“What the hell was that…?”
This wasn’t something he’d dealt with since reincarnating. Not like this. He’d seen fear. He’d seen shock. He’d seen battle panic and exhaustion and mana poisoning and trauma.
But this… It almost felt like Luna had suffered an extremely powerful anxiety attack, triggered by those giants, by their aura, by whatever wrongness radiated off them, and her body had reacted like it was being hunted by something it couldn’t name.
And the strangest part? Healing Touch had helped. Not because her head bump was the cause, but because the magic had calmed her system, eased the physical feedback loop long enough for her to regain control.
Ludger looked toward the dark forest beyond the tent entrance, eyes narrowing. He would need to investigate this more. Because if those things could do that to Luna from a distance… Then whatever they were wasn’t just dangerous. It was the kind of threat that attacked you through your mind.
Luna woke with a flinch.
Her eyes snapped open and her whole body tensed like she expected something to be standing over her. For a split second she didn’t know if it was the cold morning wind sneaking through the leaf walls, or the memory snapping back into place—those wrong giants, the clearing, her lungs refusing to work right.
The sunrise was still low, pale light bleeding through the tent weave. The air had that early-morning bite to it, cool enough to raise bumps on skin that had gotten used to island heat.
Outside, Ludger was exactly where she expected him to be.
Sitting cross-legged on the sand in front of the tent, back straight, eyes closed, looking like he’d been there all night. The only sign he was awake was the slow rhythm of his breathing and the faint, controlled circulation of mana around him, subtle enough that it didn’t glow, but present enough to feel like pressure.
Luna shifted, and a dry leaf crinkled. Ludger’s eyes opened immediately.
He didn’t turn his head right away, just paused, listening like he always did, then he moved, standing and stepping to the tent entrance.
“You good?” he asked.
Luna exhaled, rubbing her face with one hand like she could wipe the whole incident off. “Yeah…”
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. She sat up fully, testing her balance. No blur. No hammer pain. Just a lingering tiredness in her bones, like she’d run for hours in a dream.
“I don’t know what the hell happened,” she admitted, jaw tight. “But it won’t happen again.”
Ludger watched her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he turned his gaze toward the forest, toward the direction they’d run from the night before.
When he spoke again, his voice was calm, too calm, like he’d already sorted the problem into a box labeled Threat: Unknown, Effects: Mental/Physiological.
“It wasn’t something you did,” he said.
Luna frowned. “Then what?”
He held her gaze for a second, then nodded faintly, as if confirming his own conclusion.
“Probably a magic effect,” he said. “Something those creatures emit naturally.”
Luna’s stomach tightened.
“To scare the shit out of targets,” Ludger finished, blunt as a hammer.
Luna stared at him, the cold wind suddenly feeling less like weather and more like a warning.
“…Naturally,” she repeated.
Ludger’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Yeah. Convenient, isn’t it?”
Luna looked past him at the pale morning light, then back down at her hands, steady now, but she could still remember them cold and useless.
If that fear hadn’t been hers… If it had been done to her… Then those giants weren’t just strong. They were built to break people before the fight even started.
Luna’s eyes narrowed.
“Why didn’t it affect you?” she asked.
Ludger didn’t answer right away. He stayed at the tent entrance, looking out at the forest as if he could still feel the shape of that clearing in his bones. His thumb rubbed slowly along his chin, thoughtful.
“It did,” he said finally.
Luna blinked. “It did?”
Ludger nodded once. “Just… less.”
He exhaled through his nose, choosing his words with the same careful logic he used in briefings. “I felt it. The pressure. The wrongness. The part of your brain that wants to step back and let someone else deal with it.”
He glanced at her. “But I wasn’t as overwhelmed.”
Luna’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.
Ludger continued, tone steady. “I was already braced for something dangerous. I’d been thinking about labyrinths. I’d been thinking ‘don’t humanize them.’ When the aura hit, it didn’t blindside me the same way.”
He shifted his weight, eyes flicking to her temple, then down to her posture. “And you were tired.”
“I’m always tired,” Luna muttered.
“Not like that,” Ludger said flatly. “You were running on injury, on three days of bad sleep, on fever recovery, on missing weapons, on stress you’ve been swallowing instead of dealing with.” His mouth twitched. “You can call it discipline if you want. Your body still calls it debt.”
Luna’s expression tightened.
Ludger’s voice softened a fraction, not kinder, just more matter-of-fact. “The fact that you collapsed soon after proves it. You were pushing yourself past your limits.”
Luna looked away, lips pressed thin.
Ludger didn’t push her further. He just finished, calm as ever.
“That aura didn’t invent the weakness,” he said. “It just found the crack and hit it.”
Ludger watched Luna’s face tighten, then added, almost like he was finishing a report in his head.
“And it might not be a one-hit thing,” he said.
Luna looked back at him. “What do you mean?”
Ludger tapped his chin once, thinking. “That aura could build over time.”
Her brows furrowed. “Build.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like the frost skeletons labyrinth.”
Luna blinked, clearly not expecting that comparison.
Ludger continued anyway, voice steady. “The cold in there doesn’t stop you immediately. At first it’s just discomfort. Then your fingers get stiff. Then your breath starts burning. Then your reaction time slows. And if you stay long enough without the right preparations…”
He shrugged. “Eventually it wins. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s constant.”
Luna’s eyebrows pulled together tighter. “So you’re saying their aura is like… cold.”
“It’s pressure,” Ludger said. “A persistent effect. Fear, unease, disorientation—whatever it’s doing, it’s not meant to be a clean fight. It’s meant to grind you down until you make mistakes.”
Luna stared at him, the comparison still sitting oddly on her face.
It felt weird to think of terror the way you thought of temperature.
But the longer she held the idea, the more it settled into place.
Cold didn’t need to punch you to kill you. It just needed you to stay exposed long enough.
And those giants…
If their presence worked the same way—slow, creeping, cumulative—then Luna’s collapse wasn’t a mystery anymore.
It was a warning.
She exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing toward the forest.
“…That makes sense,” she admitted, grudging. “I hate it. But it makes sense.”
Ludger watched Luna’s face tighten, then added, almost like he was finishing a report in his head.
“And it might not be a one-hit thing,” he said.
Luna looked back at him. “What do you mean?”
Ludger tapped his chin once, thinking. “That aura could build over time.”
Her brows furrowed. “Build.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like the frost skeletons labyrinth.”
Luna blinked, clearly not expecting that comparison.
Ludger continued anyway, voice steady. “The cold in there doesn’t stop you immediately. At first it’s just discomfort. Then your fingers get stiff. Then your breath starts burning. Then your reaction time slows. And if you stay long enough without the right preparations…”
He shrugged. “Eventually it wins. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s constant.”
Luna’s eyebrows pulled together tighter. “So you’re saying their aura is like… cold.”
“It’s pressure,” Ludger said. “A persistent effect. Fear, unease, disorientation, whatever it’s doing, it’s not meant to be a clean fight. It’s meant to grind you down until you make mistakes.”
Luna stared at him, the comparison still sitting oddly on her face. It felt weird to think of terror the way you thought of temperature. But the longer she held the idea, the more it settled into place.
Cold didn’t need to punch you to kill you. It just needed you to stay exposed long enough. And those giants… If their presence worked the same way, slow, creeping, cumulative, then Luna’s collapse wasn’t a mystery anymore.
It was a warning. She exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing toward the forest.
“…That makes sense,” she admitted, grudging. “I hate it. But it makes sense.”
Ludger didn’t say it out loud, but the thought sat heavy in his chest as he watched Luna recover. It was… scary. Not the giant bodies. Not the strength. Not even the idea of another labyrinth bleeding into this world.
The effect. Because what those things did wasn’t a normal threat you could solve by hitting harder or moving faster. It wasn’t venom in the blood or frost in the lungs. It was a mental attack.
And the worst part was how familiar it felt, like a weapon that mimicked the modern afflictions people back on Earth suffered through without even realizing they were. A slow, invisible sabotage. The kind that didn’t break bones, but broke decisions.
Fear that didn’t belong to you. Breath that didn’t obey. A body that suddenly refused to cooperate, not because it was injured, but because something inside it decided.
He’d dealt with monsters, curses, poisoning, and labyrinth pressure. Those were brutal, but honest in their own way. They pushed against the body and mana. This pushed against the mind.
A higher willpower would help, sure. Alongside discipline, experience, mental anchors, those things mattered. He’d built his life around staying calm under pressure. But what if the effect didn’t just pressure your willpower?
What if it negated it? What if it wasn’t asking your mind to give up, what if it was bypassing the conversation and flipping switches directly? That was the ugly possibility.
And it came with a list of problems Ludger hated even thinking about, because he recognized the shapes from Earth.
Not as “feelings.” As failure modes.
If that aura could induce something like a panic attack, it could probably induce other modern “afflictions” too, things that made competent people useless without any visible wound. Like runaway anxiety loops, your mind latching onto a worst-case scenario and refusing to let go. Not strategic caution, just compulsive dread. Every option feels wrong. Every delay feels fatal. You start second-guessing everything until you freeze.
Then there was rumination, intrusive thoughts: images and “what ifs” replaying on repeat. Not useful analysis, just mental noise that eats your attention. The kind that makes you miss a footstep, a flank, a sound that matters.
Another troublesome thing was dissociation, the feeling of stepping half a meter out of your own body. Like you’re watching yourself move. Everything becomes distant, delayed, unreal. In combat, that was death. In negotiation, that was manipulation bait.
Finally, paranoia and distrust: every ally becomes suspicious. Every conversation feels like a trap. You start isolating, cutting off information, refusing help, right when you need it most.
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