Chapter 521

The runes didn’t make Raukor

better.

They made the world stop getting in his way. That was the difference.

With the furnace held at a perfect, unmoving heat band, with the quench water biting the same every time, with the anvil and clamps reducing waste and stress, the forge stopped being a fight against fluctuations and became what Raukor liked most… a fight against himself.

He worked until the next day without stopping.

Not because he was forced to. Not because anyone asked. Because beastkin stamina was stubborn, and Raukor’s pride was worse. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t talk much. He ate in short, brutal breaks, then went right back to hammer and flame like the sound was keeping him alive.

The scouts watched on and off, exchanging glances, as if unsure whether to respect it or call it a ritual.

By sunrise, the ground around the forge was littered with failed attempts.

Not failures in the human sense, most of them would’ve been “good” weapons by any port town standard. Straight edges, strong shafts, balanced weight.

Raukor shoved them aside anyway. Perfection didn’t allow mercy. In the end, he made five. Only five that he didn’t discard. He laid them on a cloth with the kind of care that made the act feel strange coming from such a large, rough beastman.

Two swords. Two spears, and a halberd that looked like it belonged in a battlefield legend, long, clean line, blade geometry so precise it felt unnatural, runic channels carved in a way that suggested the weapon was meant to

accept

power without cracking under it.

Masterpieces.

Not “good.” Not “usable.”

Masterpieces.

Raukor picked them up one by one and carried them to Ludger as if delivering a judgment. He didn’t offer them like gifts. He placed them in front of him like

facts.

“Take it,” Raukor rumbled.

Ludger stared down at the weapons.

Then up at Raukor.

“I don’t have any use for them,” Ludger said, voice flat. “ I prefer my weapons to be really close to my body like my forearm guards.”

Raukor’s ears flicked, unimpressed.

“My guild members might,” Ludger added after a beat, already thinking about who could actually handle work like this without getting themselves killed out of arrogance.

He crouched, inspected the halberd’s balance with a single hand, then set it down again. Then he looked at Raukor, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

Raukor’s gaze stayed steady, like the answer should’ve been obvious… But he didn’t speak immediately.

He just stood there over the five weapons, forge heat rolling off his body, and let Ludger sit with the uncomfortable truth that

nothing like this was ever free.

Raukor stared at the weapons like he was judging them one last time. Then he shrugged, an oddly human gesture for someone built like a siege engine.

“I’m not sure yet,” he rumbled.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “That’s reassuring.”

Raukor ignored the tone. “Maybe I’m in good mood.” He tapped the nearest sword with a thick finger, producing a clean ring. “I made many good weapons at once. That doesn’t happen often.”

He looked at Ludger then, the forge-light catching in his eyes.

“I will be counting on you,” Raukor added, voice steady. “For more runes like that. You made my job easier.”

It wasn’t gratitude, not in the flowery human sense. It was something more practical. Acknowledgment. A claim. The start of a habit.

Ludger nodded once. “Fine.”

Raukor’s ears flicked again, satisfied, and he turned back toward the forge without ceremony, already treating the matter as settled. Ludger watched him go, then glanced down at the five masterpieces lying on the cloth. He should’ve felt pleased. Instead, his mind did what it always did, turned a simple moment into logistics.

He’s useful and skilled.

Not just useful, rare.

A beastman blacksmith with that level of skill, that level of endurance, and now a taste for rune-assisted precision… that was the kind of asset that changed expeditions from “hope” to “plan.”

Ludger’s gaze drifted after Raukor’s broad back.

Should I invite him?

He already had northerners under Lionsguard’s banner. A powerful alliance, slowly turning into something steadier even though they technically didn’t belong to the empire. So why not a beastman too?

It would complicate politics. It would complicate the guild’s internal balance. Most humans didn’t like sharing space with people they didn’t understand, and beastkin didn’t tolerate disrespect… But it could also make them stronger.

Ludger exhaled quietly. Not now. He pushed the thought aside like a piece on a board he wasn’t ready to move yet. Too many variables. Too many fires are already burning. Ludger left the forge behind and walked back toward the trainees.

Behind him, Raukor was already dismantling his setup with the same efficiency he used to dismantle metal, tongs and tools packed, anvil secured, furnace parts stowed. The entire forge folded back into the reinforced wagon he used to haul his craft around like a mobile battlefield. Then he started dragging it toward the docks, heading for Ludger’s ship as if “loading the forge” was as normal as loading food.

At camp, everything had shifted. The trainees and recruits weren’t scattered in drills anymore. They were lined up. Clean rows. Straight backs. Weapons secured. Packs ready. Eyes forward.

A hundred and fifty bodies, young, bruised, hungry for action, standing with enough discipline that it almost looked like an army. Almost.

The guild wasn’t an army. Lionsguard ran on contracts, skill, and ruthlessness, not banners and salutes. Still… this level of order was welcome when you were about to move that many people onto a ship and gamble their lives against the sea.

At the front stood the ones acting like officers, Renn, Marie, Bramm, Jorin, and Tali, spaced out to anchor the line, each with that new hard look that came from being trusted with responsibility and realizing it could crush you.

Ludger approached, dragging five wrapped shapes behind him. He didn’t call for silence. He didn’t need to. The moment he arrived, the camp felt it. The air tightened. The line held. He set the bundles down on a crate and unwrapped them.

Steel caught sunlight. Not normal steel. Froststeel, pale, clean, with that faint cold sheen that made the edge look sharper than it should be. No flashy decorations. Just workmanlike perfection. Two swords. Two spears. A halberd.

Renn’s eyes widened before he could stop himself. Marie’s mouth parted slightly, then snapped shut like she’d caught herself being unprofessional. Bramm’s fingers twitched. Jorin inhaled like he’d just smelled fresh bread. Tali stared with the kind of intensity that suggested she might bite someone if they tried to take one first.

Ludger let them look for one heartbeat. Then he spoke.

“Choose one each.”

They all froze, like their brains couldn’t process the permission.

Bramm finally found his voice. “Guildmaster… these are—”

“Raukor forged them,” Ludger said.

That did it. Excitement hit them like a wave, but they fought it down with visibly strained discipline, five people trying not to grin like idiots in front of a hundred and fifty watching eyes.

Because froststeel weapons forged by Raukor were already turning into stories. Not just gear. Legend material.

Marie cleared her throat, forcing professionalism back into her face. “They’re… big.”

They were. Each weapon was built for strength and reach, meant for warriors who had finished growing, who had filled out their frames, who could actually leverage the weight without sacrificing speed.

Ludger nodded. “Too big for you now.”

He pointed at the line behind them. “But you’ll grow into them. And when you do, I want you already used to the idea that you carry the guild’s best.”

Renn swallowed, eyes still locked on the halberd like it was calling his name. “We’re allowed to…”

“You’re not allowed to waste them,” Ludger cut in. “If I see one of these used as a tent peg, I’ll personally smack you.”

That earned a few tight, relieved exhalations from the line, humor and threat, perfectly balanced in the way Ludger liked.

He gestured again, impatient. “Pick.”

They stepped forward, each trying to pretend they weren’t vibrating.

Renn reached for a sword with a grip that looked reverent despite himself. Marie chose the other sword, testing balance with careful hands. Bramm took a spear and immediately adjusted his stance like he was already imagining the first thrust. Jorin picked the second spear, eyes bright. Tali, after a moment of staring down the halberd like it was a rival, claimed it with both hands and almost staggered under the weight, then gritted her teeth and forced it steady.

Ludger watched, expression flat. But something in him eased, just a fraction. Tomorrow they sailed. Tomorrow they fought spiders. And today, at least, his people looked ready to be something more than recruits.

Before long, the line held. Barely.

A hundred and fifty sets of eyes tracked the five weapons like hungry animals watching meat get carried past a cage. Some trainees managed polite neutrality. Others didn’t even try. You could feel the jealousy spreading through the ranks in quiet little spikes, tight jaws, clenched hands, quick glances exchanged like

why them?

If they’d joined alongside Renn, Marie, Bramm, Jorin, and Tali… maybe they would’ve gotten the same chance. Maybe. That thought sat heavy in a lot of heads.

But Lionsguard wasn’t a charity. Rewards came with weight. With responsibility. With bruises earned the hard way.

And it wasn’t like the rest were doomed to use trash forever. They’d have their own chances. They’d just have to bleed for it. Ludger didn’t bother soothing them. He let the jealousy exist. Jealousy could become fuel if you didn’t let it rot into resentment. He stepped up onto a crate so his voice carried over the camp and the shore noise.

“Enough staring,” he said flatly. “If you want something like that, become the kind of person who deserves it.”

A few trainees flinched like the words had hit them in the ribs. Good. Ludger hopped down and pointed toward the docks.

“Follow me.”

No speech about glory. No talk of destiny. Just an order, simple, clean, unarguable.

The young officers snapped into motion first. Renn and the others moved to their positions, calling quiet adjustments, tightening the formation. Packs shifted. Straps checked. Weapons secured.

Then the whole group started moving.

Boots hit the ground in synchronized rhythm as they marched through the port town toward the water, an organized tide of bodies under Lionsguard’s banner, not an army but disciplined enough to look like one when it mattered.

Ahead, the ship waited.

And Ludger led them to it like a man marching into a problem he intended to solve the hard way.

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