Chapter 677

Wind magic condensed, sharpened, not as a push this time, but as a cutting edge. Invisible blades of pressure formed along his palm and fingertips, thin and lethal. He carved through the guardian plating like a butcher working a carcass, slicing it into manageable pieces with clean, efficient cuts.

Metal shrieked faintly under pressure. Tiny flecks drifted away like dark snow.

He reduced it methodically, strip by strip, segment by segment, until the recognizable curves were gone and only jagged chunks remained.

Then he reached deeper.

Geomancy answered even here, though it came slower under the ocean. The seabed resisted, dampened by water and sand, but Ludger didn’t need elegance. He needed mass.

Earth surged up from below, compacted hard, shaped into a heavy hammer head with a thick grip, crude, brutal, functional. The wind sheath kept the water off it long enough to hold form, and Ludger wrapped his mana around the stone like a tight fist.

He lifted the hammer. And brought it down.

The first strike cracked a chunk of guardian metal with a dull, ugly sound that vibrated through the seabed. He struck again. And again.

He didn’t smash like a berserker. He smashed like a craftsman who knew exactly where to hit to break structure, edges, stress lines, joints, rune channels. Every blow was deliberate.

Pieces splintered smaller. Then smaller.

He kept going until the chunks were reduced to shards and twisted fragments. Wind blades followed, shredding anything that tried to remain intact, grinding it down the way a mill ground grain.

By the time he was done, there was nothing left that could be hauled up and called

proof.

No recognizable plate. No rune channel.

No part a noble could point at and say,

This came from the labyrinth and we didn’t steal anything.

Only scattered metal dust and broken bits too small to matter, sinking slowly into the sand. Ludger hovered over the ruin he’d made, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths.

He didn’t feel satisfied. He felt steadier. Because some truths weren’t meant to be carried back to the surface. Some truths were meant to be erased, so the people who played these games couldn’t use them again.

His eyes flicked across the wreck once more, sharper now. If one piece of guardian metal was here… Then there were more. And the ocean, patient, hungry, and full of teeth, had just become a ledger the Empire didn’t want him reading.

When Ludger was done, he didn’t linger. The wreck had already given him what he needed, proof without paperwork, a pattern without permission, and a reason for the beast’s return that made his stomach feel tight. He pushed off the seabed and rose.

The pressure eased as he climbed. Light returned in layers, from gray to blue to a brighter, shimmering ceiling. His wind sheath stayed tight around his body, keeping his movements clean and his breath steady, but even with control the ocean still felt like a weight that didn’t want to let go.

As he neared the surface, a darker shape spread above him.

The shadow of the

S.S. Elaine

.

It hovered like a floating fortress against the sunlit skin of the water, sails half-adjusted, circling slow. He could make out the vague movement of figures along the rail, tiny silhouettes peering down.

Good. They were still there. Ludger aimed himself upward and condensed wind beneath his feet and along his back like a ramp built out of pressure.

Then he released it. The burst hit him like a shove from a giant hand. Water exploded around him as he broke the surface, not with a gasp or a flailing climb, but with a clean, violent launch. For a brief second he was a streak of spray and sunlight, crossing the air almost like flying, carried by wind that didn’t care about gravity. He cleared the gap to the ship in a single arc. Boots hit the deck.

He landed on his feet like the ocean had never touched him. For half a heartbeat, nobody spoke. Renvar stared like he’d just watched a fish grow legs. Kaela’s eyes narrowed, evaluating the technique instead of the spectacle. Shera blinked, openly impressed.

Valk’s expression remained calm, but even he watched a fraction more intently than before. Viola’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut like she was offended she’d reacted. Rathen just looked… insulted on behalf of physics.

Ludger didn’t give them time to turn it into commentary. He stood there, dripping. Then, without a word, he shook. Hard. Like a wet dog trying to fling water out of its fur.

Drops sprayed the deck. A sailor yelped and stumbled back. Renvar leaned away with a laugh he didn’t dare finish. Viola stared at him, then pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Why don’t you use magic to dry yourself?” she demanded, then immediately sighed like she already knew the answer would be annoying. “Forget it. What did you find down there?”

Ludger didn’t look at her when he answered. He kept his eyes on the rail. On the sea. On the line where the surface ended and secrets began.

“The remains,” Ludger said quietly, “of the runic golems labyrinth guardian.”

The deck went still. Not quiet like before. Quiet like the world had just tilted and everyone was waiting to see if they were about to fall. Even the sailors stopped moving.

Kaela’s gaze sharpened, the joking ease gone. Maurien’s posture shifted, subtle, but immediate, like a man who’d just been handed the real reason they were here. Viola’s grip tightened on her swords. Luna’s eyes narrowed.

Then, one by one, their eyes slid to Rathen. Just like Ludger’s had. Rathen stood at the wheel with both hands locked around it, knuckles pale.

His expression was complicated again, only now it wasn’t just obligation. It was the look of a man realizing the thing he refused to say out loud had climbed back onto his ship with wet boots and a cold voice.

No one accused him. No one shouted. They didn’t need to. The silence did all of it for them.

Viola’s head snapped toward the wheel.

“Rathen,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut rope. “Care to explain

this?

”

Rathen flinched, just a fraction, but he recovered fast, chin lifting like he could stand on professionalism and keep the deck from noticing his hands were trembling under it.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking toward his crew first. A captain didn’t bleed in front of the sailors. Not if he wanted them steady when the waves turned ugly.

“The client—” Rathen began, tone strained but controlled. “The guild agreement requires anonymity. I’m not permitted to—”

“Stop,” Viola cut in instantly.

One word. Final. Rathen’s mouth closed like she’d slapped it shut. Viola stepped closer, wet hems still clinging to her boots, both swords hanging at her sides like punctuation marks.

“As far as I know,” she said, eyes hard, “the Ironhand Guild could barely reach the middle of the second section of the runic golems labyrinth three months ago.”

Her gaze swept the deck, daring anyone to argue that.

“And now,” she continued, voice rising just enough for the people nearest to hear, “you’re telling me they reached the guardian at the end of the third section? They harvested it? They hauled parts out? And they did it quietly enough that the capital can pretend it’s just ‘cargo’?”

Rathen’s composure held. Barely. A bead of sweat gathered at his brow despite the cold sea air, sliding slowly like guilt made liquid. His hands stayed locked on the wheel, but the muscles in his jaw jumped once.

Ludger watched him without blinking.

Then he spoke, not to defend Rathen, just to put the likely truth into words before the silence turned into something dangerous.

“They probably watched the northerners,” Ludger said, voice flat. “Copied their methods.”

Viola’s eyes narrowed. “Copied

how?

”

“By stealing a lesson,” Ludger replied. “Or buying one.” His gaze drifted toward the sea, then back to the captain. “Or using tools. Magic tools. Something that compensates for what they can’t do naturally.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Everyone on that deck understood what “magic tools” could mean: runic anchors that resisted crushing pressure, breathing charms, mana-hardened lines, warded diving suits, or relics that let a team ignore mechanics that normally killed them.

The crew pretended not to listen, but every ear on the deck was listening. Kaela’s eyes sharpened into something predatory.

Maurien’s expression went colder, like he’d filed this under

future problems that become present problems.

Then, slowly, everyone’s eyes returned to Rathen.

Waiting. Not for a name. Not for an admission. Just for confirmation that Ludger’s guess was right. Rathen held their gaze for a long moment, fighting to keep his authority from cracking in front of his sailors. Sweat gleamed at his brow now.

Finally… he nodded. Once. Small. Reluctant. Yes. The deck stayed silent, but it wasn’t the same silence anymore. It wasn’t confusion. It was understanding. And understanding, on the open sea, with a monster beneath them, felt a lot like a warning bell.

Rathen swallowed, eyes flicking to his crew again as if checking whether they were close enough to hear names they shouldn’t.

Then he made a decision.

If the Vice Guildmaster was already holding the knife, there was no point pretending the blade didn’t exist.

“It wasn’t just tools,” Rathen said, voice low, rougher than before. “And it wasn’t just the capital.”

He shifted his grip on the wheel, knuckles whitening, and finally looked straight at Ludger.

“Sigrid gave us tips.”

The deck went still again, but this time it wasn’t shock. It was that slow, dawning kind of disbelief that made people stare at the sky like the ocean had started leaking stupidity into the air. Rathen continued, words forced out like he hated every syllable.

“She told Ironhand they could join the northerners, up to the fights with the runic guardian.” He hesitated, then added, “She decided it was fine once she heard half of the gains would go to the Lionsguard.”

Ludger’s hand rose to his face before he could stop it. A full facepalm. Not a small one. Not polite. The kind that said

I am surrounded by the consequences of my own actions and I hate it here.

He dragged his fingers down his face slowly, as if trying to wipe the world away with them.

“So this is…” Ludger muttered, voice tight, “…part my fault.”

Viola’s brows rose. Kaela’s mouth twitched. Renvar looked like he wanted to laugh and didn’t dare. Ludger exhaled.

“And part the northerners’ naivety,” he finished, not with contempt, but with that weary irritation reserved for allies who meant well and still set things on fire.

He stared out at the ocean for a moment, jaw clenched. He’d wanted magic water. He’d wanted industry. Jobs. Stability. A value-added product that turned a resource into a shield.

He hadn’t expected it to become a

signal flare.

He hadn’t expected it to teach other factions how to reach deeper sections faster. He hadn’t expected it to ripple into the coast like poison ink.

“I didn’t think that plan would—” Ludger started.

Rathen cut in, because the rest was worse.

“And it didn’t stop there,” the captain said.

Ludger’s eyes returned to him. There was more…

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