Chapter 718
Ludger walked down from the bridge and onto the wet sand, boots sinking slightly with each step. The tide had just pulled back, leaving the beach slick and dark, scattered with seaweed and broken shells.
The object wasn’t one object. It was boxes.
Three of them, half-buried, shoved up at an angle like the sea had spit them out and the beach hadn’t decided whether to accept them yet. Their corners were scuffed raw. Salt crusted the seams. Rope handles hung limp and waterlogged.
Ludger crouched and dug his fingers into the sand, pulling the nearest one free with a grunt. It was heavier than it looked, dense, like it was packed with stone.
He wiped a smear of sand off the side. And his eyes narrowed. He recognized the markings.
This was one of the same crates he’d recovered before the fight with the giant sea beast, the one he’d pried loose, realized what it contained, and then, during the chaos, thrown back into the ocean to keep it from becoming a liability.
A crate filled with magic marbles. Those unnaturally smooth, mana-dense spheres that didn’t belong in the sea. His stomach tightened.
Ludger stood and looked at the other boxes, then at the waterline as another wave rolled in and kissed the sand, as if the ocean was trying to pretend it hadn’t delivered anything at all.
“How…” he muttered.
Because this wasn’t random drift. It wasn’t “the tide brought it.”
The odds of multiple crates, all containing those marbles, washing ashore right here, right now, right under the bridge where he’d come to think…
It was too clean. Too deliberate. Ludger’s gaze slid out to the horizon. He could almost feel the warden’s presence even when it wasn’t there, like a pressure imprint on the world.
And he could only imagine the giant sea beast circling somewhere below, ancient and watchful, nudging currents with a tail that could swat a giant like a toy.
She wants me to have them.
The realization settled with quiet certainty. Ludger stared down at the crates, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
“Better with me than with anyone else, huh?” he thought.
It fit. The creature hated resource raiding. Hated outsiders ripping other worlds clean. Hated the cycle of greed that turned species into targets.
But it had still given Ludger a class. Still carried them back. Still… interfered. Maybe it trusted him. Not fully. Not blindly. But enough to decide he was the lesser evil.
Enough to decide that if these marbles existed, if they were already loose in the world—then the safest place for them, for now, was in the hands of someone who understood what secrets cost.
Ludger’s eyes hardened. He hooked the rope handle of the first crate and dragged it higher up the beach, away from the tide.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Message received.”
Ludger didn’t stand there admiring the crates. He moved the moment the thought settled.
The beach was too open. Too many eyes. Too many dockhands and sailors wandering the shoreline. One curious glance and suddenly those boxes were a topic. A rumor. A problem that multiplied.
He crouched, pressed his palm into the wet sand, and fed mana into the ground. Earth answered like it always did, silent, obedient, efficient.
A thick shell rose around the crates in segments, packing sand and stone together into a seamless container. No seams. No handles. No markings. Just a dull, irregular boulder that looked like it had always been part of the shoreline. He shaped it from the bottom up, sliding the crates inside as the walls climbed, then sealed the top with a final press of his hand.
The container settled and hardened, dense enough that even a curious mage would need time and intent to pry it open. Ludger smoothed the surface, pressed a few natural-looking cracks into it, and nudged sand over the edges until it blended with the beach like an old, half-buried rock.
Then he stood and stepped back, scanning the area once more. No one had noticed. Good.
Because as useful as those magic marbles were, they were also the kind of resource that attracted the wrong kind of attention. And right now, Ludger had enough fires waiting for him without lighting a new one in the middle of a port.
Still… he wasn’t blind to what they represented. The mission cost was going to be ugly.
Repairing the SS Elaine wasn’t free. Paying the Iron Hand for nonstop labor wasn’t free. Compensation for supplies, damage, and time wasn’t free. And then there was the political cost, messages, smoothing feathers, paying for silence in the right places.
Ludger could afford it. That wasn’t the issue. Money wasn’t a problem for him in the way it was for most people. He didn’t crave coin. He didn’t sit around imagining piles of it.
To Ludger, money wasn’t something you collected to feel safe. Money was a tool. A lever. A way to move obstacles without wasting time and blood.
If buying resources meant his guild trained faster, armed better, survived longer, he bought. If spending coin now saved lives later, then the “cost” was just numbers on paper. He didn’t see wealth as an end. He saw it as momentum.
And leverage, resources you could trade, hide, or deploy when it mattered, was always worth more than a neat stack of coins sitting uselessly in a chest. Ludger looked back at the innocent-looking boulder half-buried near the tide line.
Stolen novel; please report.
This will help, he thought.
Not because he needed to be rich. Because he needed to be ready. Then he turned away from the beach and headed back toward the port, mind already moving on to the next problem that needed solving.
With the marbles sealed and hidden where only he could reach them, Ludger washed the sand off his hands in the surf and headed back into the port with his head down and his mind already on logistics.
The reunion had been emotional. Now came the part that actually mattered: making sure the expedition didn’t collapse into a mess of debts, bruised egos, and future problems.
He found Rathen near the docks, where the SS Elaine sat wrapped in scaffolding. The captain looked like he’d aged a month in a week, salt-stiff coat, tired eyes, posture held together by stubbornness.
Rathen noticed Ludger immediately. His gaze flicked once over Ludger’s face, as if checking that he was still real, then he got straight to it like the professional he was.
“Details,” Rathen said.
“Details,” Ludger agreed.
They walked along the dockside, passing Iron Hand workers hauling planks and tightening braces. Ludger watched the repairs in silence for a moment, then spoke.
“We’re not leaving with a rushed patch job,” he said. “Not if we can avoid it.”
Rathen’s jaw tightened. “It’ll sail with what we’ve done. But I’d rather not test that in open water.”
“We won’t,” Ludger replied.
He kept his voice calm, almost casual, but the decision was already made.
“Soon, some people will come to help fix it properly,” Ludger continued. “Not a desperate hurry. A real repair. Reinforcement work, upgraded ribs, sealing seams that won’t split the next time something big decides to bite the hull.”
Rathen’s eyes narrowed. “From where?”
“From home,” Ludger said. “Lionsguard hands.”
Rathen nodded slowly, accepting it without questioning how Ludger “had people” for everything. At this point, it was just part of the vice guildmaster’s nature, if there was a problem, Ludger produced a solution like it had been waiting in his pocket all along.
“And,” Ludger added, “we’ll pay Iron Hand fairly.”
Rathen looked at him. Ludger’s gaze didn’t waver.
“They worked nonstop for a week,” he said. “While searching. While keeping the ship from rotting in the cradle. While half the port stared at them like we were cursed. They earned it.”
Rathen’s posture eased a fraction, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
“I won’t argue,” he said, voice quieter. “They deserve it.”
“One more thing,” Ludger continued. “Sailors.”
Rathen blinked. “Sailors.”
“I agree to pay for lessons,” Ludger said. “We need more people who can handle a ship without depending on one crew. If we’re going to operate on the coast long-term, I want Lionsguard capable of functioning on deck, not just as passengers with swords.”
Rathen’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to be offended and proud at the same time.
“And you want Iron Hand to teach them,” he said.
“They know the sea,” Ludger replied. “Better to pay for skill than bleed for it later.”
Rathen nodded again, slow, thoughtful.
“I’m fine with that,” he said. “Even if…” He hesitated, then added honestly, “even if I’d be more fine with continuing as the usual captain of the SS Elaine.”
Ludger glanced at him. Rathen’s eyes were steady. No arrogance. No challenge. Just fact.
“I know this ship better than anyone you could throw at it,” Rathen said. “Better than anyone who thinks they could.”
Ludger’s expression stayed flat, but there was approval under it.
“I know,” he said.
Then he added, blunt and final, “And it’s Lionsguard property. You’re not being replaced.”
Rathen exhaled like he’d been holding that worry under his ribs too, even if he hadn’t admitted it.
“All right,” he said, and meant it.
By late afternoon, the mood in the port had shifted again. Repairs continued, but now they weren’t frantic. Now they were purposeful.
The group gathered outside the town, away from dock noise and curious eyes, near the road that led inland. Packs were tightened. Weapons checked. People who’d been running on fumes for a week now moved with the quiet competence of survivors who’d finally gotten a little rest.
Viola stood at the front, posture straighter than yesterday, composure reclaimed. Luna stayed near the edge of the formation as usual, calm and watchful.
Maurien leaned against a post with that patient, predatory stillness, already thinking three steps ahead. Kaela looked like she wanted to say something stupid again, but she kept it behind her teeth, barely.
Ludger looked at all of them, then at the path leading home. He didn’t make it ceremonial. He didn’t announce victory. He simply nodded once, decisive.
“It’s time,” he said.
Then, with the sun at their backs and the sea behind them, Ludger led the Lionsguard away from the port. Back toward Lionfang. Back toward the problems waiting for him like hungry dogs.
Before long, daylight was gone.
Not because the sun set, because the world above stopped mattering.
They were underground again, moving through the tunnels Ludger had carved days, no, weeks, ago for logistics and emergencies, the kind of boring infrastructure that only looked impressive when you realized it meant you could move an entire group without leaving footprints.
The air was cool down here, damp in places, smelling of raw earth and stone dust. Ludger’s lumen wards pulsed along the walls at intervals, soft light painting the tunnel in pale bands so they could walk without torches and without advertising themselves to anything that listened for flame.
Up front, Ludger kept pace with his runic carriage, a compact stone-and-wood construct fitted with embedded runes that did the pushing and pulling without complaint. It rolled forward in steady, grinding silence, and right now it was doing the hard work:
Shoving the large earth container. The sealed vault he’d formed on the beach.
It rode behind of the carriage like a boulder being politely escorted through a hallway, and even with the runic carriage doing the heavy lifting, it made their speed drop a notch. The carriage’s engines had to fight friction and weight, and the whole procession became a slower, heavier march.
Ludger didn’t mind. He’d rather be slow and unseen than fast and dead. Behind him, the group had finally cracked. Not emotionally. Physically.
Kaela had slumped first. Then Viola. Then Luna.
Somewhere along the tunnel, they’d ended up leaning into each other like a messy human wall—shoulder to shoulder, backs pressed together for support, heads tilted at awkward angles.
Kaela’s arms were crossed even in sleep, as if she’d rather die than be caught looking vulnerable. Viola’s chin had dropped to her chest, hair falling forward like a curtain. Luna, annoyingly, still looked composed even unconscious—breathing controlled, posture stable, like she could wake and stab someone in one motion.
It was almost impressive.
Renvar was sleeping too—sitting upright, somehow—head bobbing with the rhythm of each step like a drunk passenger on a cart. He’d wedged himself into the side of the tunnel and committed to it, mouth slightly open.
Only a few remained functional.
Maurien walked with his usual half-awake predator calm, eyes scanning the shadows as if sleep was optional and danger wasn’t. He’d already learned what it meant to work with Ludger: ridiculous missions, impossible pivots, and outcomes that sounded like lies until you saw the corpses.
Shera and Valk, on the other hand, still looked like they were trying to digest reality.