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

Chapter 567

The northerners began to space properly. They stopped chasing individual riders into bad angles. They used shield hooks to catch lances and drag riders off balance.

They started using the corridor like a weapon, forcing the mounts into narrow choke points where Kharnek’s brute strength could finally matter.

Every time someone got clipped or stabbed or thrown, Ludger was there to keep the injury from becoming a death sentence.

And that meant they could keep going. Hour after hour, the riders fell.

Not because the northerners were naturally perfect for this kind of fight. But because they were improving fast. Because Ludger was there, quietly turning “mistake” into “lesson” instead of “funeral.”

By the end of the morning, the corridor was littered with larger chunks of froststeel, Ludger nodded while watching their quality..

Kharnek wiped undead blood from his beard and looked back at Ludger with a grudging respect that didn’t want to be spoken.

“You keep them alive,” Kharnek rumbled.

Ludger shrugged, calm as ever. “That’s the job.”

But inside, he was already thinking ahead. If they learned this fast with him present…

Then with the right gear, the right planning, and enough repetition. Maybe underwater war wouldn’t be suicide after all.

By the time Ludger climbed back out of the Frost Labyrinth, the sun outside felt almost insulting. Warm air. Normal gravity. No ice trying to murder his ankles.

Behind him, the northerners were still loud, tired laughter, arguments about who’d killed more riders, the usual chest-beating that only happened once everyone was sure they’d survived… But Ludger’s mind stayed in the dungeon.

Rage Flow.

He’d seen it all morning, northerners lighting themselves up with that brutal, red-edged intensity, turning exhaustion into fuel, turning pain into speed. It was ugly. Effective. Dangerous in the way all shortcuts were dangerous.

And the worst part? It worked.

It worked well enough that a thought started crawling into Ludger’s head like a bad idea wearing a good suit.

Could I make bracers that let people use that?

A controlled Rage Flow trigger, like his Overdrive bracers, but keyed to the rage pathway instead of raw output. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Even two. Something that let a fighter push past their limits when they needed it most.

He walked home thinking about it, turning the concept over and over, already imagining the rune structure:

A limiter circuit. A safety throttle. A mental anchor so the user didn’t black out into violence.

An anchor… he thought, and immediately disliked how hard that part sounded.

Because Rage Flow wasn’t just power. Or maybe a time limit… It was emotion sharpened into a blade. And blades cut the hand that holds them if you grip wrong.

The practical problem hit him next, hard and unavoidable.

Most of his guild members were kids. Kids learned fast. Kids adapted. Kids had clean mana and flexible bodies.

Kids also didn’t have the experience to handle anger properly.

Not the deep, controlled kind you forged over years.

The messy kind. The childish kind. The kind that turned “fight harder” into “hurt someone you shouldn’t.” Ludger exhaled slowly. A Rage Flow bracer would be useful.

It would also be a disaster waiting for the wrong person’s bad day.

He could already see it: a trainee getting insulted, snapping, activating the bracer out of spite, and suddenly the training yard wasn’t training anymore.

It was blood. Ludger’s eyes narrowed as he walked.

Maybe later, he decided.

Or maybe never. Because the real solution wasn’t giving children easier access to rage. It was making sure they didn’t need it.

Still… He couldn’t deny the itch in his mind.

If he could solve the control problem, if he could make Rage Flow safe enough to be a tool instead of a curse… Then he’d have another weapon.

And weapons were what kept the north alive.

On the walk back, Ludger did what he always did when a bad idea refused to leave.

He didn’t fight it emotionally. He replaced it with a better one.

He opened his internal kit of skills and started scanning through them like a craftsman checking tools on a bench, what could be translated into a rune effect, what could be made safe, what could be packaged into a bracer without turning the user into a liability.

Rage Flow was powerful, yes. But it was also… Emotional. Unstable. Too dependent on the user’s mind.

Too dangerous for a guild full of young blood and young tempers. So he looked for things that were simpler. Cleaner.

Skills that were mechanical in their consequences.

Mobility. Stabilization. Minor defense. Controlled output. Something that gave an advantage without demanding the user wrestle their own anger like a beast.

His eyes narrowed as a pattern formed. The best option wasn’t “more power.”

It was elementally attuned Overdrives.

Overdrive, but shaped, guided into a specific channel so it produced predictable results. A bracer that didn’t just spike output, but spiked it as an element.

Earth for hardening and impact resistance.

Wind for burst movement and balance correction.

Water for reflex bursts, cleansing, control.

Fire for short-range heat and emergency ignition.

Those were safer. Not harmless, but safer. They wouldn’t turn a bad mood into a murder spree. They would just… do what the element did. The tradeoff was obvious the moment he considered it seriously.

Elemental attunement consumed extra mana.

Shaping raw output into an element wasn’t free. It isn’t cost efficient. It demanded tighter channels. It increased strain on the mana circuits. It would shorten bracer lifespan unless he reinforced it with better materials or stricter time limits.

But higher mana cost was a clean risk. A measurable one. If someone overused it, they collapsed from mana exhaustion—not from losing their mind.

Ludger exhaled slowly, the idea settling into place. Elemental Overdrive bracers wouldn’t replace training. But they could change fights.

And more importantly…

They could be sold, regulated, and used without turning his guild into a tragedy factory.

He’d start with Earth. Always Earth. Because Earth didn’t tempt people into stupidity. Earth just made them harder to kill.

Ludger was still half in his own head, turning bracer ideas over like coins, when his Seismic Sense caught movement outside Lionfang’s usual rhythm.

Not the town. Not the roads. Further out.

Behind a low line of hills where the wind carried sound away and nobody wandered by accident.

He changed direction without thinking.

A few minutes later, he crested the ridge and found them.

The three Primal Groves beastmen.

Harkun and Ragan were sparring in a shallow dip of earth, using the slope like a natural ring. Their movements were controlled, efficient, no wasted swagger, no crowd-pleasing swings. The kind of training that assumed you might have to kill something later and didn’t want bad habits.

Sivra stood off to the side, where she should have been, watching the surroundings.

Only… she wasn’t watching quite as hard as she should.

For a moment, her attention had drifted back toward the spar.

Because Harkun did something sudden.

Mana surged around his hands like a tight, predatory fog, and his claws… They grew.

Not physically. Ludger saw it instantly. The bone didn’t extend. The fingers didn’t change length.

It only looked like they did, because the mana coating his claws formed a sharp, translucent sheath, an outline of length and edge that made each swipe longer than it should have been. A false extension made of pressure and intent.

A weapon made out of mana pretending to be anatomy.

Ragan reacted half a breath late.

Harkun’s “claws” raked through the air with a hiss, leaving faint streaks like the atmosphere itself had been cut. Ragan twisted his torso and brought up his forearm, bracing for impact.

The strike didn’t carve flesh, Harkun pulled the edge off at the last instant.

But the force still landed, and Ragan slid a step back, boots scraping dirt, eyes narrowing with respect and irritation.

Sivra’s ears flicked, her gaze snapping outward again, too late to claim she hadn’t been distracted.

Ludger watched from the ridge, expression flat.

Mana shaping, he thought. Not a spell. Not runes. Pure technique.

It looked familiar in the way good combat tricks always looked familiar: same concept, different flavor.

He’d been thinking about elemental attuned Overdrives, controlled output, predictable results.

And here was Harkun doing something that was basically an “attuned edge,” except instead of fire or earth it was claw-mana, sharpened and extended into a temporary blade.

It wasn’t just a trick.

It was a clue.

Ludger stepped forward, boots crunching once on the slope.

All three beastmen froze for a fraction of a second, instinctual. Sivra turned first, posture shifting into guard-mode, and then relaxed when she recognized him.

Harkun lowered his hands, the mana sheath fading until his claws were just claws again. Ragan exhaled and rolled his shoulder like he’d been caught doing something private.

Ludger didn’t comment on the sparring.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, his eyes stayed on Harkun’s hands—on the place where the mana had pretended to be extra length.

“That,” Ludger said calmly, “was sloppy.”

Sivra’s ears flattened slightly. Ragan’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin.

Harkun’s expression didn’t change. “Which part?”

Ludger nodded toward Sivra. “Your lookout lost focus.”

Sivra clicked her tongue quietly, annoyed at herself more than at him.

Then Ludger looked back to Harkun.

“And your mana sheath,” Ludger added. “It’s pretty interesting. But flashy. You’re painting a target on your hands.”

Harkun’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “It wins.”

“It also tells the enemy where your threat is,” Ludger replied. “Some enemies learn.”

Ragan snorted. “He’s not wrong.”

Harkun ignored him. Ludger’s gaze sharpened, shifting from critique to interest.

“That extension,” he said. “It isn’t real.”

Harkun’s tone stayed neutral. “No. It’s pressure. Shape. Edge.”

Ludger nodded slowly, mind already connecting it to bracers and overdrives and safer pathways for power that didn’t rely on anger.

“Good,” Ludger said. “Show me how stable it is. How long can you hold it before it fractures or fades.”

Harkun paused. Then: “Why?”

Ludger’s eyes didn’t move.

“Because I’m considering it,” he said. “And you just demonstrated a method that doesn’t need flashy magic to be lethal.”

He took another step down into their little training hollow.

“And,” Ludger added flatly, “because you were ordered to watch me. So watch me learn.”

Sivra’s mouth twitched. Ragan looked openly amused now.

Harkun stared at Ludger for a moment, then lifted his hands again.

Mana gathered, tight, sharp, obedient.

The “claws” returned, longer than his fingers, shimmering like the outline of a blade that didn’t exist.

This time, Sivra didn’t blink.

And Ludger watched with the calm attention of someone who wasn’t here to admire. He was here to learn the idea and turn it into something useful.

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