Kharnek rubbed the back of his neck, still chuckling. “Didn’t expect me to pull this off, honestly. Guess I proved both of them wrong.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “So now you’re sending your daughter here to work with me?”

Kharnek nodded proudly. “Aye. She needs to learn how the world works beyond the snow as well. Besides, she inherited my good looks and charm — can’t let that go to waste.”

Ludger gave him a long, deadpan stare. “…Good looks and charm, huh?”

Kharnek grinned wider, leaning in. “Don’t even think about laying a hand on her, boy. I’ll bury you under half the north if you do.”

Ludger sighed, unimpressed. “What exactly do you expect a ten-year-old boy like me to do?”

Kharnek snorted, clearly amused by the exasperation. “You’d be surprised what trouble kids your age get into.”

Ludger’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk surfacing. “Right. Poor girl. Inheriting your so-called ‘good looks’ sounds like a curse already.”

Kharnek barked another laugh, loud enough to make nearby soldiers glance their way. “Ha! Careful, kiddo. That tongue of yours is going to get you killed one day.”

“Not today,” Ludger said dryly, turning back toward the new dormitory. “But I’ll make sure to brace myself when she gets here. If she’s anything like you, I’ll probably need armor.”

Kharnek clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. “That’s the spirit!” he said between laughs. “You’ll get along just fine.”

Ludger just sighed again, half-smiling despite himself. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Another thing was added to Ludger’s growing list of worries — Kharnek’s mysterious daughter. He could already picture it: a northern girl with her father’s temper and twice his volume. Just what he needed on top of running recruits, managing shipments, and keeping the alliance stable.

Still, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Once the day’s work wrapped up, he decided to head home. Traveling back and forth between the border town and the northern camp wasn’t a problem for him — in fact, it was good practice. He hadn’t used his Courier job in a while, and he could feel his endurance sharpening again with each sprint across the frozen plains.

The following week fell into a steady rhythm — dawn runs, labyrinth dives, tactical drills, and late-night evaluations. The recruits were starting to settle into their new reality. The shock and hesitation of their first days were fading, replaced by discipline and muscle memory.

Ludger observed everything with that detached focus of his, noting each student’s strengths and flaws:

Derrin’s footwork was steady but too defensive.

Mira’s bow control improved fast, though her mana channeling needed work.

Rhea had heart and aggression, sometimes too much.

Taron and Callen were learning to conserve mana under pressure, finally realizing that panic and spellcasting didn’t mix.

They were rough, but not hopeless.

Every day, Ludger pushed them further — sometimes literally, through snow and ice. Other days, he let them spar against the frost skeletons again, each of them forced to fight solo while he observed from a distance, stepping in only when the situation turned fatal.

It wasn’t gentle training, but it was effective.

By the end of the week, they were visibly stronger — their coordination tighter, their footing firmer, their eyes sharper. The monsters that had once left them trembling now fell in clean, decisive movements.

Their first attempt at a three-skeleton encounter had nearly ended in disaster — one misstep and the fight turned into chaos — but they adapted fast. The next time, they kept their formations tight, rotated aggro, and landed their strikes clean.

When the last frost skeleton shattered into dust and froststeel, Ludger finally nodded from his vantage point near the wall.

“They’re not useless anymore,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

But as he looked at their sweat-soaked, frostbitten faces, he knew this was still just the beginning.

The real test would come soon — the day he wouldn’t step in at all. No healing. No cover.

Just them… and the labyrinth.

Three hours later, the recruits emerged from the labyrinth again — battered, frostbitten, and panting clouds of steam into the frozen air. But this time, there was something different in their eyes. Determination. Cohesion. Confidence.

Ludger stood near the campfire outside the entrance, counting through the froststeel shards they’d gathered, his gloved fingers tapping against the icy glow of each fragment. When he finished, he looked up at them with his usual calm expression.

“Sixty shards,” he said.

That made them all straighten up. Even Taron forgot how cold his hands were for a second.

“Not bad,” Ludger continued, tone even but not cold. “That’s fifty percent more than your last run. You’re improving — fast. You’ve earned some pride.”

The group exchanged quick, tired smiles, some of them punching the air weakly. Rhea grinned so wide her face might’ve cracked if not for the frost covering it.

Ludger crossed his arms. “Now, the next step’s the hard one.”

The smiles froze.

“You’re going to the labyrinth alone next time,” he said, matter-of-fact. “No guidance, no backup, no healing. You’ll fight, fall, and learn what you’re actually capable of without someone watching your back. You’ll find your limits the hard way.”

A few throats tightened. Callen swallowed hard, Mira shifted her weight, and Derrin just stared at the ground, quietly processing what that meant.

But Rhea — Rhea was grinning like she’d been waiting for this.

When Ludger turned to leave, she suddenly stepped forward. “Vice Guildmaster Ludger.”

The title earned a few startled looks from the others — none of them ever said it so formally. Ludger turned back, one brow slightly raised. “...Yes?”

“I want a duel.”

That stopped everyone cold.

Taron actually coughed. “Rhea, are you insane?”

“Did you hit your head in there?” Callen muttered under his breath.

Rhea ignored them, locking eyes with Ludger. “I heard you fight with your fists. So do I. I want to see how far I am from your level.”

For a moment, there was silence. The other recruits looked between them, half in disbelief, half in horror. She’s going to get expelled, they all thought.

But Ludger didn’t get angry. He just looked at her — really looked — and then that faint, dangerous smirk crept across his face.

“You’re bold,” he said, voice calm. “Or stupid. I’ll let you decide which.”

Rhea grinned. “Maybe both.”

Ludger let out a quiet exhale that might’ve been a laugh. “I don’t hit girls…”

She raised a brow.

He continued, dry as ever, “…too hard. Or unless it’s self-defense.”

The recruits all went pale.

Rhea’s grin widened. “I’ll take my chances.”

Ludger rolled his shoulders, the faint hum of mana brushing the air as his armguards tightened against his fists. “Alright then,” he said, stepping into the clearing. “No weapons. You want a fight? You’ll get one.”

He dropped into a stance — feet steady, one hand low, the other raised just enough to deflect or strike.

Rhea followed suit, bracing herself on the icy ground, every muscle tensed.

Ludger gave her one last look — half instructor, half predator. “I get it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You want to test yourself. To see the same type of strength feels like when it hits back.”

He smiled faintly. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can stand.”

And with that, he lunged — not out of malice or pride, but with the same fierce understanding that all true fighters shared: the desire to meet strength head-on.

Ludger didn’t waste time with a dramatic opening. The moment Rhea steadied her stance, he stepped in, smooth and silent, his movements fluid as water.

The first strike came fast — a clean, open-handed palm to the chest. Rhea managed to raise her forearm just in time, blocking it with a sharp grunt.

Then came another. And another.

Thap. Thap. Thap.

Each impact reverberated like hammer blows, even though he wasn’t using his full strength. She could see them coming, she could block them — but every contact sent a shock through her bones that rattled straight down to her spine.

Her grin, so confident a moment ago, flickered and died.

Ludger didn’t slow down. His steps were measured, not rushed, but he was always there — every time she tried to pivot or circle away, he was already in front of her, his footwork cutting her path like a trap closing in.

Rhea gritted her teeth and tried to create distance with a quick backstep, her boots crunching over the snow. Ludger didn’t let her. He pressed forward, closing the gap with frightening precision.

The next palm strike came in from the side, aimed low. She blocked again, both arms raised this time — and instantly regretted it.

The impact wasn’t a strike so much as a shockwave. It sent her sliding backward through the snow, her heels carving twin lines before she lost balance and fell hard onto her back, the breath leaving her lungs in a puff of mist.

She sat up slowly, clicking her tongue in frustration. “Tch… I give up.”

Ludger stopped a few paces away, relaxed but composed. His hands lowered.

Rhea frowned, rubbing her forearms, which were already sore and red from the impacts. “You were going easy on me. Even those palm strikes — they weren’t full hits.”

Ludger shook his head slightly. “No. You’re wrong. Well, not completely.”

Her eyes widened.

He knelt down, scooping a bit of snow between his fingers, letting it melt as he spoke. “Palm strikes are different. You don’t just hit — you push. You channel your force through the point of contact, drive it straight into the opponent’s center of balance. That’s why you couldn’t counter. You were too busy trying to stay upright.”

He stood again, tone even — instructive, not condescending. “My brawling master used to do the same to me. Every time I thought I blocked her, I’d end up on the ground anyway. She told me the same thing I’m telling you: if your balance breaks, it doesn’t matter how strong your guard is.”

Rhea looked down, nodding slowly. The frustration in her face faded into thought.

“So that’s what it was…” she muttered. “You weren’t overpowering me. You were just… breaking my stance.”

Ludger gave a small, approving nod. “Exactly. The body can’t fight when it’s busy trying not to fall.”

He offered her a gloved hand. She hesitated — then took it. His grip was steady but light as he pulled her back to her feet.

“Not bad,” he said with that faint smirk again. “You saw the hits coming. Most people don’t even get that far.”

Rhea managed a tired grin. “Next time, I’ll actually make you move and use your real skills.”

Ludger chuckled under his breath, stepping back. “Then you’d better start training harder. Because next time,  maybe I won’t use my palms.”

Her grin froze. “...You mean—?”

He just smiled, turning toward the recruits who had been watching in stunned silence. And as the others scrambled, Rhea flexed her arms, still feeling the tremors from his strikes — and quietly swore she’d wipe that calm smirk off his face one day.

Ludger crossed his arms, watching them with quiet focus as they left. The frost-bitten wind tugged at his scarf as his breath fogged in the cold.

He didn’t notice Darnell approaching until the man’s voice cut through the noise of training.

“Gotta say, sir,” Darnell began, arms folded, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and approval, “you’re surprisingly good at teaching people.”

Ludger glanced sideways at him. “Surprisingly?”

“Yeah,” Darnell said with a short chuckle. “When I heard you’d be training recruits, I expected the usual — some over-talented prodigy who can’t explain what he does and gets frustrated when others can’t keep up. You’re not like that.”

Ludger raised a brow. “You sure about that? I am arrogant.”

“Arrogant, maybe,” Darnell said with a small grin, “but not in the bad way. You don’t treat them like they’re beneath you. You make them work for it.”

Ludger exhaled a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You can thank my masters for that. Maurien, Gaius, Dad, Selene — they drilled the arrogance out of me fast. Hard to stay proud when someone’s smacking you.”

Darnell snorted. “I can imagine. Still, you’ve got a knack for it. You see things in people. That’s rare.”

Ludger shrugged, his tone dry. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just good at spotting who’s about to break their wrist before it happens.”

Darnell chuckled again, then looked toward the recruits still practicing near the clearing. “They’re improving fast.”

“They are,” Ludger agreed. “Too fast, maybe. That’s why I need you to keep an eye on them when I’m not here.”

The shift in his tone was subtle but serious.

Darnell’s brows lifted. “You think they’ll push themselves too hard?”

“They will,” Ludger said plainly. “Ambition makes people stupid. If they leave the labyrinth looking like they crawled out of a grave, don’t let them back in until they’re fully healed.”

“Understood,” Darnell said immediately.

Ludger’s gaze stayed on the recruits as he continued. “I’m fine with scars, not with corpses. They’ll learn their limits, but not by dying for them.”

Darnell nodded, his respect showing in the faint grin tugging at his lips. “You sound more and more like a commander every day, you know that?”

Ludger didn’t look at him. “I don’t want to sound like one. I just want them alive.”

Darnell’s grin widened a fraction. “Heh. Same thing, in the end.”

Ludger gave a small, thoughtful hum, the kind of sound that said he wouldn’t argue but also wouldn’t admit it.

As Darnell walked off to oversee the recruits, Ludger turned his eyes back toward the horizon — where the faint shimmer of the labyrinth’s entrance glowed like a challenge waiting to be answered.

Alive, he thought. That’s enough for now.

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