Chapter 555
Ludger frowned.
He hadn’t scheduled anyone. He wasn’t expecting visitors. That usually meant either trouble… or someone trying to become trouble.
He left the storage with Yvar, walked through the main hall, and stepped out into the front yard.
A small group stood in front of the guild gates, men and women, roughly twenty to fifty, travel-worn but not desperate. Not soldiers. Not merchants with carts. Their posture was a mix of nervousness and tension, like people who’d worked in crowded places and knew how to stand without getting pushed around.
Workers. Craftsmen.
Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed. Calluses on fingers. Measuring gazes. A couple of them had the compact muscle of people who hauled bolts of cloth or rolled heavy bundles for a living. One had ink stains near the nails, someone who marked patterns or kept books.
At the front stood a woman with gray hair, tied back cleanly. Her face was lined, but her eyes were sharp and direct. She didn’t hover behind her group. She stepped forward immediately.
“My name is Julia,” she said, voice steady.
Ludger didn’t offer his name. He didn’t need to. Julia continued anyway, clearly used to dealing with men who thought silence was power.
“We were selected by Lady Viola,” she said, “to work on the production of clothes and similar products in Lionfang.”
That made Ludger pause for half a heartbeat.
Viola, he thought. So she didn’t just jump off the convoy to go home. She went home to recruit.
Julia’s gaze didn’t waver.
“We’re tailors,” she said. “Spinners. Weavers. Dyers. Pattern cutters. Some of us have handled strange materials before. Not spider silk, but… things that don’t behave like normal cloth.”
She nodded back toward the group, pride controlled but present.
“We were told your town needs skilled hands,” Julia added. “And that you pay properly.”
Ludger studied them again, eyes scanning for lies. He saw fatigue. He saw cautious hope. He saw people who’d been promised something and were brave enough to walk into the frontier to claim it.
He also saw risk. Bringing in specialists meant growth. It also meant more mouths, more housing, more politics, more targets. Ludger’s expression stayed calm.
“Viola selected you,” he said, more statement than question.
Julia nodded. “Personally.”
Ludger’s eyes flicked briefly to Yvar. The scholar’s expression was tight, surprised, but already adjusting, already thinking about logistics.
Ludger looked back at Julia.
“Then,” he said evenly, “welcome to Lionfang.”
A few of the workers exhaled like they’d been holding their breath since they entered the yard. Ludger lifted a hand, cutting off the relief before it turned into chaos.
He looked Julia up and down once, work posture, callused hands, the way her eyes tracked the yard like she was already measuring where she could set up stations.
Then he asked the only question that mattered.
“What do you need to start working as soon as possible?”
Julia didn’t blink. “A building.”
Simple. Direct. Practical.
“A large one,” she added, glancing back at her group. “We need space to process the silk and turn it into usable thread and cloth. Sorting, cleaning, tensioning, drying, everything happens faster when it’s close.”
Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Explain.”
Julia lifted her hands and began counting steps without needing a ledger.
“If the washing is far from the spinning, the wet bundles sit. If the drying racks are far from the combing tables, the fibers tangle. If the dye vats are across town from the weaving frames, you waste hours just moving material.” Her mouth tightened, and she tapped her chest once. “The closer we are to each other, the faster the process. The faster the process, the less waste.”
Ludger nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Julia’s eyes flicked to his expression as if she expected resistance. There wasn’t any. Not from him.
“Come,” Ludger said.
He didn’t ask if they were tired. He didn’t ask if they wanted to rest. He didn’t offer a tour.
He turned and walked, and the group followed automatically, because leadership like that didn’t leave room for hesitation.
They crossed the guild yard, moved through a side street, and stopped at a fenced-off empty lot near the edge of Lionfang’s inner ring. The ground was flat, too flat for nature, which meant Ludger had already touched it. There were markers on the corners.
Prepared.
Julia’s eyebrows lifted. “You were expecting this.”
Ludger didn’t deny it. “I was expecting something.”
He faced the empty lot and nodded toward her. “What kind of building do you want? Size and shape.”
Julia took a few steps forward, eyes sweeping the space like she could see walls already standing.
“We need a long hall,” she said. “Wide enough for multiple work lines. High ceiling for airflow. Good drainage. A side room for dye vats that can be sealed, those fumes get nasty. And a smaller secure room for finished bolts.”
She turned her head toward her people. “And windows. Light matters for quality work.”
Ludger nodded again. “Dimensions.”
Julia pointed. “That length, wall-to-wall. Two floors. Bottom for processing and heavy work. Upper for weaving and pattern cutting. Stairs wide enough to carry rolls. And a covered entry so rain doesn’t ruin half a day.”
She glanced at him. “Can you do that?”
Ludger’s answer was to move his hand. Mana slid into the earth beneath their feet, and the ground responded like a trained animal finally given permission to move.
Stone rose.
Not jagged. Not crude. Clean lines, compacted earth forming into dense walls, foundations locking into place with a low grinding hum. The lot trembled as if it was waking up, and then the structure started to climb.
First the base: thick, stable, slightly elevated for drainage. Then the walls: smooth-packed earth reinforced with stone ribs, corners squared, straight as a ruler. Window openings appeared in rows, evenly spaced, wide enough to flood the interior with light.
Julia watched with an expression that hovered between disbelief and professional hunger.
“Good,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Good… yes, like that, make that corner thicker.”
Ludger adjusted without being asked, reinforcing the support points where heavy machinery and dye vats would sit. The building rose higher.
Second floor. Support columns. A roof frame shaped in layered arcs so rain would shed fast. A covered entryway formed like an extended brow over the front doors. Vent channels were carved into the upper walls, subtle, functional, meant to keep air moving without turning the place into a wind tunnel.
Within minutes, a workshop hall stood where there had been nothing but dirt.
Not finished, no doors hung yet, no flooring laid, no internal fixtures, but the skeleton was complete. Strong. Ready. Julia exhaled slowly. Her group stared like they’d just witnessed the ground decide to cooperate with capitalism.
Ludger lowered his hand and felt the faint drain behind his eyes, the kind that reminded him even easy work cost something when you did it at scale. He looked at the fresh building, then past it.
Lionfang’s streets were full. Lots were full. Every empty gap had already been claimed by homes, storage, training yards, forges, or the endless infrastructure a growing town needed to not collapse.
And this lot this one he’d saved, had been one of the last. Ludger’s gaze tightened.
We’re out of space.
The realization didn’t panic him. It irritated him. Because it was another problem he’d have to solve. He stared down the line of houses, the busy roads, the crowding inside the walls. Lionfang would need to expand. Not “eventually.” Now. Because there were no more empty lots left.
Julia walked the perimeter once, already mentally dividing the space into stations.
Then she turned back to Ludger with the same blunt practicality she’d shown the moment she stepped through the gates.
“We’ll also need rooms,” she said.
Ludger’s brow lowered. “Rooms.”
“For everyone,” Julia confirmed. “Beds. Chairs. Tables. Storage. A wash area. Somewhere to eat without getting silk dust in our food.”
Ludger frowned deeper. It sounded wrong in his head. Too close to the workshop. Too convenient in a way that made his skin itch.
“You want them sleeping where they work,” Ludger said, tone flat.
Julia didn’t flinch. “I want them close.”
Ludger’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds like forced labor.”
A couple of her people stiffened at that, eyes flicking between them, suddenly uncertain.
Julia raised a hand, not defensive, clarifying. “No. Not forced.” She nodded toward her group. “They’re free to rent elsewhere if they want. But if we’re trying to make this seamless, if we’re trying to process spider silk fast without wasting days on travel, then proximity matters.”
She gestured toward the building. “First thing in the morning, the silk needs to be checked. Humidity changes. Tension changes. If we lose hours walking across town, we lose quality. And with unusual silk, quality is the difference between ‘expensive’ and ‘worthless.’”
Ludger held her gaze for a long moment. He didn’t like the idea. But he didn’t like wasting a fortune more.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Rooms. Attached, but separate from the work floor. You will not lock anyone in.”
Julia nodded immediately. “Agreed.”
That was the end of that. Then she did what skilled people always did once they saw the workspace. She started listing everything they needed to turn raw material into product.
“Combing racks,” she said, counting on her fingers. “Fine-tooth comb sets. Tension frames. Drying racks, raised, not on the ground. Sealed dye vats. Spindles that won’t snag. Loom parts. Measuring weights. Cutting tables. Needles, different gauges. Thread wax. Storage chests lined so the silk doesn’t cling to bare wood.”
She paused, then added with the calm cruelty of a professional. “And we need the right oils and soaps. Cheap ones will ruin it.”
Yvar would have cried if he’d been standing there. Ludger just listened, eyes steady, already turning it into procurement lists, vendors, costs, and timelines. It was a serious investment.
The kind that didn’t pay back in a week. Or even a month. But Ludger wasn’t building this for quick coin. He was building it because Lionfang needed industries that made people come here for something other than war. And because the silk was too valuable to let amateurs destroy it.
“We’ll get it,” Ludger said.
Julia’s eyes searched his face. “Even if profit takes time?”
Ludger’s expression didn’t change. “I can wait.”
He’d waited through worse than delayed profits.
He spent the rest of the day doing what he did best: turning plans into stone.
He raised partitions and corridors. Carved out a separate living wing with a simple, defensible layout—nothing fancy, but solid. He shaped floors smooth enough that thread wouldn’t catch. He built drainage channels so water and dye runoff wouldn’t pool and rot. He left space for the tools Julia had listed, marking locations with small stone nubs like placeholders.
Then he did the part that cost him more than mana.
Furnishing.
Beds first, simple frames, sturdy, with enough clearance to keep pests and damp away. He commissioned and dragged in what he couldn’t shape cleanly from earth: proper mattresses, blankets, basic chairs and tables, wash basins, shelves.
By sunset, the workshop still wasn’t fully operational.
But the people who’d walked into Lionfang that morning as strangers had somewhere to sleep.
A real bed.
A roof.
A place to set their things down without fear.
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