The climb toward the peak carried none of the weight of a battlefield, yet it pressed on Ludwig in a different way.
The higher they went, the quieter everything became, as if the world itself had no interest in what waited above. Wind passed through jagged stone, cold and steady, tugging at cloth and armor alike, but even that sound felt distant, muted, like it belonged to somewhere below.
Behind them, the gathered forces had stopped at the natural boundary where the mountain narrowed into a single path.
Orcs, lizardmen, the remnants of everything that had followed Ludwig this far, they did not step forward. Whether by instinct or by some unseen limit imposed by the Tower, none of them tried.
Ludwig slowed slightly, not stopping, but enough to glance over his shoulder.
There was no speech waiting there. No grand farewell. The kind of moment stories liked to stretch didn't exist here. They all understood what this was.
