All Jobs and Classes! I Just Wanted One Skill, Not Them All!

Chapter 172

The man stopped a few paces from the fire, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’re punctual, Ludger. And you brought an audience.”

Freyra blinked. “Wait, this is the Lone Terror?”

Maurien smirked, brushing ash from his sleeve. “Depends who’s telling the story.”

Ludger folded his arms, the weight of tension leaving his shoulders at last. “You could’ve sent a signal. My recruits almost declared war on a tree line.”

Maurien’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “And miss that? I needed to see if your new friends still flinched at shadows.”

Ludger exhaled slowly. “They don’t. They just flinch at me.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Maurien. “Good. Then you’ve been teaching them right.”

The recruits looked between the two men, the tension melting into curiosity. Ludger’s calm had returned—but the sharpness in his gaze said the easy part of this meeting was already over.

Ludger let the silence hang for a moment, the fire crackling softly between them. Maurien stood at the edge of the light, the faint orange glow dancing against his weathered coat and tired eyes.

Ludger crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? Last I checked, we were heading to you.”

Maurien gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. “I heard you were on your way. Thought I’d save you the last few hours and pick you up instead. There is another reason for that, though…”

He let his gaze sweep over the recruits—their alert stances, their mismatched gear, the faint signs of training fatigue that still clung to them. His brow rose slightly. “Didn’t realize you’d bring an escort. I only asked for you, Ludger.”

Freyra frowned. “Excuse me?”

Ludger didn’t flinch. “They’re my responsibility,” he said simply. “And they need experience. Whatever problem you’ve got, it’ll serve as good practice—assuming we all live through it.”

Maurien’s lips quirked, almost approvingly. “Hnh. I see your father’s pragmatism rubbed off on you.”

“Or his clumsiness,” Ludger replied.

That earned a quiet snort from the older mage. “Fair enough.”

The air around them had grown colder as the night deepened, and Ludger finally tilted his head toward the stone shelter at the edge of the camp. “Let’s talk inside. You’ll want to sit before explaining whatever dragged you this far west.”

Maurien’s eyes flicked toward the structure, and for a few seconds, he just studied it—running his gaze along the edges, tracing the clean seams and geometric precision of the stonework. He crouched slightly, brushing a hand against the wall.

“Earth-molded, seamless compression,” he murmured. “No mortar, no fractures. You built this?”

Ludger nodded once. “Temporary shelter. Built it for the night.”

Maurien gave a low hum, equal parts impressed and curious. “Incredible as always. Can’t say anymore that I am your only magic teacher.”

He straightened, giving one last appraising glance at the structure before nodding to himself. “All right. Let’s talk.”

He stepped inside without hesitation, the Tinder flame hovering over his shoulder to light the room before disappearing. Ludger followed, motioning for the recruits to enter as well.

Maurien set his gloves on the stone table that Ludger erected for the group to have dinner. His expression was as sharp as ever, but there was a heaviness in his voice when he finally spoke.

“I’ve been up in the mountains for a while now,” he said, tone low and deliberate. “Heard rumors about a network of bandit routes forming there—more organized than usual. Not just scavengers or deserters. Something tighter.”

Ludger frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Bandits? That’s your specialty, isn’t it? You’ve made a career out of clearing them out like weeds.”

Maurien gave a small, humorless smile. “Normally, yes. But these ones are different.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, tossing it onto the table. Inside were fragments of metal—broken chains, rune shards, and what looked like bits of scorched leather armor. “They’re not just looters. Whoever trained them knows what they’re doing. They’re using coordination spells and suppression fields—magic specifically designed to block detection techniques.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “You mean they’re masking themselves even from you.”

Maurien nodded. “Exactly. My locator arrays didn’t pick them up until I was practically standing on top of them. Even my flame wards burned out when I tried tracking through the mountain fog.” He paused, rubbing his temple. “I caught a few stragglers, but none of them talked. Whoever’s leading them either drilled fear deep or bound them magically. Every time I tried to extract information, they triggered self-destruction runes.”

Ludger’s brow furrowed deeper. “So they’re trained, disciplined, and magically equipped. That’s not a bandit gang—that’s a proxy force.”

Maurien nodded slowly. “That’s what I was thinking. Their gear’s too uniform, their behavior too clean. Someone’s funding and controlling them. And the eastern routes they’re using? They run dangerously close to Imperial supply lines.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes shadowed in the flickering light. “Whatever they’re after, it’s not coin. And if they’re using the mountains as cover, I can’t take them alone anymore.”

Ludger drummed his fingers on the table, his usual stoicism tightening into something sharper. “So you called for the Lionsguard.”

Maurien gave a faint grin. “I called for you. The Lionsguard just happened to come with the deal.”

That earned a soft exhale from Ludger—somewhere between amusement and resignation. “Fine. Then tell me everything you know about them. Routes, habits, any patterns at all. We’ll start from there.”

Maurien nodded once, serious again. “Good. Because whatever they’re planning, we’re already a step behind.”

Maurien sat back. The silence stretched a moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter now, but edged with restrained anger.

“I couldn’t ask for help from anyone in the Empire,” he said flatly. “Not officially. Not even discreetly. The moment I tried to send word through standard channels, it’d be intercepted. Whoever’s backing these bandits—they’ve got deep pockets and the kind of influence that silences inquiries before they start.”

He looked up, meeting Ludger’s eyes. “And they’re doing a damn good job suppressing rumors, too. If word got out that there’s a network of trained mercenaries running the mountain passes, people would panic. Trade routes would close, towns would stockpile, militia would start marching blind. Chaos spreads faster than any bandit threat.”

Ludger’s frown deepened. “So, whoever’s behind this isn’t just feeding them coin—they’re managing the narrative too.”

Maurien nodded grimly. “Exactly. Someone high up wants this quiet. Which means it’s not just about banditry—it’s about control.”

Ludger leaned back, arms folded, thinking. “You said you tracked them for weeks. Did you find what they were after?”

That question hung heavy in the air. Maurien didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted to the fire, expression tightening, jaw set.

“They’re not just after things,” he said finally, voice low. “They’re bringing things, too.”

Ludger’s brow furrowed. “Bringing?”

Maurien nodded. “I never saw any cargo. Every time I found one of their routes, the trail had already been cleared—burned or collapsed. But the few times I got close enough to smell it…” He trailed off, exhaling through his nose. “There was gold, for sure. That metallic tang that sticks to everything. But underneath it, I smelled something else—dangerous herbs, the kind alchemists use to refine poison or draughts, and blood.”

That made Ludger’s eyes narrow. “Blood?”

“Fresh,” Maurien said. “Too much of it to be from hunting or skirmishes.”

The silence that followed was colder than the night outside.

Ludger’s voice was steady, but there was a sharpness behind it when he asked, “Are they capturing people?”

Maurien’s gaze flicked to him, and he nodded once. “Yeah. Slaves.”

Rhea, who had been listening quietly near the entrance, stiffened.

Maurien continued, his tone heavy with disgust. “They’re not just moving them from this are—they’re collecting them from the smaller villages near the foothills. The northern raids used to be easy to spot, but now it’s surgical. They vanish whole families without noise. And the ones I caught?” His mouth twisted. “They didn’t just transport people—they delivered them. Like inventory. They are also bringing them in.”

Ludger’s jaw tightened. “So they’re not raiders. They’re traffickers. Probably hired muscle moving supplies and people between noble factions.”

Maurien nodded grimly. “That’s my best guess. And whatever herbs and blood they’re hauling—there’s no chance it’s anything legal. Someone’s running experiments or manufacturing something ugly.”

Ludger’s fingers drummed against the stone table. “So they’re smuggling gold, alchemy ingredients, and human lives across Imperial borders… under the radar.”

“Exactly.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, the firelight reflecting off his eyes. “Then we find their route, and we burn it out of existence.”

Maurien smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Ludger stood, scarf shifting as he straightened. “You said we were a step behind. Then we’ll start running.”

The fire between them flared, throwing long shadows across the stone walls. The recruits could hear the faint echo of their voices—low, steady, and coldly resolved. Whatever mission they’d walked into had just become something far darker than a bandit hunt.

Ludger didn’t fancy himself a hero. The sort of grand, dramatic rescues that bards liked to sing about made him itch in the wrong places—too much noise, too many chances to get personally broken. He lived in ledger lines and efficient solutions: fix the wall, train the recruit, move the cart. Heroics were a messy overhead cost he tried to avoid.

Still, Maurien had been the kind of inconvenient friend who showed up in the right places when Ludger needed some help. More than that, the man had the kind of skills and reputation that could actually be useful to the Lionsguard—if he survived this clean-up, he’d be an asset, not a vanity project. That made saying no easier to stomach. Help a friend, strengthen the guild; the math added up.

The darker part of Ludger’s mind, the part that kept inventory of motives and margins, had already started connecting dots. The herbs Maurien smelled, the gold, the organized captures—those fit too neatly with the draught problem Kharnek had hinted at. If the underworld in the east was already moving substances and people through mountain routes, the northerners would be dragged into the mess whether they liked it or not. Kharnek’s whole point had been to give his people real livelihoods; whatever means necessary. Freyra—loud, proud, and blood-hot—would tear contractors limb from limb if she found those involved.

A small, private part of him wished the worst hypothesis false: that human lives were being used as ingredients in whatever they were brewing. If that were true—if slavery and the stuff of those berserker draughts were mixed together—then this wouldn’t be a tidy job of routing bandits. It would be a war that would burn whole reputations and put Kharnek and Freyra on a collision course with whoever was buying the product.

He didn’t pray much—prayers felt like paperwork to him—but he allowed himself one quiet hope as he listened to Maurien lay out the facts: whatever they found up there, it wasn’t going to be pretty. If it was only herbs and coin, they could cut the supply lines and move on. If it was worse… then they’d have to decide how much of themselves they were willing to lose to stop it.

Maurien leaned in. His voice dropped to a murmur—too low for anyone aside from Ludger to catch, and all the safer for it.

“I don’t want scraps,” he said. “I want the whole thing cut out. No loose threads, no backdoors, no convenient forgettings. Clean sweep—leave no room for whatever’s left to creep back in.”

Ludger met his eyes. The words landed like cold stones. “That’s… thorough.”

Maurien’s jaw hardened. “Thorough because this smells deeper than a few greedy bandits. Whoever set this up knows how to hide and how to buy silence. If we miss one node, they rebuild. If we scare off one courier, another takes its place. I want it completely ended.”

There was a weight to the demand that wasn’t just professional zeal; it had the personal edge of a man who’d seen the consequences of half-measures. Ludger understood that. He also understood the cost.

“Problem is,” Maurien continued, “you can’t run a broom through the mountain passes without leaving tracks. If recruits are involved, if northerners show up too visibly—questions will be asked. And questions bring the wrong kind of attention.”

Ludger felt the thin thread of dread he’d been nursing tighten. He looked at Maurien and then at the doorway where the recruits’ muffled voices floated. Freyra’s whispers leaked through for a second—bright and careless. Ludger had an image of her two years from now, snarling at any noble who tried to pawn off their sins on her people. She wasn’t the kind who’d tuck a secret into her pocket and forget it.

He nodded once, slow. “I get it. If we drag the kids in—if they see too much—the whole thing’s compromised. They don’t have the discipline for secrets like this.”

Maurien’s eyes flicked with approval. “Good. Then we plan with that in mind. Minimize exposure. If we must use them—keep it compartmentalized. Only what’s necessary. And after, we make sure there’s nothing left to talk about.”

Ludger swallowed. The bluntness of that last sentence left a taste he didn’t like. He wasn’t a man prone to moral theatrics, but he knew the shape of difficult choices. Protecting the guild, protecting Kharnek’s people, protecting Freyra—those were arguments he could justify. Sacrificing innocence, silencing witnesses, keeping hands clean by pushing filth into others’ laps—that was a darker math.

He didn’t answer with words at first. Instead, he pictured the recruits: bright-eyed, clumsy, earnest. He pictured Freyra: furious and dangerous if crossed. He pictured the northern settlements—the children, the proud simple lives that could be cheapened if the traffickers’ chain ran farther than anyone suspected.

Eventually he said, flat and practical, “We’ll plan for minimal exposure. If things turn, I’ll handle the fallout. I don’t trust kids to bury what they find.”

Maurien gave a tight, almost-grim smile. “Good. Then let’s make sure there’s nothing for them to bury.”

The two experienced fighters traded the sort of cold, final calculus that lives are sometimes measured by. Ludger felt the room tilt—an acceptance, not of what he wanted, but of what needed doing. He would find a solution. He always did. But the memory of Freyra’s laugh lingered, and he wondered, briefly and privately, how much of himself he could barter away before the math stopped adding up.

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