All Jobs and Classes! I Just Wanted One Skill, Not Them All!

Chapter 221

The following morning dawned clear. The ocean shimmered like tempered steel beneath the rising sun, and the bridge stretched farther than ever before.

Ludger stood knee-deep in the shallows again, his hand resting against one of the new pillars. The Core Amplifier around his neck pulsed faintly in rhythm with his breathing. Each inhalation brought a wash of cool energy through his body — smooth, refined, and efficient. His mana didn’t just recover faster; it flowed differently, steadier, more complete.

He focused, channeling [Earth Manipulation]. The seabed answered immediately, stone and sand sliding together like fluid. Normally, he would’ve felt the drain bite into his core after ten seconds — now it barely scratched the surface.

Half the cost… double the return.

He almost smiled.

By noon, the progress was undeniable. His mana capacity had increased, and the pillars grew like forest trunks rising from the waves. Every completed section added not just structure but experience — raw, and constant. His Geomancer level ticked upward faster than it ever had before.

When Gaius finally came to join him, the older man stood on the shoreline, arms folded and the brown-glowing gloves still wrapped around his hands. He watched Ludger work for a while before shaking his head and pulling them off.

“Take these,” Gaius said, tossing them lightly toward him.

Ludger caught them, frowning. “You’re giving them up already? You barely used them.”

Gaius smirked. “And I already know what I can do. You’re the one still figuring it out.”

“That’s not logical,” Ludger replied, slipping one glove halfway on and feeling the hum of the runes along the seams. “It’d be more efficient if you used them. You can shape the ocean floor faster, reinforce the supports, save us both time.”

Gaius chuckled, his voice gravelly but steady. “You still don’t get it. I’ve hit my limit, kid. My mana pool’s carved into shape already — same as my bones and scars. These things would only make the same tricks cheaper.”

He turned, glancing toward the half-built bridge with a quiet pride. “You, on the other hand… you’re still growing. Every pulse, every refinement, every layer you add — you’re building something new. Tools like those aren’t meant for old mages like me. They’re meant for the ones who still climb.”

Ludger stared at him for a moment, the sound of waves filling the pause. “You make it sound like you’re retiring again.”

“Not quite,” Gaius said with a faint grin. “Just passing the torch before I get too stubborn to let go.”

Ludger exhaled through his nose. “…Fine. But I’m not letting you drop all the work on me.”

“Didn’t ask you to.” Gaius’ grin widened. “Just make sure you break something impressive with them.”

Ludger slipped the glove on. Instantly, the resonance between it and his core synced — the ambient mana around him bending faster to his will, like gravity pulling inward. He clenched his fist, and the sand beneath his feet hardened to stone.

The pulse of energy didn’t even cost him a fourth of what it should have.

“Not bad,” Gaius said, shielding his eyes against the sun. “Now stop staring at the water and get back to building. The Empire’s not going to wait for your morning epiphany.”

Ludger gave a dry snort. “Neither are you.”

He turned toward the sea again, extending both hands. The gloves’ runes ignited, a faint earthen glow rippling out through the waves.

And the seabed answered.

Pillars rose like awakening giants, coral and limestone fusing seamlessly into hardened spires. Each one locked into place with the weight of a continent behind it, the sound echoing like thunder across the shore.

Mana flowed clean and sharp — efficient, controlled, and powerful. Ludger didn’t just feel stronger. He felt aligned.

For the first time since they’d started this project, the bridge looked less like a struggle… and more like a statement.

Ludger’s pace had become something close to mechanical.

His mana flowed like a current through sand and stone — smooth, efficient, relentless. The Core Amplifier pulsed faintly beneath his collarbone, syncing perfectly with every breath, while the Earthen Channeler gloves shimmered in pale brown lines along his forearms.

The results spoke for themselves.

A new pillar rose every ten minutes or so — coral, rock, and compacted sediment shaping themselves into perfect cylinders beneath his will. Each formation rumbled through the sea like the heartbeat of the earth itself, steady and controlled. He no longer had to stop between spells to rest or focus; his mana regenerated faster than he could spend it.

Even Gaius had stopped giving instructions. The old mage just stood nearby, arms crossed, half-grinning as he watched the ocean floor bend to Ludger’s rhythm.

“Not bad,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re turning the sea into your workshop.”

Ludger didn’t respond — too focused. His hands were already focusing on th threads of mana cutting through the water like ribbons of smoke. Beneath the water, the ground rippled. Then, in a deep, resonant boom, another pillar breached the surface, spraying foam and brine into the sky.

That made twenty in less than four hours.

And he wasn’t just stacking them anymore. Between the upper sections of the pillars, he started to shape narrow paths of compacted stone — like bridges connecting the pillars.

At first, they were simple walkways. But then Ludger began reinforcing them, layering compressed sand between the slabs so they would hold even under heavy weight. By the time the afternoon sun hit the water, the whole structure had begun to resemble a vast, segmented platform — a foundation not only for wood, but for something that could last generations.

Ludger nodded, still channeling. “It saves timber. And if we get another attack, they’ll have escape routes that don’t rely on boats.”

Gaius let out a low whistle. “Efficient and defensive. It will save time in case of an attack too far away from the land.”

Ludger smirked faintly but didn’t look up. Another tremor rippled underfoot, followed by a column of rock bursting upward, water exploding around it in a spray of white foam. The footing connected seamlessly to the others, the geometric pattern spreading outward like an intricate rune circle visible from above.

He stepped back, watching the waves crash against the freshly risen foundations. “That’s enough for today. The ground’s stabilized. Any more and we’ll risk drawing attention from further offshore.”

“They always come,” Gaius replied simply, turning his gaze toward the horizon. “But next time, we’ll make sure they find solid ground waiting for them.”

The sea wind whipped through his hair, carrying the scent of salt and earth. Behind him, the bridge now stretched farther than anyone had imagined it would this early — a growing monument of coral and stone that was slowly defying both nature and the Empire’s timetable.

And Ludger knew one thing for certain.

At this pace, the coast would belong to them long before anyone from the Empire could even arrive.

The next few days passed quietly.

No attacks, no sabotage—just the rhythmic grind of progress.

The sun rose, the waves rolled, and the bridge kept growing outward, one pillar at a time. Workers had regained some of their confidence, the Lionsguard presence gave them security, and the Ironhand Syndicate resumed their patrols along the coast. For once, the project felt stable.

Ludger didn’t trust it. But he wasn’t going to complain.

He and Gaius kept a steady pace, alternating shifts of geomancy and reinforcement, their mana working in seamless rhythm. When the days ended, they’d rest at the base with the others—Elaine reading softly to the twins, Viola training with Luna, Kharnek laughing too loudly while Freyra tried to look unimpressed. It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because Lucius Hakuen had started visiting more often.

At first, Ludger didn’t pay it much mind. The nobleman always brought news—reports from inland, shipments, or updated maps from the Senate. But lately, whenever Ludger saw him, Lucius was standing near Viola. Talking. Smiling. Too close.

It wasn’t hard to notice.

One afternoon, as Ludger worked with Gaius on a new support section, he glanced up to see them again—Lucius leaning on a railing, Viola tilting her head slightly as she listened. The way her expression softened was enough to make Ludger click his tongue.

Gaius followed his gaze and grinned. “You’re glaring.”

“I’m concentrating,” Ludger said flatly. “We are working here while a guy is hitting on my half sister.”

“On them,” Gaius corrected.

Ludger smirked faintly. “She broke his nose once. Probably going to break his heart next.”

Gaius barked a short laugh. “So you did notice.”

“Hard not to.” Ludger’s tone was dry, his eyes still on the horizon.

“Then what’ll you do,” Gaius asked, voice casual, “if she isn’t against the idea? If she’s… open to it?”

Ludger frowned, lowering his hands. The mana trail he’d been channeling faded into the sand. “She’s my half-sister. It’s not my job to protect her from that kind of trouble.”

Gaius arched a brow. “No? Could’ve fooled me with how you watch every man within twenty meters of her.”

Ludger sighed. “That’s just self-preservation. The last thing I need is an idiot thinking they can impress her by picking a fight with me.”

The older mage chuckled. “Fair point.”

Ludger wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, the faint glow of his amulet dimming as he cut off his mana flow. “Besides,” he added dryly, “everyone knows women like attention—especially from good-looking guys. It’s not exactly a surprise.”

Gaius laughed again, deep and genuine this time. “Pragmatic to the bone.”

“Someone has to be,” Ludger muttered.

The two stood in silence for a moment, watching the waves lap against the stone base below. Lucius was still talking with Viola in the distance, his gestures animated, her eyes bright despite the late afternoon sun.

Gaius gave a quiet hum. “You think he’s serious about her?”

“Probably,” Ludger said. “He’s got the type. Too earnest for his own good. At least for now....”

“And she?”

Ludger shrugged. “She’s Viola. If she wanted him gone, he’d already be limping.”

That earned another low chuckle from Gaius. “Fair enough.”

They went back to work, the ocean’s steady roar filling the silence between them. But as the next pillar rose from the depths and the sun began to set, Ludger caught himself glancing toward the shore one last time.

Lucius was still there—smiling, hands clasped behind his back—while Viola said something that made him laugh.

Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose, the faintest trace of a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Well,” he murmured, “at least she’s breaking something in the right order this time.”

Gaius didn’t ask what he meant.

He just laughed again and let the sound roll out across the waves.

The ocean had been quiet lately.

Too quiet.

For two full weeks, the sahuagins hadn’t attacked in force. Patrols still spotted small groups drifting near the reefs, but they always pulled back—watching, waiting. It didn’t feel like retreat. It felt like preparation.

Ludger could sense it in the air—the stillness before the next storm. The ocean carried weight again, like something beneath was holding its breath.

But in the meantime, work continued. The bridge now reached farther than any of them had expected, stretching past the shallow reefs and into deeper water. Each morning brought new deliveries of timber and tools, and each evening ended with the quiet exhaustion of progress.

One afternoon, while inspecting the latest section of support beams, Ludger found Viola standing by the rail overlooking the sea. The breeze played with her hair as she watched the waves break against the coral below. She had that calm look she always wore when she was thinking too much—and trying not to show it.

Ludger stepped beside her, his usual quiet presence breaking the rhythm of the wind. “You’re still here,” he said simply.

She glanced at him, brow raised. “Was I supposed to vanish?”

He leaned against the railing. “The birthday party ended two weeks ago. You were invited to that—not to supervise a construction site.”

Viola grinned, crossing her arms. “Oh, you’re worried I’ll outshine you, Vice Guildmaster?”

“Hardly,” Ludger said dryly. “Just reminding you that nobles usually return home after parties. Unless you plan to become a bridge inspector full-time. I was also expecting that I could use that as a chance to send mother and the twins back home as an excuse.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded letter, waving it lazily in front of him. “Actually, I received permission to stay.”

He frowned. “Permission?”

“Official one.” Viola’s grin widened. “I’m now here as the representative of House Torvares. Your guild’s biggest sponsor, in case you forgot.”

Ludger blinked once, unimpressed. “Convenient title.”

“It’s legitimate,” she said, feigning offense. “Signed by my grandfather himself.”

“So you’re basically here to make my life harder.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Just try not to set anything on fire.”

“I never did,” she shot back, glaring.

“Sure.”

They stood there in silence for a while, the wind filling the gap between their words. Viola leaned against the railing, watching the waves below again.

Then Ludger spoke, his tone casual but honest. “I wasn’t trying to chase you off, you know. Just making sure you hadn’t forgotten that you’ve got a home to return to.”

Viola tilted her head, her expression softening for a moment. “I know.”

He nodded faintly. “Good. Because if you stay too long, you’ll start picking up some bad habits.”

She smirked. “Too late.”

Ludger gave her a side glance. “Great.”

She laughed, the sound light but genuine, carried off by the ocean wind.

For a moment, it felt almost normal again—the tension, the banter, the strange calm before whatever storm waited beneath the waves.

But as Ludger looked out over the horizon, where the bridge’s last pillar vanished into mist, that unease didn’t leave him.

The sahuagins weren’t gone.

They were gathering. And when they came back, they wouldn’t just be testing the bridge.

They’d be testing everything they’d built to protect it.

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