David S.R
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Chapter 165 (Thank you for your support, Becca Mi!)
🕑 Added 2025-10-18 18:00:05 +0000 UTCFor the next few days, Ludger stayed mostly on the edges of the camp — a quiet shadow with sharp eyes. From the wooden rails near the fields, he watched the recruits come and go from the labyrinth, tracking their progress with calm.
They were improving, slowly but steadily. Bruised but not broken. Exactly how he wanted them.
Every evening, when they dragged themselves back, he’d meet them halfway — healing their cuts and sprains without much ceremony. On the surface, it looked like simple guild responsibility. But there was more to it.
He was waiting.
Each time he healed them, he subtly shifted the topic — asking about the runes Taron carved into their gear, or how Callen adjusted his water spells for freezing climates. They didn’t suspect much; to them, it was just their vice-guildmaster showing interest. But in truth, Ludger was trying to piece together just enough information to unlock new classes.
He felt a little guilty about it — a little. Manipulative? Maybe. But he’d more than earned the right after all the times he’d dragged their freezing hides out of danger. And he didn’t need full training, just a nudge in the right direction. A single good lesson, and the system would do the rest.
Ludger just gave them his calm, unreadable smile, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. They were cautious. Smart, even. Their earnings had dropped because of it — fewer shards per run — but they were learning restraint, which was worth something.
He stood by the fire that night, arms folded, eyes flicking toward the labyrinth’s distant glow. Snow drifted lazily around the camp, the only sound being the crackle of wood and the muffled clatter of armor in the distance.
It was a good rhythm — calm, productive, predictable.
And then, that rhythm broke.
From across the frozen plains came the echo of heavy boots, the crunch of multiple sets moving in unison. Ludger turned, narrowing his eyes.
A new group was approaching from the northern path — silhouettes tall and broad, their fur-lined cloaks snapping in the wind. Even from a distance, something about their stride screamed trouble.
Kharnek’s veterans were disciplined, steady. These ones? They moved like wolves that hadn’t eaten in days. Loud, cocky, and carrying themselves with that particular arrogance of people who thought they owned the snow they walked on.
Ludger sighed softly, adjusting his scarf. “Great,” he muttered. “Just when things were peaceful.”
He could already tell from the way they laughed, shoving each other and kicking at the snowbanks, that this wasn’t going to be a friendly visit. The kind of swagger they carried only meant one thing in the north — they were looking for someone to test. And Ludger had a feeling he was about to be the unlucky target.
He sighed, brushed the snow off his shoulders, and started walking toward the northern area.
Better to intercept them before some idiot said the wrong thing.
Except—someone had beaten him to it.
Kharnek.
The chieftain was already there, arms crossed, standing between the main path and the camp’s edge like a wall of muscle and fur. The newcomers slowed but didn’t stop.
Ludger kept walking until he was close enough to see them clearly—eight, maybe nine northerners, all massive, broad-shouldered, and carrying enough axes to chop a forest in half. They wore mismatched armor and too much attitude.
And gods, they were loud.
Most northerners spoke like thunder—rough, unrefined, but steady. These ones were more like an avalanche that didn’t know when to stop. They were the human equivalent of people who wrote everything in CAPSLOCK just to make sure you knew they existed.
“WHAT’S THIS PLACE SUPPOSED TO BE?” one of them barked. “SOME IMPERIAL CAMP?”
“LOOK AT THAT! THEY EVEN GOT LITTLE SOLDIERS RUNNIN’ AROUND!” another added, his laugh echoing across the snow.
Ludger’s brow twitched.
And then he heard it—one of them muttering just loud enough for the others to hear:
“Figures the imperial dogs would show their fangs around here.”
That got Kharnek’s attention. The air changed instantly.
The chieftain’s grin froze, and the laughter from the newcomers died under the weight of his glare. The temperature hadn’t dropped, but it felt colder.
Ludger stopped where he was, watching from a few paces behind.
He didn’t need to interfere—at least, not yet.
Because Kharnek’s voice, when it finally came, carried the kind of authority that made even frost giants straighten their backs.
“Say that again,” the chieftain growled.
No one answered. One of the loudest men glanced away, pretending to check the snow under his boots.
Ludger crossed his arms, quietly exhaling a puff of mist. He didn’t know what these new arrivals wanted, but if they’d come here to start something… Well, they’d just found the wrong camp to test their luck in.
The words came again — same insult, same sharp bite — but this time, the voice was different.
It wasn’t some deep-throated northerner growl. It was a girl’s voice.
Sharp, steady, and filled with more venom than half the warriors combined.
“Imperial dogs!” she said again, louder. “You think shouting makes you warriors? You’re just lapdogs dressed in southern gold!”
The camp went still.
Kharnek didn’t answer. Didn’t even twitch.
He just stood there, jaw locked tight, eyes fixed on the one who had spoken.
That silence told Ludger everything.
Oh. So this was her.
As Ludger moved closer, the crowd parted slightly, and he finally saw the source of the trouble.
She was huge — absurdly huge. Broad-shouldered, taller than most of the men, arms crossed and posture sharp enough to cut through ice. Her dark-blond hair was braided tight, her cloak half open over a sleeveless fur vest that showed arms like sculpted granite. She looked fifteen at best, but already carried herself like she could wrestle a mammoth for breakfast.
If that was Kharnek’s daughter, Ludger decided she must’ve been born flexing. Probably bench-pressed her crib.
Then she said it — the one thing that made the whole group tense.
“You humiliated our ancestors, old man,” she said, glaring straight at Kharnek. “After everything they fought for, you side with them? You call this honor?”
A few of her companions murmured in approval. The air thickened with that raw, animal tension the north seemed to breathe by instinct.
Ludger frowned, stepping closer until the snow crunched beneath his boots. The girl’s glare flicked toward him, her expression somewhere between annoyance and curiosity.
He let out a low whistle and then spoke in that dry, deliberately calm tone he used whenever things were about to explode.
“Wow,” he said, adjusting his scarf. “You guys really start family reunions with insults and death glares, huh? Must make birthdays super fun.”
A few of the soldiers nearby almost choked trying not to laugh.
Even Kharnek’s lips twitched for half a second before he forced them still. The girl blinked — surprised, maybe even thrown off — and Ludger took that tiny opening to keep talking.
“I get it,” he went on, casually gesturing at the group. “You’re here to yell, he’s here to frown, and I’m here freezing my ass off in the middle of it. So how about we all skip to the part where we talk like civilized people? Or, you know… whatever passes for that in the north.”
The tension cracked just a little — enough for a few grins, a few awkward coughs.
Kharnek still hadn’t said a word, but his massive shoulders eased slightly.
The girl, however, crossed her arms tighter and shot Ludger a look that could’ve turned snow to steam.
He smiled back. Dry, calm, unbothered.
It was the perfect kind of sarcasm — the type that could defuse a bomb or light it again, depending entirely on how the next person decided to breathe.
The girl’s glare sharpened the moment Ludger opened his mouth.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him from above — way above.
“And who’s this pipsqueak?” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. “You let a child stand next to warriors now, old man?”
Kharnek exhaled through his nose, part irritation, part resignation.
“This ‘pipsqueak,’” he said, his tone gravelly and calm, “is Ludger — the one who suggested the alliance between our people and Lionsguard guild and Torvares family. He’s also the one who used his magic to raise that town from nothing.”
He jerked his chin toward the border in the distance. “Everything you see out there — the fields, the roads, the walls — that’s his work.”
Ludger gave a small nod, hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you too.”
Kharnek sighed again. “And this,” he added, almost reluctantly, “is my daughter — Freyra.”
The name hit like a cold gust.
The girl — Freyra — didn’t so much as glance at her father. Her attention stayed locked on Ludger, her expression hard as froststeel.
Then she took one heavy step forward, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She was close enough now that Ludger had to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes — a wall of muscle and fury towering over him.
“So,” she said, voice low and sharp, “you’re the cursed magician. The one who slaughtered our shamans.”
The people nearby stiffened. Even some of her companions flinched at her directness.
Ludger didn’t move. His expression stayed perfectly still — calm, controlled, and utterly unbothered.
“I am,” he said simply.
Her brows lowered, confusion flickering across her face at his lack of defensiveness.
Then Ludger’s tone shifted — quiet but laced with an edge that made her anger falter for just a heartbeat.
“But,” he continued, “in my defense, maybe things would’ve gone differently if your shamans hadn’t tried to burn me, my father, and my friends alive.”
That shut down every sound in the camp. Even the wind seemed to pause.
For a few seconds, only the distant crackle of a fire and the soft whine of the northern breeze filled the silence.
Kharnek’s expression was unreadable — a mix of discomfort, and the weariness of a man who had expected this conversation for a long time.
Freyra didn’t back down, but her jaw clenched. The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly — not extinguished, but tempered by the realization that this wasn’t some random southern brat.
Ludger crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You want to talk about humiliation, fine. But I’m not the one who started the fire.”
Freyra’s glare twitched, her breath visible in the cold as she muttered something under it. Ludger couldn’t catch the words, but judging by Kharnek’s deep sigh, it was probably an insult that would’ve melted ice if spoken louder.
He looked between the two of them — father and daughter, two storms with the same thunder in their voices — and exhaled.
“North family drama,” he muttered under his breath. “Always louder than a war.”
Ludger pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing between Kharnek and his towering daughter, who still looked like she wanted to crush him into the snow just to see if he’d bounce.
He sighed. “So, Kharnek,” he began, his tone dry as ever, “mind explaining how exactly you thought she could lead anyone? You said you wanted someone commanding, not someone who looks ready to punch her own reflection.”
Kharnek’s beard twitched, his hand scratching the back of his neck. “...In my defense,” he rumbled, “I haven’t seen her in a few years. I assumed she’d calmed down a bit.”
Ludger gave him a deadpan stare. “Yeah, because calming down clearly runs in the family.”
That actually got a few snorts from the northerners nearby — quick, nervous ones before they turned their faces away to avoid Freyra’s death glare.
Freyra folded her arms, towering over Ludger like a snowstorm in human form. “Northerners don’t like those who talk too much,” she said coolly. “And we like it even less when they think they’re funny.”
Ludger just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Maybe. But your old man doesn’t seem to agree.”
That made her frown deeper. “What?”
He tilted his head toward Kharnek. “He laughs at my jokes sometimes. Well, more like he tries not to laugh and ends up looking constipated. But get a few mugs of ale in him, and suddenly I’m the funniest man in the north.”
Kharnek barked out a short, deep laugh despite himself. “He’s not wrong.”
The look Freyra gave him could’ve frozen lava. “You laugh at him?”
Kharnek grinned, teeth flashing beneath his beard. “Only because he reminds me of me, back when I still had hair worth braiding.”
Ludger smirked at that. “See? There’s hope for you too, maybe.”
Freyra’s knuckles cracked audibly as she flexed her fingers, the corner of her mouth twitching in irritation.
Ludger just smiled up at her — that same calm, confident smirk that drove enemies and allies alike insane. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “You’ll get used to me.”
“Or I’ll throw you into a snowdrift,” she muttered.
“Fair enough,” Ludger replied. “As long as you do it after training.”
Even Kharnek couldn’t stop laughing this time, though he tried to hide it behind a cough. Freyra’s scowl deepened, but beneath all that frost and fury, a spark of reluctant curiosity flickered in her eyes.
She hadn’t expected a southerner — let alone a kid half her size — to talk back and live.
Kharnek let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples like a man already regretting his bloodline.
“Alright,” he said finally, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Enough glaring. Freyra, you want to solve this the old way? A few punches, maybe a kick or two? Let off that fire before you burn the whole damn camp?”
Freyra blinked, surprised he’d even suggest it. “What, you want me to fight him?” she said, jerking her chin down at Ludger. “I’m not hitting a pipsqueak.”
Kharnek chuckled. “You might want to reconsider. He’s pretty good at punching — and kicking. Broke flour of my fingers the first week we sparred.”
Ludger raised a hand lazily. “In my defense, you started that.”
The northerners around them shifted awkwardly, trying to decide if this was banter or the prelude to someone getting buried in the snow.
Freyra exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms again. “Forget it. I’m not fighting anyone. Mother told me not to pick a fight for a while.”
Ludger tilted his head, his voice deadpan. “Good. The alliance might actually survive the week, then.”
That earned a few restrained laughs from nearby warriors, which only made Freyra’s glare sharper.
He went on before she could bark something back. “Who knows how much damage a bunch of teenage northerners could do if they got bored enough to start a fistfight over honor and ego.”
Comments
Jaksterzoo
Thanks for the chapter (: “…and kicking. Broke flour of my fingers the first week we sparred.” Flour > four
dkpfrog
Tftc!
Eric Sweeney
Have to say that I'm appreciating the emotional burns.
