Ludger slowly lowered his hand from his face and stared at him. That, somehow, made the whole thing worse.
Because it really did look like Arslan believed there was a genuine risk here. As if Ludger might arrive, see Maris or her daughter, and immediately inherit the same catastrophically simple instincts that had apparently guided half of his father’s worst decisions.
Ludger sighed. It seemed Arslan had simply decided that, by virtue of blood alone, his son must be at risk of inheriting his worst traits somehow.
Which was deeply irritating. And stupid. And, coming from Arslan, entirely unsurprising.
The worst part was that his father had grown a lot. Ludger could see that clearly. He was steadier now, more responsible, more thoughtful, more aware of consequences than the younger man described in all these old stories.
But growth, apparently, had not deleted the more unbearable parts of his personality. It had just taught him how to keep them under control most of the time. The asshole side was still there. Very much alive.
It just wore a more respectable face now and occasionally pretended it was offering fatherly guidance when in reality it was just being annoying in a more mature tone. Ludger looked back toward the road and said nothing for a moment.
Then, because silence clearly encouraged Arslan’s confidence too much, he said, “I assure you that I am capable of looking at a person without immediately reducing the situation to that.”
Arslan gave him a sidelong glance. “You sound almost judgmental.”
“I am judgmental.”
“Ouch.”
Ludger’s expression stayed flat.
Arslan, unfortunately, looked faintly amused again, as if being judged by his son for this was not only acceptable but somehow expected.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You may think I’m being ridiculous, but instincts like that can hit fast.”
“No,” Ludger said. “Your instincts are just shallow.”
Arslan made a wounded sound. “That’s harsh.”
“You didn’t say it is a lie.”
That answer landed cleanly enough that Arslan could only shake his head and laugh under his breath.
Then he muttered, “You really do sound more and more like your mother.”
Ludger didn’t bother replying. There was nothing useful to say. At this point, the only important conclusion was that his father had apparently managed to turn a serious negotiation trip into a cautionary lecture about large breasts and inherited bad decisions.
Which was, in its own way, impressive. Just not in a good way. Ludger didn’t really know what to think of the trip anymore. They had set out for negotiations. A serious one, at that.
An important meeting tied to guild expansion, political balance, and the next step in Lionsguard’s growth.
And yet somehow, somewhere along the road, he had ended up listening to his father say vulgar nonsense with the kind of sincerity that made it even worse. Not only that, he had actually responded to some of it instead of shutting the conversation down completely.
That part was the most annoying. Because it meant Arslan had probably been waiting for exactly this.
Not the topic itself, maybe, but the chance to drag him into a conversation that wasn’t about strategy, logistics, enemies, classes, or expansion. Something less rigid. Less official. Something that sounded more like a father talking to his son than a guildmaster and his vice guildmaster discussing the future of a territory.
Ludger glanced at him from the side for a moment. Arslan looked relaxed. Too relaxed, honestly. That alone made the conclusion difficult to ignore.
Maybe this was part of why Elaine hadn’t wanted to come.
She had said she didn’t want to get involved in one of Arslan’s messes, and that was definitely true. But maybe that wasn’t the only reason. Maybe she had also wanted to leave the two of them alone on purpose. Give them some time without the usual noise around them. Without guild work pressing in from every direction. Without her presence naturally taking up part of the space between them.
Some father-and-son bonding time. Ludger almost frowned at the thought. It sounded suspiciously like something Elaine would do. His mother was overbearing. Overprotective too. At times, far too much of both.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
But she was also attentive in exactly that kind of way. She noticed things. Gaps in people. Tension they ignored. Needs they didn’t phrase properly. And sometimes she arranged matters without saying so outright, trusting that everyone involved would understand later.
Or at least survive long enough to appreciate it. Ludger looked ahead at the road again. If that really had been her intention, then it had worked better than he liked admitting. Annoyingly enough, talking with Arslan like this felt… normal.
Irritating. Unnecessary. A little vulgar. But normal. And for people like them, normal had a strange kind of value.
They reached their destination in the late afternoon, with the sun already lowering enough to paint the town in a warmer, dull gold.
At first glance, the place looked… normal. That was the first thing Ludger noticed.
Not poor enough to be neglected. Not rich enough to be flashy. Just a solid town built by people who actually intended to live there instead of showing off through it. The roads were decent, the buildings well-kept without looking expensive, and the overall flow of movement felt orderly in the quiet way of a place that had long since settled into its own rhythm. Traders were still moving through the streets, shopkeepers were closing up slowly, and a few groups of guild members or laborers passed by without paying much attention to anyone else.
Nothing about it immediately stood out. Nothing about the town’s appearance made Ludger wary. There were no obvious signs of tension either. No strangely placed guards. No unnatural quiet. No sharpened glances following them from every corner. He extended his awareness just a bit more as they advanced through the streets, careful not to overdo it.
Still nothing. He didn’t feel like they were being watched.
That, more than anything else, suggested Maris hadn’t spread the information that people from the Lionsguard were coming. If she had, the atmosphere would have felt different. Even a normal town changed in small ways when word got around that outsiders from a rising guild had arrived for negotiations. People got curious. Guard rotations shifted. Someone always looked too interested while pretending not to be.
Here? Nothing. Either she had kept the matter contained, or her people were disciplined enough not to make it obvious. Both possibilities were useful.
Arslan slowed his horse slightly and glanced at Ludger. “What do you want to do first?”
Ludger looked toward the deeper part of town, where the guild grounds were likely positioned, then answered without hesitation.
“Get the introductions out of the way.”
Arslan nodded.
Ludger continued, “After that, I want to head to the labyrinth as soon as possible.”
That made sense.
The negotiation mattered, obviously. But seeing the guild’s base, their people, and the resource they were built around would tell him more than polite words alone ever would. Anyone could speak well across a table. A labyrinth, on the other hand, told the truth more easily. It showed what kind of risks they handled, what kind of resources they relied on, how much discipline they actually had, and whether their claims of stability were real or just dressed-up pride.
Arslan seemed to understand that immediately.
“Fine,” he said. “We handle the meeting first, then move from there.”
Ludger nodded once. And with that settled, the two of them turned headed toward the guild.
Soon, they reached the guild grounds and stepped down from the runic carriage.
The building in front of them looked like the kind of place that had lasted through more than one bad era.
It wasn’t polished in the way new money liked to be polished. No excessive ornament, no grand decorative nonsense meant to impress fools from a distance. Instead, it had weight. Thick stone walls darkened by age and weather. Heavy timber supports that had clearly been repaired more than once instead of replaced. Iron reinforcements around the gates and lower windows, not elegant enough to be noble work, but solid enough to suggest they had been reforged whenever necessity demanded it.
The courtyard was broad, functional, and worn in the honest way of a guild that actually worked. Tracks from wagons, shallow marks from weapons, older cracks in the paving stones that had been patched rather than hidden. Training racks stood off to one side, and a long auxiliary structure farther back looked like it handled storage, supplies, and probably overflow personnel when things got busy.
The main hall itself carried an old style to it. Not ancient. Just inherited.
The roofline was steep and reinforced, built to endure harsh weather and, likely, the occasional wave of panic when the labyrinth below or nearby reminded people why guilds like this existed in the first place. Above the entrance hung a weathered crest carved into dark wood and metal, worn enough at the edges to show age but maintained too carefully to look neglected. Someone here still respected what it meant.
This place had history in it. Not the comfortable kind nobles liked to claim after three generations of sitting on fat chairs. The practical kind. The kind built by people who had bled, rebuilt, held ground, and then taught the next generation to do the same. Arslan looked at the guild as well, his expression turning a little more thoughtful.
“Maris’ family has led this guild for generations,” he said. “She took over from her father years ago.”
Ludger listened in silence.
Arslan kept his eyes on the hall as he continued. “From what I heard, he died preventing a labyrinth breach.”
That made Ludger’s gaze sharpen slightly.
Arslan exhaled through his nose. “Since then, controlling the flow of monsters from their labyrinth has become more difficult.”
Ludger squinted after hearing that. That wasn’t a small detail.
A guild whose leader’s father had died stopping a breach… and that still had trouble controlling monster flow years later… meant the labyrinth was serious enough to shape the entire identity of the place. Not just a source of resources. Not just a profitable site.
A constant pressure point. A wound they had learned to live with, but never fully closed. That changed things. It meant their strength was probably real.
But it also meant their position might be more unstable than the exterior suggested.
And if Maris had inherited leadership under those conditions, then that explained part of the pride in the letter. People who took over after blood had already paid for the guild tended to care very little for easy words and very much for whether others understood what things had cost.
Ludger looked at the old structure again. Yes. This place had a lot of story in it. And usually, places like that were either useful… or dangerous to underestimate.