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

Chapter 445

The referee, shaking his head in disbelief, stepped forward with a hesitant hand raised, his voice wavering as he called out over the stunned silence of the arena.

“The match is over! Winner, Ludger!”

His words hung in the air, echoing through the arena as the dust settled. The audience, still caught in the reverberations of the explosive final moments, didn’t seem to know how to react. The sudden shock of what had just happened was too much for some to process. Eyes were wide. Mouths were agape. The roar that followed wasn’t immediate, but it was inevitable.

A few seconds passed.

Then the stands erupted into a cacophony of shouts, gasps, and applause, some in astonishment, some in pure, unabashed admiration. But the noise was almost secondary. The real impact was in the way people looked at each other, eyes flicking back to Ludger, who stood untouched in the center of the arena.

The narrator, completely stunned by the sequence of events, struggled to process the spectacle he had just witnessed.

Did that really just happen?

Ludger had defeated one of the most seasoned mages the guild had to offer, not through brute force, not through endless strategy or arcane trickery, but with an astonishingly creative, almost playful use of simple stones. Rocks and kicks. That was all. And with those three stones, he had shattered an entire arena’s perception of what was possible.

The fight had barely been a contest. The mage had barely had time to react, and Ludger? Ludger had made it look easy.

The audience shared the same confusion, the same growing realization. People were still processing the sheer efficiency of Ludger’s moves, and more than that, the creativity, a weapon, honed and struck not through flash and showmanship, but through pure, unrelenting ingenuity.

Ludger’s family and friends, however, were another story entirely.

Arslan sat back in his seat, eyes wide, a stunned expression frozen on his face. He had watched Ludger fight countless times before, but this? This was different. The boy had always been capable, talented, focused, dangerous. But the way Ludger had turned the fight into a game of ingenuity, outmaneuvering and outsmarting his opponent without ever needing to fully engage with the arcane firepower that had defined Horvan’s style, it left even the seasoned Guildmaster speechless.

Elaine, standing beside Arslan, had her hands pressed against her lips, her eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and disbelief. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The way Ludger had dispatched Horvan was one thing, but the way he had played with the fight, toying with the mage, dismantling him with raw, creative force? It was beyond anything she had expected.

Viola, standing off to the side, had her jaw clenched tightly. She wasn’t sure whether she felt a spark of jealousy or pride, but whatever it was, it was thick with tension. Her younger brother had just won, and in a way that made her feel as if she were the one playing catch-up.

The northerners? They were already roaring in approval, as loud as they had been when Ludger had walked into the arena. They understood the art of battle in a way that others might not, brutality, yes, but also innovation. Ludger’s final move wasn’t just an attack; it was a statement.

And as for Ludger?

He stood there, calm, collected, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t boastful, and wasn't arrogant. He simply knew what had to be done, and he’d done it.

Ludger had shown them something unexpected, and it left everyone wondering just how far his ingenuity would go next.

Ludger didn’t leave the center of the arena. He didn’t bow, didn’t celebrate, didn’t even look toward the crowd. He simply crossed his arms again. Just like before.

A faint stir ran through the stands, noise spreading in rolling waves as thousands of spectators leaned forward, breath held, eyes fixed on him. It wasn’t confusion anymore. It was hunger.

They wanted to see how far he would go. How many he could break. Where the line was.

Before a single insult could be thrown, before anyone had the chance to interpret his stillness as arrogance, a blur moved from the northern edge of the seats. A figure vaulted the railing and dropped into the arena with a thunderous landing, dust bursting outward from under heavy boots.

He stood tall, easily over seven feet, with a hardened muscular frame that spoke of decades shaping bone and sinew for combat. His armor was light, meant for speed: fitted plates over chest and shoulders, with reinforced forearm bracers and thick shin guards. Heavy metal gauntlets glinted under the arena lights, clearly the kind meant to pulp stone.

The crowd exploded. Some cheered. Some screamed. Some swore. But all of them knew that things had just changed.

The man wiped dust from his palms, gaze locked on Ludger with a fury that surpassed professionalism. His teeth clenched as he drew a deep breath, trying, and failing, to smooth out the tremor of anger beneath his voice.

Then he shouted loud enough for the whole arena to hear:

“I am Varkas the Stonefury, Guildmaster of the Ashbound Compact!”

The stands roared again, this time in shock. Guildmasters did not fight in these events.

Varkas tried to mask it, tried to paint himself as calm, composed, dutiful, but his eyes gave him away. They burned hot with frustration, resentment, and something darker: humiliation.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to bow to this spectacle. He didn’t want to admit that the tournament had reached a point where he himself

had to step in to stop a twelve-year-old boy. And Ludger?He stood there, arms still crossed, unflinching, meeting the gaze of a man much taller than, two times his weight, and infinitely more furious.

The arena vibrated with anticipation. This was no longer just sport. This was personal.

Assistants rushed the fallen mage off the sand, lifting Horvan with practiced care. His leg hung limp at a sickening angle, mana burns marking his robes. But Varkas Stonefury didn’t spare him a single glance.

His glare stayed locked on Ludger. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unbothered.

Ludger watched the guildmaster’s face, expression cool but eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn’t worried about Horvan. Not even concerned. Cold.

Ludger broke the silence first, voice calm and even.

“Shouldn’t you be worried? One of your own was just badly hurt because of a situation you started.”

Varkas didn’t flinch.

“Those who step into the arena accept the danger. They knew the cost.” His tone was steel, roughened by years of command. “They reached this far and gained strength because of the guild, because I made them strong. But this?” He nodded toward the tunnel where Horvan was being carried away. “This will be a needed wake-up call.”

He jabbed a thick finger toward Ludger, voice rising.

“It’s clear they aren’t strong enough to even defeat a brat like you.”

The crowd went silent, waiting to see how Ludger reacted. But Ludger didn’t bristle. Didn’t clench his jaw. Didn’t stiffen. If anything, being called a brat was almost… affectionate.

He’d been called far worse. Gremlin. Snot-nosed pest.

Shrimp. Little lord full-of-himself.

Ten years of dry smirks and uninvited confidence had built a thick skin. And sure, he’d smoothed the edges in the last few years, less smug grinning, fewer arrogant retorts, but he still had dents to hammer out.

So “brat”?

He could take that all day. His eyes drifted briefly to the tunnel. Horvan wasn’t dying, not with healers already working over him. But something about Varkas’s dismissal still snagged at Ludger’s thoughts.

Was every guild like that?Push hard, break harder, and if someone shattered along the way… well, that was their fault?

The Lionsguard wasn’t soft by any stretch. They trained, fought, bled. They took risks. But they weren’t groomed like livestock or measured purely by how much punishment they could take.

Ludger suddenly felt… relaxed, almost lazy, by comparison.

Sure, he’d snapped the mage guildmaster’s legs. Sure, he’d just folded a mage with three rocks. But when he thought about leadership? About his guild? About the people who fought by his side?

He wanted them alive. He wanted them growing. He wanted them to come home. Apparently, that made him an outlier.

Arms still crossed, Ludger studied the guildmaster in front of him, not his size, not his armor, not his weight class. Just the man.

And Varkas Stonefury stared back, eyes blazing with the kind of resolve that said surrendering this fight was never an option. The arena waited. The crowd held its breath.

And Ludger wondered, for the first time,  what kind of guild truly deserved to stand in front of the Lionsguard as opponents.

Varkas Stonefury’s expression shifted—anger giving way to a grin that carried far too much teeth and not nearly enough warmth.

“Still,” he said, voice rumbling through the arena, “this will be a good opportunity.”

He rolled his shoulders, gauntlets flexing with a metallic scrape.

“Brats like you pop up pretty often. A bit of talent, a bit of mana, some early victories… before long, you start thinking the world bends for you. That arrogance needs correcting.” His smile sharpened. “And since our fighting styles are similar, breaking your bones should do the job nicely.”

The crowd reacted in a ripple, cheers, gasps, laughter, even a few groans. Northerners hooted their approval. Nobles whispered sharply. Guild members stared with grim expectation.

Ludger blinked once. Then shrugged.

“Tell me about it,” he said flatly. “There are a few people back home who need that lesson, too. Long noses everywhere. Kids these days think a sprinkle of talent and a bit of hard work means they’ve earned egos the size of a mountain.”

The words hung for a moment. Varkas froze, expression tightening. He had expected fear. Or anger. Maybe indignation. Certainly not casual agreement. And absolutely not the implication that Ludger wasn’t speaking about himself.

It took him a second to process, his eyelid twitching, jaw clenching, because there was no universe where Ludger didn’t fall squarely into the very category he just criticized.

To Varkas, this boy wasn’t the exception. He was the definition.

Up in the stands, a hundred people choked back laughter. Another hundred nodded solemnly. And a good portion stared in open confusion. Ludger simply waited.

Arms crossed. Expression calm. Unimpressed by speeches, threats, or reputations. The referee, sweat still visible on his brow from the last matches, stepped forward, palms raised defensively between the two fighters. His voice cracked, then steadied:

“Combatants ready—”

A hush fell across the arena like someone had inhaled the entire stadium.

“Begin!”

The air snapped. Mana flared. Muscle coiled. And the fight to break the brat began.

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