Chapter 614

The apprentice swallowed, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” the kid said, voice quieter now. “It’s… weird. Like… a push.” He glanced at the cub again. “It’s thirsty.”

Ludger nodded once, as if that was the exact answer he wanted.

“Good.”

Raukor let out a low grunt from behind them, half disbelief, half irritation that it was working. Ludger reached up, lifted the cub with one hand, and placed it into the apprentice’s arms.

The kid froze like he’d been handed a live bomb. The cub immediately wriggled, sniffed at him, then settled with shocking comfort against his chest, warm and heavy and smug. The apprentice stared down at it, still tense, still unsure, but his hands adjusted automatically to support it properly. Ludger watched that and made a decision on the spot.

“You can keep this one,” he said.

The apprentice’s head snapped up. “W-what?”

“If you treat him well,” Ludger continued, tone unchanging, “and look after him.”

The kid looked like he wanted to faint. Then he looked back down at the cub, felt whatever the rune was feeding him, thirst, curiosity, a little hunger, a faint sense of

mine

, and something softened in his face despite himself.

Raukor stared at Ludger like he was insane. Ludger ignored him. One cub off his head. One bracer proven. And one more thread tied between guild and pack.

The next day, Ludger gathered the guild.

Not just a handful of fighters, everyone who mattered. Veterans, new members and even a few of the more disciplined trainees hovered at the edge of the yard, pretending they were “just watching” while their eyes screamed

please let me be included

.

On the ground in front of Ludger sat a wooden crate. Inside were bracers, newly forged, clean straps, runes inked into the metal with sharp, compact lines. And beyond the yard, scattered in the open space like they owned the morning, were wolves.

Dire wolves in different sizes, a few younger ones pacing closer to the outskirts, older ones sitting with that patient predatory stillness that made every man instinctively straighten his spine. They didn’t snarl. They didn’t lunge.

They watched. Ludger didn’t waste time with speeches. He lifted the first bracer from the crate and held it up so the rune line caught the light.

“These have Mana Pulse runes,” he said. “They’ll let you communicate with the wolves.”

A murmur rolled through the gathered guild. Half awe, half disbelief. A few men looked like they were waiting for the punchline. There wasn’t one.

Ludger began handing them out, pair by pair, calling names and sizes as if this was ration distribution. People accepted them carefully, like taking a weapon that might bite back. He waited until most had one on their forearm before he continued.

“This is not a pact,” Ludger said, voice flat enough to cut excitement down to size. “Not yet.”

He swept his gaze over them, making sure the eager ones heard him as clearly as the cautious ones.

“I forced my pact with Silva quickly,” he admitted. A few faces twitched at that wording, as if they’d heard rumors and now didn’t want details. “You won’t do it that way.”

A couple of veterans grunted approval, like

good.

Ludger nodded as if acknowledging the point.

“You’ll build it slowly,” he said. “With food. With trust. With consistency. You will learn their habits. They will learn yours. When both sides agree to work together, then you can form a pact.”

He tapped his own bracer. “Until then, the rune helps you understand intent. Hunger. Calm. Aggression. Curiosity. It’s a training wheel.”

His eyes sharpened. “Don’t treat it like a leash.”

That killed the last of the careless smiles. Even the ones who wanted “cool pets” understood the warning in his tone. Dire wolves weren’t pets. They were allies, or enemies.

Ludger let the words settle, then added, almost casually:

“If you do this right, your wolf will watch your flank when you sleep. It will warn you before an ambush. It will run messages faster than horses in rough terrain. It will fight beside you when steel fails.”

That reignited the excitement in a more controlled way, less childish, more hungry. At the edge of the yard, the trainees were practically vibrating.

One of them, too young, too eager, whispered something like, “That’s unfair…” and got shushed immediately.

Ludger’s gaze flicked toward them. The trainees stiffened as if caught stealing. He didn’t scold them. He didn’t need to. He just spoke loud enough for them to hear too.

“This is for guild members,” Ludger said. “Those who’ve earned the responsibility.”

Jealousy hit the trainees like a physical punch. A few looked genuinely wounded. Then Ludger’s mouth twitched faintly, the closest thing he got to humor.

“But,” he added, “if you want one badly enough…”

A dozen heads leaned forward.

“…then join.”

The trainees’ eyes lit up like torches. Because whatever fear they had of dire wolves, it couldn’t compete with the idea of having a feral partner that would make them stronger, cooler, and harder to kill.

Ludger watched that reaction and filed it away. Motivation was motivation. If the promise of a wolf got them through the pain of training, and into Lionsguard discipline, then he’d use it. He lifted his hand once, palm up.

“Now,” he said, gaze sweeping the guild, “go introduce yourselves.”

And for the first time in Lionfang’s history, Lionsguard began learning to speak to predators, one careful mana pulse at a time.

The sorting happened naturally.

The younger guild members, those still light on scars and heavy on enthusiasm, ended up with the younger dire wolves. Cubs and adolescents that sniffed everything, bumped shoulders, tested boundaries with playful nips and shameless hunger.

The “kids” were more open. They laughed when a cub tried to climb their leg. They talked to them like they were already friends, hands moving without fear, voices full of excitement and stupid courage.

The older members were different.

Veterans and captains approached the adult dire wolves like they were walking up to armed strangers. Even with the bracers on, even with the Mana Pulse rune feeding them clean impressions,

calm… curiosity… no hostility…

their bodies stayed guarded. Shoulders tense. Feet planted. Hands hovering near weapons out of habit.

Experience didn’t let you trust easily. A dire wolf sitting quietly was still a dire wolf. Still, the runes did their job. You could see it in the way those veterans slowly relaxed when the pulse came back steady, no animosity, no aggression, no intent to bite.

Just… presence. Pack eyes watching. Arslan moved through it all with an expression that blended awe and exhaustion, like he’d walked into a problem that had already evolved beyond the stage where normal logic applied. He came to a stop beside Ludger and let out a slow sigh.

“You know,” Arslan said, watching a young recruit carefully let a wolf pup sniff his hand, “dire wolves are strong.”

Ludger nodded once.

“But they aren’t stronger than a well-trained soldier,” Arslan finished.

Ludger didn’t argue. Because Arslan wasn’t wrong, and that wasn’t the point.

“I didn’t get them for that reason,” Ludger said.

Arslan looked at him, brows lifting.

Ludger’s gaze swept the yard—the bracers, the wolves, the watching townsfolk, the trainees practically vibrating at the edges.

“I got them to show what Lionsguard can do,” Ludger said.

Arslan blinked, then exhaled through his nose. “So… more of a show of influence than actual power?”

Ludger nodded.

“Yes.”

Arslan stared at the scene again, understanding settling in slowly. A guild that could walk wolves through the streets and make them sit. A guild that could bind predators without chains. A guild that could change the rules of the frontier in a week.

That wasn’t just “strength.” That was

signal

.

Ludger’s voice stayed flat, but there was steel in it. “Besides,” he added, “they’ll grow.”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed. “Grow?”

“The creatures,” Ludger said. “They’ll get stronger as their masters improve. Skills. control. bond. All of it.”

It was said like a simple truth. Like gravity. It was part of the Magic Tamer class. Arslan rubbed his temple again, as if the idea had physically increased his headache. Then Ludger looked at him with the same calm inevitability he used when assigning duties.

“You should pick one too,” Ludger said.

Arslan opened his mouth, probably to refuse on principle.

Ludger continued before he could. “I’m also making Mother choose one.”

Arslan’s expression turned pained. “Elaine is going to…”

“And two cubs for the twins,” Ludger finished.

Arslan stared at his son.

Then he sighed, long, deep, the sigh of a man realizing his household had just been permanently altered by a thirteen-year-old with a talent for turning problems into absurd solutions.

“…You’re truly something else,” Arslan muttered.

Ludger’s mouth twitched faintly, almost amused.

“I know,” he said, and went back to watching his guild learn to speak to wolves.

Arslan watched Ludger for a while.

Not with the eyes of a father admiring his son, though that was there, buried deep under worry and exhaustion, but with the eyes of a commander watching a new weapon get integrated into a force that wasn’t sure whether to fear it or trust it.

Ludger moved through the yard like a quiet anchor.

He corrected grips. Adjusted stances. Stopped one overconfident recruit from trying to pat an adult dire wolf like it was a house dog. He told another to stop pulsing mana like an idiot because it was making the wolf agitated. He paired the timid with the curious, the aggressive with the steady, the ones with decent control with the ones that needed the bracer’s rune more than they wanted to admit.

He didn’t bark orders for show. He simply made the chaos

work

. Arslan didn’t need Ludger to spell out the point again. He understood the message. The dire wolves wouldn’t be put on leashes, nor would the Lionsguard accept a leash.

About making everyone, from the Regent’s messengers to rival houses to the Empire’s soft-power scouts, look at Lionsguard and feel that uncomfortable question rise in their stomachs:

What else can they do?

In the end, Arslan made his choice.

He approached an adult dire wolf that sat off to the side, calm and scarred, watching everything without rushing. The wolf’s eyes tracked Arslan steadily, not fearful, not eager, just measuring.

Arslan pulsed mana through the bracer like Ludger had instructed.

The response came back, quiet impressions:

steady… wary… not hostile…

Good enough. He crouched, let the wolf smell him, and when it didn’t flinch or snarl, Arslan nodded once like sealing a contract. Then he stood.

“I’m taking you,” he muttered, and the wolf rose as if it had already decided the same.

An hour later, Arslan was riding toward Torvares’ manor with a dire wolf padding beside his horse like an escort. The sun was low. The air smelled like dinner smoke and cold stone. The manor’s outer guards were already shifting into their evening rotation when Arslan appeared on the road.

They saw him first. Then they saw what walked beside him. The look on their faces couldn’t be described with words. It was too layered, confusion, alarm, disbelief, and a sudden, irrational urge to check whether this was a prank engineered by monsters.

One guard’s hand went to his weapon out of reflex, then stopped halfway like his brain realized drawing steel on Arslan was a fast way to die. Another guard just stared, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

And because it was almost dinner time, the whole scene felt even more absurd, like Arslan had casually decided to bring a northerner beast to the Lord’s table as a conversation starter.

The dire wolf didn’t help. It walked calmly through the gate like it belonged there, eyes scanning, ears flicking, breath steaming in slow, unbothered puffs.

Arslan dismounted, gave the guards a brief nod that carried the weight of

don’t ask right now

, and headed inside. Ten minutes later, Lord Torvares was in the garden. He stood facing Arslan. And the dire wolf.

The last light of day painted the leaves gold, and the wolf’s shadow stretched long across the trimmed grass like a warning.

Torvares stared at the animal for a full second, then at Arslan, and his face did something rare. It broke character.

“What the hell happened?” Torvares demanded.

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