Ludger let the wind gather beneath his boots in a thin, circular cushion, letting him glide the last few meters like a ghost drifting above the ground. It was almost identical to the movement Maurien used, clean, controlled, elegant in a way Ludger usually didn’t care to be.

  But here, in the dead silence of the slums, it felt appropriate. His feet didn’t touch the ground. His steps didn’t make a sound. His mana remained a thin, cold trickle, just enough to hold him aloft, just enough to ensure not even the creak of a board would betray him.

  Wind magic wrapped around him like a second skin. He approached the warped wooden door of the warehouse. His fingers barely brushed the surface before a focused stream of wind slipped from his palm, slicing through the air with surgical precision. The hinges didn’t groan. The wood didn’t resist. The door simply opened, quietly, obediently, as though afraid to defy him.

  Inside, the warehouse was still. Dim. Rotting. Awaiting its execution. Ludger’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his voice silent but intent clear. It was time to destroy an underworld guild.

  Ludger paused just inside the warehouse doorway, breath steady, mana tightening around him like a compressed coil. What came next would reveal everything, his presence, his intrusion, his intent. There would be no going back. If he made even the smallest mistake, whoever was inside that tunnel would sense him instantly. So he forced himself to be still.

  One breath in. One breath out. Then he pushed.

  Seismic Sense surged outward in a violent burst, far wider than he usually allowed. His mana raced through the foundation, the dirt, the stone, and the buried timbers beneath the structure like a shockwave tearing through silent water. The image that formed in his mind was vast and intricate: a long, narrow corridor stretching beneath the warehouse, roughly a hundred meters in length. A tunnel hidden deep beneath the slums, reinforced with boards and rusted metal beams. And inside that tunnel,

  one presence. The handler.

  Calm footsteps, rhythm steady, each step directed toward a larger space beyond. The vibrations traveled down the tunnel and then opened into something much bigger. Ludger expanded the sense farther and felt an entire underground compound unfold in his mind. A network of rooms. Platforms. Crates. Tunnels crossing and weaving like the veins of a diseased root system.

  Dozens of presences moved inside. Some clustered. Some alone. Some standing guard.

  And as his mana passed through the walls like a silent echo, a few heads jerked upward. He felt it. A handful of them stiffened, confused by a disturbance they couldn’t name. They noticed the ripple. The shift. The pressure. Their steps changed, posture tightening.

  But most of them didn’t react at all. They were oblivious. Perfect targets.

  Ludger’s first instinct was immediate and violent: sink the entire structure. Collapse every tunnel, every chamber, every exit. Crush the Iron Moth Brotherhood under tons of earth and leave nothing but rubble and silence. His fingers twitched—the spell was already forming. All he needed was a single thought and the entire underworld nest would become a tomb.

  But then, something made his breath catch.

  Small tremors. Short, frantic patterns. Presences that didn’t move with purpose or awareness. Caged presences. Several of them.

  Children. Teens. Young men and women with weak pulses and shallow, exhausted rhythms, signatures of people trapped, restricted, desperate. Prisoners.

  Ludger’s jaw tightened, the cold intent in his mana snapping against the cage of his conscience. He cursed silently, lips barely moving.

  “Damn it… why now?”

  He was annoyed at this part of himself, the part that refused to let innocent people get hurt even when killing them would make everything simpler. The part that interfered every time he tried to end things cleanly and efficiently. Mercy wasn’t in his nature, but responsibility was. Duty was. And the idea of burying captives alive made his stomach twist.

  His ruthlessness collided with his obligation, sending a sharp pulse through his spine. He stood there, fists clenched, grinding his teeth. He could crush criminals without blinking. But he couldn’t bring himself to crush the innocent along with them. His conscience, annoying, inconvenient, and stubborn, had just complicated everything. Again.

  Ludger rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm, as if he could physically push away the sudden weight of moral responsibility pressing into his skull. This was supposed to be simple. He was supposed to collapse the whole nest of criminals, walk away, and sleep for the first time in three days. But no, of course there had to be innocent people involved. Of course his conscience had to kick him in the shins at the worst possible moment.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered to himself. “I guess it’s time to act like a hero.” His tone was as flat as a cracked tile. “How cool and selfless of me. Time to make the twins would be so proud of their big brother.”

  The sarcasm didn’t make him feel better, but it did steel him enough to move.

  With one sharp pulse of mana, Ludger pushed his hands against the warehouse floor. A deep tremor rolled outward, spiderwebbing through the underground tunnels. He didn’t collapse everything, he wasn’t making a graveyard. He just targeted the auxiliary exits: side shafts, escape holes, secondary corridors. Stone snapped shut like teeth biting down. Earth folded into place, sealing pathways and trapping the Brotherhood’s members inside the central chamber where he wanted them.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The slums above shook with a brief, muffled quake. A few loose boards rattled, some old bricks cracked, and a lantern down the street flickered. But nothing loud enough to alert the entire town. To the surface, it would feel like a minor tremor. By the time anyone wandered close enough to investigate, it would all be over.

  Ludger opened the secret passage with a twist of mana, the stone clicking and shifting aside like obedient machinery. Cold air flowed up from below, carrying the faint scent of mold, sweat, and something metallic, blood, probably. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and dropped into the tunnel.

  The moment his boots landed on the wooden planks, he clicked his tongue sharply. He forgot to buy a proper outfit for his mysterious-night-agent persona. He had planned on it. Really. He’d even written a list. But between spies, birthdays, and a perfectionist lion-beastman blacksmith, he had somehow lost the chance.

  At least he had a hood. He tugged it low over his eyes, then pressed a hand to the tunnel wall. Earth loosened under his touch. He drew it outward like clay, letting it rise and coil around him, covering the lower half of his face like a hardened mask, then thickening around his arms and shins as rough armor. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. And it hid everything identifying.

  Good enough. He inhaled once. Then he dashed forward, wind at his back, gliding through the dark tunnel like a shadow ready to dismantle an entire criminal guild piece by piece. A hero’s job. Apparently.

  Ludger slowed his run as the tunnel opened into a massive underground chamber, a hideout carved out with crude tools and reinforced with stolen lumber. Lanterns hung from chains, flickering against damp walls. Crates were stacked like barricades. Shadows crawled behind pillars.

  And every single hostile in the room had already turned to face him. Apparently the tremor he caused had been enough warning.

  A half-circle of armed men formed near the center of the chamber, boots planted wide, weapons raised. None of them spoke at first, they simply watched him with narrowed eyes, trying to understand what they were dealing with. When the silence stretched too long, a few of them exchanged confused glances.

  Because the figure walking calmly toward them… hardly looked impressive. A single person. No backup. No visible weapons. No enchanted armor. Just a hooded figure with crude plating on his arms and legs and a stone mask covering the lower half of his face, like some half-finished statue had decided to take a stroll.

  One of the men snorted. Another frowned in irritation. Someone muttered, “Who the hell is this clown?”

  Ludger didn’t blame them for their confusion. He must’ve looked weird, borderline stupid, compared to how actual assassins or elite agents dressed. Still, he didn’t bother adjusting anything. Let them underestimate him. It made things easier. He crossed his arms and surveyed the enemies with mild annoyance.

  There were around twenty of them in the main chamber. Maybe more hiding in the shadows or behind crate stacks. All grown men, all wearing leather reinforced with steel plates, most of them carrying, Ludger’s eyebrow twitched beneath his hood. Froststeel. All of them.

  Short swords, curved knives, hatchets, even two polearms, every weapon glittered with that familiar icy sheen. Someone had stamped froststeel into cheap underworld gear like it was bulk material. Ludger’s frown deepened.

  “They really should keep a better eye on who they’re selling that to,” he muttered under his breath.

  The nearest man heard it and bristled. “What was that? Speak up!”

  Ludger didn’t respond. He only tilted his head slightly, expression beneath the mask unreadable as he observed the froststeel weapons with disappointment rather than fear.

  Of all the crimes here, kidnapping, smuggling, the entire underworld apparatus, this was the one that irritated him the most.

  Froststeel was supposed to be the symbol of the guild. To the labyrinth teams. To the people who actually needed it. Not… these clowns.

  The Iron Moth Brotherhood members tensed as Ludger stepped deeper into the chamber, the light catching his hooded silhouette. Twenty armed criminals facing one unarmed, oddly dressed guy. They thought they had the advantage. They were wrong.

  A rough voice cut through the chamber, gravelly, irritated, and used to being obeyed.

  “Kill him.”

  It came from the back of the group, behind the first row of froststeel-wielding thugs. The effect was immediate. Every goon tensed, shoulders rising like shocked animals before aggression replaced hesitation. Then they charged, boots slamming against the ground in a chaotic stampede of steel and desperate bravado.

  Ludger didn’t move at first. He didn’t need to. Yes, he’d used a lot of mana already, sealing exits, opening tunnels, gliding on wind, casting deep-range Seismic Sense, but his tank was far from empty. Between his amulet, gloves, and natural skill, he still had more than enough mana to turn the chamber into a graveyard.

  Earth spikes alone could have killed every one of them in a heartbeat. A single thought, a pulse of mana downward, and the room would sprout a forest of jagged pillars impaling every goon in reach. Efficient. Fast. Quiet. But the idea died immediately.

  The prisoners were still here. Innocents. People who would talk if they saw him use his signature magic. The last thing Ludger wanted was a crowd of rescued strangers running back to Meronia screaming, “A twelve-year-old earth demon saved us!”

  Keeping witnesses quiet was exhausting. Better not create witnesses in the first place. So he chose techniques that weren’t tied to his identity.

  The first wave of enemies reached striking distance, froststeel blades raised, eyes full of bloodlust, Ludger finally moved. He opened both hands and cast Splash.

  A swirling mass of water condensed from the air into two massive spheres, each one slamming into the front rank of thugs with enough force to rip them off their feet. Bodies flew backward like rag dolls. Water splashed across the stone, drenching everyone nearby, turning the ground slick and muddy.

  While the criminals were still gasping and sputtering on the floor, Ludger raised both arms and channeled Cold Wind. Icy gusts poured from his palms like winter storms unleashed underground. Frost crawled instantly over the soaked men, freezing their clothes, their hair, their skin. The temperature dropped so sharply that even Ludger’s breath fogged beneath his stone mask.

  The first man turned blue. Then the second. Then the third.

  One by one, they began stiffening, breath choking out in crackled puffs as frost crept into their blood. Some tried to scream. Their voices froze in their throats. Within seconds, they were dying, ice crawling over their bodies, joints locking, eyes turning glassy.

  Ludger stepped forward, ready to finish the rest, A shockwave ripped through the chamber.