The next morning hit Lionfang with that sharp northern chill, the kind that made breath fog in thick plumes and armor feel like it had been left in a frozen stream overnight. Most of the town was still waking up, but Ludger was already outside the guild hall, arms folded, posture as steady and immovable as the stone he shaped. His second squad gathered in front of him, forming a line that was almost straight if you squinted hard enough.

  Renn. Marie. Bramm. Jorin. Tali. Five kids who had grown up in the shadow of the Lionsguard compound, always hovering around the training yard, pretending wooden sticks were legendary weapons. They had once stopped Ludger in the middle of the market, purely to interrogate him about what shampoo Viola used. Back then, they were just fans, persistent, chaotic, occasionally annoying. Now they had training hours, and something resembling discipline. Barely.

  They were older now, though not by much, stuck in that dangerous in-between phase where enthusiasm grew faster than judgment. They bounced on their heels, trading excited glances as if Ludger couldn’t see it. They had been waiting for this day since the moment he made the promise. Ludger didn’t make many promises. He didn’t like them. Promises were chains, self-imposed, annoying, morally binding chains that forced him to prioritize people over efficiency. He was far more comfortable dismantling criminal networks, carving mana monuments into existence, or training until his muscles burned with mana fatigue. Those things were straightforward. Predictable. Promises, though… they lingered.

  He let his eyes sweep over the group slowly. They straightened under his stare, excitement shifting into something more controlled, though it was still visible beneath their skin like a leak in a mana pipe. Their eagerness practically radiated through the air.

  “Alright,” Ludger began, voice flat, steady, and cold enough to cut through their energy. “You’re here because I said I’d take you into the frost labyrinth someday.”

  The reaction was instantaneous. Tali practically vibrated in place. Renn nudged Jorin like this was the best day of their lives. Marie tried to appear composed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. Even Bramm’s wannabe stoic fa?ade cracked under the weight of anticipation.

  “And,” Ludger continued, “because I need a large supply of froststeel.”

  That brought a different kind of focus to their faces. Froststeel meant real danger and real responsibility. It meant the labyrinth, not the sanitized training version, but the one where mistakes weren’t patched up with healing magic, and where frost skeletons didn’t pull punches. Two birds. One labyrinth.

  “But,” he said, raising one finger, “there are conditions.”

  The shift was immediate. Their spines aligned. Excitement dimmed, replaced by something closer to fear or respect, hopefully both. Ludger stepped forward slightly, just enough that they felt his presence more than they saw it.

  “The labyrinth isn’t a sightseeing trip. It isn’t a warm-up. And it is absolutely not” he extended a thumb toward Tali, who instantly froze—“a playground.”

  An uneasy silence followed, broken only by the quiet hiss of cold air between buildings. Ludger let it stretch long enough for their imaginations to fill the gaps with all the terrible things that could happen in the labyrinth.

  “You will follow orders exactly,” Ludger said, tone leaving no room for negotiation. “You will stay behind the vanguard. You will retreat when told. And if any of you start thinking like heroes, you will be punished like idiots.”

  Marie nodded tightly. Renn’s expression sharpened, determination finally overriding his usual smugness. Bramm straightened even further, jaw locked. Even the Viola fan club at large finally understood that this was not an extension of their self-imposed fandom missions; this was work.

  “Your job is simple,” Ludger continued. “Gather froststeel for me, keep formation, and don’t be stupid. If you do that, you’ll learn more today than a month of drills could teach you. I will do the fighting, and you will watch and learn.”

  He paused, letting the cold sink deeper into the moment, and then added with deadpan precision,

  “And if any of you run ahead trying to ‘impress Viola,’ she will personally break your shins before I do.”

  Tali and Jorin lost all color in their faces at the same time. Renn quietly muttered a horrified “…noted.”

  “Good,” Ludger said. “Gear up. We leave in ten.”

  The squad scattered instantly, not running, not stumbling, but moving with a new, hard-earned sense of seriousness. Their excitement hadn’t vanished; it had simply been smothered under reality. Perfect. That was how he wanted them.

  As they disappeared into the guild hall, Ludger remained where he was, arms still folded, expression unreadable. There were many things left undone in Lionfang, many battles still looming in the near and distant future. But for now, he had a promise to fulfill. And a labyrinth to clear.

  Using a stone cart or even stone-surfing across the plains would have made the trip to the frost labyrinth ridiculously easy. Ludger could have shaped a smooth platform under their feet, propelled it with compressed earth, and reached the northern entrance before the guild cooks finished prepping lunch. But convenience wasn’t the point—not today. Any chance to train was a good chance to train, and this was the lesson Ludger wanted to carve into their skulls before they ever stepped inside a real labyrinth. If they couldn’t run a few kilometers through uneven terrain, they had no business collecting froststeel.

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  So instead of conjuring a cart, he simply jerked his chin northward and said, “Follow me.”

  Then he ran. Not a light jog. Not a warm-up. A proper, steady, ground-eating pace that forced them to push their breathing into something sustainable. Renn cursed under his breath before breaking into a sprint. Marie tucked into the rhythm after a few steps. Bramm moved like a boulder rolling downhill, slow at first, then unstoppable. Jorin and Tali scrambled to keep pace, eyes wide, excitement bleeding into exertion.

  They were maybe five hundred meters in when Kaela dropped out of the sky like a bored hawk spotting something interesting. A swirl of wind kicked up dust and frost as she landed directly in front of the formation, her grin sharp and far too entertained for this early in the morning.

  Tali’s reaction was immediate. “KAELA!” she squealed, suddenly turbocharged by sibling presence, excitement erupting out of her like someone dumped a mana potion into her bloodstream.

  Kaela lifted a hand in greeting, then cocked her head at Ludger. “Taking them to the labyrinth? Good. But this pace is slow. Why not motivate them?” She smirked. “Maybe reward the winner with a private training visit to Viola? I know the kids love her.”

  All five recruits nearly tripped over their own feet. The idea hit them like an overcharged Overdrive, pure, chaotic enthusiasm detonating in the middle of their formation. Renn stumbled while trying to run faster, Marie gasped like her lungs had gained new capacity, Bramm’s eyes widened, and Jorin gave Tali a look that said I will die to beat you. Tali screamed something incoherent about becoming Viola’s number one disciple.

  The noise level spiked immediately. Ludger felt a vein in his forehead twitch.

  He slowed just enough for Kaela to drift beside him. “We are not doing that,” he muttered. “I’m not rewarding them for everything like I’m raising spoiled cats.”

  Kaela snorted. “You kind of are, though.”

  He ignored her, but he knew the problem wasn’t her suggestion, it was his own instinctive resistance. He had been treating the recruits like tiny soldiers, but they weren’t soldiers. They were kids that were also guild members. Guild members needed motivation, not just discipline. They needed pride, belonging, something to look forward to beyond drills and bruises.

  Tch. He hated when self-awareness struck during physical exercise.

  Ludger slowed his pace just enough for the second squad to bunch up again, panting but still buzzing with excitement. “Listen,” he said, loud enough to cut through the chaos. “I’m not promising training sessions with Viola.”

  All five groaned at once.

  “But,” Ludger added before they spiraled further, “if you behave for the next month and keep up with training properly, I’ll take all of you to Viola’s birthday party.”

  The effect was immediate and catastrophic. The noise doubled. Tali screamed so loudly a flock of birds took off from the treetops. Jorin shouted something about buying a gift. Renn looked like he was about to ascend to a higher plane of existence. Bramm actually cracked a smile. Marie clapped her hands like she was five years old meeting her hero.

  The volume was unbearable. Ludger sighed, a long, resigned exhale that said he regretted everything leading up to this moment. Kaela laughed openly, delighted.

  The second squad didn’t calm down. They got louder. And somehow, the run to the labyrinth became even more exhausting than the labyrinth itself.

  Despite the run, and the chaos Kaela had injected into it, the second squad looked surprisingly stable by the time they reached the northern camp. The frost around the tents glittered under the pale morning light, and the cold wind bit at exposed skin, but the kids handled it well. They had done this route enough times during training runs; Arslan made sure every new recruit understood that Lionfang was built next to a frozen hellscape, and the only way to survive was to learn to function in it.

  Some of them had even slept in the camp before, bundled up in thick fur blankets, shivering but stubborn. So instead of collapsing or gasping, they mostly rolled their shoulders, stamped their boots, and adjusted to the temperature with practiced rhythm. Ludger nodded, satisfied. Good stamina, good mental resilience. At least they weren’t soft.

  He turned toward Kaela, who seemed to have no trouble flying around in the freezing cold while dressed like someone who thought hoodies were winter gear. “Don’t you have anything better to do than hover over kids training?”

  Kaela crossed her arms with exaggerated offense. “Of course I do. But I’m not about to let my little sister’s life depend on a kid who’s only one year older than her.” She flashed him a grin. “No offense, Vice Guildmaster.”

  “None taken,” Ludger said, because ignoring Kaela was easier than engaging with her brand of chaotic logic. He had learned long ago that responding only encouraged her.

  He was about to move the squad toward the labyrinth entrance when the ground itself seemed to vibrate with a familiar energy, heavy steps, loud breathing, and absolutely no intention of being subtle. Moments later, Freyra strode into view, her presence as loud as her voice. Kharnek’s daughter looked like she was already ready to punch something, probably the cold air or a frost skeleton or just life in general.

  She eyed the kids, then Ludger, then back to the kids. “What’s this? Bringing your little squad to show off how you can solo the first zone again?”

  Her grin had too many teeth. She tilted her head in challenge, clearly expecting some banter.

  Ludger’s expression didn’t even twitch. “No. They came to learn.”

  Freyra blinked. Once.

  “And,” Ludger added, “to carry the froststeel for me.”

  The kids deflated and brightened at the same time, offended by the implication but thrilled by the responsibility. Freyra barked a laugh loud enough to make a few northern guards glance over.

  Kaela sighed dramatically. Ludger ignored her, too. They were almost at the labyrinth’s mouth, frost glittering, mana thick in the air. It was time to begin.