novelraw Chapter 609
Chapter 609
They arrived around the time the camp shifted into its familiar afternoon routine.
The northerners were gathering for practice. And by “practice,” it meant the pool.
Ludger kept his face neutral as they walked past.
Freyra’s mouth twitched like she wanted to run ahead join them just to prove a point. Silva sneezed at the smell of wet fur and hot skin and looked mildly disgusted. Then Sigrid in the distance looked up.
She was standing near the edge of the camp, already in motion, arms full of organization, eyes sharp enough to cut excuses and shut people up. She turned her head like she’d felt them before she saw them.
Her gaze landed on Ludger first. Then Freyra. Then the huge dire wolf padding beside them like a silent escort. Sigrid didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.
She crossed her arms over her chest and held their eyes for a long second, taking inventory the way she did with everything.
Ludger’s posture. His weight distribution. The steadiness of his breath. The fact that he was returning with Freyra instead of alone.
The wolf. Then she nodded once, slow and satisfied. It looked like Ludger had gotten what he wanted. No questions. No congratulations. Just that one nod, approval served cold.
Ludger met it with a slight dip of his chin and kept walking.
Ahead of them, Sigrid’s eyes lingered, calculating.
Because if Ludger came back sharper, and Freyra came back calmer, even a little, then the next months wouldn’t be quiet.
They would be interesting.
And Sigrid, ruthless organizer that she was, looked like she’d been waiting for interesting for a very long time. Ludger veered toward Sigrid the moment he was close enough to speak without shouting.
He’d already organized the report in his head, three masters, what each taught, what he gained, what he’d seen in Herack’s arts, what it implied about hidden techniques and the kind of leverage Lionfang could build before the Regent tried to tighten the leash.
He opened his mouth. Sigrid nodded once before he managed a single word, as if she’d already skimmed the important parts off his posture and the wolf at his side. Then she said, casually, like she was commenting on the weather:
“I was wondering when my daughter would finally stop acting like a child.” Her eyes flicked to Freyra. “Looks like it’s time for me to start thinking of grandchildren names.”
Ludger blinked. Once. Twice. A third time, slower, just to be sure his ears weren’t playing games with his head.
Freyra, for her part, froze like someone had poured cold water down her spine. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, no sound coming out at first, as if her brain had briefly refused to acknowledge the sentence as real.
Then her voice finally arrived. It didn’t arrive quietly. It echoed across the camp with that same unnatural volume she used when she wanted the world to understand it had made a mistake.
“What the hell are you saying, old hag?!”
A few northerners nearby turned their heads like they’d just heard a bell ring. Someone snorted into their drink. Someone else looked delighted, the way people did when they smelled incoming entertainment.
Sigrid’s expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked mildly pleased.
“Don’t call me old hag,” she said, tone flat and absolute. “I’m still in my early thirties.”
Freyra’s face twitched like it was trying to decide whether to explode or implode.
“EARLY THIRTIES—?!” Freyra shouted, voice cracking with outrage. “YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER WHO CAN BREAK A MAN IN HALF!”
Sigrid lifted a hand, palm out, like she was calming a noisy animal. “That’s not relevant.”
“It’s VERY RELEVANT! WHY DID YOU SEE US LIKE THIS AND ASSUMED SUCH A THING?”
Sigrid sighed, patient, long-suffering. “You shout too much.”
Freyra jabbed a finger toward her mother hard enough it looked like she wanted to poke a hole through reality. “YOU STARTED TALKING ABOUT GRANDCHILDREN!”
“Yes,” Sigrid said. “Because you finally did something useful with your brain instead of your fists.”
Freyra’s eyes went wider. “I’LL SHOW YOU USEFUL—”
“Your posture improved,” Sigrid continued, uninterested in Freyra’s threat. “Your temper is still bad, but at least now you’re angry in a straighter line.”
Freyra made a strangled sound. “That’s NOT—!”
Sigrid tilted her head slightly, eyes cutting. “Also, you followed him home instead of sulking in a tent. Progress.”
Freyra’s face flushed redder than Rage Flow ever managed. “I DID NOT FOLLOW—!”
“You did,” Sigrid said simply. “So.”
Freyra looked like she was about to bite her own tongue clean off.
And just like that, mother and daughter slid into an argument with the practiced rhythm of people who’d been doing it for years, Sigrid calm and surgical, Freyra loud and explosive, the entire camp treating it like a familiar afternoon sport.
Ludger stood there with his report dying quietly in his throat, watching the chaos unfold.
He felt… uneasy. Not because he couldn’t handle fights. Because he could. He’d just fought a dual-wielding man with elemental Overdrives and thrown him out of a ring with a heat blast.
This was worse. This was domestic.
Ludger slowly turned his head, staring at the two of them as if they were a dangerous new species.
Medieval worlds are scary, he thought.
A woman in her early thirties had a daughter who was almost twenty.
That was… That was a problem on a societal level. Then again, Ludger watched Sigrid’s completely unbothered face and adjusted the thought.
She’s probably lying about her age.
Silva sneezed, as if he agreed. Ludger sighed under his breath, resigned. He’d come back north with new arts and new leverage. And immediately walked into a conversation that made him question whether he should’ve stayed in the snow.
Ludger stood there, very still, hoping, quietly, desperately, that Sigrid was lying about her age for the sake of his mental health.
Sigrid glanced between him and Freyra with the air of a woman evaluating livestock at market.
“Hm,” she said. “You two looked like you’re talking well.”
Freyra choked on air, then snapped, “We’re not—” and caught herself, jaw grinding like she was chewing her pride into something swallowable. “He’s… teaching me. How to use Overdrive better. The same way Herack does.”
Sigrid’s response was immediate.
“I don’t care.”
Freyra blinked. “What?”
Sigrid crossed her arms again, posture untouched by the cold, by the crowd, by Freyra’s volume. “I care about when I’m getting grandchildren.”
Freyra made a sound that was half outrage and half disbelief, then surged forward and—
THUNK.
Headbutted her mother. It wasn’t a full combat headbutt. It was the kind you delivered when violence was the only language you trusted to deliver a message fast.
Sigrid’s head snapped back a fraction. Freyra recoiled with her forehead already reddening.
Freyra hissed, rubbing at the spot. “Don’t ask for grandchildren in front of a crowd!”
A ripple of laughter rolled through nearby northerners. Someone coughed loudly to hide amusement. Someone else leaned in like this was the real tournament.
Freyra jabbed a finger toward Sigrid, voice rising again. “This isn’t the same age as you two! You two were fooling around because you were bored when they weren’t fighting Imperials!”
Sigrid stared at her. Then, with the calm inevitability of a mountain deciding to fall—
THUNK.
Sigrid headbutted her back. This one carried more weight.
Freyra stumbled a half-step, eyes going wide, while Sigrid calmly nursed her own forehead with two fingers like she’d bumped into furniture.
Sigrid exhaled and said, utterly unbothered, “The more you delay, the less time the kids will have with their grandparents.”
She looked Freyra up and down like she was issuing a work order.
“So get on it.”
Freyra’s face turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with Rage Flow.
“You—!” she started, then apparently decided words were too slow.
THUNK.
She headbutted Sigrid again.
Sigrid rocked back, then stepped forward like she’d been lightly tapped.
Freyra grabbed her own forehead again, grimacing. “Stop talking about making children like you’re telling me to drink sour medicine!”
Sigrid’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “If the medicine is sour, that’s your problem.”
Freyra let out a strangled, furious noise that echoed off the camp’s wooden beams. “YOU’RE INSANE!”
“You’re loud,” Sigrid replied.
Freyra’s hands clenched. “You’re embarrassing!”
Sigrid’s lips twitched, almost a smile, almost a weapon. “You need practice handling embarrassment. You’ll have plenty of it as a mother.”
Freyra looked like she might actually combust. Ludger, meanwhile, stood beside Silva with the stillness of a man witnessing a new kind of horror. The dire wolf sneezed again, then sat down as if to enjoy the show. Ludger didn’t blame him.
He just stared at Sigrid and Freyra headbutting each other in front of half the camp and thought, with a quiet dread he usually reserved for imperial politics:
This world is insane.
Ludger sighed, long, slow, tired in a way no sparring match had managed to achieve.
Then he turned and started walking. He had better things to do than stand there and watch Sigrid and Freyra practice using their heads as weapons. Not in a smart way.
Silva padded after him without needing to be told, occasionally glancing back at the camp like he was mildly disappointed to miss further entertainment. Ludger ignored him and kept moving, letting the cold air scrub the noise out of his ears.
By the time Lionfang came into view, the wind had shifted again, less knife-sharp, more familiar. The rebuilt walls stood solid and pale against the horizon, earth and stone shaped by his own hands and mana. Smoke rose from chimneys. The gate guards waved him through with the casual recognition reserved for people who belonged.
He crossed the streets with Silva drawing stares, kids pointing, merchants pausing mid-argument, a few recruits visibly rethinking their life choices as a dire wolf walked past like it paid taxes here.
Ludger barely noticed. His mind had latched onto a thought he didn’t like.
Would Mother ask for grandchildren eventually too?
Elaine was still busy raising the twins. Elle and Arash would keep her hands full for a while, and she had never been the type to pressure for nonsense without reason. She was sharp. Practical. Protective.
But Elaine had also shown Ludger enough over the years to prove one thing with absolute certainty:
She didn’t mind noisiness in the family. If anything, she tolerated chaos the way a storm tolerated wind, by treating it as normal. Which meant, someday, she might look at him the same way Sigrid looked at Freyra.
Not with that northern bluntness, maybe. But with that same quiet certainty that family was a “next step” you handled like any other responsibility.
Ludger’s mouth tightened. He couldn’t help the worry that settled in anyway.
As soon as I turn fifteen…
Fifteen meant adult here. Not “almost.” Not “legally, technically.” Adult.
Old enough to lead. Old enough to bleed. Old enough to make choices the world would punish him for like he should’ve known better.
And possibly, if his luck was truly cursed, old enough for his mother to start pestering him to look for a wife.
Medieval worlds sure are scary…
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