Chapter 486

Later that night, Ludger explained everything to his parents while they were having dinner.

He didn’t dramatize it. Didn’t soften it either. He laid it out the same way he handled most things, facts first, intentions second, risks acknowledged without apology. Lucius’ disappearance. The port town. The Ironhand Syndicate. The sea routes he was already preparing. The way all of it had collided sooner than he wanted.

Viola had already returned to her own home by then, intent on preparing as well. Ludger had told her, clearly, that she didn’t have to come. That this wasn’t her responsibility.

She’d dismissed that immediately.

She wanted to go.

Probably bored. Probably restless. Probably itching for something that wasn’t family expectations or controlled training yards. Adventure, even a dangerous one, beat waiting around while others acted.

Elaine listened quietly, cutting her food with slow, deliberate movements. Arslan, on the other hand, frowned deeper with every sentence.

“The timing is bad,” Arslan said once Ludger finished. “Very bad.”

Ludger nodded. “I know.”

“One mistake,” Arslan continued, “and the regent’s eyes land on Lionsguard. On Lionfang. On

us

. And once that happens, there’s no pretending it was a coincidence.”

“I’m aware,” Ludger replied calmly.

Arslan studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re still going.”

“Yes.”

Not stubborn. Just certain.

Arslan leaned back in his chair. “Because of Lucius?”

“Not only,” Ludger said. “I was going to the sea anyway.”

That earned him another long look.

“There’s an ocean labyrinth,” Ludger continued. “Rare materials. High danger. Untapped. Securing access to it strengthens the guild long-term, economically and politically.”

Elaine finally spoke. “And if you happen to find Lucius along the way…”

“That would be a chance,” Ludger said evenly.

Arslan shook his head. “You really are dancing on a thin line.”

“I know,” Ludger said again.

He met his father’s gaze without flinching.

“But I want those labyrinth materials secured regardless. That doesn’t change.”

Silence settled over the table for a moment.

Elaine reached out and rested a hand briefly on Ludger’s arm. “Just come back,” she said quietly.

Ludger nodded once. He didn’t promise safety. Only that he’d planned for what came next.

Arslan set his fork down slowly.

“Are you taking Kaela, Maurien, and Gaius again?” he asked. “They’ve fought at sea before. If you’re going anywhere near ports or open water, they’re the safest option.”

Ludger shook his head.

“No,” he said.

That alone made Elaine look up.

“I’m taking Raukor,” Ludger continued, calm as ever. “And the three beastmen.”

There was a brief pause, just long enough for Arslan to register that sentence, before Ludger added the rest.

“And I’m taking the recruits and trainees.”

Silence fell over the table.

“The ones who want field experience,” Ludger clarified. “Those who want to keep training instead of waiting. Not everyone. I’ll screen them.”

Arslan blinked. Elaine turned slowly to look at him, then back at Ludger, as if checking whether this was some kind of joke that had missed its cue.

“…You’re taking trainees,” Arslan repeated.

“Yes.”

“To the sea,” Elaine added carefully.

“Yes.”

“With pirates,” Arslan said.

“Possibly.”

“And ocean labyrinths,” Elaine finished.

“Definitely.”

They looked at each other again. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Arslan let out a slow breath and rubbed his face.

“I feel like I misheard something,” he said. “Because what you just said sounds like you’re taking half-trained kids into one of the most unstable environments imaginable.”

“They won’t be half-trained by the time we leave,” Ludger replied evenly. “And they won’t be on the front line.”

Elaine frowned. “That’s not reassuring.”

“They need exposure,” Ludger said. “Controlled exposure. Supervised. The guild can’t grow if experience is something we only hand out to veterans.”

Arslan leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a second.

“So you’re not taking our strongest,” he said slowly. “You’re taking our

future

.”

“Yes.”

That answer landed harder than the rest.

Elaine’s expression shifted—not to anger, but to something closer to reluctant understanding.

“…You’re serious,” she said.

“I always am.”

The room went quiet again. This time, it wasn’t shock that lingered. It was the uncomfortable realization that Ludger wasn’t improvising. He had already decided what kind of guild he was building. And it wasn’t one that waited for permission.

Ludger didn’t argue. Instead, he raised one hand.

Mana gathered, not explosively, but with deliberate precision. Lines of light formed in the air, intersecting and locking into place as a rune assembled itself piece by piece. It hovered for a brief moment, complex and sharp-edged.

Overdrive.

Before either of his parents could react, the rune split cleanly in two and shot forward. It didn’t

hit

them. It merged.

Arslan stiffened first, breath catching as heat surged through his limbs. Elaine followed a heartbeat later, fingers digging into the edge of the table as a flood of strength and clarity washed over her. It wasn’t violent. It was

controlled

, a steady, overwhelming amplification fueled directly by Ludger’s mana.

Their senses sharpened. Muscles responded faster than thought. Fatigue evaporated as if it had never existed. Arslan’s eyes widened.

“So this is—” he started, then stopped as the sensation fully settled in.

He’d heard about it. Rumors, secondhand accounts, exaggerated reports from the capital. But none of that had prepared him for how

clean

it felt. No loss of control. No haze. Just power, perfectly restrained.

“…I didn’t expect it to be like this,” Arslan admitted.

Ludger lowered his hand, the rune dissolving back into ambient mana.

“I have ideas,” he said simply. “Contingencies.”

Elaine steadied herself, expression sharp but thoughtful now. “You’re saying you can do this for them.”

“Yes,” Ludger replied. “Briefly. Selectively. Enough to pull them out of danger before it becomes real danger, but with gear, the limits would be their mana pool.”

Arslan looked at him carefully. “And you think that’s enough?”

“I know it is,” Ludger said. “They won’t be anywhere near situations they can’t handle. Not without layers in place.”

He met their gaze evenly.

“This isn’t reckless,” he added. “It’s structured.”

Silence followed, heavier than before, but different.

Arslan exhaled slowly, the last traces of borrowed power fading as reality settled back into place.

“…You really are planning for everything,” he said.

Ludger didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The proof was already in their veins.

Later that night, alone in his room, Ludger sat in silence and let the weight of the day settle.

Then he made a decision. It was time to stop holding back.

Not recklessly. Not blindly. But deliberately, without apologizing for the pace he intended to set. He had spent too long balancing caution against momentum, too long making sure his moves didn’t ripple too far or too loudly.

That luxury was gone.

He would make the Lionsguard stronger. Not just dangerous, but

decisive

. Influential enough that no one could afford to slow them down without paying a price. No borrowed authority. No protective shadow. Just capability made undeniable.

He knew exactly how to do it.

With his Guild Master job, accelerating growth through shared effort was trivial. Morale, recovery, coordination, those already stacked in his favor. Training a hundred people at once no longer meant shallow progress. It meant compounding returns.

And that was only the foundation.

Other classes could layer on top of it. Teacher. Bard. Strategist. Support roles that didn’t look threatening on their own, but when combined, when synchronized, turned groups into engines. Engines that learned faster, recovered faster, adapted faster than anything built on individual brilliance.

He could make the trainees terrifying. Efficient. Relentless. Hard to break and harder to stop. But Ludger also knew better than to lose himself in the possibilities. This was only the first step.

Power gained through numbers required restraint, structure, and patience. Rush it, and it fractured. Push too hard, and it collapsed under its own weight. Strength like this wasn’t meant to explode outward, it was meant to

set

.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes briefly. One step at a time. Build the base. Harden the core. Teach discipline before dominance.

Only then would the Lionsguard become what he intended them to be.

And when that happened… No one would be able to slow them down.

Not because they feared Ludger. But because they couldn’t afford to ignore what he had built.

Three days later, everything was ready.

The space in front of the Lionsguard compound was crowded in a way it usually wasn’t—not with veterans or hardened delvers, but with youth. Dozens of them. Most were around Ludger and Viola’s age, with a handful slightly younger, still carrying that awkward mix of eagerness and restraint that came from knowing they were stepping into something bigger than training drills.

They stood straight anyway.

No shouting. No bravado. Just quiet anticipation.

The recruits stood at the front, each wearing bracers forged from froststeel. The metal carried a faint, pale sheen even in daylight, runes etched cleanly into its surface. They had tested them already, under supervision, repeatedly, and the verdict was unanimous.

It felt natural. Too natural.

With the bracers active, Overdrive flowed through their bodies as if they’d been using it for a decade. No hesitation. No instability. The usual rough edge that came with forced amplification was gone, replaced by something smooth and controlled. Muscles responded instantly. Mana surged without backlash.

It wasn’t borrowed power.

It felt

learned

.

Behind them stood the trainees.

Their bracers were steel, not froststeel, but no less carefully crafted. The runes etched into them were different, simpler in structure but no less dangerous. They had tested those too.

Spiralling Splash.

That was what Ludger had named it.

The rune sequence activated with a sharp pulse, releasing a spinning sphere of compressed water that spiraled forward at high speed. It wasn’t a wide-area attack like the original Splash. It was focused. Directed. Violent.

During testing, one of the trainees had misjudged their aim and sent it into the edge of a wooded area.

The result had been sobering.

Trees didn’t just fall, they were

thrown

. Trunks snapped, roots torn free as the spiraling impact blasted through them like a battering ram made of water. No one laughed after that.

They didn’t need to.

The power spoke for itself.

Viola stood slightly apart from the formation, arms crossed, watching the group Ludger had chosen. It was… unusual. No famous names. No obvious elites. Just young people carrying themselves with discipline they hadn’t had a month ago.

She could tell immediately that moving like this would be slow.

Too many people. Too much equipment. Too much coordination required to reach the coast quickly.

But Ludger didn’t look concerned.

He stood at the front, calm and focused, eyes scanning the group not for weakness, but for readiness. Routes had been planned. Rest points mapped. Supply rotations calculated. Training schedules embedded into the march itself.

Viola exhaled quietly.

Whatever awaited them at the sea, pirates, labyrinths, syndicates, it was clear that Ludger hadn’t left anything to chance.

He hadn’t built a strike team. He’d built a moving foundation.

And as the group finally began to shift forward, one measured step at a time, it was impossible to ignore the feeling settling in the air.

This wasn’t reckless. It was deliberate. And that made it far more dangerous.

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