Chapter 175

As they walked away from the trader’s house and back toward the square, Derrin caught up beside Ludger, lowering his voice.

“Hey… why’d you stop there, Captain?” he asked. “That old man probably knew more. You could’ve pressed him for names or details—maybe even who those fake guards were.”

Ludger didn’t slow his stride. “I didn’t need to.”

Derrin frowned. “Didn’t need to? He was right there.”

Ludger gave a small shrug. “If I’d pushed, I’d have gotten silence. Maybe worse. You don’t ask about nobles in a village like this unless you want the whole town to shut their doors. The old man’s lived here long enough to know which family’s shadow falls on the mountains. He just won’t say it aloud.”

He looked ahead, scanning the road that led east, his tone calm but clipped. “To get more, I’d have to start asking which noble families control the trade routes, who owns the guards that came through, who funds them. And that’s not something a trader can answer safely. One wrong word could cost him his business—or his life.”

Derrin’s throat bobbed as he gulped. “Right… nobles.”

Ludger glanced at him. “Exactly. Even if we’re getting some fame from Lionfang, we’re still commoners with weapons and paperwork. The moment we start poking noble affairs, it gets political. And politics doesn’t care if you’re right—it only cares if you’re useful.”

Derrin grimaced, looking at the dirt road underfoot. “So what now?”

“Now,” Ludger said quietly, “we follow the pattern. We don’t need to know which noble’s hand is moving the pieces yet. We just need to find where the next one will fall.”

He adjusted his scarf against the wind and glanced back at the rest of the group. “When you’re playing in someone else’s house, you don’t kick the walls. You find the cracks.”

Derrin nodded, the weight of it sinking in. For the first time, he realized just how far beyond bandit-hunting this mission really was—and how easily nobles could crush them if they weren’t careful.

Ludger spent another hour moving through the village after parting ways with the old trader, trying to pick out anyone else who might be worth talking to. He passed the smithy, the granary, the small tavern where a few locals nursed their drinks even in daylight. Faces turned away as he walked by. The few who didn’t—farmhands, a leatherworker, a woman sweeping her porch—had the same wary look: polite distance, closed mouths.

He tried reading them the way he read terrain—shifts in breath, the weight of footsteps, the tremor of hesitation in the ground—but people weren’t stone. They knew how to hide. And the ones who didn’t hide simply didn’t know anything useful.

Eventually, with the sun dipping low, he gave up on his scouting and regrouped with the others at the edge of the village. The team had gathered near the trees, horses tethered, packs slung. Callen was finishing a map note, Rhea stood watch with her bow half-drawn, and Freyra was pacing like she wanted someone to punch just to pass the time.

Ludger approached, dust still clinging to his boots. “Report.”

Taron glanced up first. “Not much. Some folks mentioned seeing Imperial guards come through a few months back, but they didn’t match. Different armor styles, different heraldry—looked like they came from

different houses.

”

Mira nodded. “Yeah, one woman said she saw two groups in the same week—one wearing the red stag of House Rellmar, another with blue falcons on their cloaks. Both claimed to be investigating the disappearances.”

Ludger’s brows furrowed. “Different houses sending men to the same backwater village…? Doesn’t sound like coincidence.”

Derrin scratched the back of his neck. “Or maybe impostors. Either way, they left fast.”

Freyra kicked a stone into the dirt. “So we’ve got guards that don’t match, people too scared to talk, and a trail that’s been cold for months. Anything else?.”

Ludger crossed his arms, thinking. “That lines up with what the trader said. The story’s been kept neat—too neat, aside from the allegiance of the investigators.”

He glanced east, toward the shadowed teeth of the mountains. “Maurien’s not going to like that.”

Callen let out a sigh. “You think the nobles are actually behind it?”

“Maybe not directly,” Ludger said. “But someone’s paying for silence, and nobles are the only ones with that kind of coin.”

He mounted his horse, eyes still on the horizon. “We’ll tell Maurien what we found eventually, let’s move to the next village before dark. If the pattern holds, the deeper we go, the closer we’ll get to whoever’s pulling the strings.”

The recruits exchanged uneasy looks but followed his lead.

As they rode out, the village behind them resumed its quiet rhythm—too quiet, Ludger thought. The kind of quiet that only existed where people had learned not to speak.

The next village was two hours down the road, tucked against a low ridge where the trees thickened again. The ride was quiet—too quiet. Even Freyra’s usual chatter died down as the recruits mulled over what they’d learned in the last place. Every clue led to another dead end, and the mix of noble insignias only made things murkier.

By the time the rooftops of the new settlement came into view, the group’s mood had soured. Callen rode slumped in his saddle, staring at the dirt road; Rhea kept scanning the horizon, her hand never straying far from her bow.

When they reached a rise overlooking the first houses, Derrin finally spoke. “You think we’ll find anything here?”

“Doubt it,” Taron said flatly. “If the last village was tight-lipped, this one’ll probably be worse.”

Ludger slowed his horse, taking in the layout below—three main streets, a central tavern, a smithy, and a small chapel. He seemed to weigh something, then nodded to himself. “We’re not asking this time.”

That made everyone look up.

Freyra frowned. “What do you mean, ‘not asking’? How are we supposed to find anything if we don’t talk to people?”

Ludger’s mouth twitched into something halfway between a grin and a warning. “We won’t find the talkers. We’ll find the watchers.”

The recruits exchanged confused glances. Callen blinked. “The watchers?”

Ludger just smirked—a small, knowing curl of the mouth that looked completely out of place on his usually stoic face.

“Oh no,” Rhea muttered under her breath. “That’s his

I have a plan and no one’s going to like it

face.”

“Correct,” Ludger said dryly. “If someone’s been monitoring the locals, they’ll take interest in a group like ours. All we have to do is make ourselves look like the perfect problem.”

Derrin groaned. “So… bait.”

“Exactly.”

He turned his horse toward the road and gave a slight gesture for the others to follow. “Relax. You’ll get your part soon enough.”

The group obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

As they rode down toward the quiet village, the recruits traded uneasy looks. None of them said it out loud, but they all thought the same thing—Ludger’s smirk was far more terrifying than any bandit ambush.

They left the horses tethered behind a low stable wall on the outskirts, the animals snorting uneasily as if they could feel the heaviness hanging over the place. The village looked half-asleep despite the hour—windows shuttered, streets lit only by a few oil lamps burning low. It was dinner time, yet no one lingered outside. The air had that brittle stillness of a place that preferred not to notice strangers.

As they walked down the narrow main street, boots crunching softly on ground, even Freyra slowed her usual pace. The tavern stood near the square—a squat timber building with a dull orange glow leaking from its windows and the low hum of muffled conversation within.

When Ludger pushed open the door, the sound didn’t grow louder. If anything, it

stopped.

The room wasn’t crowded—barely a dozen patrons—but the type was obvious. Rough-looking men with travel-worn cloaks, leathers scuffed from long use, and weapons propped against their chairs. The kind of people who didn’t drink for company, only to pass time between dangerous jobs. Their eyes tracked the newcomers immediately, cold and appraising.

Ludger took it all in within a heartbeat: three tables occupied, two exits, at least five people armed, maybe more. He also remembered the map—there was a small labyrinth a few kilometers south . That explained their presence.

Adventurers,

he thought.

Or pretending to be.

Their stares lingered longer than curiosity warranted, but Ludger didn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. He just walked in, calm and steady, like he’d been there a hundred times before.

He picked a table near the wall with a clear view of the door, pulled out a chair, and sat. Freyra followed without hesitation, her height and confidence turning every head in the room. She moved like she

owned

the place, chin up, eyes half-lidded, daring anyone to say something.

The others hesitated for a moment in the doorway, then quietly filed in after them—Derrin, Callen, Rhea, Taron, and Mira—keeping their hands visible but close to their belts. The tension clung to them like static, the way it always did before a fight that hadn’t started yet.

They sat in silence while the tavern’s low chatter cautiously resumed, quieter than before. The barkeep—a broad man with a thinning beard—came over, wiping a mug with a rag that had seen better days.

“Evenin’,” he said, voice wary but polite. “You folks passing through?”

Ludger gave a small nod. “Something like that.”

The man grunted and turned away to fetch ale, clearly relieved not to be questioned.

At the table, no one spoke. Freyra leaned back in her chair, scanning the room like she was gauging who would break first. The recruits sat stiffly, pretending to relax but gripping their knees under the table.

Ludger let the silence stretch, feeling every pair of eyes still sneaking glances their way. The atmosphere was heavy, quiet—too deliberate.

Good,

Ludger thought, resting his chin on one hand.

If someone’s watching, they’ll show themselves soon enough.

When the barkeep returned, wiping his hands on that same battered rag, Ludger glanced up from the table.

“Hot stew,” he said. “Enough for ten. Make it

very

spicy.”

The man blinked. “Ten? You’ve only got seven here.”

Ludger nodded toward Freyra without missing a beat. “One of us eats half the food on her own. Better make it ten.”

Freyra crossed her arms, chin tilting up like he’d just announced a royal title. “Half is generous,” she said proudly. “I could eat all ten if I wanted.”

The barkeep chuckled uncertainly, then hurried off toward the kitchen.

Ludger leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting lazily over the room. The other patrons pretended not to stare, but the stillness in their shoulders told him they were listening.

He wanted someone to take the bait. A comment about northerners, a slur about kids playing warriors, anything that could justify a brief, useful scuffle. Fights were noisy; noise made people careless, and careless people talked.

But no one bit.

If anything, the tension deepened. The armed men at the back table avoided looking at Freyra altogether. The moment she turned her head, their eyes dropped to their mugs. One even shifted his chair slightly away from her line of sight.

Ludger suppressed a sigh.

Of course. The northerners’ reputation reached this far too.

Between the rumors of their brutality and Freyra’s sheer presence, it was no wonder no one wanted to start trouble.

He tapped his fingers once against the table’s edge, quietly frustrated.

Starting a fight himself would be stupid—they were on guild business, and any hint of disorder could circle back to Arslan’s desk by morning. The guild’s name couldn’t afford to be tied to barroom brawls, not when nobles might already be sniffing for excuses.

So he watched instead. The flick of hands under tables, the rhythm of mugs clinking, the flicker of glances toward the door. But the tavern was too quiet. The conversations were whispered, local, nothing distinct enough to catch even with his sharp hearing.

He caught Freyra’s eye across the table. She tilted her head, curious.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Too calm,” he muttered. “And too quiet.”

She smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“For me, it usually is.”

The barkeep’s voice called from the back: “Stew’s coming!”

Ludger leaned back again, exhaling softly. No chaos tonight, then. Just a room full of silence and people pretending not to notice them. He hated when quiet felt

intentional.

The stew came out steaming, rich with spice and a little too much salt, but none of them complained. After a day of hard travel and heavier conversation, even bland food would’ve tasted like a feast. They dug in quietly, though the tavern’s hush still pressed on them from every side.

Ludger ate slowly, half-listening to the clink of spoons and half-thinking about their next move. Sitting still like this wasn’t doing them any favors. If the watchers he suspected were in the room, they’d need a reason to act—a lure that sounded just credible enough to be dangerous.

He let his spoon rest in the bowl and looked up, scanning the faces around the table. His expression was calm, unreadable, but his eyes carried a silent message:

Follow my lead.

Rhea blinked, confused. Derrin straightened, uncertain. Freyra just frowned, then gave the faintest nod—she understood something was coming, even if she didn’t know what.

Ludger turned slightly in his seat, raising his voice just enough to carry across the tavern.

“Tomorrow,” he said clearly, “we head south. The mountains near the river pass. I’ve got a lead on my uncle Ben’s whereabouts there.”

A few heads turned their way—quietly, subtly, but it was exactly what he wanted.

He leaned forward, voice steady but with just the right hint of emotion. “Uncle Ben raised me like a son,” he continued, tone thick with mock sincerity. “Taught me everything I know. Said something I’ll never forget.”

The group stared at him, expecting something profound.

“With great powers,” Ludger said solemnly, “come girls and riches… sometimes he said responsibilities, he probably meant both.”

The silence was instant and absolute.

Derrin froze mid-bite. Callen choked on his stew. Rhea made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a prayer. Even Freyra stopped chewing, staring at him like he’d just been hit on the head.

Ludger kept his expression perfectly serious, eyes burning with conviction. Inside, he was barely keeping his laughter in check, but that helped. The tighter he held it back, the more his jaw clenched, the more it looked like genuine anger.

“I’m pretty sure,” he added after a dramatic pause, “he meant something else. But the man was always drunk, so I couldn’t tell. Still, I could feel his sincerity, even when I told him to stop drinking his alchemic potions.”

Derrin whispered, “What the hell are you doing?”

Ludger didn’t answer, just glared at his bowl like he was mourning a fallen hero.

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