Chapter 213

Ludger rubbed his temples, thinking. “So if I try this again,” he murmured, “I’ll end up turning half the coastline into a wasteland.”

He crouched again, brushing a handful of lifeless dirt through his fingers. The realization sank in heavy. This wasn’t just growth magic—it was

transfer

. He’d forced the environment to give up everything to fuel the tree’s unnatural speed.

“Plant Growth, huh?” he muttered, half to himself. “More like Mana Drain disguised as gardening.”

He looked up one last time at the massive tree swaying in the ocean wind, its roots glimmering faintly with residual mana. Beautiful. Powerful. Dangerous.

And completely unsustainable.

Ludger sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess we’re sticking to coral and sweat for now.”

He turned back toward the light of the longhouse, but even as he walked away, he could still

feel

the tree behind him—breathing slow and heavy, like something alive that hadn’t stopped growing yet.

Ludger stood before the great tree he’d grown.  Beautiful, yes—but the ground around it was still gray and lifeless, the soil cracked and brittle like old parchment.

He let out a slow breath through his nose. “Alright. Let’s fix this mess.”

He knelt beside the roots and pressed his palms into the dead dirt. His mana flowed gently at first, then deepened into a steady hum. Faint green light rippled outward from his hands, seeping into the soil like water soaking into cloth.

Nature’s Breath.

It wasn’t a spell he used often. Not since Aronia had taught him what it

meant

—that it wasn’t about brute-forcing life into the ground, but breathing with it. Lending your mana to the cycle instead of forcing control.

The effect was immediate. Color returned to the soil in slow pulses, patches of green spreading outward in thin veins. Tiny sprouts began to push through the surface, trembling as they took root.

But every inch of progress came at a price. Ludger could feel the drain—heavy, relentless. The spell was meant to restore balance in a wounded ecosystem, not feed the greed of a tree that had already devoured its surroundings.

By the time a few patches of grass had returned, sweat was sliding down his neck and his breathing had turned shallow.

He pulled his hands away, the glow fading. “...Too damn expensive.”

The soil looked alive again, but only barely. He could sense the imbalance still—the tree’s roots were already pulling the new nutrients inward, like a starving animal refusing to share.

Ludger stood, brushing dirt from his palms. “This isn’t worth it for timber,” he muttered. “The cost in mana’s worse than cutting the trees in the first place.”

Aronia’s lessons echoed in his head—her calm, even tone as she’d lectured him about the

green balance

, the quiet covenant between soil, growth, and time.

The land remembers how it’s treated, Ludger. Give too much too fast, and it forgets how to grow on its own.

He scowled faintly. “Yeah, yeah. I get it now.”

Still, the thought of felling thousands of trees to finish the bridge didn’t sit right with him. The druid part of him, bristled at the idea. If they had to take that much wood, he at least wanted to believe the land wouldn’t stay wounded afterward.

Maybe, he thought, if the mana cores they’d collected from the sahuagins were reprocessed properly, the residual energy could revitalize those areas. Mana-rich soil would bounce back faster. The idea wasn’t impossible—if a little reckless.

He crossed his arms, thinking it through. “If the cores react to elemental charge, maybe I can repurpose them. Not for sale—for cultivation. Or storage. Or training?”

The thought took root quickly. Instead of burning them for profit or fuel, he could create

anchors

—small mana totems to keep the balance where the environment was stripped bare. A way to repay what the bridge would inevitably take.

But the risk was obvious too. Those same cores were what had enraged the sea monsters to begin with. Mishandled, they could just as easily corrupt as heal.

Still… he had to try.

Ludger looked back at the massive tree one last time, its leaves whispering softly in the morning breeze. “You took too much,” he muttered. “Let’s make sure the next ones don’t have to.”

Whatever he decided to do with those mana cores, it would change the bridge—and maybe the sea itself. And for better or worse, he was already set on finding out which.

A few days later, the bridge site was almost unrecognizable.

The rhythmic sound of hammers and saws filled the air, the sea wind carrying the scent of tar and fresh-cut wood. The first hundred meters of the bridge were finally complete—a smooth expanse of reinforced timber and coral-stone supports stretching proudly over the waves.

It wasn’t perfect, but it

stood

.

The workers cheered as they laid the last plank, the sound echoing across the water.

And from the distance, two silhouettes appeared—Ludger and Gaius, floating over stone platforms back from the far end of the scaffolding where the next line of coral pillars glimmered beneath the surface. They’d already extended the foundations a full kilometer into the ocean, the supports standing tall and even, untouched by erosion or tide.

When they returned to shore, a familiar voice was already waiting for them.

“Well,” said Lucius Hakuen, smiling faintly as he stepped forward, “I was told you two were making progress, but I wasn’t expecting

this.

”

He was dressed more casually than usual—no noble cloak, no guards trailing behind him. Just a fine shirt rolled to the elbows and a silver chain glinting at his neck. Still, his posture screamed aristocrat.

Ludger gave a small nod. “We work fast.”

Lucius chuckled. “Fast might be an understatement. The Ironhand engineers said this pace was impossible. I suppose they’ll have to reconsider the meaning of that word. More workers will come soon to try to replicate your pace.”

Gaius leaned on his staff, smirking. “Engineers always say something’s impossible until someone else does it first.”

“True enough,” Lucius said. He glanced toward the bridge again, genuine admiration flickering across his face. “It’s magnificent. I thought this project would take a year before showing real progress, yet here you stand with a kilometer of support ready.”

Ludger shrugged, deadpan. “We don’t like waiting.”

Lucius laughed lightly, then straightened. “Speaking of not waiting—tomorrow’s my birthday celebration. I’d like to invite both of you. Consider it a thank-you for saving this bridge from becoming another Imperial embarrassment.”

Gaius snorted. “I’m not good with fancy stuff. Haven’t worn anything clean enough to pass as noble attire in years.”

Lucius smiled knowingly. “We can make exceptions for heroes of construction.”

Gaius waved a hand dismissively. “Appreciate it, lad, but I’ll pass. I prefer quiet nights, not music and fake smiles.”

Lucius turned to Ludger. “And you?”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Not part of Viola’s escorting team. Someone’s got to stay with my mother and the twins. I’m fine skipping the dancing and noble talk.”

Lucius chuckled. “You could bring them. The manor has space—and it would be good for everyone to relax for a night.”

Ludger opened his mouth to refuse, but before he could speak—

“That sounds lovely,” Elaine said from behind him.

Ludger froze.

He turned slowly to see his mother standing nearby with the twins in her arms, her expression calm and serene as ever.

Lucius’s face brightened. “Lady Elaine, I was just about to extend the invitation to you as well.”

Elaine smiled. “Thank you, Lord Hakuen. It’s been a while since we attended something light-hearted. I think the children would enjoy seeing something new.”

“Excellent,” Lucius said warmly. “I’ll have carriages sent at noon tomorrow. Please, consider it an honor.”

Elaine nodded graciously. “We will.”

As soon as Lucius walked off to speak with Arslan and Viola, Ludger dragged a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Gaius smirked from the side. “Guess you’re going to a party, boy.”

Ludger muttered under his breath. “Feels like I’m being drafted.”

Elaine shifted the twins to one arm and gave her son a mild look. “You’ve been working nonstop for days. A single evening won’t kill you.”

Ludger sighed, resigned. “You said that last time. It still almost did. Not progressing on my goals makes me feel like I am dying slowly. Noble events also bring me bad memories.”

His mother smiled sweetly. “Then you’ll survive this one too.”

Gaius chuckled. “You really don’t stand a chance, lad.”

“Tell me about it,” Ludger said, watching Lucius walk away toward the bridge, the sun catching his fancy hair. “Every time I try to stay out of trouble, the world—or my family—drags me right back into it.”

The waves crashed gently against the new pillars, reflecting the gold of the setting sun.

Tomorrow, there’d be music and nobles and smiling faces. Ludger already missed the quiet of the sea.

The next morning, Ludger started his campaign of resistance.

It began subtly. Over breakfast, he said, “We probably shouldn’t go to the party. Don’t have anything decent to wear.”

Elaine didn’t even look up from her tea. “You have clothes.”

“Not

that

kind of clothes.”

She smiled, the kind of calm, deadly smile that meant she’d already won. “Actually, you do.”

Ludger blinked. “...What?”

That’s when she went to her travel chest—the same one she’d brought from Lionfang “just in case”—and pulled out several neatly folded sets of clothing wrapped in protective linen. Fine cotton shirts, dark trousers, polished boots. Then, to Ludger’s horror, she unfolded a dark green coat lined with gold trim and crisp buttons.

“Where did you even—”

“I had them made before we left,” she said sweetly. “You’ve grown, so I thought it best to have something ready if we were invited to something formal.”

Ludger stared at the outfit like it was a loaded weapon. “You

planned

for this?”

“Of course. A mother plans for everything.”

Gaius was sitting nearby, polishing his staff, doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement. “Should’ve known better than to think you could outmaneuver her, boy.”

Viola, leaning against the doorframe, was enjoying herself far too much. “You’re actually lucky. My mother used to make me wear ribbons in my hair for every banquet.”

“Yeah, well,” Ludger muttered, “at least

you

like these things.”

Viola’s grin sharpened. “Not always. But seeing

you

in formal clothes might make it worth it.”

Before Ludger could answer, Elaine turned toward her with that knowing glint in her eye. “Speaking of which, Viola, I couldn’t find a proper dress for myself among what I brought. The last one tore a bit when Elle tugged at it.”

“Oh,” Viola said, perking up. “That’s easy. I have a few spares. Pick any you like”

And just like that, she disappeared into her room and returned with a dress—a deep crimson piece with gold embroidery at the hems and subtle silk straps. “This should fit you. We’re about the same height.”

Elaine took it, eyes bright. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, dear.”

Ludger blinked between them. “Wait—you’re all just

okay

with this? Just like that?”

Gaius leaned back, smirking. “I’d say fate’s got it out for you.”

“Oh, I’m not done,” Elaine said, turning back to him. “Everyone else seems prepared as well.”

And she was right.

Arslan had brought his old formal uniform—still fitting perfectly despite the years. Freyra and Kharnek had borrowed clean travel attire from the Hakuen storage, and even Harold, Selene, Aleia, and Cor had clothes that looked borderline respectable when brushed off.

Ludger looked around the room, realization dawning like an execution bell.

“...You’re all in on this.”

“Not at all,” Arslan said with a perfectly straight face. “We just happen to be prepared.”

“Uh-huh,” Ludger muttered. “Sure. Coincidence.”

He looked toward the heavens, exhaling a long, suffering sigh. “I swear, if fate’s trying to prank me, it’s doing a damn good job.”

Elaine gently brushed some dust off his collar. “You’ll survive, Ludger.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he muttered under his breath, “right before things go horribly wrong.”

Gaius chuckled. “Relax, boy. It’s just a birthday party. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ludger gave him a long, flat stare. “You realize how cursed that line is, right?”

But no one was listening anymore.

Viola was helping Elaine fold the dress, Arslan was checking the carriage preparations, and the twins were gurgling happily as if mocking their brother’s defeat.

By the time noon arrived, Ludger had run out of excuses, and the entire group looked like a proper noble entourage heading to a celebration.

He buttoned his coat, resigned to his fate.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if some noble tries to dance with me, I’m tunneling out of there.”

And with that, they set out for Lucius Hakuen’s manor, the sun gleaming off the distant waves—a perfect day for a party Ludger would’ve sold his left arm to avoid.

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