David S.R
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Chapter 87
🕑 Added 2025-09-29 15:13:13 +0000 UTCBy the second day, the road curved over a low ridge, and the city finally came into view.
The walls rose from the valley like a squat fortress of stone, thick and wide, not tall or elegant like the noble estates close to the capital. The towers were stumpy, built more for function than grandeur. Beyond them, chimneys poked from the clustered buildings, spilling thin plumes of smoke into the twilight. The whole place smelled faintly of dust and iron even from a distance.
The ground around the city bore the scars of industry—long cuts of half-filled trenches, carts piled high with rocks, and the faint glimmer of lanterns from tunnels carved into the nearby hillsides. The mountains in the backdrop loomed dark and jagged, veins of ore glittering faintly under the last rays of sun.
“That’s the place,” Ludger muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Not much to look at.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Luna said, her tone calm as always. She adjusted the strap of her pack, gaze fixed on the walls. “This city was built around its mines. They’re rich with copper, iron, and sometimes rarer veins. Because of that, they employ a great number of earth mages.”
“Earth mages?” Viola asked, perking up.
“Yes. They help with excavation. Soften the rock, reinforce tunnels, shape walls. They make mining faster, safer… and more profitable.” Luna’s voice carried the faint weight of someone who’d memorized reports. “It’s one of the reasons this city thrives despite its size. It’s practical, not pretty.”
Viola’s eyes gleamed. “So there are mages who just… punch rocks for a living?”
“More or less,” Ludger said dryly, though his mind was already turning. A city of earth mages. Mining, labor, efficiency. Not the most glamorous place—but that means knowledge is dug up here too. Useful knowledge.
The road sloped downward toward the gates, where miners and traders trickled in with carts. The clang of metal and the rumble of wagons carried on the wind.
Ludger adjusted his pack, smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see what kind of ‘teacher’ Grandfather’s lined up for us here.”
Viola craned her neck, eyes darting from the miners filing past to the faint shimmer of magic where an earth mage reinforced a wagon axle with a casual flick of his wrist. Her grin widened.
“Think the teacher here will show me how to do that?” she asked, practically bouncing on her toes. “Imagine! Me, hurling rocks the size of a house!”
Ludger glanced at her, unimpressed. “Are you sure you even want to learn from this teacher now? You could wait until I’ve nailed down the fundamentals and make things easier for you later.”
Viola blinked, frowning. “What? Why would you be better than an earth mage at teaching earth magic?”
He just shrugged, hands in his pockets, smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess we’ll never know.”
Viola squinted at him, suspicious. “You’re hiding something again.”
Ludger didn’t answer, just kept walking toward the gates, the smirk never leaving his face. He couldn’t exactly explain that he was already laying the groundwork for teaching skills of any kind—that once he understood the system’s bones, he could strip down any magic, any craft, and hand it to someone else in bite-sized pieces. Explaining that would just make him sound insane.
So he shrugged again, silent. Viola huffed, crossing her arms, clearly irritated. But her eyes were already drifting back to the mages by the mines, shining with restless curiosity.
Luna, walking at Ludger’s side, gave him a sideways glance. “You’re impossible to read sometimes.”
“That’s the idea,” he replied.
The first thing Ludger noticed in the city was the smell—iron and coal, sweat and leather. This wasn’t a city polished by noble courts; it was built on dirt, steel, and coin.
Rows of stalls lined the main street, their tables crowded with weapons and armor. Crates of spears leaned against awnings, swords gleamed faintly in the late sun, and racks of dented but serviceable shields waited for buyers. The shopkeepers barked prices, waving scraps of parchment or thumping their goods for emphasis.
Adventurers clustered around the stalls, examining wares with a critical eye. Some tested the balance of blades, others strapped gauntlets over scarred knuckles. The crowd was rough—men and women in patched armor, cloaks singed from fire spells, boots still crusted with dust from the mines or some labyrinth floor.
Viola’s eyes went wide, glittering with excitement. “Look at all this! It’s like a treasure trove!” She darted toward a stand where a merchant displayed daggers with curved hilts, her hands hovering over the blades like a kid in a candy shop.
“Don’t touch unless you’re buying,” the merchant grunted, not even looking up.
Ludger scanned the street more carefully. Shops like these don’t just cater to miners. They’re built for travelers and labyrinth crawlers. Means this city isn’t just a mining hub—it’s a staging ground. A place where adventurers restock before they vanish underground.
Luna walked at his shoulder, gaze sharp. “Notice how many shops there are for armor and weapons. More than a normal city this size would need. It means the labyrinth near here draws people from further away. Adventurers pass through, spend coin, then disappear into the mines or the labyrinth.”
“And half of them probably won't come back,” Ludger muttered.
Viola spun around, grinning. “Which means more loot left behind!”
Ludger sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Amazon warrior in training, through and through.
Viola lingered at a stall stacked with short swords, her eyes darting between blades polished bright and others that still carried the dull gray of unfinished steel. She picked one up and swung it clumsily, nearly clipping the stand behind her.
“Ooooh, this one feels good,” she said, grinning as she held it out. “What do you think, Ludger?”
Ludger barely glanced at it. “I think you couldn’t tell a good weapon if it fell from the sky and hit you in the head.”
Viola’s jaw dropped. “Hey!”
The merchant snorted, folding his arms. “Kid’s not wrong. That one’s cheap iron, looks good ‘cause I polished it this morning. Wouldn’t last three fights.”
Viola flushed, slamming the sword back onto the table. “Tch. I knew that.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ludger said, smirking as he moved past her.
She stomped after him, muttering, “One day I’ll know enough to make you eat those words.”
“Sure,” Ludger said dryly. “And until then, try not to bankrupt yourself buying junk that’ll snap the first time you swing too wide.”
Luna trailed behind them, her usual calm expression intact, though her eyes carried the faint glimmer of amusement.
Viola puffed her cheeks out and marched faster, clearly trying to find the next stall to prove herself at.
Ludger only shook his head. A noble girl trying to haggle for weapons she doesn’t even need. If Grandfather saw her like this, he’d choke on his wine.
They wound deeper into the streets, passing another row of stalls stacked with polearms and axes. Viola slowed again, eyes darting hungrily between the weapons like she couldn’t decide which looked deadlier. She reached for a spear with a carved shaft, but Ludger’s voice cut her off.
“If you really want to tell good weapons from bad,” he said, tone flat but deliberate, “you’ll need patience. A lot of it. It’s not about shiny blades or fancy handles. It’s about balance, weight, steel quality, forging technique. Things you can’t learn by waving it around once and shouting, ‘This feels good.’”
Viola scowled, cheeks puffing. “I wasn’t going to shout that!”
“You were thinking it,” Ludger shot back. His smirk sharpened. “Better to ask Father about it. At least he knows enough to tell you which blade won’t break in your hands.”
Viola opened her mouth, then shut it again, glaring at the ground as if the stones had betrayed her. “Tch. Fine. Next time I’ll ask him.”
Luna spoke then, her voice calm as always. “That would be wiser. Arslan’s instincts with weapons are hard to match. His morals and decision making are another matter…”
Viola groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ugh, don’t take his side.”
“Not his side,” Luna corrected, stepping past her. “The practical side.”
Before Viola could fire back, the road curved into a busier square. Earth mages worked openly here, their magic sparking with a steady, methodical rhythm. One mage crouched near a cracked street wall, pressing glowing hands to the stone until the fissure sealed as though it had never been there. Another guided a block of rough ore with gestures alone, shaping it into a clean, square brick that apprentices stacked onto carts.
The air hummed faintly with mana, dust rising in soft clouds. Workers shouted orders, carts creaked under the weight of fresh stone, and the city itself seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the mines.
Viola slowed, momentarily forgetting her irritation as she stared. “...Okay, that’s actually cool.”
Ludger nodded slightly, watching the stone shift under a mage’s palm. Practical, efficient, reliable. Just like the city itself.
The farther west they walked, the thinner the crowds became. The busy clang of miners and the hum of earth magic faded behind them, replaced by narrow streets, and the smell of stale ale wafting from crooked taverns. Stone roads gave way to dirt, then to broken cobbles. The slums.
Ludger pulled the letter from his pack again, skimming the stiff handwriting. Western side. One of the largest buildings. You will know when you see it.
Cryptic, as always. Torvares never wasted ink, so every word was deliberate. Ludger didn’t bother wondering why—he just kept walking. And then he saw it.
The building loomed over the crooked houses around it, wide enough to be a manor but far too battered to belong to any noble. The roof sagged in places, several windows were boarded shut, and the stone walls bore long cracks that no earth mage had bothered to seal. A sign hung crookedly above the door, its paint long faded, the letters barely legible.
It was unmistakable: a guildhall. Or what was left of one. The square in front of it was nearly deserted. A few drunks slouched on the steps, and a couple of ragged adventurers argued over dice in the corner. The air reeked of rust, spilled ale, and defeat.
Viola wrinkled her nose. “This is it? This is where Grandfather sent us? It looks like it’s going to collapse any second.” Ludger tucked the letter away, smirking thin and sharp. “Which means this is exactly the place.”
Luna studied the cracked stone, her gaze unreadable. “A guild that’s falling apart. No wonder he didn’t explain. If people knew the Torvares name was tied to this, it would be an embarrassment.”
“Or an opportunity,” Ludger said quietly. Torvares doesn’t waste moves. If he pointed me here, there’s something worth digging out of this ruin.
The three of them stood at the threshold, the broken guild looming like the shell of a beast that had long since been gutted. Ludger didn’t move to push the door yet. Instead, he let his eyes linger on Viola and Luna.
Viola’s nose was still wrinkled, her wooden sword resting against her shoulder. “I don’t like it. Grandfather wouldn’t send us here unless he wanted to teach me some awful lesson. ‘See, Viola, this is what happens if you waste your potential,’ blah blah.” She puffed her cheeks. “And the smell’s disgusting.”
Ludger smirked faintly. “So the place isn’t glamorous. You expected velvet carpets and chandeliers?”
“I expected… not this.” Viola jabbed a finger toward the cracked sign. “It’s literally falling apart!”
Luna, as always, was calmer. She traced a line across one of the fissures in the stone with her gaze, noting the way it spread like a spiderweb. “It used to be strong. Whoever maintained it stopped caring years ago. Buildings like this don’t collapse overnight.” Her voice lowered, steady. “Neither do guilds.”
Ludger hummed at that, thoughtful. She was right. This wasn’t some tavern that had gone to ruin—it had once been a foundation. Strong enough to stand for decades. Only years of neglect could rot something that solid.
Which means whoever’s inside isn’t going to be a clean-cut scholar like Yvar. This won’t be straightforward. Her Grandfather wants us to learn something harder. Something messier.
He glanced again at Viola, who was frowning like the whole place had personally offended her. Then at Luna, sharp-eyed and already mapping weaknesses.
Two completely different reactions. And me in the middle, about to walk into whatever trap Torvares left sitting here.
Ludger adjusted his pack strap, smirk tugging at his lips. “Well. Guess it’s time to find out what kind of corpse Grandfather dug up for me this time.”
Ludger let his eyes travel over the building one more time. The sagging roof, the boarded windows, the faded crest—signs of an institution bled dry long before they had arrived.
Guilds were nothing new to him. In this world, they weren’t rigid organizations like armies or noble houses; they were more like sprawling markets of labor. Gatherings of part-timers and wanderers who’d take any job if the pay was right. One week they were exterminating a nest of monsters, the next they were hauling ore from a mine or guarding a caravan against bandits.
The famous ones leaned toward labyrinth work. Nobles and governments tolerated those, since labyrinth exploration was dangerous, costly, and unpredictable. Guilds filled the gap—outsourcing the risk to people who didn’t mind gambling their lives for gold.
But not all guilds stayed on the “respectable” side. Plenty turned shady behind the curtains, selling information to the wrong hands, smuggling contraband, or quietly cleaning up assassinations. Without noble oversight or government chains, each guild lived and died by its reputation. Adventurers flocked to the halls that paid fair coin and had strong backing. The moment a guild’s name soured, its lifeblood dried up overnight.
Ludger smirked faintly, though his eyes remained cold. So that’s what this is. A guild that lost its fame, its power, its future. A carcass in the slums, good for nothing but drunks and ghosts.
Which only left the real question: why would Lord Torvares send him here?
The old man wasn’t sentimental. He wouldn’t choose this place out of pity, nor would he risk the family’s name by tying it to a collapsed guild unless there was a reason. That meant the ruin itself was part of the lesson.
Viola’s Grandfather doesn’t want me learning from comfortable success. He wants me learning from failure. From wreckage. To see what happens when reputation is squandered, when power is mismanaged. Maybe to pick through the bones and find what’s left.
Ludger’s hand brushed the letter in his pocket. The words were clipped, efficient, almost smug in their certainty: You will know when you see it. And now he did.
Viola fidgeted beside him, nose still wrinkled. “I hate this place already.”
Luna stood silently, eyes on the door, posture taut.
