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

Chapter 426

After the forge cooled and Raukor waved him off with a grunt that passed for approval, Ludger wiped the metal dust from his hands and headed straight for the Lionsguard guildhall.

He could hear it before he reached the courtyard. Too many voices. Too many footsteps. Too much movement. When he stepped inside, the reason became obvious. They’d multiplied.

Recruits filled the training grounds in loose clusters, older trainees drilling forms, newer ones watching with wide eyes, kids barely tall enough to hold practice weapons copying stances with dangerous enthusiasm. Compared to when Ludger had left, their numbers had more than doubled.

Two months. That was all it took. Yvar stood near the central board, surrounded by scrolls, dispatch notes, and a small crowd asking questions faster than he could answer them. His normally neat hair was slightly disheveled. His eyes, sharp as ever, carried the hollow look of someone who had not slept enough.

When he spotted Ludger, Yvar’s shoulders sagged in visible relief. Thank the gods, you’re back. Ludger walked over and spoke quietly.

“You’re done.”

Yvar blinked. Then exhaled.

“…I don’t even care if that’s not official.”

Ludger glanced around the courtyard again. Graduation candidates. New blood. Future problems. It was time.

Some of these kids were ready to move on, to join patrols, escorts, logistics, real work. Others needed direction before they broke themselves trying to keep up with stories and rumors. And then there was Overdrive.

Teaching it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t safe. And it definitely wasn’t for everyone.

Ludger crossed his arms, watching a group of trainees struggle through endurance drills. If he taught Overdrive to everyone, some would get hurt. If he taught it to no one, the guild would stagnate. If he taught it only to those who wanted to join the Lionsguard proper… That made sense. But wanting wasn’t enough. They had to be ready to accept the cost.

He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing slightly. Do I teach the technique… or do I teach the people?

Overdrive wasn’t just power. It was responsibility, knowing when to stop, when to push, and when to accept pain without losing control.

Ludger looked back at Yvar, who was already sorting documents with renewed focus now that help had arrived. Arslan needed him where he belonged, planning routes, tracking resources, coordinating allies.

The guild needed structure again. And the recruits? They needed a decision. Ludger straightened. He’d make it soon. Not with speeches. Not with ceremony. With tests.

Because anyone could want power. Only a few were willing to pay for it, and still keep their heads.

The courtyard quieted the moment Ludger stepped forward.

No shouting. No dramatic entrance. Just presence. He looked over the crowd, too many faces, too many levels of experience, too many expectations. Then he spoke, voice calm and level, carrying without effort.

“Listen.”

The noise died completely.

“There are too many of you to train like this.”

No apology. Just fact.

“So we’ll split you into groups.”

A murmur rippled through the recruits, excitement and nerves mixing. Ludger raised a hand and continued.

“You will be tested.”

Some stiffened. Some straightened. A few swallowed hard.

“The tests are simple.”

He began counting on his fingers.

“Reading. Writing.”

A few looked confused. A few relieved.

“Basic spell use. Create Water. Splash.”

More murmurs, easy spells, but not everyone could cast them cleanly.

“And stamina.”

That one made several trainees grimace.

“No tricks. No combat.”

He paused, eyes sharp.

“Yet.”

Silence again. Ludger gestured to the open space beside him.

“Form a line. One by one. Wait for your turn.”

The recruits moved quickly, almost too quickly, boots scraping stone as they organized themselves. Order emerged where chaos had been moments before. Ludger turned his head slightly.

“Yvar.”

Yvar was already there, ledger in hand.

“Write down names and scores.”

Yvar nodded once, quill ready.

“You’ll decide placements?” he asked.

“I will.”

Yvar hesitated, then asked the question many were thinking.

“Are you planning to graduate more of them for work?”

Ludger didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

A few hopeful breaths escaped the line. He continued, voice even, cutting through assumptions.

“Those who want to join the Lionsguard and are skilled enough will be given work.”

A pause.

“Those who don’t want to join—”

He looked down the line, meeting eyes one by one.

“—are free to go. Take what you learned and find work wherever you want.”

No threats. No pressure. Just a choice. Some relaxed. Some squared their shoulders. Ludger stepped back, folding his arms.

“This is not punishment. This is sorting.”

Yvar dipped his quill. The first recruit stepped forward. And the guild began to change shape.

By sunset, the courtyard looked nothing like it had that morning. Lines had turned into clusters. Clusters into lists. Lists into decisions.

Ludger stood beside the board with chalk dust on his fingers, five clean columns written in his tight, precise hand.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Five levels. No embellishment. No comfort lies.

Nonexistent

Couldn’t read. Couldn’t write. Couldn’t control mana at all. They weren’t mocked. They weren’t dismissed. They were simply sent back to the basics.

Basic

Reading, writing, slow, but functional. Could cast Create Water, sometimes. Mana leaked, control shaky. Raw clay.

Making Progress

Stable Create Water. Clean Splash. Enough stamina to train without collapsing. These ones were dangerous if rushed, and promising if handled right.

Almost There

Good control. Good endurance. Understood instructions without repeating them twice. Potential Lionsguard material.

Graduated

No more training needed. No more excuses either. When Ludger finished sorting, the sun was already low. At the end of the day, twenty kids stepped forward.

They had passed. They had learned enough. But they didn’t want to join the Lionsguard. And Ludger respected that. They left the training grounds with full bellies, waterskins, clean beds for the night, and something far more valuable than a badge or contract. Skills.

Things they could use anywhere. Reading contracts. Writing messages. Creating water when wells ran dry. Understanding how mana actually behaved. They walked away tired, but satisfied. No bitterness. No regret.

Another twenty stepped forward after them. These ones wanted more. They wanted the Lionsguard.

They had the basics. They had the drive. But they weren’t ready yet. Not even close.

They would need at least a year of forging, training, discipline, injuries, repetition. Learning what it meant to push without breaking.

Among them stood the half-northerner kid, shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes burning with quiet resolve. Ludger met his gaze briefly and nodded once. Not approval. Acknowledgment.

The rest of the recruits were redistributed without ceremony.

Newcomers went back to reading and writing. Then Create Water. Nothing else.

Second group moved on to Splash, learning control instead of power.

Third group began basic combat drills, footwork, posture, breathing. No heroics.

Fourth group was allowed to learn Healing Touch.

Only after that. Only then, would they graduate. When it was done, the courtyard felt lighter. Not emptier. Clearer. Yvar closed his ledger with a soft thump and exhaled like a man finally allowed to breathe again.

Ludger watched the remaining trainees drill, stumble, improve. This wasn’t glory. This wasn't a legend. This was the structure. And it was exactly what the guild needed.

As the sun slid toward the horizon and the courtyard filled with long shadows, Ludger finally allowed himself to stretch properly. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the dull ache settle deep into muscle and bone, then twisted at the waist until his spine gave a soft series of pops. His legs trembled faintly, not from lack of strength, but from the kind of exhaustion that crept in when the mind had been working nonstop all day.

This kind of work was worse than heavy exercise. Fighting drained the body. Teaching, deciding futures, sorting people into paths they might follow for the rest of their lives, that drained everything else.

Yvar closed his ledger with a quiet snap and stepped closer, the relief of being done with administrative hell written plainly on his face. He adjusted his grip on the book before speaking.

“There’s one left,” he said. “Someone whose status still needs to be decided.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow slightly, eyes still on the courtyard as the last trainees packed up and left.

“Who?” he asked.

Yvar nodded toward the entrance of the training grounds.

Renvar stood there, massive frame half-lit by the setting sun, armor loosened, arms crossed as he watched the recruits disperse. He looked completely out of place—too big, too experienced, like a siege weapon someone had forgotten to move.

Ludger blinked once. Then nodded slowly.

“Right,” he said. “Him.”

Yvar glanced at him sideways. “You forgot?”

“Kind of,” Ludger replied evenly. “He was being tested during the last mission too.”

They walked toward the entrance together, boots crunching softly over gravel. Renvar turned at the sound of footsteps, his expression shifting the moment he recognized Ludger.

“…You’re joking,” Renvar said. “You actually forgot about me.”

Ludger stopped in front of him and looked up, face unreadable.

“You’re as troublesome as Kaela,” he said flatly.

Renvar’s mouth opened, already preparing a loud protest.

“But,” Ludger continued without missing a beat, “if you keep your mouth shut most of the time, you can join the Lionsguard.”

The words landed harder than any punch. For a moment, Renvar just stared at him. Once. Then again. Then he threw his head back and barked out a laugh so loud a few lingering trainees jumped in surprise.

“That’s it?” Renvar said incredulously.

Ludger shrugged, as if the answer were obvious.

“You survived pirates. You didn’t freeze under pressure. You followed orders when it mattered,” he said calmly. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Your discipline still needs work.”

Renvar’s grin widened, sharp and bright.

“So… I’m in?”

Ludger nodded once.

“You’re in.”

Something shifted in Renvar’s posture immediately. The grin faded, replaced by something more solid, pride, maybe, or respect. He straightened without realizing it.

“I won’t disappoint,” he said.

Ludger met his eyes evenly, unflinching.

“You will.”

Renvar blinked. “What?”

“Everyone does,” Ludger replied. “The important part is what you do after.”

Renvar stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the words sinking in. Then he nodded, slow and serious.

“Understood.”

The sun disappeared fully beyond the walls, dusk settling over Lionfang. Another day ended, another line crossed. Ludger turned back toward the guildhall, already thinking about tomorrow, about labyrinths, forging, Overdrive, and the people who would need to be ready when the sealed doors finally opened.

The work never stopped. But for tonight. This was enough.

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