in his mana, the quiet sharpening of intuition that came with each level up . It wasn’t just the act of teaching—it was

how

effective the lesson was.

He watched as Rhea’s arm flickered with faint golden light before sputtering out, and another wave of experience hit. Then Taron, finally holding a steady burn along his wrist. Another surge.

[Dissection of Knowledge + 100 XP]

[Dissection of Knowledge + 100 XP]

So that’s it,

Ludger thought.

It’s tied to how well they grasp it… not just how long I teach.

That made sense, in a way. Overdrive was pure efficiency—burning mana for results. Maybe the system recognized that same efficiency in teaching it.

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