A week later later, the road turned to sand and salt.

The mountains had vanished behind the haze, replaced by the low hum of cicadas and the distant crash of waves. The air was warmer here, thick with brine, and Ludger could feel it soaking into his clothes and skin.

He paused on a rise overlooking the coastline—a stretch of pale cliffs leading down to the bare started bridge site somewhere beyond the mist. His arms flexed easily now, the wraps long since discarded.

Seven days of quiet running, broken only by the occasional stop to heal, to rest, to check his bearings. Each use of Healing Touch had been a strain at first, a thin pull on a frayed mana core—but repetition had done what potions couldn’t. His hands no longer trembled. The ache in his bones had faded to memory.

He rolled his shoulders experimentally, then cracked his knuckles. “Feels new,” he muttered. “About time.”

It was true. His body was whole again. His mana was steady. But something still gnawed at him.

That fight with Aaron—nearly dying twice, pushing Rage Flow past its limit, channeling mana until his veins burned—should’ve given him more than a handful of system notifications. Yet when he’d checked the glowing text on his inner sight, there hadn’t been much to show for it.

A few skill level ups. Some minor proficiency gains. No breakthrough..

He frowned. “All that, and not even a level.”

It wasn’t the first time his system seemed weird. The growth was consistent, sure—but not linear, not predictable. He could dig a tunnel for days and get more experience than he did from killing a man who’d almost buried him alive.

The logic behind it escaped him. Purpose mattered, maybe. Intent. But it still felt like the system was watching, waiting for something specific. Something that wasn’t brute strength.

He sighed. “Weird damned system. Well, at least I don’t have to risk my neck all the time to get stronger.”

A gull screamed overhead, dragging him back to the present. The wind off the sea hit him full in the face—cool, damp, carrying the scent of salt and rust. Somewhere ahead, the faint outline of scaffolding rose from the haze: the bridge site.

Wooden cranes. Rope pulleys. A temporary settlement of tents and half-built docks spreading along the shore.

He started down the slope, cloak drawn tight, keeping to the shadows where the dunes broke the light. The less anyone recognized him as Lionsguard, the better.

For now, he was just another traveler—one with sharp eyes, healed arms. He adjusted his scarf, squinting at the distant camp. “Let’s see what kind of trouble a bridge attracts.”

Then he descended toward the sea, toward a fishing village in the distance.

The fishing village sat crouched between a cliff and sea, its roofs tiled with sun-bleached wood and its air thick with salt and smoke.

Ludger approached near dusk, hood low, scarf wrapped loose around his neck. His boots left shallow prints in the sand as he crossed the worn path toward the docks. Fishing boats bobbed in the shallow water, their sails patched with rough canvas. A few villagers looked up, wary, but the moment they noticed the lack of sword at his hip and the dirt on his cloak, they went back to work. Out here, strangers were just weather—noticed, but never questioned.

He found the tavern easily enough; in villages like this, it was always the building with the most noise and the least maintenance. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of fried fish and cheap ale.

Ludger sat at the counter and ordered a bowl of stew. Then he listened.

He caught the usual talk—complaints about tides, rumors about bad catches, the occasional grumble about tax collectors—but no whispers of sabotage, no mention of noble meddling.

After a while, he started asking questions directly, keeping his tone light.

“Any trouble from the bridge project lately?”

The barkeep, a broad man with weathered hands, shook his head. “Not unless you count those sea devils.”

“Sea devils?”

“Big things, out past the shallows. Scales, teeth, some kind of glowing fins. Started showing up last month. Destroyed two boats already. The Ironhand syndicate sent guards, though—they’ve been keeping the monsters off the coast.”

Ludger nodded slowly. “The syndicate? Not the Hakuen family?”

“They’re funding it, sure. But Ironhand runs security. Good folks, mostly. Pay fair, handle their business clean.”

“Any trouble between them and the locals?”

The barkeep snorted. “None worth mentioning. Ironhand’s the reason we can still fish.”

So much for that angle.

Ludger thanked him, ate half the stew, then left a coin and stepped back into the night. The wind was colder now, rolling off the ocean in steady breaths.

He spent the next few hours wandering the village’s narrow lanes, eyes flicking over every doorway, every face that lingered too long in the dark. He looked for resentment—the kind of quiet, simmering anger that always clung to places where money and power mixed—but found none.

No bribes changing hands. No tension in the air. Even the guards patrolling near the beach wore relaxed expressions.

The Hakuen family’s crest flew beside Ironhand’s banner on the supply tent—a clean white sigil with the guild’s black hammer emblem beneath it.

Nothing out of place.

Ludger stood on the edge of the dock for a long time, watching the waves crash against the posts. The sea glowed faintly under the moonlight, a cold shimmer hinting at movement below.

Monsters from the deep, they’d said. That was the only problem.

He didn’t like that kind of simplicity. Not in a place this quiet.

He tugged his hood lower, eyes on the horizon where the bridge’s unfinished pillars jutted out like broken teeth.

“Too clean,” he muttered. “Never trust clean.”

Then he turned toward the construction site in the distance, the sound of hammers and waves bleeding together in the dark. Tomorrow, he’d start digging properly.

Eventually, Ludger noticed some movements in the distance.

Ludger crouched behind a low ridge of dune grass, far enough from the bridge camp to stay unseen. The moonlight silvered the ocean and threw long, broken reflections across the scaffolding and half-built pillars jutting from the water.

Down by the shore, a squad of Ironhand guards patrolled the edge—seven of them in light mail, crossbows leveled toward the surf. Their torches flickered in the wind, painting their armor in molten orange.

At first, Ludger thought they were just watching the tide. Then he saw movement.

Shapes rising from the dark water—slow, deliberate, almost silent. Humanoid, but wrong. Their limbs were too long, their skin slick with scales that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. Webbed claws, black eyes that reflected the fire like glass.

Sea monsters, sure. But organized ones.

Ludger shifted slightly, narrowing his eyes. Their formation wasn’t random—they moved in a line, advancing together, heads low against the wind.

The guards noticed too. The one in front raised a hand. “Loose!”

Crossbows twanged in unison.

The air lit up as a volley of flaming bolts screamed down toward the surf. The fire streaks hissed when they hit, sparks scattering across the waves.

Several of the creatures reeled back under the first barrage—but not all. One raised a weapon, catching a bolt midair and snapping it like kindling. Another dove under the water, vanishing before the next shot landed.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. Their movements were coordinated. Intelligent.

A second volley followed, tighter, aimed to drive them toward shallower water. Fire arced again across the sky, the bolts burning bright enough to reflect off the bridge’s steel braces.

The creatures staggered under the impact. Some fell, thrashing as flames spread over their slick hides. Others tried to retreat back into the sea.

Within moments, the water turned red.

The guards reloaded methodically, firing until nothing moved. When the last creature sank below the waves, their leader barked an order. Two men advanced, prodding the bodies that had washed ashore with spears.

One of them muttered, loud enough for Ludger to catch even from his perch. “Looks like they’re getting bolder.”

“Or desperate,” the leader said. “Keep the patrols doubled. If more come at dawn, we report straight to Ironhand command.”

Ludger stayed still until the guards began dragging the corpses inland. The smell of burnt fish and brine rolled up the beach, thick and sour.

He frowned. From this distance, the monsters looked less like beasts and more like… people warped by mana. Their features had shape, not randomness—ears, teeth, even bits of armor fused to flesh.

Someone had made them.

And Ironhand wasn’t alarmed—they were prepared.

He exhaled, low and steady, then slipped back from the ridge. “So much for the village being clean,” he muttered.

The night sea roared behind him as he melted into the dunes, heading closer to the bridge site.

If these things were just the surface problem, he wanted to see what was hiding underneath.

The next morning came bright and heavy with the smell of fish.

Ludger made his way back into the village, the sand crunching beneath his boots. The tavern was quieter than before—most of the fishermen had already gone to sea, leaving behind only the barkeep and a few laborers nursing morning drinks.

He took the same seat as yesterday and ordered bread, dried fish, and something that passed for tea. When the plate arrived, he didn’t waste time.

“You mentioned sea devils yesterday,” he said. “Any idea what they actually are?”

The barkeep leaned on the counter, wiping a cup with the same rag he’d probably used all week. “Sea demons, aye. Sahuagins, the scholars call ’em. Ugly bastards. Been crawling out of the deep water for the last month.”

“Sahuagins,” Ludger repeated, quietly testing the word. “Humanoid. Scale armor, long arms?”

“That’s them. Nasty claws, sharp teeth. Smell like rotten kelp. Some use spears and magic.”

Ludger took a slow bite of bread, thinking back to the shapes he’d seen the night before—their coordination, their speed, the faint gleam of metal on their bodies. “They always attack the shore?”

“Mostly near the bridge construction. Must not like what the syndicate’s building.”

Ludger nodded, keeping his tone casual. “If someone were to help thin them out, would the syndicate pay?”

The barkeep’s eyes flicked up at him, studying the worn cloak, the steady hands, the scars on his knuckles. “You a hunter?”

“Something like that,” Ludger said.

The man grunted. “Then you’ll fit right in. Ironhand’s paying bounties for anyone who brings in sahuagin bodies. Two silver a head, more if they’re fresh. They’ve got a pile of the things behind their outpost near the bridge.”

Ludger chewed slowly, considering that. “Anyone can claim it?”

“Long as you don’t start fights with the guards. They like initiative, but they don’t like questions.”

That earned a faint smirk. “Good to know.”

The barkeep leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You looking to make coin or trouble?”

“Depends which one pays better.”

The man snorted, shaking his head. “You sound like Ironhand.”

“I see.”

Ludger finished his food, dropped a few extra coins on the counter, and stood. “Thanks for the information.”

As he stepped outside, the morning sun hit the waves, scattering light across the sea like shards of glass. In the distance, the unfinished bridge gleamed pale against the horizon, its scaffolding reaching toward the mist.

Sahuagins, bounties, and a syndicate that pays too easily.

He adjusted his scarf, gaze narrowing. “Looks like I’m a hunter now.”

And with that, he started down the coast toward the Ironhand outpost, ready to see what they were really paying for.

The stretch of coast between the village and the bridge was quiet at first glance—just sand, wind, and the endless crash of waves. But Ludger knew better. He could feel the tremors underfoot, the faint, rhythmic disturbances carried through the earth like slow heartbeats.

Something was moving beneath the tide.

He crouched behind a low ridge of coral rock and scanned the shallows. The water there was darker—disturbed by motion, shapes circling below the surface.

Three of them, he thought. Maybe four.

He could already picture the scene at the Ironhand outpost if he brought their corpses in. Paperwork, questions, and too many eyes watching. It wouldn’t take long before someone noticed that the “hunter” who showed up to collect a bounty would have the same face as the boy tied to House Torvares.

Too risky.

Better to keep his profile buried until he knew what Ironhand was really doing.

The water churned again. Closer now.

He loosened the sand under his boots with a flick of mana, fingers brushing along the surface. It answered him instantly—fine grains whispering against each other, waiting for a command.

The first sahuagin broke the surface ten meters away, its slick body glistening under the sun. Another followed, then another, webbed claws cutting through the foam as they crawled onto the shore.

They spotted him almost at once, hissing low in their throats, rows of needle teeth flashing.

Ludger straightened, brushing dust from his cloak. “Guess that’s my answer.”

The creatures lunged.

He didn’t move at first—just lifted one hand, palm down. Mana rippled through the sand at his feet, spreading outward in a wave.

Then the ground exploded.

A dozen compact projectiles burst upward—sand bullets condensed by geomancy and fired with the force of bullets. They tore through the air in a shrieking volley.

The sahuagins never had a chance.

The first took a shot clean through the eye socket, the second lost half its jaw, and the third managed two steps before collapsing with a hole through its throat. The rest stumbled, disoriented, screeching as the barrage shredded their fins.

[Earth Manipulation + 30 XP.]

[Earth Manipulation + 30 XP.]

[Earth Manipulation + 30 XP.]

Ludger flicked his wrist, directing one last burst—three shots, quick and clean. Heads snapped back, skulls breaking open like wet clay.

Silence returned just as fast as the chaos had started.

Steam rose from the holes where blood met hot sand.

Ludger stood still, scanning the horizon. Nothing. No witnesses. The village was too far, and the bridge guards hadn’t seen the fight.

Good.

He knelt beside one of the bodies, prodding its arm with a stick. The flesh was tough, scale layered over something that looked half-human. It was a weird creature, that was certain. The mana residue was strange, too—tainted but structured, like someone had forced a spell pattern into living tissue.

“Artificial?” he muttered. “Or corrupted.”

He straightened, brushing off his hands. “Either way, not worth dragging these back.”

Leaving them where they fell would draw Ironhand’s scavengers soon enough. So, he sunk the bodies on the sand.

He turned away, walking back toward the cliffs. The sea wind tugged at his scarf as he looked once more toward the half-built bridge in the distance.

Something about this place stank.

And the deeper he looked, the more it felt like the monsters weren’t the real problem—they were just another symptom.

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