Chapter 563

Earth-shaped rails weren’t indestructible. Frost heave, rain wash, wagon stress, careless drivers, small failures would grow into big ones if ignored.

He’d have to maintain them often.

At least once a month, he’d need crews out there fixing cracks, re-compacting sections, patching breaks before a loaded wagon snapped an axle and turned a shipment into a disaster.

Ludger didn’t love the idea. He accepted it.

Because even “monthly maintenance” was better than losing cargo, losing time, and letting the north stay slow just because the Empire’s old roads had never cared about frontier logistics.

He looked at the line of customers buying bracers, adventurers eager for ten minutes of power, and saw the real transaction underneath.

They weren’t just funding the guild. They were funding the roads that would make Lionfang impossible to ignore.

After a full month of nonstop administrative work, Ludger hit the limit of what even he could tolerate without turning into a permanently irritated statue.

The guild was running. The training pipeline had rhythm. The cloth hall was producing. Raukor’s apprentices were no longer burning themselves every day.

The bracers were selling fast enough that people started showing up in Lionfang

just to buy them

.

Which meant it was time. Time to pass the torch.

Not because he didn’t trust himself to keep doing it, because if he kept doing it, he’d never get back to the work that actually required a vice guildmaster’s hands and brain.

So he sat in his office late into the evening with a slate and ink, and began writing instructions for whoever would take over sales.

His handwriting was clean, sharp, and angry in the way only overworked people wrote. He didn’t pick a name at the top. Not yet.

For the time being, he hadn’t chosen anyone.

He was going to test a bunch of them, rotate candidates through the position, watch how they handled customers, coin, complaints, and pressure, and then keep the one who did the best job without getting greedy or stupid.

The document grew line by line.

Sales Protocol — Overdrive Bracers (Lionsguard Crest)

Price is fixed. No bargaining. Discounts only with Vice Guildmaster approval.

Payment upfront. No “credit,” no promises, no favors.

Explain the effect clearly:

Overdrive for ~10 minutes

, then bracer fails.

Explain failure clearly: it breaks clean; do not attempt reuse without repair.

Warn buyers: Overdrive strains the body. Weak users may pass out with a nonstop use. That is not our fault.

Record buyer name, origin, and quantity. Keep a ledger. Patterns matter.

Anyone asking for “stronger,” “longer,” or “custom” gets referred upstairs. Do not promise anything.

Anyone asking about rune methods gets refused politely. Trade secret.

Tell every buyer the same thing:

repairs available in Lionfang

, then stop talking.

He paused, re-read what he’d written, and added a final section with colder ink.

Security Notes

Watch for bulk buyers. Watch for repeat buyers with different names.

Watch for nobles’ agents. Watch for guild badges.

If anyone tries to stir a crowd, signal the guards immediately.

If anyone threatens staff, sell them nothing. If they persist, remove them.

If someone offers a bribe, refuse once. If they insist, record their name.

Ludger leaned back and stared at the page. A sales job wasn’t glamorous. But it was a choke point. Coin flowed through it. Reputation flowed through it. Information flowed through it.

If he put the wrong person there, they wouldn’t just lose money. They’d lose control. So he didn’t write a name. Not yet. He capped the ink, set the instructions aside, and made the next decision quietly. Tomorrow, he would start testing candidates. And whoever proved they could handle power without turning it into a problem… would become the face of the bracers.

Ludger didn’t need another task. He needed another reliable person. Ludger read through the notes one last time.

No fluff. No loopholes. Clear rules, clear failure points, clear records. The kind of instructions that kept a simple business from turning into a political incident. He nodded to himself, satisfied.

He was just about to call for Yvar, have him read it, refine the ledger structure, and design a clean way to compare vendor performance without relying on “feel”, when the door opened.

Not a polite knock. Not a careful tap. It swung with urgency. Yvar stepped in like someone who’d just outrun a problem and failed to leave it behind. His hair was slightly out of place, his breathing tight, eyes sharper than usual.

Wild. Tense. Ludger’s satisfaction evaporated.

“What’s going on?” Ludger asked, voice calm.

Yvar didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the room in three quick steps and held something out.

A letter.

Thick paper. Clean fold. The kind used for messages that expected to be obeyed. Sealed with wax, dark, immaculate, and stamped with an emblem that didn’t belong in a frontier town.

The Imperial family seal. Ludger stared at it for a beat, feeling the room tighten around the object like it had weight.

Then he looked up at Yvar.

“…When did this arrive?” he asked.

Yvar’s eyes stayed locked on the wax seal like it might bite.

“It arrived just now,” he said. “Courier came straight through the gate. Didn’t stop for anything. Didn’t even look at the bracers stall.”

Ludger’s gaze flicked once to the doorway, then back to Yvar. “Where’s my father?”

Yvar’s mouth tightened.

“Arslan isn’t here,” he said. “He’s been leaving earlier again now that you’re around.” Then, with a sharp edge of complaint: “Convenient timing.”

Ludger shrugged, completely unbothered.

“He can take a break now and then,” Ludger said. “I leave often. When I do, the problems land on him anyway. Let him enjoy a few quiet evenings while he can.”

Yvar looked like he wanted to argue that “quiet evenings” didn’t exist in Lionfang anymore, but he swallowed it and held the letter out again.

Ludger didn’t take it yet.

“Did you open it?” Ludger asked.

Yvar shook his head immediately. “No.”

His voice was tight. “Even if I have the skills to repair seals, I’m not joking around when the letter is from the Imperial family.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Correction,” Ludger said.

Yvar blinked. “What?”

Ludger nodded at the seal. “It’s not from the Imperial family.”

Yvar’s brow furrowed. Ludger’s voice stayed calm, but the meaning behind it sharpened like a blade sliding free.

“It’s from the Regent,” he said, “using the prince’s name.”

Yvar stared at Ludger for a heartbeat.

Then he sighed, the long, slow kind that carried exhaustion, disbelief, and the quiet pain of working for someone who treated politics like a nuisance instead of a loaded crossbow.

“Only you,” Yvar muttered. “Only you would say something like that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled again, trying to push the tension back down into something manageable.

“Even if you’re right in spirit,” Yvar continued, voice low, “he’s still the Regent. He’s running the Empire. He’s been pushing reforms, reshaping offices, replacing people, making changes that upset half the nobility and scare the other half into pretending they’re loyal.”

His eyes flicked toward the door as if he could already see eavesdroppers lurking in the stone.

“If the wrong person heard you say that,” Yvar said, sharper now, “the Lionsguard would face serious problems. Not rumors. Not complaints. Real problems. Investigations. ‘Audits.’ Convenient accusations.”

He let that sink in, then added more quietly, “Words travel. Especially the wrong ones.”

Ludger didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it either. He just waited, calm as ever, like the world’s fragility was someone else’s inconvenience.

Yvar’s jaw tightened. Then he looked down at the letter again.

The wax seal was pristine. The paper thick. The crest pressed deep, the kind of mark meant to remind you who owned the right to demand things.

Yvar handled it like it was dangerous, because it was.

He didn’t toss it across the desk. He didn’t slide it casually. He held it with two fingers at the edge, as if any carelessness might wake something inside. Then he stepped forward and placed it into Ludger’s hand with deliberate control.

“Here,” Yvar said, the words clipped.

He pulled his fingers away immediately, like the letter might bite him if he lingered.

And as Ludger’s hand closed around the sealed paper, Yvar stood back, shoulders tense, eyes sharp, ready for whatever new kind of trouble the Empire had decided to mail directly into Lionfang.

Ludger broke the seal like he didn’t care.

A simple pinch. A clean crack of wax. No ceremony.

Yvar, standing beside the desk, looked like he’d just watched someone spit on a holy text. An archivist’s soul recoiled on instinct, Ludger could practically hear Yvar’s internal screaming.

Ludger unfolded the letter and began to read.

He didn’t sit. He didn’t pace. He didn’t react. His eyes moved steadily down the page while his face stayed flat, as if the words were no different than a supply invoice. Yvar tried to be patient. He lasted maybe ten seconds. Then twenty.

Then he started shifting his weight like the floor had turned into coals. His gaze kept flicking between Ludger’s eyes and the paper, desperate to pull meaning from a face that refused to give it.

Ludger kept reading. No expression. No pause. Finally, Yvar broke.

“Well?” he demanded, voice tight. “What does it say?”

Ludger didn’t look up. “Calm down.”

Yvar stared at him like that was not an option. Ludger continued reading for another moment, then spoke in the same even tone, as if explaining a boring report.

“Half of it is self-promotion,” Ludger said. “And other forms of nonsense.”

Yvar’s brow twitched. “Nonsense?”

“Yes,” Ludger replied. “Titles. Virtue statements. How wise and benevolent the administration is. How the realm prospers under proper guidance. You know. The usual.”

Yvar made a low sound of frustration. “Just, skip it.”

“I am skipping it,” Ludger said, turning a page anyway.

He read on. The room stayed tense. The only sound was paper shifting and the faint creak of the building settling as evening cooled.

Then Ludger paused. Not dramatically, just enough that Yvar felt it.

Ludger’s eyes stopped moving. He exhaled through his nose. Then he sighed.

“…It looks like I’m being called to the capital,” Ludger said at last, voice flat.

Yvar went still. For a heartbeat, even his breathing seemed to stop.

“Because of my recent actions,” Ludger added, tone unchanged.

Yvar swallowed hard. A slow gulp that made the fear visible despite his effort to stay professional.

“Recent… actions,” Yvar repeated carefully, as if saying the words differently might make them safer.

His eyes flicked over Ludger, searching for clues. Ludger’s expression remained calm.

Yvar’s mind, meanwhile, clearly started sprinting through every possible definition of

recent actions

and finding none of them comforting.

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