Ludger handed the twins back to Elaine and started walking toward the approaching carriage. People pulling their own wagons wasn’t something he expected to see in Lionfang, especially not iron wagons. For a moment, a shadow of suspicion crossed his mind: slave? Prisoner transport? Some kind of punishment cart? But as he got closer, the details lined up in ways that didn’t match any of those assumptions.

  The man pulling the iron carriage wasn’t shackled. He wasn’t gaunt. He didn’t have the beaten look of someone being forced to work. If anything, he moved with deliberate control, each step steady, each breath measured, like hauling a multi-ton metal box behind him was just another workout routine. His clothes were travel gear reinforced with leather. The metal rings wrapped around his forearms weren’t shackles, they looked more like weighted bracers.

  And then Ludger saw him clearly. The traveler was huge. Easily over two meters tall, with a frame that would’ve made Kharnek raise an eyebrow. His muscles were the thick, functional kind that came from hauling stone or wrestling bears, not decorative bulk. But his size wasn’t the strangest thing about him. No, that honor went to the fur.

  Not hair. Fur. Thick, tawny, golden-brown fur that matched the mane-like tuft circling his neck and partially covering his shoulders. His ears were pointed and covered in shorter fur, his jaw broader than a human’s with subtly elongated canines when he exhaled. His eyes were amber, slit like a predator’s, sharp, watchful, the kind of gaze that assessed threats before greetings. His hands, though gloved, were large enough that the metal chains he gripped looked like mere ropes.

  A beastman. A lion-type beastman, if Ludger had to guess. And judging by the way the entire street went quiet as he passed, Lionfang had not seen many of his kind.

  People paused mid-step. A baker dropped a loaf of bread. A northerner guard straightened instinctively, eyes narrowing but respectful. Children peeked out from behind carts. Even merchants lowered their voices, watching with cautious curiosity.

  The beastman’s severe gaze swept across Lionfang, calm, unreadable, almost regal in its intensity. His expression didn’t shift, but his eyes took everything in: the stone walls, the market stalls, the guild banners, the clustered buildings rebuilt under Ludger’s geomancy. Then his gaze locked onto Ludger.

  For a brief second, something flickered behind those amber eyes, interest, maybe recognition, maybe the kind of appraisal warriors gave each other before deciding whether to nod or fight.

  The iron carriage scraped to a halt as the beastman slowed. And Ludger found himself wondering…

  What kind of person walks into Lionfang pulling a metal wagon by hand?

  He was about to find out.

  Ludger closed the remaining distance, boots crunching over the frost-packed road until he stood a few meters from the iron carriage. The beastman halted completely, his grip loosening on the chains but never fully releasing them. His amber eyes tracked Ludger the way a veteran hunter assessed a new predator, curious, weighing, unafraid.

  “Hey,” Ludger said, raising a hand in a simple greeting. “Welcome to Lionfang.”

  The beastman inhaled through his nose sharply, once, twice, and his expression shifted in a way Ludger couldn’t immediately interpret. Not aggression. Not confusion. More like confirmation. He nodded slowly, mane rustling.

  “So,” the beastman rumbled, voice deep enough to vibrate in the air, “you must be the infamous Ludger.”

  Ludger’s eyebrow lifted. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Infamous, huh? How’d you tell?”

  The beastman tapped the side of his nose, nostrils flaring slightly. “I can smell the metal on you. The forearm guards and shin guards I forged for Torvares still carry my scent. Metal remembers its maker. You walked close enough, and the wind did the rest.”

  Ludger blinked. Beastman senses. Right. That tracked.

  He gestured toward the iron wagon. “So you must be the blacksmith Torvares mentioned.”

  “That I am.” The beastman straightened to his full height, easily towering over everyone nearby, and crossed his arms. The iron carriage behind him barely shifted, as if it weighed nothing. “Torvares did not tell you I was coming?”

  Ludger shook his head. “No. I didn’t hear anything. Figured he’d send word first.”

  The beastman snorted, an amused, almost mocking sound. “I do not tell anyone where I am going. Not Torvares. Not the Empire. Not the forest clans. When I decide to travel, I travel.”

  Ludger rubbed his chin slowly, eyeing the iron wagon again, then the massive figure before him.

  So this was the troublesome blacksmith Torvares had warned him about.

  He couldn’t help thinking: How troublesome did someone have to be for Torvares to personally negotiate just to get them to talk? If this beastman was the answer… Ludger suddenly understood why Torvares looked tired whenever the topic came up.

  The beastman finally released the iron chains and stepped closer, his heavy steps sending faint tremors through the frost-hardened dirt. Standing this near, Ludger could see small glowing runes etched into the iron bracers on his arms—heat markings, pressure stabilizers, maybe even self-forging vents. This man wasn’t just strong. He lived inside a forge.

  “I should introduce myself properly,” the beastman said. “I am Raukor.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He paused, considering Ludger with a long, assessing stare that made most onlookers subtly step back. “Torvares told me you wanted to learn forging. He didn’t say why. He didn’t know.”

  Ludger didn’t deny it. Still, that was a pretty short introduction.

  Raukor continued, “He said, If you want access to froststeel, real access, not scraps from processed shipments, Ludger can give it to you. Free. As much as you need.”

  The offer hit like a mana spike. Ludger’s eyebrows climbed a bit, interest flaring.

  Then Raukor raised one massive finger. “If…”

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “…you agree to let teach you. A bit.”

  Ludger slowly crossed his arms, expression unreadable. Then he repeated it flatly: “…a bit.”

  “Yes,” Raukor grunted, unmoved. “A bit. Enough to see whether you can even hold a hammer properly.”

  Ludger considered that. Torvares had warned him that this man wasn’t normal, socially or otherwise. And honestly? This was exactly the kind of problem Ludger could work with.

  “That’s fine,” Ludger said finally. “You can stay as long as you want. As a guest of the Lionsguard.”

  A few passing guards exchanged glances, whispering at the idea of a mountain of a lion-beastman being considered a “guest,” but Ludger ignored them.

  Then he added, “Do you need a place to set up a workshop? Or do you want a home space first?”

  Raukor didn’t hesitate. “A place for myself. Away from noise. Away from crowds. Big enough for a forge, anvil array, cooling trough, and space to reinforce the walls. Stone or iron foundation. No wood. Wood burns.”

  Ludger nodded, already mentally mapping Lionfang’s layout. “Details?”

  Raukor listed measurements with the precision of someone who had built and burned down dozens of workshops. Height, width, ventilation shafts, reinforced flooring, mana channels in the walls, space for ore carts, and a specific request for the building to face north so incoming wind wouldn’t scatter sparks onto the street.

  Ludger listened, memorized every parameter, then gestured for Raukor to follow. He scanned the town, found an empty lot near the northern perimeter where the cold air flowed cleanest, and placed his hand on the ground.

  Mana thrummed. The earth rumbled. And stone rose, smooth, solid, perfectly aligned, shaping itself into the exact building Raukor had described. Walls thick enough to withstand explosions. A sloped roof. Ventilation tunnels. Reinforced floors. The framework for an anvil array. Even an outdoor area for cooling troughs and metal racks.

  Raukor’s tail flicked once, barely, but the meaning was unmistakable.

  Approval. When the last stone clicked into place, Ludger turned back to him.

  “Will that do?”

  Raukor grinned for the first time, sharp teeth and all.

  “It’ll do. The rumors are true, huh?”

  Ludger dusted his hands once the forge building settled into place, the last ripple of earth mana fading beneath his boots. Raukor Ironmane made another low, approving sound as he stepped inside to inspect the layout, running a clawed finger along the stone walls like he was checking the grain of a rare metal.

  “Good,” Ludger said. “I’ll tell someone to bring you froststeel. How much do you want?”

  Raukor didn’t even turn around. “As soon as possible. All you can spare.”

  Straightforward. Very blacksmith-like.

  Ludger nodded, filing that urgency in the back of his mind. “I’ll arrange it.”

  With that, he left the lion-beastman to explore his new domain and walked toward the guild. He needed to assign people to transfer several crates of froststeel, preferably without any of the younger recruits getting curious and wandering too close to Raukor’s workshop. The man didn’t seem dangerous, but he radiated the kind of silent intensity that could traumatize a rookie by existing too loudly.

  The guild building emerged ahead, warm light spilling from the open doors. And standing right in front of it, arms full of scrolls, parchments, and a clipboard tucked under his chin, was Yvar, the Lionsguard scholar, archivist, and professional worrier.

  Yvar spotted Ludger immediately and jogged toward him, scrolls bouncing. “Ludger! Good timing. I heard rumors. Half the town says a beastman just walked in hauling an iron carriage. Is that true?”

  Ludger didn’t break stride as he approached. “It’s true. I was the one who requested him.”

  Yvar’s eyes widened. “You asked for him? Torvares didn’t tell me anything about a beastman arriving.”

  “He didn’t tell me either,” Ludger said. “Just that the blacksmith he wanted me to meet was… troublesome.”

  Yvar stopped walking, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, brows knit in concentration. “Troublesome. That’s an interesting word to use for a beastman. Especially a lion-type.”

  Ludger glanced back toward the distant dark silhouette of Raukor’s massive figure entering the forge. The metal door groaned behind him as if protesting the weight.

  “Yeah,” Ludger muttered. “Interesting.”

  Yvar exhaled slowly, a mix of curiosity and mild apprehension settling over him. “Well… this will certainly make the next few weeks lively.”

  Ludger agreed. And he still had a birthday gift to forge.

  Yvar adjusted the scrolls in his arms, looking from Ludger to the distant forge and back again. His expression tightened, thoughtful in a way that meant he was about to dump a history lesson whether Ludger wanted it or not.

  “You know,” Yvar began, “beastmen in the Empire are… extremely rare.”

  Ludger shrugged with the same indifference he used when frost skeletons tried to stab him. “The Lionsguard has a way of attracting weirdos. At this point, I’m not even surprised.”

  Yvar snorted. “That’s not all, Ludger. Their absence isn’t just a coincidence. There’s history behind it.”

  Ludger raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. If Yvar was explaining something voluntarily, it was usually worth knowing. Probably.

  “In the past,” Yvar continued, “beastmen used to travel across the world freely. They were merchants, forgers, alchemists, wanderers. Many of them offered their services to cities beyond their forests. Some settled down. Some became famous craftsmen. But then…” He paused, voice dropping slightly. “There was an incident.”

  Ludger waited.

  “Several beastmen were discovered to be spies,” Yvar said. “Not common scouts or thieves. High-level infiltrators. Ones who traveled under professions, blacksmiths, engineers, caravan leaders, while secretly gathering intelligence and technology secrets from foreign powers. When the truth came out, every kingdom panicked.”

  Ludger’s jaw tightened a little. “So the entire species got blamed for the actions of a few.”

  “Not blamed,” Yvar corrected gently. “Feared. And once fear sets in, doors close. Beastmen stopped traveling. Or rather, stopped being allowed to travel. Most places won’t welcome them now without suspicion.”