The group was still reeling. Ludger had conjured water out of thin air, nailed the spell in one shot, and even triggered a whole new job in the process. Callen was still staring at his sleeves like the laws of magic had personally betrayed him.

Then, before anyone could say another word, Ludger swung one leg over his horse and jumped down. The motion was smooth but weary—like someone running on pure instinct. He pressed a hand to the ground, and the earth trembled lightly. In seconds, stone rose from the dirt and shaped itself into a solid, boxy cart, complete with short walls and crude wheels.

“Uh…” Rhea blinked. “Is he… building another house?”

Freyra tilted her head. “No, smaller. Like a coffin on wheels.”

Ludger ignored both comments. He guided his horse closer, untied the saddle straps, and fastened them to the front of the new cart with practiced efficiency. Then, without ceremony, he climbed inside, lay down flat on his back, and shut his eyes.

The recruits stared.

“…Is this his way of saying we should keep moving?” Taron asked.

Mira shrugged. “He didn’t say stop.”

Freyra’s grin twitched wider. “Guess we’re the drivers now. The pipsqueak finally ran out of fuel.”

Rhea glanced toward the cart, where only the top of Ludger’s scarf was visible. “He’s really out?”

“Pretty sure,” Callen said. “Maybe not mana exhaustion, but sleep deprivation, divine stubbornness—all caught up.”

They looked at one another, then at the faintly snoring vice guildmaster lying in his self-made cart, and for the first time in days, everyone laughed—quietly, but sincerely.

“Hardworking and insane to a fault,” Rhea muttered, shaking her head.

Still, they mounted up and started moving again, leading the cart along the road toward the mountains. Ludger didn’t stir once.

It was the clearest message he could’ve given: Keep going. I’ll catch up when I wake.

Ludger woke with a jolt, the cart wheels still turning under him. Two hours of sleep—that was all he’d allowed himself. His limbs were still heavy, mind dulled, but the quiet guilt of letting the recruits lead alone tugged him upright. He rubbed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and swung himself out of the stone cart before anyone could stop him.

“Vice Guildmaster?” Derrin called, guiding his horse closer. “Everything’s fine. You could’ve rested longer—roads are clear.”

“I know,” Ludger muttered, already climbing back into the saddle. “But I can’t let a pack of kids lead the expedition while I nap.”

“Aren’t you the youngest kid here?” Freyra asked.

He pulled out Yvar’s map and gave it a quick glance. The terrain around them hadn’t changed much—rolling hills, sparse trees, the mountains still distant but larger on the horizon. A single glance was enough for him to orient himself.

“We can go another two hours before stopping for lunch,” he said, folding the parchment and tucking it away.

The group nodded, relieved to have him awake again, though Rhea whispered to Taron, “Pretty sure he’s still half asleep.”

Callen rode up beside him, his expression equal parts awe and curiosity. “Hey, Captain… can I ask something?”

“If I say no, you’ll ask anyway,” Ludger said.

“Fair.” Callen leaned forward slightly. “How did you pick up that spell? I mean, I tried to teach you something basic, and instead you just… learned my first offensive spell. Instantly.”

Ludger adjusted his scarf, thinking for a moment before answering. “Because you weren’t wrong. You just didn’t explain it the way I needed.”

Callen blinked. “Meaning?”

He turned the reins idly in his fingers, eyes on the horizon. “At first, I thought water magic was just manipulation and creation—force and form. But when you mentioned your master’s title, Rain Sorcerer, something clicked. Rain isn’t just water being moved. It’s every part of the cycle. Vapor condensing, droplets forming, freezing into snow, melting again.”

He gestured lazily toward the sky. “You don’t control water by brute force. You understand it—how it moves, how it changes. It’s alive in its own way. The moment I thought of it like that, it responded.”

Callen stared, stunned. “You mean you figured that out while half-dead from exhaustion?”

“Apparently, yes.”

Rhea chuckled from the back. “Of course he did. He probably dreams in elemental theory.”

“Would explain a lot,” Freyra added, smirking. “Maybe that’s why he’s always so moody—his brain never shuts up.”

Ludger didn’t answer. He just gave a faint, tired grin and kept his eyes on the road ahead.

In truth, he was still exhausted. His body ached, his mind buzzed with the quiet hum of residual mana from the night before, but the explanation had been worth the effort. The logic of water, its transitions and fluidity, felt right now—an echo of how he worked with earth, but softer, subtler, alive.

The others chatted quietly behind him, but Ludger’s thoughts drifted again, this time not to fatigue or hunger, but to what he could do with this new understanding. Earth for shaping the world. Water for adapting to it.

Maybe, he thought, that balance was worth losing a little sleep over.

When night fell, the group made camp at the base of a ridge, where the trees grew close enough to break the wind. The recruits moved with the comfortable rhythm of routine—unpacking gear, starting the fire, tending to the horses. Ludger, for once, didn’t micromanage any of it.

He sat down beside the flames, scarf still on, and said flatly, “I’m taking a nap. Try not to burn anything or each other.”

That earned a few surprised looks.

“Wait—you’re sleeping first?” Rhea asked.

“Vice Guildmaster’s orders,” Ludger muttered, already closing his eyes. “Don’t question authority.”

Even Freyra looked amused. “Finally realized you’re human, huh?”

“Temporarily,” he replied, voice already fading.

To everyone’s surprise, he actually fell asleep almost immediately. The steady rhythm of his breathing blended with the crackling fire. The recruits exchanged uncertain glances but carried on with their tasks. Freyra, perhaps inspired by the rare sight of him resting, volunteered to keep watch. “If anything shows up, I’ll handle it,” she said proudly.

But rest didn’t last long.

Less than an hour later, Ludger’s eyes opened again. The quiet hum of conversation, the sound of weapons being cleaned, and the faint off-beat rhythm of Freyra’s humming by the perimeter all grated at his half-awake instincts. His stomach told him he’d slept enough; his nerves told him he’d slept too long.

He stood, brushing dirt from his coat. “All right. Move over.”

Freyra looked back from her watch post. “You just woke up.”

“That’s what makes me qualified to stay awake now,” Ludger said dryly.

He began making rounds, checking the area with Seismic Sense, subtle waves of mana brushing through the soil. Everything was still quiet. Satisfied, he redirected his focus to something more productive: training.

The recruits had been quietly trying to refine their Overdrive ever since their last session, and Ludger decided to push them a little further tonight.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Those of you still awake—let’s see if you remember how to make your mana burn without passing out.”

There was an almost collective groan, but they gathered nonetheless.

Rhea was the first to step forward, rolling her shoulders and bracing her stance. The air around her shimmered faintly as she focused, veins in her arms tensing with effort. Then—there it was: a faint pulse of golden glow flickering under her skin, steady and bright.

Ludger’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Good. You’re catching on faster than before.”

She exhaled hard, sweat beading along her temple. “Guess it helps that I fight with my body more than my brain.”

“Exactly,” Ludger said. “You understand how to push muscles without breaking them. Mana works the same way. It’s still part of you—don’t try to control it like a tool. Sync with it like it’s a limb.”

She grinned faintly. “You really don’t sleep, huh, Captain?”

“Enough when I don’t have to worry about too many people.,” he admitted.

Rhea laughed, but her focus didn’t waver. The faint light in her hands grew more stable, the rhythm of her breathing syncing with the flicker of mana. Ludger watched quietly, satisfied.

Maybe she’d been right earlier—his problem wasn’t that he didn’t rest. It was that he didn’t know how.

Still, as long as they were improving, he could live with that.

Ludger stood with his arms crossed, watching as Rhea’s Overdrive flicker steadied into a faint, rhythmic glow beneath her skin. The others were trying too—some with decent control, some looking like they were about to pull something.

“Not bad,” he said, scanning the group. “But you’re all still thinking too much. You’re trying to command your mana instead of giving it something to push against.”

He motioned toward the open patch of ground near the fire. “All right. Everyone—handstands.”

There was a collective pause, followed by several incredulous stares.

“Excuse me?” Mira asked flatly.

“Handstands,” Ludger repeated, deadpan. “You heard me. If you want better control, start by focusing mana into your arms. Balancing your body forces precision. You’ll burn mana faster and more efficiently trying not to fall on your faces. You will think less and focus more as well.”

Rhea grinned immediately. “Oh, I’m in.”

Taron looked less certain. “Is this… really part of the technique?”

“It is now,” Ludger said.

Before anyone could protest, he dropped to the ground and kicked up into a handstand with the casual precision of someone who clearly had no right being that steady after several sleepless nights. His coat hung loose around him, scarf brushing the dirt.

“See?” he said, voice completely calm. “Simple. Now focus mana into your arms. You’ll feel the burn faster. Taron, Callen, you’ll have an easier time channeling since you’re used to keeping your mana flow steady. Derrin, Mira, you’ll be forced to use it to stay upright. Either way, you’ll learn something.”

The recruits exchanged glances, muttered a few words, and began trying.

Rhea and Derrin kicked up almost immediately, though Derrin overbalanced and crashed down with a solid thud. Mira tried next, lasting two seconds before laughing and collapsing onto her back.

Taron and Callen, were a different story. They weren’t used to using their bodies like this. Their first attempts ended with them toppling over in opposite directions, Callen muttering something about “unnecessary physical labor.”

But Ludger didn’t let them off easy. “Again. Stop relying on finesse. You can’t cast if you can’t stabilize.”

So they tried again. And again. Eventually, their arms began to tremble—not just from effort, but from the mana flow they were starting to feel instead of merely direct.

Taron’s fingers glowed faintly as his palms pressed into the ground. Callen’s aura shimmered faint blue up to his elbows, droplets of sweat running down his face.

Rhea laughed upside down. “Hey, they’re getting it!”

“Barely,” Ludger said, though there was a hint of approval in his tone. “Hold it for another thirty seconds, then release the mana slowly. If you crash now, you’ll bruise your pride more than your body.”

Despite the exhaustion and awkwardness, something clicked for them all. The instability of the handstand forced focus—every twitch of muscle demanded mana to compensate, every shift of balance became a lesson in control.

When they finally dropped back onto their feet, panting, Ludger gave a short nod. “Good. That’s the point. You’re not just channeling mana—you’re syncing with it. You need to feel what it’s doing, not just push it around.”

Callen shook out his arms, wincing but grinning. “This is insane, but… that actually worked.”

“Most good ideas sound insane first,” Ludger said, brushing dust from his sleeves. “Now drink water and don’t pass out. We’ll keep refining that tomorrow.”

Rhea groaned. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Of course. It’s the only time I get to watch all of you fall over without getting blamed for it. Besides, you will be able to work more and cause less trouble, it is stress management for the future me.”

Their laughter rippled through the camp, light and tired, but real. For a brief moment, even in the flicker of cold mountain firelight, the training didn’t feel like work—it felt like progress.

Ludger was sitting near the fire again, the night deep and still around them. The recruits were recovering from their last round of training, sipping water or nursing sore arms. Taron, still rubbing the lingering ache from his hands, sat cross-legged in front of him.

“All right,” Ludger said, leaning forward. “You’ve been patient. Let’s trade. Show me the basics of rune construction—mana flow first, theory later.”

Taron’s eyes brightened a little. “Finally. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I don’t forget. I just reprioritize,” Ludger replied dryly, reaching for a stick to start sketching on the dirt.

But before Taron could begin, Ludger’s hand froze midair. His expression shifted—eyes narrowing slightly, the faintest flicker of focus settling over his features.

He exhaled quietly. “...Something’s moving.”

The tone of his voice changed everything. The recruits immediately straightened, reaching for weapons, their bodies tensing instinctively. The light of the fire threw long shadows over their faces as they followed Ludger’s gaze toward the treeline.

His Seismic Sense pulsed outward through the ground, invisible ripples radiating in every direction. The response came back fast—too fast.

“Two hundred meters,” he said softly, standing in one smooth motion. “Heavy step pattern. One person, moving straight toward us.”

That was enough. The recruits scrambled into motion—Mira and Derrin getting ready to attack, Rhea tightening her gloves, Taron and Callen drinking mana potions. Even Freyra’s annoyed face had disappeared, replaced by that sharp northern readiness that always surfaced when things got serious.

Ludger’s aura flared—not bright, but heavy. The kind of pressure that made the air feel thicker, steadier. The recruits felt it and froze in place, adrenaline spiking.

Then, a faint light appeared in the distance.

At first it was just a flicker between the trees, but it grew brighter, warmer, until Ludger could make out the rhythmic movement of it—a flame, steady and clear. He squinted, focusing.

The firelight wasn’t wild or uneven. It was too controlled. A Tinder flame—mage-grade, shaped through precise mana use.

He raised a hand. “Relax. Lower your weapons.”

The tension in the camp eased slightly, though no one quite sheathed their blades yet.

A few more seconds passed, and the figure emerged from the dark. The Tinder flame illuminated a tall man wrapped in a tattered cloak, long hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp beneath heavy brows. His boots were scuffed, his coat singed at the edges—but his stride was steady, purposeful.

As the light caught his face fully, Ludger’s lips twitched into something halfway between relief and dry amusement.

“...Maurien.”

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