Ludger stayed still at the edge of the slope, letting his eyes do the work.
There were guards.
Not nervous boys with spears. Real guards. People who watched the treeline and didn’t blink much. He counted the shift changes by the rhythm of movement, the way one silhouette replaced another without a word.
He felt the faint press of mana in the air as well, subtle, woven into the palisade like threads in cloth. Wards. Or something similar made by shamans..
Ludger’s frown deepened.
“Old goat,” he murmured, more to himself than to Silva. “You’re not living alone.”
Silva’s breath puffed white. His ears flicked back, checking Ludger’s mood.
Ludger exhaled slowly. He looked down at the settlement again, at the lights blooming as night approached. A place like this meant one thing. The third master wasn’t hiding from the world. They were sitting in it. And if Sigrid had sent him here… then this final lesson wasn’t going to be about surviving alone.
It was going to be about surviving people . Ludger’s eyes hardened.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
Then, with the sun sinking behind his back and the village lights ahead, he stepped forward. Ludger watched the settlement for another handful of breaths, letting the pattern of movement sink into him.
People. Guards. Wards that didn’t scream but watched . He glanced down at Silva.
The dire wolf stood with his weight forward, tail low, ears flicking between the wind and the village. He looked eager in that dangerous way predators got when there was structure ahead, walls, rules, meat.
Ludger leaned in and put two fingers against the wolf’s neck fur, right where the pact line felt warmest.
“Walk around,” he murmured. “Wide circle. Stay hidden.”
Silva’s amber eyes slid to him.
Ludger’s tone stayed flat, pragmatic. “Until I call you. There’s no point in getting more attention than necessary in a place like this when I don’t know what’s going on.”
Silva huffed, clearly offended by the concept of “stay hidden” as if stealth was something prey did.
Then the wolf threw his head back and let out a low, rolling howl. Not loud enough to shake the mountains, but loud enough to make Ludger’s eyelid twitch.
“Subtle,” Ludger said.
Silva sneezed like that was the best he could do.
Then the dire wolf turned and dashed away into the drifting snow, body melting into the pale landscape with unfair grace. One heartbeat he was there, a massive shape of fur and muscle, then he was just a shadow between ridges, gone.
Ludger exhaled.
Fine. At least the distance is correct.
He adjusted his backpack, pulled his scarf a little lower, and started walking toward the settlement.
The slope down wasn’t steep, but it forced him into the open. Snow crunched under his boots with that steady, honest sound that told everyone within earshot exactly where he was. He didn’t love it. He also didn’t rush.
Rushing made you look like prey. Or guilty. Sometimes both.
Halfway down, he felt it, eyes on him. Not one pair. Several. The weight of attention settling like frost across the back of his neck.
He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t wave. Didn’t do anything that looked like asking for permission.
He just kept walking, calm and deliberate, like the world owed him nothing and he owed it even less.
From the corner of his vision he caught movement along the palisade, silhouettes shifting, lanterns angling. Someone spoke, too far for words to carry cleanly.
A moment later a horn didn’t sound. That was telling. They weren’t panicking. Which meant they either weren’t afraid… or they were used to strangers showing up and had a method for handling them. Ludger’s mouth tightened slightly.
He crossed the last stretch of open ground toward the entrance, feeling the ward-lines in the air like invisible spider silk. His mana brushed against them without pushing, just enough to confirm they were there.
A voice called from the watch platform above the gate. “Hold.”
Ludger stopped where he was, an easy distance away, close enough to show he wasn’t afraid, far enough to show he wasn’t stupid.
More eyes pinned him. He could practically feel the settlement deciding what category he belonged in.
Trader. Threat. Fool.
Ludger lifted his chin just slightly, meeting the direction of the voice without looking submissive. He didn’t answer their scrutiny. He didn’t explain himself. He simply stood there, quiet in the snow, waiting for them to make the first move, because in a place like this, the first move told you everything.
The guard hadn’t even decided whether to treat him like a problem yet when a voice cut across the cold. Loud. Familiar. Annoyingly alive.
“Of all the people I did not expect to find here…” the voice said, dragging the words out like they were a performance, “you are the most unexpected.”
Ludger’s eyes shifted first. His head followed a heartbeat later.
Off to the side of the main approach, outside the proper palisade line, tucked where the wind chewed at half-frozen gear, sat a tent. Calling it a tent was generous.
It was more like someone had thrown a blanket over sticks, then dared winter to complain. The fabric sagged in the middle, the ropes looked like they’d been tied by someone who considered knots an insult, and the whole thing leaned like it was trying to escape.
In front of that poor excuse of shelter sat Freyra.
Big. Solid. Wrapped in furs with her boots planted in the snow like she owned the ground. She held a wooden bowl in one hand and was chewing something that looked like it fought back. Her hair was pulled back rough, and there was a new bruise on her cheekbone that made her look even more like a problem.
She grinned at him like she’d just found a joke worth keeping. Ludger blinked once.
He’d heard she’d come north to train, to temper her rage with something sharper. Ludger had believed it. He just hadn’t expected to find her here, sitting in a settlement like a misplaced siege weapon, guarding a collapsing tent as if it was a throne.
He walked over, boots crunching, ignoring the way eyes from the gate followed the movement. If the guards had been uncertain about him before, they’d be worse now.
Because Freyra wasn’t uncertain. Freyra was known. She watched him approach without standing, letting her grin do the work.
“You look taller,” she said, then immediately ruined it by adding, “Still short though.”
Ludger stopped a few steps away and stared at the tent.
“…Is this a punishment?”
Freyra snorted. “It’s a challenge. The north is testing me.”
“The north is winning,” Ludger said.
She threw a chunk of food at him. It hit his chest and fell into the snow with a sad thump. Ludger looked down at it. Looked back up at her.
Freyra’s grin widened. “See? You’re still annoying.”
He picked the food up with two fingers, tossed it aside, and finally met her eyes properly.
“You’re here,” he said.
“Yeah,” she replied, like that explained everything. Then she narrowed her gaze at him and pointed the bowl in his direction. “Now you. What are you doing here?”
Ludger didn’t sit. He didn’t relax. He kept his posture neutral, calm enough to not be prey, not loud enough to be a threat.
“Yout mother sent me,” he said.
Freyra’s brow rose. “Mom?”
Ludger nodded once. “Sigrid.”
Freyra made a face like the name tasted like vinegar. “That woman sends people places like she’s throwing axes. Half the time it’s training, half the time it’s a lesson, and the other half it’s just her being bored.”
“That’s three halves,” Ludger said.
Freyra paused, then huffed. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
He let the smallest hint of dry amusement pass through his eyes, gone as fast as it appeared.
“She told me there was an old goat here,” Ludger said. “Someone with a secret art.”
Freyra’s expression shifted, just slightly. Interest. Then suspicion.
“Secret art,” she repeated. “That sounds like a trap.”
“Most useful things do,” Ludger said.
Freyra leaned forward, elbows on her knees, studying him like she was trying to figure out if he’d gotten smarter or just more tired.
“And you just… came?”
Ludger’s voice stayed flat. “Yes.”
Freyra’s mouth twitched. “You’re insane.”
He didn’t deny it. He just glanced toward the settlement again, eyes tracking the guards, the ward-lines, the way the lantern light didn’t quite reach certain corners.
“I don’t know what this place is,” Ludger said quietly. “And I didn’t want extra attention.”
Freyra snorted and spread her arms, gesturing at herself and her collapsing tent like it was the obvious counterpoint. “Then you came to the wrong spot. This place is all attention. Even the snow is nosy.”
Ludger’s gaze returned to her. “Why are you outside the walls?”
Freyra’s grin returned, sharp and proud. “Things are too noisy further ahead.”
“That tracks,” Ludger said. “Wait, it doesn’t. You are noisy too.”
She threw her head back and laughed, loud enough that a couple guards glanced over again.
Then she looked at him, laughter fading into something more serious. “So what’s the plan, Vice Guildmaster? Are you going to charm the old goat into teaching you?”
Ludger’s eyes drifted, briefly, to the sagging tent.
“I’m going to learn,” he said.
Freyra’s grin softened into something almost respectful.
Then she pointed at the gate with her bowl again. “Well, if you’re here for the goat… you’re in the right place.”
Ludger frowned slightly. “You’ve seen them?”
Freyra’s eyes glittered. “Maybe.”
That single word had teeth. Ludger felt the north tighten around him again, not colder, not louder, just… more aware. He’d come here expecting isolation.
Instead, he’d found a settlement, a web of eyes, and Freyra sitting on the edge of it all like she’d been waiting for him. And that meant one thing. Whatever “secret art” the old goat guarded, it wasn’t just rare. It was worth gathering people for.
Freyra jerked her chin toward the palisade like she was pointing at an insult.
“I came to learn from the old goat too,” she said, voice low enough that the guards wouldn’t catch every word. “But the bastard doesn’t teach like most. Doesn’t lecture like a shaman. Doesn’t do ‘wisdom’ and ‘patience’ and all that boring nonsense.”
Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then how?”
Freyra’s grin sharpened. “He teaches by sparring.”
That alone didn’t sound impossible. It sounded… north. Then she added, with the casual cruelty of someone describing weather:
“He only spars once a day. Against the winner of the tournament.”
Ludger blinked once. His frown came in slow.
“…Tournament.”
“Every day,” Freyra confirmed. “One winner. One spar. If you lose, you go home with bruises and nothing learned except that you were weak.”
Ludger’s gaze slid to the settlement again. The watch towers. The ward-lines. The number of bodies moving like this was a routine, not a celebration.
That didn’t feel like a northerner ritual. Northerners fought. They dueled. They tested strength with blunt honesty. But an organized daily tournament? With a structured gatekeeping method?
That was… different. That was something you did when you liked crowds. When you liked watching people scramble. When you enjoyed turning effort into spectacle. Or when you wanted a steady filter, separating the desperate from the disciplined. Ludger’s mouth flattened.
Maybe the final master just likes fighting.
Or maybe they liked watching others fight even more. Freyra watched his face, clearly pleased with the way his annoyance surfaced and got immediately strangled back down.
Then she leaned forward like she was sharing a secret.
“You should join,” she said.
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