Chapter 428

Ludger worked for a few more days after that.

The forge never really cooled.

Requests came quickly once word spread. Different engravings. Adjusted outputs. Personal tweaks meant to fit fighting styles or egos. Ludger listened, nodded, and set them all aside.

“Later,” he said, every time.

This first batch wasn’t about optimization. It wasn’t about preference.

It was about visibility.

Everyone wearing the same mark. Everyone recognizable at a glance. No confusion about who carried authority and who was still earning it.

Once that line existed, behavior followed.

The newcomers—some of them older, broader, stronger than the kids drilling them—stopped pushing back. Orders were taken faster. Corrections weren’t argued. When Renn told someone to lower their stance, they did. When Marie called for another round, no one complained.

The bracers didn’t make them stronger in any dramatic way.

Ludger had hoped a letter from Torvares would be ready by now. Nothing had arrived.

No courier. No seal. No neatly worded political reassurance wrapped in noble courtesy. Just silence. He considered sending word himself, asking the old lord to push harder, to accelerate whatever investigation was crawling through sealed labyrinth registries and noble archives.

Then he stopped.

Torvares didn’t move slowly without reason. If there was no letter, it meant obstacles. Pressure. Other hands on the board. Forcing the issue now would only make noise in the wrong places.

So Ludger let it be. Another day passed the same way the others had.

Forge in the morning. Training by midday. Corrections made quietly. Drills adjusted. No speeches. No drama. Just work. By nightfall, Ludger finally paused long enough to review his own progress.

He stood alone near the edge of the yard, arms crossed, eyes unfocused as familiar blue text surfaced.

Class: Teacher — Lv. 50

Bonus per Level:

+3 INT, +3 DEX

Skills:

[Dissection of Knowledge Lv.26]

[Student Insight Lv.23]

[Guiding Words Lv.23]

[Teacher Focus Lv.26]

[Student Understanding Lv.33]

[Practical Demonstration Lv.31]

[Teacher’s Support Lv.11]

[Shared Knowledge Lv.11]

[Foundational Growth Lv.11]

[Knowledge Calibration Lv.1]

Automatically adjusts knowledge passed when giving demonstration to students, making them realize by themselves what they shouldn’t do.

[Corrective Pressure Lv.1]

Applies subtle mental and physical pressure when students deviate from instruction, encouraging self-correction without direct intervention.

Ludger absorbed the list without reaction.

Knowledge Calibration explained a lot.

He’d felt it during drills. The way people listened now. Not fear. Not reverence. Just an unspoken understanding that ignoring instructions wasn’t efficient.

He let the interface fade and shifted to the next class.

Class: Magic Blacksmith — Lv. 16

Bonus per Level:

+5 STR, +5 INT, +5 DEX

Skills:

[Repair Lv.21]

[Quality Proficiency Lv.11]

[Stress Mapping Lv.1]

Reveals structural stress points in forged or runed items. Improves durability planning and slows degradation from active enchantments.

Mana Tempering Lv.1] —

Allows gradual infusion of mana during forging to stabilize runes and reduce backlash from high-output enchantments.

Those new ones earned a small nod.

Stress Mapping would matter. Especially once people started abusing the bracers. They always did. Mana Tempering would also make his job putting runes easier. Ludger dismissed the interface and looked back toward the training grounds. Kids drilling. Instructors correcting. Newcomers listening.

Order, without friction. He was satisfied. Not because things were finished—but because they were ready to be tested. And somewhere beyond the walls, sealed labyrinths waited. So did the people hiding inside them.

Ludger was halfway across the courtyard, coat already slung over one shoulder, when Yvar caught up to him.

He was carrying a stack of papers pressed tightly to his chest. Not organized. Not annotated. Just… held. That alone was unusual. Yvar liked order. When he didn’t have it, something had already gone wrong.

“Vice Guildmaster,” Yvar said, falling into step beside him.

Ludger slowed, then stopped. He glanced sideways.

“What is it?”

Yvar didn’t answer immediately.

He adjusted the papers. Cleared his throat. Took a breath that was a fraction too long. That was his tell, when he started choosing

which

truth to lead with instead of how to phrase it.

“It’s about froststeel,” Yvar began. “Specifically, our extraction rates, current reserves, projected consumption, and emerging external demand curves.”

Ludger waited. Yvar, unfortunately, did not simplify.

“Our current output from the northern labyrinth remains stable,” he continued, tapping the top page. “However, word of increased circulation has reached the trade routes faster than anticipated. Merchants, intermediaries, and at least two parties operating through proxies have begun requesting bulk purchases.”

“How bulk,” Ludger asked.

Yvar winced. “Enough to be a problem.”

That narrowed things down. Yvar pushed on, momentum building now that he’d committed.

“If we sell at current rates, we risk depleting reserves needed for guild equipment, reinforcement stockpiles, and contingency crafting. If we refuse outright, we signal scarcity and drive interest higher. Either option creates pressure.”

Ludger exhaled slowly.

“And?” he prompted.

Yvar hesitated again. Then sighed.

“And Raukor.”

Of course.

“He’s using froststeel as if it were common iron,” Yvar said, rubbing his temple. “I exaggerate, but not by much. He consumes more of it than water or food. And as usual, he’s… selective.”

“Masterpieces only,” Ludger said.

“Yes,” Yvar replied, a little too quickly. “Which means high waste during experimentation, reforging, and refinement. The output quality is exceptional, but the material loss is… significant.”

Ludger’s gaze drifted toward the forges in the distance, smoke still rising. Yvar followed his look.

“I know you don’t like being pushed,” Yvar said carefully. “Especially when it comes from merchants or people who think leverage entitles them to access. And I am not suggesting we give in.”

He shifted the papers, finally holding them out.

“But this problem won’t go away on its own. If handled poorly, it becomes political. Or worse, strategic. Others will start asking

why

we need so much froststeel ourselves.”

Ludger took the papers, skimming them in silence. Demand spikes. Consumption curves. Raukor’s notes attached in the margins, dense and unapologetic.

Yvar watched him closely.

“I believe this needs to be dealt with wisely,” Yvar finished. “Before someone mistakes restraint for weakness. Or strength for excess.”

Ludger closed the folder. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he nodded once.

“Good,” he said. “You brought it before it became urgent.”

Yvar let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. Ludger handed the papers back.

“I’ll handle Raukor,” he continued. “And froststeel sales stop being reactive. We don’t sell volume anymore for a short while.”

He turned toward the exit.

“We sell

permission

.”

Yvar blinked. Then, slowly, a tired but relieved smile crossed his face as he followed after him.

The next morning, Ludger went straight to the forge.

Raukor was already there, hammer moving with steady, brutal precision. Froststeel glowed on the anvil, half-shaped, the metal responding reluctantly as if it resented being rushed toward perfection.

Ludger stopped a few steps away.

“We have a froststeel problem,” he said.

Raukor didn’t look up. The hammer fell once more before he set it aside.

“Figures,” the beastman grunted.

Ludger spoke plainly. No preamble. No politics.

“You can keep your pace,” he said. “I won’t ask you to cut back.”

Raukor finally turned, brow furrowing slightly. That wasn’t what he’d expected.

“But I’ll need to head back into the labyrinth,” Ludger continued. “Extraction rates need to go up. I also want to sharpen my fighting. This works for both.”

Raukor snorted, low and rough.

“Troublesome.”

But he didn’t argue.

He knew his habits better than anyone. He burned material chasing ideal results, reforged what others would’ve called finished, and scrapped anything that didn’t meet his standard. When Ludger was around, it didn’t matter. Repairs were instant. Waste became iteration.

Without him, every mistake cost more. Raukor crossed his arms.

“Why not order northerners?” he asked. “Send them more often. They fight well enough.”

Ludger shook his head.

“I don’t force people,” he said. “Even if they’d rather drink and eat meat than crawl through ice corridors.”

Raukor huffed, amused despite himself. Ludger’s expression stayed neutral.

“Yvar didn’t say this,” he added. “But I’m fairly sure some nobles are applying pressure through third parties.”

Raukor’s ears twitched.

“They want to buy froststeel. Large amounts. Drain our reserves. Then complain when we can’t supply more, or spread rumors that the Lionsguard isn’t as impressive as it claims. That we rely on luck. Or reputation.”

He met Raukor’s gaze.

“They don’t want the metal,” Ludger said. “They want us to stumble.”

Raukor growled softly.

“Cowards.”

“Strategists,” Ludger corrected. “Bad ones.”

He stepped closer to the anvil, resting a hand on its edge.

“So I’ll increase supply,” he continued. “Not to sell it. To remove the leverage. Then keep selling at slightly higher prices overtime.”

Raukor studied him for a long moment. Then he picked up his hammer again.

“Do not die,” he said simply. “I do not like unfinished work.”

Ludger nodded once.

“I’ll be back with more metal,” he replied. “Use it better than water.”

Raukor snorted, sparks flying as the hammer fell again. The forge rang on. And beyond the  walls, the labyrinth waited.

Ludger didn’t bother with a mount.

He dashed north instead, earth folding under his feet in short, controlled bursts. The road blurred past as the terrain smoothed itself just enough to keep his pace brutal but efficient. By the time the northern camp came into view, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

The place looked… different. More alive than he remembered.

The snow cover had thinned, patches of dark soil showing through where there had once been nothing but white. Frost still clung to the shadows, but it no longer dominated the ground. Ludger noted it immediately. Mana saturation.

The kids working the southern fields had been watering crops with controlled mana for months now. Individually, they were nowhere near his level. But mana accumulated. Slowly. Patiently. Over time, it reshaped land as surely as any spell.

Given a few more seasons, this area would lose its permanent snow entirely.

Ludger nodded to a few northerners as he passed. They nodded back. No shouting. No challenges. Just acknowledgment. That alone said how far things had come.

Then he heard them. The noise makers. He followed the sound of laughter, shouting, and something heavy hitting wood until he found the source.

Kharnek and Freyra.

They were locked in yet another arm-wrestling match over a scarred table. Kharnek had one hand planted firmly, massive forearm flexed like carved stone. The other held a drinking horn he was still using, even now.

Freyra leaned forward, teeth bared, boots digging into the dirt.

“Stop drinking and fight me properly!” she snarled.

Kharnek laughed, deep and booming, clearly on the verge of winning even while distracted. Then Freyra pushed harder. Mana flared around her arm, raw, unrefined, but fierce enough to force his attention.

Kharnek sighed and set the horn aside.

Finally.

The table groaned. Muscles tightened. The contest turned real. With a final grunt, Kharnek slammed her hand down and won. He leaned back, exhaling in relief. Then his expression shifted. Troubled. Quiet. Thoughtful. Ludger caught it easily.

Kharnek looked at his daughter’s arm, still trembling with effort, and frowned.She was almost twenty. Strong. Too strong. Growing faster than he liked. It was far too soon for the day she would surpass him. Ludger approached, stopping just close enough to be noticed.

“You’re still winning,” Ludger said.

Kharnek glanced at him, then snorted.

“For now.”

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