Even though neither of them commented on it, Kaela and Freyra quietly drifted toward the rear of the group. They didn’t announce their intentions, didn’t boast about joining, and didn’t so much as exchange a meaningful glance. But it was obvious. Their footsteps fell into rhythm behind the kids, their eyes fixed ahead with a focus that had nothing to do with babysitting. They weren’t here because they cared about “proper formation” or because they intended to help watch over recruits.

  They were here out of curiosity. Both of them, wind witch and northern brawler, wanted to see something they’d never witnessed clearly before. They wanted to see Ludger fight alone. Sure, they’d heard rumors, scattered accounts from recruits and survivors and people who forgot how to shut up. They’d seen some demonstrations, glimpses of magic control, some strange new technique or another he’d pulled out during crises. But neither Kaela nor Freyra had seen him truly let loose in the labyrinth.

  Curiosity was a powerful thing. Even more so in people who lived for battle. Ludger glanced back once, just enough to register their presence. He didn’t sigh, didn’t snap at them, didn’t ask why they were wasting their morning tailing a trainee expedition. If they wanted to follow, fine. As long as they didn’t interfere, their presence didn’t matter.

  He turned away, boots crunching into the frost as he headed directly toward the first zone. The kids fell in behind him with a mix of excitement and nerves, their breath forming steady mist behind their scarves and collars. They knew this wasn’t a vacation run anymore; the labyrinth loomed ahead like a frozen maw, its icy walls humming with mana.

  Cold air poured from the entrance in a steady exhale, carrying the faint metallic scent of froststeel and the brittle undertone of undead mana. Ludger stepped into it without hesitation. The temperature hit harder inside the threshold, colder and sharper, like stepping from winter air into magically manufactured deep-freeze.

  The first frost skeleton emerged from behind an ice wall with its usual brittle theatrics, its joints crackling, its skull turning with that jerky, unnatural motion, and the air around it shimmering as ice began to condense into a shield and sword. Cold mana coiled around its limbs like pale smoke, its form stabilizing as it prepared to charge. Ludger didn’t even slow down.

  He flicked two fingers toward it and released a small, concentrated fireball, barely the size of an apple, nothing impressive, nothing dramatic. Yet when it struck the frost skeleton square in the chest, the result was immediate. Flame burst against the frozen ribs, steam erupted in a sharp hiss, and the creature collapsed backward in a twitching heap. Ice cracked, frost bled away from its joints, and it lay on the ground half-melted before it even managed to raise its shield.

  The kids stared, the impact still echoing off the walls. Ludger didn’t give them time to gawk. “This,” he said, turning slightly as steam drifted around the fallen skeleton, “is the next spell you’re going to learn. A simple fireball. Low mana cost, direct, efficient. You hit the skeletons with it before engaging at close range.”

  He pointed at the monster as it tried and failed to stand. Half of its torso was softened slush. “Frost skeletons are brittle and highly mana-efficient. If you go at them without weakening their frost first, you waste energy and stamina fighting them blade to blade. That’s fine for emergencies, but not for a full run.”

  The kids nodded vigorously, eyes locked on the still-steaming corpse. Even Kaela and Freyra leaned in a little, watching the demonstration from the back with interest.

  Ludger continued, voice steady but edged with steel. “A fireball like this breaks their mana shell and disrupts their condensation. After that, they’re easy to break. Saves mana, saves time, keeps you alive longer in the deeper layers.”

  His gaze slid across the five recruits, assessing each one’s reaction.

  “And before you say anything,” he added, “yes, I know you’ve all been practicing Splash by blasting each other during breaks.”

  All five stiffened at the same time. Renn’s face locked into an expression of absolute guilt. Tali looked like she wanted to melt into the ice floor. Marie pressed her lips into a thin, traitorously guilty line. Jorin froze mid-breath. Bramm inhaled slowly, like accepting his fate.

  Ludger’s tone dropped a degree. “This spell isn’t Splash. Splash is harmless unless you’re trying very hard to weaponize it. A fireball isn’t. It burns, it pierces, and if you point it at someone’s face, you will blind them.”

  He let the words settle, heavy and cold in the air.

  “So hear me clearly. If I see or even hear rumors about any of you pointing your hands at each other, or at anyone who isn’t an enemy, you and I will have a very serious conversation.”

  The recruits instantly straightened. All the excitement drained right out of them, leaving behind disciplined silence. Kaela raised an eyebrow. Freyra smirked, impressed. Ludger turned back toward the next corridor as the frost skeleton finally crumbled fully, steam still rising from its chest.

  “Good. Move.”

  Behind the recruits, Kaela leaned closer to Freyra as they followed the group deeper into the first zone. The cold air muffled most sounds, but the two women had fought enough battles together to communicate in whispers without breaking stride.

  “Ludger’s stern like his mother,” Kaela murmured, eyes fixed ahead as the kid vice-guildmaster lectured the squad with military precision.

  Freyra nodded immediately. “He got that from her,” she whispered back. “He doesn’t joke around with kids. Not when safety is involved.” Her tone held no mockery—just observation. “You can see it every time he trains them. He treats their lives like they’re worth more than his own convenience.”

  They watched Ludger pause ahead, checking angles, scanning mana currents, ensuring no frost skeleton was flanking their group before letting the kids advance.

  Kaela smirked slightly. “It’s funny. He’s teaching them how to fight better with their spells, how to use mana efficiently, how not to get themselves killed. But look at him.” She gestured subtly toward Ludger. “He’s not fighting anywhere close to his usual level.”

  Freyra narrowed her eyes. “Because if he did, he’d give them a bad idea of what they can achieve right now.”

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  Kaela nodded. “Yeah. If he goes all-out, they’ll try to copy him. Break bones, overdraw mana, get reckless. It’s smart of him to hold back, but…” Her grin widened. “…it also means we’re not seeing the good stuff yet.”

  Freyra’s expression sharpened with agreement. “Exactly why I came. I want to see the kid fight without restraint. Not this training version.”

  Ahead of them, Ludger shattered another frost skeleton with a precise bigger Fireball, barely moving his wrist, not even using Overdrive. Efficient. Minimal. Too restrained for Freyra’s taste.

  Kaela breathed out a soft laugh. “He’s babysitting. And babysitting Ludger is not the real Ludger.”

  Freyra’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “Then we just have to wait until something big enough shows up to make him stop holding back.”

  She cracked her knuckles. Kaela smiled. And somewhere ahead, the frost labyrinth shifted like it had heard the challenge.

  Ludger spent the rest of the day doing exactly what Kaela had predicted, turning a labyrinth run into a structured training course, complete with pacing, pauses, and detailed breakdowns that felt less like combat and more like a field lecture. He decided to test the kids progress with some fights as well.

  Whenever a frost knight appeared, he stopped the kids from rushing in. He had them circle the creature first, pointing out the way its armor condensed frost mana, how its shield arm was always slightly slower to reform after a hit, how the joints at the hips and elbows were weak points once the frost shell was cracked. Then he ordered them into formation, shields raised.

  “Don’t charge immediately,” he said, voice steady and sharp as the cold. “Knights always overextend the first swing. Block. Let them miss. Then attack.”

  The kids did exactly that. Renn and Bramm braced shields, Marie and Jorin followed with blunt strikes, and Tali delivered the finishing blow after Ludger melted half the knight’s torso with another small fireball.

  When frost archers emerged from narrow corridors or perched atop ledges of ice, Ludger pointed at them before the kids could panic. “Archers are fragile. If you break their bow arm first, they crumble. Keep your shields up. Move together. Don’t give them space to shoot twice.”

  He demonstrated by flicking an earth shard upward, knocking one archer from its perch before ordering the kids to surround the staggering creature. They broke it with minimal mana expenditure.

  Frost mages were harder. He explained that their mana patterns were unstable at the base, making them vulnerable to quick disruption. “Don’t attack the ice they summon,” he said. “Attack their hands. Their focusing points. Force them to react.”

  Again and again, Ludger turned each encounter into a step-by-step drill, where to stand, how to conserve mana, how to control fear when two or three enemies came at once. And when small groups of skeletons approached together, he held up a hand to stop the kids from panicking and taught them how to maintain defensive posture.

  “Shields up. Tight formation. Don’t chase attacks you miss. Reset your stance. Look for the next opening. Let them waste opportunities first.”

  Repetition followed repetition. Sweat built despite the cold. Their breathing turned sharp but controlled. Little by little, he molded their rhythm from frantic to disciplined. Kaela, however, was dying.

  She dragged her feet at the back of the group, yawning loudly enough that the frost skeletons probably heard her before anyone else did. Her voice carried through the corridor with dramatic misery. “How, HOW, can someone turn a labyrinth run into something this tedious?” She stretched her arms overhead like someone enduring torture. “It’s like watching a school lesson inside a frozen dungeon. I’m losing brain cells.”

  Freyra snorted under her breath but didn’t disagree.

  Kaela slumped forward, hands on her knees. “Seriously, this is supposed to be fun! Fast fights! Mana bursts! Screaming skeletons! Broken ice! Instead, I’m listening to footwork explanations and shield angles. I swear, I’ve never been this bored in a labyrinth before.”

  Up ahead, Ludger ignored all of it, or pretended to. He motioned for the squad to reposition around another frost knight, continued explaining mana usage, and corrected Renn’s shield grip with the same calm he used for everything.

  Training was training. And he wasn’t the type to rush it just because someone in the back was dying of boredom. Kaela yawned again so aggressively it echoed.

  Freyra whispered, “You brought this on yourself.”

  Kaela groaned. And Ludger continued teaching, unbothered, as if the labyrinth itself had turned into a classroom under his feet.

  By the time the icy corridors opened into the long, sloping passage that marked the entrance to the second zone, the kids were breathing hard but steady, shields still held firm, mana still under control. Frostlight from the deeper chamber spilled across their faces, painting them in pale blue glow. They stared ahead with a mixture of awe and fear—past this point, the frost paladins waited. Tower shields. Full-armor constructs. Spears that could punch through steel. Nothing like the brittle skeletons of the first zone.

  Tali’s excitement flickered into hesitation. Renn tightened his grip on his sword. Marie’s breath fogged as she stared at the distant silhouettes of ice pillars deeper inside. Bramm and Jorin stood rigid, unsure whether to take a step or back away.

  Before anyone could decide anything, Ludger raised a hand.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Five heads whipped toward him.

  “What?” Renn blurted.

  “Retreat,” Ludger repeated, voice calm, absolute. “It’s too soon for you to be in the second zone. We’re done for today.”

  The kids deflated instantly, shoulders dropping like someone pulled the mana right out of their cores. The disappointment was loud enough to be felt rather than heard. But the reaction behind them was even louder.

  Kaela clicked her tongue so sharply it echoed off the walls. “You’re kidding me,” she groaned. “We spent the whole day watching shield drills and baby steps, just to turn back NOW?”

  Freyra clicked her tongue as well, though hers sounded like barely restrained irritation rather than boredom. “I thought we’d at least see him fight a paladin,” she muttered, glaring at the second zone as if it personally offended her. “What a waste. An entire day for nothing.”

  Kaela threw her arms up. “I should’ve gone drinking with Aronia instead. She said she was experimenting with honey liquor. That would’ve been interesting. This? This was torture.”

  Ludger ignored them, or pretended to, as he ushered the kids into a neat formation for the return trip. But even he felt a pulse of irritation beneath his calm exterior. Kaela and Freyra weren’t supposed to be here wasting time either. They were adults. They had responsibilities. They were part of the guild’s structure now, which meant they were supposed to be doing actual work, not spectating like bored nobles at a sparring match.

  Still… he couldn’t deny a sliver of satisfaction. The kids had learned something. Their formations were sharper. Their reflexes cleaner. Their mana use more controlled. That mattered more than entertainment value.

  He exhaled once, slow and even. Satisfied because the squad had learned. Annoyed because Kaela and Freyra should’ve known better. But decision made, Ludger gestured down the corridor, signaling the retreat.

  “We’re heading back,” he said. “No shortcuts. Run the full distance.”

  The kids groaned.

  Kaela groaned louder. Freyra muttered something about “should’ve punched a frost mage just for fun.”

  And Ludger led the group out of the labyrinth, perfectly calm, perfectly steady, perfectly content with turning an entire day into a disciplined, painfully slow, undeniably productive training session.

  Even if everyone else thought it was a complete waste.