After turning it over in his mind for most of the night, Ludger reached a conclusion he didn’t particularly like, but accepted anyway.
He couldn’t keep the three beastn in Lionfang indefinitely if he didn’t have a clear plan for when and how to use their skills.
Idle assets drew attention. And attention, right now, was the last thing he wanted.
The next morning, he sought them out.
They t on near the edge of the guild’s territory, away from the training yards and the more crowded routes. Harkun stood with his arms folded, broad fra relaxed but alert. Ragan leaned against a stone post, tail flicking once in mild irritation. Sivra perched lightly nearby, wings folded, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Ludger didn’t waste ti.
“The plan to check the sealed labyrinths is on hold,” he said plainly.
The reaction was imdiate, but restrained.
Harkun glanced at Ragan. Ragan looked to Sivra. Sivra’s feathers rustled softly as she shifted her weight. They weren’t angry. They were confused.
Given how much Ludger had helped them, this didn’t feel like rejection. It didn’t feel like betrayal. And it certainly didn’t feel like him backing away from cooperation with the Primal Groves.
Which made the silence heavier. Harkun broke it.
“Can you explain?” he asked. His tone was steady, respectful, but direct. “From our side, this doesn’t look like you are changing your mind about being an ally.”
Ludger nodded once.
“It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s about timing.”
He paused, choosing accuracy over comfort.
“The leadership of the Capital changed,” Ludger continued. “Recently. And significantly.”
That got their attention. Harkun’s ears angled forward. Ragan straightened. Sivra’s gaze sharpened, calculating.
“Until that settles,” Ludger went on, “any movent toward the sealed labyrinths will be interpreted as provocation. Not investigation. Not cooperation.”
He t their eyes one by one.
“If we move now, it won’t just affect us,” he said. “It will pull in people who don’t care why we’re there, only that they can justify intervening.”
Silence followed again. This ti, it was thoughtful. They didn’t like it, but they understood it. Ludger exhaled quietly.
“I won’t pretend this is ideal,” he said. “But I won’t ask you to sit here indefinitely without purpose either. When I move, it will be because I can protect everyone involved, including you.”
Harkun studied him for a long mont, then gave a slow nod.
“Then we wait,” he said.
Not agreent. Acceptance. And that, Ludger knew, was the best outco he could ask for, until the world gave him room to move again.
“Is there anything we can do,” he asked, voice low but firm, “to help you speed this up?”
Ragan’s ears flicked back, irritation leaking through his usual restraint. Sivra’s wings shifted slightly, the movent sharp with contained tension.
“We want anyone involved with the kidnappings of the beastn children dealt with,” Harkun continued. “As soon as possible.”
There was no threat in it. No accusation. Just urgency. Ludger didn’t answer right away.
He stood there in silence, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes unfocused as he weighed paths and consequences. Moving too fast on land would draw the Empire’s attention. Pressing the sealed labyrinths now would expose too many angles at once.
But that didn’t an everywhere was locked down.
An idea surfaced, one he’d been circling without fully committing to.
“The land is watched,” Ludger said finally. “The sea isn’t. Not in the sa way.”
All three of them looked at him.
“I have a ship,” Ludger continued. “Taken from pirates.”
Ragan’s posture straightened imdiately.
“With it,” Ludger said, “we can hit ocean labyrinths. Salvage ruins. Intercept pirate operations that never touch official ports.”
He t Harkun’s gaze.
“Resources. Wealth. Leverage. Quiet influence that doesn’t pass through imperial ledgers.”
Sivra tilted her head slightly. “And the children?”
“Power creates pressure,” Ludger replied. “Pressure forces mistakes. People who traffic children don’t stop because they’re asked. They stop because the environnt becos hostile to them. There is a chance that we might find clues with pirates as well.”
He paused.
“The sea lets us do that without pointing a finger at Lionfang.”
Harkun considered this carefully. Then he nodded once.
“We can fight there,” he said. “And it won’t look like a political move.”
“No,” Ludger agreed. “It will look like pirates killing pirates. Or monsters killing careless sailors.”
Ragan bared his teeth in a thin, humorless grin. “I like this plan.”
Ludger didn’t smile back, but there was approval in his eyes.
“This doesn’t replace the sealed labyrinths,” he said. “It buys ti. Influence. Options.”
He looked at them steadily.
“And when it’s ti to move on the people who hurt your children—we’ll have far more reach than we do now.”
The three beastn exchanged glances again. This ti, there was no confusion. Only intent. Harkun turned as if to leave with the others, taking two steps before slowing. Then he stopped.
His shoulders shifted, tension creeping back in, not hostility, but the look of soone who had just realized he’d walked away too early. He turned again, ears angled back slightly, gaze thoughtful.
Ludger noticed.
“You didn’t lose your chance to negotiate,” Ludger said calmly. “Ask.”
Harkun hesitated, then glanced at Ragan and Sivra. They didn’t interrupt. Didn’t push. They simply waited, letting the decision be his.
Finally, Harkun nodded to himself.
“We want one of your bracers,” he said. “Not the kind that shows guild mbership.”
His eyes stayed on Ludger’s. “One with your runic enchantnts.”
That gave Ludger pause.
For a mont, he wondered why.
Was it the enchantnts themselves? The efficiency, the stability, the way they skipped so many of the usual drawbacks?
Or… Was it because Raukor had forged them?
The thought flickered through his mind unbidden, then settled into the background.
Ludger didn’t comnt on it. He simply nodded once.
“What kind of enchantnt?” he asked.
The answer ca quickly.
“Healing,” Sivra said, wings tightening slightly. “Any kind.”
Harkun continued, voice steady. “Beastn are bad at healing magic. Always have been. Our mana doesn’t take to it well.”
Ragan clicked his tongue in irritation. “And our potions are worse. Crude. Inefficient.”
Silence settled between them. Ludger considered it carefully. Healing enchantnts weren’t flashy. They weren’t weapons. They didn’t escalate conflict. They saved lives quietly.
“That’s reasonable,” Ludger said at last.
Harkun exhaled, a controlled release, not relief, but acknowledgnt.
“All right, three bracers,” Ludger continued. “Healing-focused. No insignia. No public ties.”
He t Harkun’s gaze again. “You’ll get it when we’re ready to sail.”
Harkun nodded once, deeply this ti.
“Then we’ll prepare,” he said.
No threats. No bargaining tricks. Just an exchange, clean and understood. As they turned to leave, Ludger watched them go, already thinking through designs, rune density, healing effects.
Healing, he thought.
That choice said more than any demand could have. Ludger headed toward Raukor’s forge, boots crunching against gravel as his thoughts kept moving ahead of his steps.
A ship alone wasn’t enough. Rathen could look after it, maintenance, guarding, making sure no one got clever, but that was where his usefulness ended. Three people couldn’t sail it. Not properly. Not safely. And the Lionsguard didn’t have sailors. Not real ones. A few mbers knew how to handle boats on rivers, but the sea was different. Unforgiving. Demanding.
His first instinct surfaced almost automatically.
Torvares could handle this.
The old lord would know where to find experienced sailors. People discreet enough to ask no questions. Loyal enough to stay quiet. It would be fast. Clean.
Ludger stopped himself before the thought could settle.
No.
He dismissed it outright, irritation flaring briefly at how natural the idea had felt. That was exactly the mistake he wasn’t going to repeat. Borrowed influence always ca with strings, even the ones you didn’t see until they tightened.
He wouldn’t outsource this. Which ant the answer was obvious, even if it wasn’t convenient.
I’ll have to build it.
Just like the healers. Just like the alchemists.
He’d already started separating trainees based on aptitude, steering so toward roles that weren’t about fighting at all. This would be no different. Navigation. Ship handling. Logistics. People trained specifically for mariti work, people whose loyalty was to the guild, not to whoever paid them last.
It would take ti.
They’d have to learn tides, weather, maintenance, combat on unstable ground. They’d fail a lot at first. Probably lose cargo. Maybe worse.
But once they were trained…
They’d be his.
Ludger exhaled slowly as the forge ca into view, sparks dancing against the darkening sky.
Potions. Fields. Ships.
Different projects, sa principle. Decentralize. Train. Make Lionsguard capable in places where others relied on specialists they didn’t control.
He stepped closer to the forge, already reorganizing schedules in his head. If he was going to make the sea another axis of influence, then he couldn’t treat it like borrowed ground.
It would have to beco part of the guild. Just like everything else.
Ludger worked the forge beside Raukor, the rhythm of hamr on tal steady and unhurried. Sparks jumped with each strike, brief flashes of white-orange against the dark interior. As they worked, Ludger explained the situation, why the three beastn were still in Lionfang, what he intended to do at sea, and what he needed the bracers to accomplish.
Raukor listened without looking up.
He grunted once. Then again. Short, noncommittal sounds that nonetheless tracked perfectly with the explanation, like punctuation instead of agreent. As a fellow beastman, he didn’t need the details dressed up. He understood the weight of children taken, of alliances made for protection rather than convenience.
After a while, Raukor stopped hamring.
The sudden silence made the forge feel smaller.
“If you want influence through labyrinths,” he said, voice low and rough, “there is one in the ocean that cos to mind.”
Ludger looked at him.
“Few people can fight inside it,” Raukor continued. “Even beastn rarely go. Danger is high. Terrain is bad. And even when they survive…”
He shrugged one massive shoulder. “We can’t use what cos out of it well.”
That got Ludger’s attention.
“What kind of resources?” he asked.
Raukor didn’t answer imdiately.
He stared at the glowing tal on the anvil for a mont longer, then set the hamr aside. The silence stretched, heavy and strange, as if he were deciding whether the word itself was worth saying.
Finally, he spoke.
“Cotton.”
Ludger frowned.
“…Cotton?”
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