Chapter 422

Three days passed.

Coria never truly settled, the crater was filled, buildings scaffolded, ash washed from the streets, but the

air

felt different.

People whispered less about Ludger now. Not because the story was gone. Because it was too real. Too close. Too capable of walking past them at night. Better to pretend the shadow who punched a commander into the sky didn’t exist.

Rumors that once burned like wildfire now died on lips. No one wanted to say his title where walls could hear.

And the children, the ones Ludger pulled from golems, had become symbols.

Artisans debated how to send them home honorably. Fisher guilds suggested gifts. A merchant caravan offered transport. Some nobles even proposed a formal apology to the Primal Groves.

Coria wanted the mess cleaned, fast. Not for justice.  For comfort. Ludger watched all that from the hideout like a storm behind iron. He couldn’t show himself. Not yet. He listened through secondhand whispers, through Linne and Dalan’s daily reports.

Every mention of “the shadow who fell from the sky” became less solid, more myth.

A shadow. A rumor. A warning parents muttered to children. Exactly what Velis wanted, control through silence. And night after night, Ludger waited.

Until on the fourth evening, footsteps pounded down the stairway, heavier, familiar, too confident to be Council. Kaela straightened from sharpening her blade. Linne perked up from blueprint corrections. Ludger sat forward, the quiet tightening in his stomach.

Renvar returned first, frame squeezing through the door. He grinned like he’d missed a bar fight and wanted another.

Behind him strode Maurien, composed as ever, staff across her back, eyes sharp with the cold precision of someone who spent nights stalking nobles through city streets.

With them, Harkun, wolf-man captain, stoic yet alert; and Ragan, the tracker with calm eyes like polished obsidian.

They stepped into the room without ceremony. Renvar rumbled, voice like rolling stones:

“Targets acted normal. Too normal.”

Maurien nodded, short clipped motion.

“We watched some houses, merchant families, rune-smith unions. No suspicious movement. No covert shipments. No extra security.”

Harkun crossed his arms, tail flicking once, annoyance, not impatience.

“Like rats that smell smoke and freeze.”

Ragan added silently, voice soft but keen:

“Either they were uninvolved… or they’re burying evidence deeper than surface eyes can see.”

Kaela rolled her eyes, dry amusement leaking out:

“Or they shat themselves after Ludger turned Coria into a fireworks show.”

Renvar snorted. Even Ludger’s lip twitched, almost a smile.But seriousness returned quick.

Maurien’s gaze pinned Ludger like a spear:

“We found nothing obvious.”

Ludger leaned back, thinking through pain and exhaustion. No retaliation. No movement. No purge. Just… quiet. Too quiet.

The kind where predators relocate deeper into shadow.

He let out a long exhale.

“They’re scared. They’re waiting for the noise to fade. When eyes turn away, they’ll move again.”

Maurien nodded approvingly.

“Good. Because that means opportunity.”

Harkun’s voice was steady thunder:

“We remain. We watch. The next wrong move will expose more than one officer.”

Kaela grinned like she hoped for wrong moves.

Ludger flexed his hand. Thinking. Planning. Velis League had survived tonight. But now it was brittle. And Ludger wasn’t done.

Another week passed.

Coria changed. Not healed, not forgiven, but changed.

Council members met daily behind sealed doors. Merchants adjusted exports. Rune guilds restructured security.

And most telling: Negotiations with the Primal Groves officially opened.

Word reached the hideout through whispered channels first, then through public edicts posted in every market square. Council banners hung beside a beastman crest, a symbol no one expected to see in Velis territory without conflict.

The message was clear: No war. Not now.

The rescued kids were recovering, slowly, but alive, and tomorrow morning, a formal escort would return them home across the southern forests.

An escort not just of guards, but diplomats. Faces too important to be assassinated quietly. Which made it the perfect moment to pull back. Maurien gathered them around the workshop table that night, her voice calm but sharp as her drawn glyphs.

“We accomplished more than expected. Now… we decide our next move.”

Ludger listened while rotating his index finger, coating it in compressed earth mana, testing Earth Overdrive density control. The outer layer shimmered like polished iron before cracking as he released pressure.

Maurien’s gaze softened just barely.

“Not to mention, you’ve been gone from Lionfang for six weeks. You think your mother hasn't noticed? Other people as well, who are keeping an eye on you…”

Ludger looked up. A dry, resigned sigh escaped him.

“…She noticed. The others don’t matter.”

Kaela chuckled under her breath. Harkun smirked. Even Renvar’s ear twitched in amusement.

Before Ludger could add anything, Linne spoke first, voice firm but carrying pride.

“We’ll join the escort.”

Dalan nodded vigorously beside her.

“As envoys. We we have credibility.”

He pushed his glasses up, expression serious. “And too many important eyes will watch the procession for anyone to try something stupid.”

Their tone said everything:

We’ll protect the children. We’ll control the narrative.

Ludger met their gaze, a silent trust passed between them.

He then turned toward the beastmen. Harkun straightened, arms folded like granite.

“We follow from the shadows. No uniform. No banner. Just eyes.”

Ragan’s wings rustled softly.

“We will report to the Elders. They must learn how close Velis was to war.”

Kaela twirled a blade, resting its tip on the table map.

“And what next for

us

, Luds?”

Ludger flexed his shoulder, pain mainly done, strength returning.

He rose, slow but solid, voice steady.

“It’s time.”

Everyone looked at him.

“Lionsguard returns home.”

Not defeat. Not retreat. A regroup. A return to base, with allies, proof, and the first sparks of a much larger war. Coria wasn’t done. Velis wasn’t safe. But tonight, they had earned a step back. A breath before the next strike.

That night was the first quiet one in weeks.

No artillery shaking window frames, no crowds screaming Ludger’s name, no explosions carving holes in the sky. Just a workshop lit by warm lantern glow, the metallic smell of runic ink, and the soft hum of tools cooling after days of use.

The group sprawled lazily across the cramped hideout, warriors finally allowed to breathe.

Renvar leaned over Linne’s workstation like a child begging for candy.

“Just

one

infiltration suit. One. I’ll even polish the runes with my special oil.”

Dalan didn’t even look up from the mana notes he was reviewing.

“Absolutely not.”

Renvar deflated, then immediately tried again.

“Half a suit?”

“No.” Linne replied without looking either, stitching new runic seams into a prototype glove.

“A single boot?”

“No.”

Renvar stared at the table, betrayed. Kaela snorted into her drink.

Ludger sat nearby, slowly rotating a pebble with Earth mana between thumb and forefinger, training precision, even injured. Every now and then the pebble flickered metallic as he tested density.

Dalan finally put the notes down with a sigh of a man forced to discipline a very large toddler.

“We will improve the suits first. Based on Ludger’s combat data.”

Linne nodded firmly.

“The last one cracked under beam compression and ruptured under impact-to-heat stress. We can’t risk that again.”

Renvar leaned closer, conspiratorial.

“But imagine, me jumping from roof to roof, silent as the night…”

“You land like an avalanche,” Kaela cut in, smirking.

“Coria would think a titan returned to finish the job.”

Renvar paused, considering. He shrugged.

“…Stealth is relative.”

Ragan choked on dried meat. Even Harkun’s stern façade broke into a rare, rumbling laugh.

Kaela, however, was the only one unhappy, and loudly so.

She lay across a crate on her back, staring dramatically at the ceiling.

“I wanted to drink outside.”

Ludger glanced over. “No.”

“Just one tavern,” she whined with the confidence of someone who could win a fight blindfolded,

“we’re basically heroes. Rumor legends. Ghosts. Let me enjoy that.”

Ragan shook his head.

“If they see you, the Council will connect us directly.”

Kaela groaned.

“Fine. Underground whiskey it is.”

She took another sip of cheap, smoky spirits from a chipped mug Linne had handed her earlier. Not tavern quality, but it burned pleasantly on the way down.

Maurien sat by the only window slit, eyes half-lidded but alert, always the sentinel. His voice was calm, like waves against a cliff.

“We’re shadows right now. Tomorrow, when the escort leaves, public eyes will turn.”

Kaela waved her mug in defeat.

“Yes, yes. No ruckus. No chaos. No swords.”

Silence settled, comfortable, tired, earned.

For a rare moment, they weren’t infiltrators, rebels, or living legends. Just a mismatched team sitting on crates, passing a bottle, nursing bruises and victories. Ludger let his pebble rest finally, the Earth mana inside it smooth and obedient.

Tomorrow, they’d leave Coria. Politics would restart. Negotiations would begin. The world outside would move. But tonight, they rested as the Lionsguard, whole and alive.

Fog clung to the early roads like tired ghosts. Coria’s walls were still scorched from recent chaos, scaffolds half-built, banners of negotiation hanging beside beastman crests, a sight unthinkable mere weeks ago.

From a grassy hill overlooking the southern gate, Ludger stood quietly, leaning heavier than. This mission had been tiresome. He watched the escort caravan form below: Council envoys in polished coats, trying to look noble. Guild scholars and healers carrying scrolls and medicine. A dozen guards in ceremonial armor, spears lowered in respect rather than threat. Two small wagons in the center, where the rescued beastman children sat bundled in blankets.

People bowed their heads when passing them, guilt, sympathy, shame. Reputation mattered less today. Humanity more. Beside Ludger, Renvar cracked his neck and crossed his arms.

“Feels like cleaning blood with perfume.”

Maurien gave a subtle nod, agreement without comment.

Ragan and Harkun stood separate, silent silhouettes, ready to vanish into forest shadow once they departed.

Kaela, however, was glaring at the distance

“We’re

not

walking through those damp rat-holes again, right?”

She folded her arms, voice sharp. “I swear I will throw someone into a wall if we crawl underground like moles again.”

Ludger exhaled and raised his hand. He nodded at the beastmen and then they vanished.

Earthen mana gathered, dense and obedient. The ground beneath his feet shivered, then rose, shaping itself into a wide platform of polished stone with gentle hums of reinforcement. Kaela’s eyes widened.

“…Wait. Are we—”

Ludger stepped onto the platform, pain evident but posture steady.

“Flying.”

Renvar whooped, climbing up immediately like a kid on a carnival ride. Maurien stepped with elegant certainty. Kaela blinked once, twice — then grinned feral.

“Finally.”

She hopped aboard with dramatic flourish.

“You

do

love me.”

Ludger didn’t respond. He simply pressed his hand to the stone and fed mana downward.

The platform lifted, slow at first, then smooth, rising like a silent elevator. Wind brushed their faces, stirring cloaks and hair.

Behind, Coria shrank, walls, banners, the caravan growing small as ants marching south. From above, they saw the procession start moving, children safe in the center, guards respectful, beastman shadows slipping unseen through trees. Peaceful. Temporary. Hard-earned.

Kaela leaned against the railing of packed earth, eyes scanning horizon.

“Better than tunnels,” she murmured, cheeks softened by sunrise.

Ludger stood at the front of the platform, gaze fixed ahead.

Toward mountains. Toward home. Toward whatever waited next.

“Lionsguard moves,” he said quietly.

Wind carried the words across the sky.

And the stone platform soared, away from Coria, toward the green expanse of the world they were about to shake again.

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