Kharnek’s grin faded slowly as Ludger’s words hung in the frozen air. The wind whistled low between the new buildings, carrying the distant crackle of fire and the muffled chatter of his people settling in for the night.

The northern commander crossed his arms, his heavy brows drawing together in thought. “You talk like a man who’s already looking beyond this place,” he rumbled. “Building the city, reaching the border, expanding south. Ambitious… maybe too much.”

Ludger tilted his head, half-expecting another sarcastic comment or a laugh. Instead, Kharnek’s expression stayed serious — the kind of serious that made even the snow seem to fall quieter.

“You know,” Kharnek continued, “if you came with us into the labyrinth, things would move twice as fast. Maybe three times.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re a healer — a real one. Not a shaman who burns herbs and prays to spirits. You saved more lives after the battle than any of my people could’ve hoped for. A man like you in our war bands could keep dozens alive where they’d normally freeze or bleed to death.”

Ludger exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “You’re not wrong. But I’m guessing that’s not what you want right now.”

Kharnek grunted in agreement. “No. Not yet.”

He turned, staring out toward the distant, snow-covered mouth of the labyrinth. Even from here, it loomed against the horizon — a black wound in the white land, faint blue mist seeping from its depths.

“The labyrinth’s full of riches and monsters, but neither of those matter if my people can’t survive outside it first,” he said. “We’ve fought too many winters with empty bellies. Lost too many children to the cold, not the blade.” His voice grew heavier, quieter. “If I throw men into the labyrinth now, it’ll just drain us again. What we need first is something solid — food, homes, forges. A reason to live before we fight.”

Ludger looked up at him, expression unreadable. “…So you’re saying you’re not planning to raid the labyrinth anytime soon.”

“Not until the people can stand on their own two feet again,” Kharnek replied. “Once they can eat and sleep without fear, then we can talk about exploring. Until then, I need them to believe this alliance wasn’t a mistake.”

He turned his gaze back toward Ludger, the faintest glimmer of respect hiding beneath the sternness in his eyes. “You’re doing more for that belief than any treaty ever could. When they see you shaping the earth for them, they start to think maybe this peace isn’t a lie.”

Ludger snorted faintly. “So I’m the propaganda tool now.”

Kharnek smirked. “Call it what you like. I call it progress.”

The two stood in silence for a moment, the wind kicking snow around their boots. The faint hum of the labyrinth in the distance made the air feel heavier — like something was always waiting just beyond sight.

Finally, Ludger spoke, his voice even. “Alright. First, we build. Then we delve. Just don’t expect me doing this forever. I have my own goals too, and I am not the only who has to compromise.”

Kharnek nodded once, firm. “Aye. One step at a time. The north wasn’t broken in a day — and it won’t be rebuilt in one either.”

Ludger looked at the sky, pale and cloud-streaked, then at the half-formed town below. “Guess I’d better make those steps count, then.”

Kharnek gave a grunt of approval. “Do that. And when the time comes to face what’s inside that labyrinth…” — his lips curved into a grim smile — “I’ll be the one fighting beside you.”

Three days later, Ludger had reached his limit.

The cold gnawed at him like a living thing — creeping into his gloves, his boots, even the layers of fabric that barely kept the chill at bay. No matter how many buildings he put up, no matter how many fires burned in the camp, the north always found a way to remind him who was really in charge.

By now, the main shelters were finished — large enough to house everyone still lingering near the labyrinth. Ten long, sturdy halls stood against the wind. He should’ve been proud. Instead, he was tired — tired of snow, tired of numb fingers, tired of seeing his breath in front of his face every time he exhaled.

So when he found himself standing outside the last finished building, mana flickering weakly at his fingertips, a thought crossed his mind: If I’m freezing to death out here, everyone else must be worse off.

He glanced around. Most of the northerners were already inside, bedding down early to escape the cold. Only the guards near the labyrinth’s entrance and a few restless souls by the fires remained awake. It was quiet — perfect for working.

He rolled his shoulders and muttered to himself, “Alright. Let’s make something useful for once. For me.”

His original idea was selfish — a warm place to sit for ten damn minutes without feeling his bones turn to ice. He could’ve just made a small private bath, something to take the edge off between construction runs. But as he flexed his hands and felt the ache in his joints, he remembered how many of the northerners had been limping, wincing, or holding their arms stiffly while working. The cold was eating them alive.

A simple hot bath for himself wouldn’t fix that.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Guess I’ll make it for everyone. Their death stares over the last few days truly melted my frozen heart and made it grow three times too.”

He planted his hands on the ground and let his mana flow outward. The earth rumbled under the snow, vibrating faintly as the ice and frost peeled back in a slow ring around him. The soil beneath steamed faintly as he manipulated it, hollowing out a basin that deepened with every passing second.

Once it was the size of a small pond, he hardened the edges with layered stone and shaped it into a series of connected pools — one large central bath and several smaller ones branching off like petals. It wasn’t elegant, but it would last.

Once the basic frame of the bathhouse stood firm — thick stone walls shaped to hold heat and deflect the wind — Ludger took a few steps back and studied his work under the pale northern moonlight. The place wasn’t fancy, but it had the essentials: a roof, carved channels for steam, and enough space for a dozen people to sit and thaw without freezing to death the moment they stepped out.

He sealed most of it up, leaving only the main entrance and a few narrow vents near the top so the steam could escape instead of turning the place into a pressure bomb. The ground rumbled faintly beneath his boots as he hollowed out compartments beneath the empty pools — fire chambers where he could stack wood for direct heating.

“Alright… let’s see if this works.”

With a snap of his fingers, [Create Water] triggered, and water surged upward in a clear sheet, spilling into the pools until they shimmered like mirrors.

Ludger turned toward a pile of old, splintered tent frames stacked nearby — leftovers from when the northerners had moved into the proper shelters. He smirked. “Well… better use than rotting out here.”

He carried the wood in armfuls and tossed it into one of the hollow fire chambers beneath the largest pool. Then he knelt, extended a finger, [Tinder].

A spark hissed to life, catching on the dry wood. Within moments, orange light flickered beneath the stone, licking up the air vents and casting long, dancing shadows across the bathhouse.

The water above trembled — then began to ripple as warmth spread through the rock.

A hiss filled the air. Steam curled upward in thick white tendrils, swirling toward the vents. The entire chamber took on a hazy, dreamlike glow, the chill in the air steadily pushed back by rising heat.

Ludger wiped the sweat already forming on his brow and chuckled softly to himself. “Perfect.”

Without hesitation, he stripped off his coat, boots, and shirt, tossing them into a neat pile on a nearby bench of stone. The air outside still bit like knives, but here — inside his creation — it was blissfully warm.

He lowered himself into the pool with a low groan that quickly turned into a sigh. The water wasn’t just warm; it was alive with heat, seeping into his sore muscles and thawing the exhaustion out of his bones.

For the first time in days, his mind stopped spinning with plans, blueprints, and worries about alliances or cities. He leaned back against the smooth stone edge, closing his eyes as steam drifted around him.

“Now all I need,” he muttered, lips curling into a lazy grin, “is a coke.”

The words echoed softly in the steamy air, half amusement, half wistful memory.

If anyone walked in on him now — the boy architect of the empire’s northern alliance, half-naked in a self-made bathhouse, mumbling about soda — they’d probably question his sanity.

But Ludger didn’t care. For the first time since he’d arrived in this frozen wasteland, the world actually felt warm again.

Ludger had just started to relax — eyes half-closed, mind blank for once — when the peace shattered.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Heavy footsteps shook the earth outside, each one too deliberate to be wind or passing patrols. Ludger’s brow twitched. “No way,” he muttered.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and the cold night air rushed in. Through the mist, a massive silhouette filled the entrance — broad, fur-clad, and way too tall for any normal doorway.

Kharnek ducked his head under the frame, steam swirling around his scarred shoulders as his voice rumbled like distant thunder.

“What in the frozen hell is this?”

Ludger sank a little deeper into the water until it reached his chin, exhaling in defeat. “A miracle of modern civilization,” he deadpanned. “It’s called a bathhouse. You know — hygiene, warmth, peace? Things that usually don’t involve shouting.”

Kharnek blinked at the place, genuinely impressed. The fog, the heat, the carved stone basins glowing faintly from the fire beneath — it was all a marvel to someone who’d spent his life in tents and frost.

“Hah! You made fire under the water?” he said, grinning like a kid discovering magic. “By the gods, that’s clever.”

Ludger rubbed his temples. “Yeah, great. Just— stay there. Don’t—”

Too late.

Kharnek let out a booming laugh, shrugged off his fur cloak, and began to strip down without a hint of shame. Armor, boots, and belt hit the floor with enough weight to make the structure groan. Ludger’s eyes went wide as he realized what was happening.

“No. No, no, no, don’t you—”

Kharnek took three heavy strides and cannonballed into the nearest pool.

The impact was like an explosion.

A wall of hot water erupted, splashing across the entire room and nearly knocking Ludger out of his own bath. Steam surged up in thick waves as half the water poured over the stone edge and hissed onto the fire channels below.

When it finally settled, Kharnek surfaced, laughing so hard the walls trembled. “Hah! This is glorious! You should’ve told me sooner!”

Meanwhile, Ludger was frozen stiff — and not from the cold. His expression was blank, his soul visibly leaving his body as he muttered under his breath,

“I’m going to bleach my eyes. I swear I’m going to bleach my eyes.”

The northern commander, completely oblivious, leaned back in his pool, looking more relaxed than he had in months. “You imperials might be soft, boy, but you sure know comfort!”

“Yeah,” Ludger said flatly, staring at the ceiling as if praying for divine mercy. “Comfort. That’s what this is.”

The worst part was that Kharnek wasn’t wrong — the man looked way too comfortable. And now that the door was open and steam was spilling out into the night, more voices could be heard outside — curious northerners wondering what all the laughter was about.

Ludger groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. Just great. I’ve invented the world’s first public bathhouse, and now I’ll never be able to use it again.”

Kharnek leaned back in the steaming pool, his deep laughter finally dying down to a low rumble that echoed off the stone walls. The steam clung to his hair and beard, making him look like a mountain spirit rising from a hot spring. Ludger, meanwhile, had migrated to the farthest possible corner of his own pool, glaring at the water like it owed him an apology.

After a long silence — broken only by the sound of dripping steam — Kharnek tilted his head toward him.

“So, boy,” he said, voice rough but curious, “what are you going to do next?”

Ludger didn’t even look up. “Find a spell to erase traumatic memories.”

Kharnek blinked. “What?”

“Never mind,” Ludger said quickly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just say I’ve seen some things I didn’t need to see and leave it at that.”

Kharnek frowned, completely lost, but shrugged. “You imperials talk strange.”

Ludger sighed and finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone edge of the pool. “Anyway,” he said, trying to change the subject, “I’m going to work on cultivating the fields near the border now. If I don’t do it soon, more of your giant men will show up asking for houses, and I’ll never get a break.”

That got a booming laugh out of Kharnek. “Hah! You think more will come?” He smirked. “Once word spreads that a boy can raise houses from the earth and heat water from stone, they’ll come running like wolves to a fresh kill.”

“Yeah,” Ludger muttered, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Kharnek raised an eyebrow. “So how do you plan to make this land grow? It’s frozen solid, boy. Even a shaman can’t pull a sprout out of this ice.”

Ludger looked at the surface of the water for a moment, then let out a quiet breath. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “I’ve shaped houses and raised walls, but turning poor land into good soil... that’s new. Still, if Aronia thinks I can do it, then I’ll try.”

Kharnek’s expression softened a little. “That healer woman? The one with the calm eyes?”

“Yeah. She said the land responds to will, not just mana. So maybe it’s just about... pushing the earth to remember what warmth feels like.”

Kharnek grunted thoughtfully, his huge hands resting on the pool’s edge. “Hmph. If anyone can force the land to remember, it’s you.”

“Let’s hope so,” Ludger said, dragging a wet hand through his hair. “Otherwise, we’ll be eating snow soup until next year.”

Kharnek chuckled again, loud and proud. “Then I’ll bring the ale. You bring the magic.”

“Deal,” Ludger muttered, smirking faintly. “But next time, you’re building the damn bathhouse.”

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