Chapter 729
Harold watched Ludger adjust the strap on the bow like it was the most normal thing in the world, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
“You know,” Harold said, voice carrying just enough bite to be humor, “I’m starting to feel left out.”
Ludger glanced at him. “Why?”
Harold jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “Because I’m the only one here you haven’t tried to learn from my fighting style.”
Selene’s smile immediately turned predatory. Cor’s eyes narrowed like he was already imagining the bruises. Aleia just watched, quiet, but her gaze sharpened in that way it did when something interesting was about to happen.
Ludger didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked mildly thoughtful, like Harold had pointed out a hole in a wall Ludger hadn’t bothered to patch yet.
“This is a good opportunity,” Ludger said. “I have a day off.”
Harold blinked. “A… day off.”
“So I might as well learn how to fight like a warrior like you,” Ludger finished, tone as flat as if he’d said he was going to buy bread.
For a beat, the yard went quiet in the strange way it did when everyone collectively realized they were watching something that didn’t fit any of their expectations. Then Selene tilted her head, smiling like she’d found a new toy.
“Wait,” she said, voice delighted. “So today you’re learning archery from Aleia… and ‘warrior fighting’ from Harold?”
Ludger nodded once.
Cor grunted. “Two styles.”
“Completely different styles,” Selene corrected, almost laughing.
The newer members stared like Ludger had just announced he was learning to swim and forge in the same hour while juggling knives.
Harold’s mouth twitched. “What? You think you can just…”
“I think I can learn,” Ludger said, calmly. “Watch and learn… wait, I have come to learn.”
Everyone looked at him. Not with fear, exactly. With that slow dawning realization that Ludger was… built wrong. A weird creature wearing a boy’s face.
A vice guildmaster who treated combat styles like tools you picked up from a shelf, tested, then either kept or discarded.
Aleia finally spoke, her voice calm but edged with disbelief. “You do realize that switching between styles isn’t just technique.”
Ludger’s eyes flicked to her. “I know.”
Harold stared at him, then barked a short laugh. “You’re insane.”
Ludger’s mouth twitched again, faint and dry.
“Yes, I am,” he agreed.
Selene clasped her hands together in mock excitement. “This is going to be entertaining.”
Cor’s gaze stayed on Ludger, heavy and assessing. “Or educational.”
Harold rolled his shoulders like a man preparing to prove a point the hard way. “Fine,” he said. “After the run, we’ll see how you handle ‘warrior fighting.’”
Ludger nodded once, as if Harold had just agreed to a simple errand.
“Good,” Ludger said. “I’ll bring a notebook.”
That got a laugh from someone, half nervous, half amused. Because the thought of taking notes on getting punched was ridiculous. And the thought that Ludger would actually do it was somehow worse.
They headed to the labyrinth entrance a few kilometers outside the city, far enough that the noise of the branch faded into a distant hum and the world narrowed into wind, boots, and the quiet rhythm of a group moving with purpose.
The road out here wasn’t a road so much as a scar, packed dirt, wagon ruts, and stone markers that warned travelers to turn back without ever needing to say why. Even the birds kept their distance. The air had that faint mineral bite that always clung to places where mana bled through the ground.
The newer members kept glancing at Ludger, like they wanted to ask him about the sea mission.
About the monster. About the rumors.
Everyone had heard something. The branches always heard something. A whisper in a tavern, a half-drunk sailor with wide eyes, a merchant insisting he saw two kids surfing into port like the ocean was a street.
But nobody pushed it. Not yet. They had time to fill on the walk, and the temptation was there, talk about it, dissect it, turn fear into story.
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They kept it light. Random complaints about food. Arguments about whether monster food tasted better roasted or smoked. Selene telling a story that started like a training anecdote and ended with someone getting thrown into a trough.
As the minutes passed, the terrain shifted. Trees thinned. The ground darkened. Stone began to show through the soil in long, slick ribs, like something beneath the earth was pushing up to breathe.
And then the entrance came into view. Conversation died on its own. Because the Reptilians’ labyrinth didn’t look like a heroic gate. It looked like a wound.
The entrance was set into a shallow ravine where the rock had been split open, not cleanly cut. Two slabs of stone leaned inward like broken jaws, their surfaces slick with moisture even on a dry day. A faint green sheen clung to the edges, algae or mana residue, it was hard to tell. It made the stone look wet even when you didn’t touch it.
And the smell… Ludger caught it first. Damp heat. Rotting vegetation. A sharp chemical bite like crushed herbs mixed with old blood. Venom.
The air near the opening was warmer than it should’ve been, a subtle breath rising from below. It carried a faint hiss, not loud enough to be a sound, but present enough to register, like steam sliding through cracks.
The walls around the entrance were carved in spiraling grooves that didn’t match any human design. Not decorative. Not artistic. Functional. They looked like scales.
Layered ridges that caught the light at odd angles, making the opening hard to focus on. The stone itself had a slight iridescence, as if tiny crystals were embedded beneath the surface. When Ludger let his mana sense brush against it, the labyrinth pushed back, cold and reptilian, a presence that felt like something watching from underwater.
Someone had installed a reinforced frame around the mouth of the ravine: iron anchors drilled into rock, chains that could be drawn across the entrance in emergencies, warning boards with bold letters and crude diagrams for those who couldn’t read.
Harold stepped forward, voice firm and practical.
“This isn’t a hero story,” Harold said. “You don’t wander. You don’t chase. You don’t split unless ordered. The reptilians don’t fight fair and the labyrinth doesn’t forgive.”
Cor’s gaze swept the group. “If you get hit, you say it immediately. Venom doesn’t care about pride.”
Selene’s smile faded into something sharper. “And if you see a tail where a tail shouldn’t be, don’t stare. Strike.”
Aleia adjusted her quiver, calm as ever. “Eyes open. Breathe slow. Keep your hands steady.”
Ludger looked at the entrance again, the wet stone, the scale grooves, the faint warm breath rising like the labyrinth itself was exhaling. He didn’t like it. Which meant it was a good place to learn.
And a good place to test whether a bow on his back made people think “archer”… or “mage.” Ludger studied the mouth of the ravine like he was measuring a throat for where to cut.
Then he looked at Harold.
“How do you usually proceed?” Ludger asked. “In the hunt.”
Harold glanced at him, then at the newer members, wide-eyed, tense, trying not to look like they were reconsidering every life choice that led them here.
“The usual?” Harold said. “We keep it simple. We let the new ones get as much experience as possible. They see the patterns, learn the terrain, get used to the smell, the pressure, the way reptilians fight.”
Cor grunted approval. “They don’t grow if you carry them.”
Aleia nodded once. Selene rolled her shoulders like she was already bored of “usual.”
Ludger’s gaze flicked back to the entrance. “And today?”
Harold’s mouth twitched. He looked at Ludger again, then smiled in a way that wasn’t friendly.
“Since you’re here,” Harold said, “we might try something different.”
The newer members stiffened immediately. Someone swallowed hard enough that Ludger heard it.
Selene’s grin returned, sharp and eager. “Oh?”
Harold pointed at the black slit of the labyrinth like it had personally offended him.
“Race,” he said.
Ludger’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Race.”
“Yeah,” Harold continued. “Who reaches the guardian chamber first.”
For a moment, there was only the damp breath of the labyrinth and the quiet creak of leather straps settling as people shifted uneasily.
Aleia looked like she was about to object, then saw Harold’s expression and decided to wait and see what kind of madness he was cooking.
Cor’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a tavern game.”
“It’s not,” Harold agreed. “It’s a drill.”
He jerked his chin at the newer members. “They’ll still get experience. But now it’s structured experience. Pressure. Decision-making under time. Movement with purpose.”
Selene laughed softly. “And panic management.”
Harold ignored her and looked at Ludger. “You wanted to learn. This is learning.”
Ludger stared at him for a beat, then nodded once. A race to the guardian chamber. A perfect excuse to watch how the veterans moved through the reptilian labyrinth when they weren’t babysitting.
Also a perfect excuse to test how people reacted when Ludger didn’t fight like Ludger. His hand brushed the strap of the bow on his back.
“Fine,” Ludger said.
Harold’s grin widened slightly.
“Good,” he replied. “Then listen up.”
He turned to the group, voice snapping into command.
“Same rules as always, don’t die. But now you move like you mean it. We’re not crawling. We’re not sightseeing. We’re pushing.”
He pointed into the darkness.
“First to the guardian chamber wins.”
Selene’s eyes gleamed.
The newer members looked like they’d just been handed a sword and told to sprint into a storm.
Ludger simply stepped toward the entrance, calm and ready.
If Harold wanted a race… Ludger would treat it like a hunt. Cor’s grunt this time came with teeth. He stepped forward, planting his staff into the dirt with a solid thunk that cut through the moment like a gavel.
“No,” Cor said.
Harold’s grin faltered. Selene’s smile turned into a pout of theatrical disappointment.
Cor’s eyes swept the group, especially the newer members, who looked equal parts terrified and excited by the idea of sprinting into a reptilian death maze like it was a festival game.
“We’re not giving them a bad example,” Cor continued, voice rough and final. “They’re green. If they see veterans treating a labyrinth like a race, they’ll copy it. And they’ll die copying it.”
One of the new members visibly swallowed and straightened, as if reminded that “fun” was not the reason they were here.
Cor turned his gaze to Ludger.
“And you,” he said, not unkind but uncompromising, “came to learn. New fighting styles. Not to waste time chasing Harold’s pride through tunnels.”