Five days later, the tunnel finally began to angle upward, subtle at first, then steeper, until the packed stone gave way to looser soil and the faint smell of salt drifted through the air.

  They had crossed nearly half the empire in five days. It would’ve been four…

  if Ludger hadn’t needed to carve the final stretches of tunnel himself.

  He’d known, deep down, that he’d eventually be dragged south for something, pirates, politics, or another mess involving nobles with too much money and too little sense. So he’d left the southern routes unfinished on purpose.

  Now he crouched every now and then to reshape the soil, compress it, reinforce it, and extend the tunnel forward with patient precision. He rebuilt walls, sealed micro-fissures, and flattened the ground beneath the wagon so it wouldn’t jolt them into unconsciousness.

  Finally, finally, the tunnel ceiling thinned, the darkness shifted, and a slit of blinding white light cracked open above them. Ludger tapped the panel. The stone roof parted. And the wagon rolled out into the bright southern sun. Kaela practically launched herself out the front, throwing her arms up as sunlight blasted her face.

  “GODS ABOVE I MISSED THIS!” she shouted, spinning once in the salty breeze. “I was turning into a mole down there!”

  Renvar stumbled out after her, squinting so hard he looked like he was trying to look through a closed window.

  “Is this… what fresh air feels like…?” he wheezed dramatically.

  He bent backward until his spine popped, stretching every limb like he’d been kept in a box. Which, to be fair, he kind of had.

  Meanwhile, Maurien stepped out calmly, boots hitting sand with perfectly measured steps. The crashing surf didn’t distract him. The gulls circling above didn’t faze him. Even the sudden brightness did nothing to his demeanor.

  He simply narrowed his eyes at the horizon, cold, focused, already tracking threats that no one else could see. He didn’t stretch. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t react. He was already in hunt mode.

  Kaela exhaled loudly and plopped down on a driftwood log. “I swear, if you make us go back underground for the return trip, I’m ripping your hair out.”

  Renvar nodded fervently. “Seconded. I think my back turned into a right angle.”

  “You guys will return running them, more peace for the guild.”

  Ludger hopped onto a patch of stone he’d raised beneath his feet and scanned the coast, deep blue ocean stretching forever, small fishing town nearby, dock posts jutting like broken ribs, and somewhere east… The docks where Ironhand had been ambushed.

  “We’re here,” Ludger said simply.

  Maurien didn’t turn his head. “Then let us begin.”

  Kaela cracked her knuckles. “Good. I’ve been waiting to stab something that isn’t a tunnel wall.”

  Renvar swallowed hard, but forced himself to stand straight. “Pirates… Right. I’m ready. Probably.”

  Ludger took a slow breath of salty air, letting the reality settle. They had made it to the southern coast. The sea stretched before them. And somewhere out there… Enemies waited. International. Coordinated. Armed. The kind that could sink Ironhand ships.

  The kind that would test all of them, Kaela’s ferocity, Renvar’s wind magic, Maurien’s lethal precision, and Ludger’s growing arsenal of magic and strategy.

  “Let’s go,” Ludger said, stepping forward.

  The hunt was about to begin.

  The group followed the dirt road down the coastline until the familiar silhouette of stone and steel rose into view, the bridge Ludger and Gaius had built, stretching from the mainland out toward the scattered archipelago like a colossal spine made of granite.

  From a distance, the port looked unchanged. The same piers. The same workshops. The same dry docks with half-finished hulls. The same runic cranes and steel frames jutting toward the sky. But as they got closer, Ludger felt it immediately. Morale was low .

  The people moved differently, like the air itself had weight. Fishermen dragged their nets with slow, tired motions. Engineers welded with less precision, their shoulders sagging. Dock workers pushed crates without speaking, eyes dim and unfocused.

  Even the guild members, usually loud, confident, and half-covered in soot, walked like men who’d been sleeping too little and thinking too much. The past months had worn them down. Being attacked at sea. Losing crewmembers. Losing ships. Watching their guild’s reputation crack under pressure.

  The Ironhand Syndicate looked like a machine running on fumes. As Ludger’s wagon rolled past the main harbor, people began whispering.

  Not loudly, too drained for that. But the moment they saw the emblem carved into the wagon’s paneling, the lion’s fang crest, their expressions shifted. Hope. Curiosity. Caution. Relief mixed with disbelief.

  “Is that—?”

  “Lionsguard…?”

  “But why here?”

  “Did Torvares send them?”

  “That boy… is that really him?”

  Ludger ignored the murmurs completely and kept guiding the wagon forward. He wasn’t here for attention or praise. He was here to solve a problem. And the fastest way to do that was to talk to Rathen.

  The Ironhand Guild Hall sat near the harbor, its massive reinforced doors etched with runic circuits and metal sheets layered like armor plating. A giant metallic hammer emblem hung above the entryway.

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  As the wagon pulled to a stop in front of it, the doors slammed open. A broad-shouldered man with gray streaks in his hair strode out with the urgency of a man who’d been pacing inside for the past hour. Rathen, guildmaster himself.

  He didn’t wait for pleasantries. He didn’t hide his exhaustion. He didn’t even pretend to be calm. The moment he saw Ludger step off the wagon, a deep breath left his chest, as if he had finally allowed himself to exhale after weeks of tension.

  “You made it,” Rathen said.

  His voice was rough. His eyes sharp. His posture tense but grateful. Ludger didn’t bother with small talk.

  “We’re here,” he said simply. “Tell me everything.”

  Rathen didn’t waste time.

  “Come inside,” he said, voice low but firm. “We’ll talk in my office. Not here.”

  Ludger nodded. Kaela and Maurien followed without a word. Renvar hesitated—half nervous, half trying to stand taller and look “professional” but eventually shuffled in behind them.

  Rathen cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward the engineers working outside. His jaw tightened. He wasn’t just tired, he was holding the entire guild together by pure will.

  Ludger recognized that look. If Rathen spoke openly out here, if he spelled out how bad things really were, morale would crater. And once morale collapsed? There was no recovering from that spiral, not at sea, not in war, not in any guild built on courage and risk. So he kept his mouth shut until they slipped past the main hall, down the reinforced corridor, and through the heavy metal door that sealed off his office.

  The moment it shut behind them, Rathen’s entire posture sagged. He dropped into his chair like a man who’d been holding up a collapsing wall.

  “By the gods…” he exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think I’d ever be happy to see you guys again. You have no idea how close we are to a full shutdown.”

  Kaela leaned against a wall, arms crossed. Maurien remained silent, posture razor-sharp. Renvar… tried to sit naturally, failed, then awkwardly stood again.

  Rathen eventually looked up, eyes flicking over the group one by one.

  “Ludger, I’m glad you came,” he said. “And I see you brought help.”

  He pointed with a tired hand.

  “That one I know.”

  His gaze landed on Maurien. “Maurien ‘Lone Terror’. Your reputation reached even us out here. I’m grateful you came.”

  Maurien inclined his head silently.

  Rathen shifted to Kaela. “And you… I’ve heard rumors. Something about a storm witch who guts smugglers in the dark?”

  Kaela grinned. “Exaggerations. I usually get them before sunset.”

  Rathen gave a weak, appreciative laugh, the kind born from exhaustion. Then he looked at Renvar.

  “And… this one?”

  Renvar tried to look heroic. It lasted three seconds.

  “I’m Renvar! Wind mage! Acrobatic fighter! Future Lionsguard elite—”

  Ludger flicked his forehead. Hard. Renvar yelped.

  “He’s new,” Ludger said flatly. “This is a test. He will probably fail and sink on the ocean.”

  Rathen blinked, then nodded slowly. “A test… Huh. Well, if he survives the sea, he might actually have a chance.”

  Finally, Rathen locked eyes with Ludger again, tired, serious, and edged with the desperation of a man who’d already fought harder than he ever wanted to.

  “Alright,” he said. “Now that we’re all here, I’ll tell you everything.”

  Rathen leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk as if the wood was the only thing keeping him upright. His voice dropped into the flat, worn-out cadence of a man who’d told the same story too many times but still had to force the words out.

  “We’ve been fighting pirates for the better part of six months,” he began. “At first, they were nothing we couldn’t handle, small crews, low discipline, scavenged weapons, the usual scum you shoo away with a warning shot or two.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “But then… things changed.”

  Ludger stayed silent. Maurien’s eyes sharpened. Kaela’s posture straightened. Renvar swallowed hard. Rathen continued.

  “About four months in, they started coming in greater numbers. They got reinforcements, ships, men, supplies. They stopped taking lone fishermen or small transports and started hitting our main routes. And they came prepared, like they knew exactly when and where to attack.”

  Maurien spoke first, voice quiet but razor-edged.

  “What kind of gear?”

  Rathen let out a miserable sigh, one that said he wished the answer was different.

  “Enchanted and runic gear.”

  The room fell utterly still. He raised one finger, then another, listing off the threats one by one.

  “Runic cannons, big ones, that fire fireballs large enough to melt the deck off a ship. Reinforced hulls using mana-inlaid plates. Ships powered by external mana cores to boost speed. Shields. Dense ones. Enough to withstand our cannons.”

  Maurien’s eyes narrowed further. Kaela clenched her jaw. Renvar looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Ludger’s face didn’t move. But his silence was heavy. Rathen leaned back, eyes drifting toward the window as if remembering several ugly scenes.

  “They weren’t supposed to be this organized. Or this well-equipped. Whoever’s backing them… they’re dumping money into this operation.”

  Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you mention any of this during Viola’s birthday party?”

  Rathen winced.

  “Because, at the time, we still thought we had things under control. We were patching holes faster than they could make them. And…” He hesitated before admitting, “that wasn’t the right time. You all had enough going on with nobles, politics, alliances… and I didn’t want to drag Torvares or the Lionsguard into another mess unless it became unavoidable.”

  His hands balled into fists.

  “It’s unavoidable now.”

  Ludger nodded once. The logic was sound. Rathen wasn’t the type to cry for help until the water was already up to his neck.

  Rathen took a deep breath, voice softening with something darker, grief, maybe.

  “And things only got worse last month.”

  “What happened?” Ludger asked.

  Rathen’s jaw tightened.

  “Lucius withdrew.”

  Ludger blinked. “He… what?”

  Rathen nodded slowly.

  “He stopped working like before. Stopped assisting with our jobs. Paused all his collaborative work. He sent a letter telling us he wouldn’t be returning for a while.”

  Kaela frowned. “Why?”

  Rathen’s voice dropped even lower.

  “Lucius’s father passed away.”

  Silence shattered across the room. Maurien’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him seemed to sharpen. Renvar looked stunned. Kaela muttered something under her breath.

  Ludger stiffened, remembering Lucius, calm, precise, brilliant. A young man who moved through the world like someone raised with both discipline and expectations.

  A man who, despite his age, carried the weight of his family’s reputation. Rathen continued quietly.

  “... Surviving after over year unconscious thanks to some poison was almost…”

  Ludger’s eyes narrowed.

  “So that’s the situation.”

  Rathen nodded, shoulders slumping.

  “We’re running out of ships. Running out of men. Running out of morale.”

  His gaze locked onto Ludger’s.

  “And that’s why I need you.”