Yvar let out a long breath through his nose and pulled the chair out before sitting down.
Then he looked at the map again, like he was trying to decide which part of Ludger’s idea was going to become a problem first.
“The issue isn’t only whether we can take them,” he said. “It’s how fast we take them, what we do with them after, and how everyone else reacts when they realize what’s happening.”
Ludger said nothing, so Yvar continued.
“If Lionsguard starts hoarding too many resources too quickly, people will notice. Not just nobles. Not just merchants. Other guilds too.” He tapped a few marked regions on the map. “There are only so many profitable labyrinths, only so many high-value resource sites, only so many routes that matter. If we start taking too much, too fast, then we won’t just look successful.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’ll look greedy.”
Ludger’s expression barely changed. Yvar went on anyway.
“And if we expand hard enough, some guilds will go under because of it. Smaller ones first. Then mid-sized ones that can’t compete with our equipment, our support structure, our prices, or our access to resources.” He paused for a moment. “That means a lot more people start hating Lionsguard.”
He leaned back slightly.
“Not because we attacked them. Not because we did anything openly hostile. Just because we kept growing while they kept shrinking.” His voice stayed calm, but firm. “That kind of resentment piles up fast. Faster than most people realize.”
Ludger’s first instinct was immediate.
“I don’t care if they hate us.”
Yvar gave him a flat look. “I know.”
And that was the problem. Ludger crossed his arms, but this time he didn’t dismiss it right away. He thought about it instead. Hatred by itself didn’t matter much. Coordinated hatred did.
If too many guilds, merchants, and minor powers started seeing Lionsguard as the thing strangling their future, then someone would eventually start gathering them together. Maybe not under justice. Maybe not under reason. But under shared self-interest.
That kind of group could become annoying. He exhaled through his nose.
“Then what?” Ludger asked. “One labyrinth a month?”
Yvar stared at him for a second like he wasn’t sure if that was a real question. Then he rubbed his forehead.
“One a year is already pushing it,” he said.
Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. Yvar pointed at the map again.
“A full labyrinth doesn’t just mean resources. It means territory pressure, labor investment, transport adjustments, security changes, market responses, political noise, and guild reactions.” His finger moved from one point to another. “Taking one is manageable if we prepare properly, milk it, integrate it, and let the shock settle. Taking one every month?” He let out a quiet breath. “That stops being expansion and starts looking like conquest.”
That made Ludger pause again. Not because Yvar was wrong. Because he wasn’t. After a few seconds, Yvar’s expression shifted slightly.
He thought for a moment, then asked, “Why not make alliances with other guilds?”
Ludger looked at him. Yvar continued before he could answer.
“I know you prefer control,” he said. “But even smaller guilds would jump at the chance if the deal is profitable enough. We don’t have to own every labyrinth directly. We could let them participate. Share profits. Share responsibilities. Let them think they’re rising with us instead of being swallowed by us.”
Ludger stayed silent. Yvar leaned forward a little.
“If they gain from our growth, they’ll complain less about it. Some of them might even start defending us on their own.” His tone turned drier. “It’s much harder to unite people against you when half of them are making money because of you.”
That part had merit. Ludger knew it immediately. Still, his answer came without hesitation.
“I wanted full control.”
Yvar nodded once. “I assumed as much.”
Ludger’s gaze dropped to the map again. Full control meant fewer variables. Less betrayal. Cleaner chains of command. Faster decisions. Easier pressure. Easier punishment. But alliances meant fewer open enemies. Less resistance. Faster spread without shouldering every burden alone.
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His fingers tapped lightly against his arm.
“That possibility has merit,” he admitted at last. Yvar looked almost relieved. Almost.
“Good,” he said. “Because I’d prefer our rise not create a queue of people waiting to stab us out of principle.”
Ludger glanced at him.
“Only out of profit?”
Yvar gave him a tired look. “I’m an archivist. At this point, I’d call that an improvement.”
Ludger snorted once and looked back at the map. So the answer wasn’t to simply take more. It was to take more without looking like he was taking everything. That was fine too. There were ways to do that. Ludger’s gaze remained on the map as he spoke again.
“I already sent some of the newer members to learn from Rathen,” he said. “Sailing, ocean routes, weather reading, how not to die stupidly at sea. The basics.”
Yvar raised an eyebrow.
Ludger continued without pause. “If they learn properly, we can farm the giant spider silk materials more often. More trips. More consistency. Less dependence on a small group.”
That alone would be a major improvement.
The sea had been too much of a bottleneck so far. Dangerous, slow to prepare for, and annoying in ways land usually wasn’t. Monsters underwater, changing currents, storms that could ruin good planning in a few minutes, it was the kind of environment that punished inexperience quickly. But if Lionsguard wanted to keep growing, then treating the ocean like some distant inconvenience was no longer an option.
It was just another route. Another source of resources. Another piece of power. Ludger tapped a few points on the map as he counted them off.
“With that, we currently have access to four labyrinths worth taking seriously. The reptilians. The frost skeletons. The runic golems. And the giant spiders.”
He paused for half a second, then added flatly, “It isn’t nearly enough.”
Yvar’s expression twitched faintly, not because he disagreed, but because hearing it said that directly somehow made it sound even more excessive. And yet, Ludger wasn’t wrong. Not anymore. The Lionsguard had outgrown that scale.
They were already brushing against the upper tier of the Empire’s guilds, and not just in name. In quantity, in quality, in growth rate, in internal structure, in training, in production, in adaptability, there were very few groups left that could honestly compare. Maybe fewer than most people realized. The problem was that their resource base still didn’t match what they were becoming.
Four strong labyrinth sources sounded impressive to normal people. For the Lionsguard, it was starting to look cramped. Yvar folded his arms and thought for a moment before speaking.
“We do have one advantage,” he said. “A lot of veterans around us have connections with other guilds. Old hunting parties. Former comrades. Rivals who became drinking partners. That kind of thing.”
Ludger looked at him. Yvar shrugged lightly.
“So forming alliances shouldn’t be hard,” he said. “Not with the smaller guilds, at least. They’d listen. Especially if we offer them profits, protection, or access they can’t get on their own.”
That made sense. The Lionsguard had enough weight now that even standing near it could make weaker groups richer. And veterans were always useful for that sort of thing. People trusted old scars more than polished speeches.
Ludger looked back down at the map. So the problem wasn’t really access. It was structure. How to grow wider without losing control. How to pull other guilds into his orbit without letting them mistake cooperation for equality. That part would take more thought. But it was workable. And workable was usually more than enough.
Ludger stayed quiet after that, eyes fixed on the map while the idea turned over in his head from multiple angles. Working with other guilds had advantages. Real ones. Not the useless kind people liked to bring up when they were trying to sound reasonable.
If the Lionsguard kept expanding alone, then every gain would have a clear owner. Every labyrinth taken, every route secured, every resource line absorbed, every market pressured, it would all point back to Lionfang. That made the benefits simple.
It also made the resentment simple. Too simple.
If entire guilds started losing work, losing contracts, losing recruits, or losing relevance because the Lionsguard kept growing in every direction, then backlash was inevitable. It wouldn’t matter whether that growth was technically fair. It wouldn’t matter that weaker people were simply getting outcompeted. Most groups didn’t care about fairness once their future started shrinking.
They cared about survival. And people cornered by survival became cooperative in the worst possible ways. That was one of the largest merits of involving other guilds. It spread the pressure around.
If smaller and mid-sized guilds were tied into Lionsguard’s expansion, then the rise of Lionfang wouldn’t look like a monster swallowing everything in sight. It would look like an ecosystem changing. A regional shift. A redistribution of opportunity instead of a monopoly forming in real time. That mattered.
Not because Ludger cared whether people liked him.
But because it was easier to move when fewer people were desperate enough to unite against you. That alone was a huge plus. There was another advantage too.
Taking labyrinths wasn’t simple.
In theory, people liked to talk as if strong guilds could just point at a labyrinth and claim it. In reality, it was slower, more political, and much more annoying. Ownership, challenge rights, prior claims, noble influence, regional arrangements, old guild politics, unofficial understandings, too many things got involved once valuable sites were on the table.
And if another guild already held rights, then their guild master had to accept the challenge.
That was the irritating part. Who knew how long they would drag things out?
Some would posture. Some would negotiate. Some would stall because they feared losing face more than they feared losing the labyrinth. Others would try to squeeze profits out of the situation first, or wait for outside support, or quietly ask nobles to interfere. There were too many ways for the process to become slow on purpose.
His fingers tapped the desk once. There were military merits too.
If other guilds handled part of the burden, then Lionsguard wouldn’t need to garrison, transport, harvest, and secure every new resource site by itself. That meant less strain on manpower, less immediate need to split veterans, and less risk of stretching his core too thin just because he wanted more. Allied guilds could become buffers. Suppliers. Regional hands that worked for his broader structure without actually wearing his crest.
That was efficient. It also created deniability. If something happened in a region, not every movement would trace directly back to him. Very useful.
But the demerits were obvious too.