Chapter 528

The island rose out of the sea like a mistake that never got corrected.

At first it was just a pale smear against the horizon, an unnatural brightness where there should’ve been dark rock and green brush. As the ship closed distance, the shape sharpened: steep cliffs knifing up from the water, broken shelves of stone, and a jagged spine of higher ground cutting through the center like a bent blade.

The closer they got, the stranger it looked.

The entire island was

white.

Not sand-white. Not seabird-dropping white. Not sun-bleached stone.

White like someone had dumped snow over tropical rock and forgotten to melt it.

A murmur moved across the deck. Frowns. Uneasy glances. A few trainees leaned over the rail as if staring harder would make their brains accept what they were seeing.

Viola’s expression tightened. “What… is that?”

Ludger didn’t answer immediately. He just watched, eyes narrowed. The sea around the island was darker. Not dirty, just deep. Currents bent strangely near the cliffs, dragging foam into slow spirals that broke and re-formed like the water was being combed by invisible fingers.

Then the wind shifted. A smell came with it, faint at first, then unmistakable.

Dry. Dusty. Like old cloth left in a sealed room. Mixed with something sharper underneath, almost sweet in a rotten way.

Luna’s gaze flicked upward. “Not stone.”

The ship drew close enough for the truth to show. The island wasn’t white. It was wrapped. Cobwebs.

Webbing so thick it disguised the land beneath, draped from cliff to cliff in massive sagging curtains, stretched over boulders like burial shrouds, layered across low trees until the branches looked like bones trapped in gauze. Some strands were as thick as a man’s wrist, braided into cords by time and repetition. Others formed sheets that fluttered slightly in the sea breeze, rippling like sails made of silk and horror.

In places, the webs had hardened with salt spray and dust, turning into pale crusted mats that clung stubbornly to rock. In other places, they stayed thin and translucent, revealing shadows underneath, dark hollows, tunnel mouths, and the suggestion of movement deeper in the island’s folds.

The cliffs themselves were pocked with openings. Not caves carved by waves. Holes. Burrows. Shafts. Like the island had been drilled by something patient.

A trainee near mid-deck whispered, “That’s… all webs.”

Another answered, quieter, “How many spiders does it take to do that?”

Nobody liked the math.

Raukor stepped up beside the bow rail, eyes fixed on the island like he was judging a rival craftsman’s work. His ears flicked once, and his voice came out low and grim.

“Years,” he rumbled.

Ludger glanced at him.

Raukor pointed with his chin at the thickest web curtains hanging from the cliffs. “Looks like it has been years since anyone came to hunt spiders.”

Viola swallowed. “Why?”

Raukor didn’t look away. “Because hunters die. Or they leave. And spiders keep working.”

Ludger stared at the white-draped island, watching the webbing shift with the wind like it was breathing. He felt a familiar irritation settle into his bones.

A place like this didn’t stay “unhunted” because it was inconvenient.

It stayed unhunted because it punished anyone arrogant enough to treat it like a resource run. He turned his head slightly, voice carrying just enough for the nearest ranks.

“Alright,” he said, calm and cold. “That’s our labyrinth.”

The ship continued its approach, the webbed cliffs growing larger until the island filled their view like a wall.

And the white wasn’t snow. It was a warning.

Ludger lifted his eyes to the sky.

The sun sat almost directly overhead, bright, merciless, turning the web-draped cliffs into a glaring white wall. No long shadows. No forgiving dimness. Just midday light and the uncomfortable clarity that came with it.

Half a day.

That was what they had before night arrived and the island tried to eat them in the dark. Ludger didn’t like that math.

Night meant the crows would likely return. Night meant spiders would be bolder. Night meant tired trainees making tired mistakes while the world stayed fully awake. Still… the island wasn’t

only

a threat.

Those webs weren’t just decoration. They were material,thick, layered, and abundant enough to be worth a fortune if they could harvest it safely. Webbing like that could be refined into cord, cloth, trap line, armor weave, even alchemical reagent depending on what kind of spider spun it.

It was a plus. A consolation prize. Something to carry home in exchange for the risk. Ludger’s gaze dropped from the sun back to the island. His expression settled into calm command.

“We land immediately,” he said.

His voice carried across the deck, sharp enough to snap attention back into place. Officers straightened. Ironhand hands glanced toward the shallows, already thinking about anchoring and approaches.

“We clear the area,” Ludger continued. “Fast. No wandering. No sightseeing. Establish a perimeter and a camp before the sun drops.”

He nodded toward the heavy web curtains clinging to the cliffs. “Those cobwebs are valuable. We’re not leaving them.”

Viola’s eyes narrowed. “And the spiders?”

Ludger’s mouth tightened. “They won’t all stay inside the labyrinth. They’ll be out here too, hunting the shoreline, guarding entrances, and reacting to noise.”

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the recruits and the stronger trainees. “I’ll take a small group and draw them out.”

A few faces stiffened at the words

draw them out.

Everyone understood what that meant. You didn’t “draw out” spiders by politely asking. You did it by becoming bait with teeth.

Ludger’s tone stayed flat, like he was assigning chores. “We thin anything that comes to us, keep them from probing the perimeter while the rest set camp.”

The ship cut closer, slowing as Ironhand began preparing lines for a landing approach.

Ludger watched the white curtains ripple in the wind and felt the clock ticking in his bones.

Half a day to build safety. Then a full night to prove they deserved it. Ludger didn’t waste time pretending this was optional.

He turned his head toward Viola and Luna. “You two. With me.”

Viola’s answer was immediate. She nodded once, then grinned like someone who’d been waiting all day to hit something that deserved it.

Luna nodded too, quiet and precise, already shifting her weight as if her body had moved ahead of the conversation.

Raukor stepped closer, gaze still on the island. The beastman’s voice rumbled low enough to carry without needing to shout over wind and rigging.

“Those three can help,” he said.

Ludger glanced at him. Raukor nodded toward the scouts, Harkun, Ragan, Sivra, already watching the shoreline with predator patience.

“They have experience fighting in troublesome terrains,” Raukor continued. “Cliffs. Swamps. Dense forest. Similar sticky situations.”

Viola’s grin widened at the last word. “Great.”

Raukor ignored her excitement. He pointed with his chin toward the thick white drapery hanging from the cliffs like frozen waterfalls.

“And… one more thing,” he added.

Ludger waited.

Raukor’s expression hardened in the way it did when he spoke about craft instead of combat. “Best option is not to damage cobwebs. As much as possible.”

Ludger frowned. “That’s going to be difficult.”

“Yes,” Raukor agreed, like difficulty was not an argument.

He continued, voice steady and practical. “Longer they are without signs of damage, better their magic properties remain. When you manufacture. Cut clean, but just at the ends. Don’t burn. Don’t soak in blood. Don’t shred.”

Viola snorted softly. “So… don’t fight with them.”

Raukor’s ears flicked. “Fight smart.”

Ludger looked back at the island, eyes narrowing as he recalculated.

No fire near web. No wide-area blasts. Minimal collateral. That meant precision. Control. Drawing spiders into open rock and sand instead of fighting inside their own silk maze.

It was annoying. It was also money. And money meant leverage.

“Fine,” Ludger said. “We keep the webs intact where we can.”

Raukor gave a single nod—approval, simple and heavy, then turned away to coordinate his people like this was just another job.

Viola rolled her shoulders, excitement simmering under her skin. Luna’s gaze stayed locked on the shoreline, already hunting for the first movement under the white drape.

Ludger exhaled once and faced the island.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s go meet the locals… and try not to burn their house down while we kill them.”

Rathen didn’t wait for an invitation to be useful.

He stepped up beside Ludger at the bow, eyes on the web-draped cliffs and the dark holes punched into the stone beneath them.

“I’ll keep the ship moving,” he said. “Circle the island from a distance. See if there’s anything we should be aware of—reefs, hidden coves, another entrance, anything that looks… wrong.”

Ludger nodded once. No argument. That was exactly the kind of paranoia he respected.

“Signal if you see movement,” Ludger said. “Or if the crows come back early.”

Rathen’s mouth tightened. “We’ll be watching.”

Then Ludger stepped to the rail and placed his palm toward the sea.

The ocean below was dark and deep near the island, waves slapping the hull with slow impatience. Ludger didn’t fight the water, he used it. He reached past it, down to the earth that slept beneath.

Stone answered.

A low rumble rolled through the sea like distant thunder as a slab of rock rose from the water. Not a single pillar, an entire

span

, wide enough for a group to cross without shoving each other into the drink. The surface formed in layers: rough foundation first, then compacted stone, then a final smoothing pass that left it walkable even with wet boots.

The bridge grew outward from the ship’s side, climbing slightly as it reached toward the island, segments locking into place like vertebrae. Water cascaded off it in sheets, hissing and foaming where the sea tried to reclaim it.

It didn’t get the chance.

Ludger extended the bridge until it kissed the island’s edge, connecting to a shelf of rock just below the web curtains, away from the worst draped strands. He shaped the final section into shallow steps, giving traction and angles instead of a slick ramp.

Then he lifted his hand, and the bridge steadied. A clean, blunt road over open water.

Harkun, Ragan, and Sivra took point with the silent confidence of scouts used to bad ground. Viola rolled her neck and grinned like a woman about to punch a giant. Luna slid into her usual place, near the danger, never in front of it, always able to vanish.

Ludger stepped onto the stone bridge first.

The wind carried the smell of old webbing and dust across the span, mixed with salt and something faintly sweet underneath, like rot wearing perfume.

He didn’t slow.

Behind him, the group followed in a tight formation, weapons ready, eyes up, boots thudding softly on fresh stone while the ship began to drift away on Rathen’s command—circling, watching, staying out of reach.

Ahead, the white curtain of webbing rippled in the breeze like a living thing.

Ludger’s gaze hardened.

“Alright,” he said, voice low.

“Let’s clear the doorstep.”

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