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

Chapter 577

“Going against them now would be a bad idea,” Arslan added. “Not because we can’t fight. Not because we’re weak.” His eyes lifted, meeting Ludger’s. “But because if they decide we’re a problem, they won’t fight us like bandits fight. They’ll fight us like an empire fights.”

He paused, letting the distinction sink in.

“They’ll choke our trade. They’ll block routes. They’ll put ‘inspectors’ on every wagon. They’ll make paperwork into a weapon. And every time we resist, they’ll call it treason and justify worse measures.”

His voice lowered, steady and bleak. “And if it turns violent, it won’t be one battle. It’ll be years. And it’ll be fought in places where we can't swing swords.”

Arslan sat back, eyes tired.

“At least this way,” he said, “we have more power. More influence. More room to move. A seat at the table instead of being something they kick under it.”

Ludger’s expression stayed flat, but his eyes were cold. Arslan held that gaze anyway.

“So… I believe we should work with them for the time being,” Arslan said. “Not because we trust them. Not because we like them. But because right now, choosing the fight means choosing to put everything we’ve built on the line.”

He swallowed, then added the part that hurt his pride most.

“And because sometimes,” Arslan said quietly, “survival isn’t about refusing the leash. It’s about taking it loose enough that you can slip it off later.”

Ludger didn’t answer.

For a few seconds, he just sat there, staring at his father like he’d found a new monster species that was wearing Arslan’s face.

Speechless. Mainly because his thirty-something-year-old father was finally thinking beyond his nose.

Arslan had been doing that for a while, Ludger wasn’t blind to it. He’d delegated more. He’d listened more. He’d stopped charging at problems just because they offended him.

But this? This was Arslan looking at the board and willingly setting down his pride because it got in the way of the people he cared about.

That was… unusual. And annoying. Because it was sensible. Arslan saw the silence and mistook it for disagreement rather than surprise. So he kept going.

“There’s more,” Arslan said, voice lower. “If we spit on the offer… it doesn’t just hit us.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“It puts Torvares in a bad spot,” Arslan continued. “He vouched for us. He sat at that table. He put his name and weight behind the idea that Lionsguard could be brought into cooperation without force.”

Arslan’s jaw tightened. “If we reject it outright, the Regent doesn’t just shrug. He looks at Torvares and asks why his ‘border allies’ refuse the Empire’s generosity.”

Ludger’s expression stayed blank, but the tension in his shoulders changed. Different angle. Different pressure.

“And then Viola,” Arslan added.

That name hit with a different kind of weight. Arslan wasn’t speaking like a Guildmaster now. He was speaking like a father.

“She’s tied to his house,” Arslan said. “If Torvares gets pushed, she gets pushed. If the Regent decides Torvares failed to the empire, he’ll squeeze him, politically, economically, maybe worse. And she’ll be standing in the splash zone.”

Ludger went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t surprising. It was a calculation.

This was another part of the situation. Another piece of the trap the Regent had set: make refusal expensive not just for Lionsguard, but for anyone connected to them.

Arslan exhaled. “Accepting the offer…” he said, carefully, “puts Torvares in a better position. It makes his ‘cooperation’ narrative real. And it gives his house something it doesn’t have right now, allies in the south.”

Ludger stared at the candle flame. It flickered once, like it wanted to escape too. South. A base. A second anchor. A place Torvares could lean on if the capital turned hostile. A pressure valve.

It made sense. Which made it worse. Because now the decision wasn’t just about Lionsguard’s freedom versus imperial chains. It was about collateral. It was about Viola.

Ludger’s jaw tightened slightly. Arslan had to consider Viola as well. Because she wasn’t just Torvares’ heir. She was also his daughter. And that meant Arslan’s choices didn’t stop at the border of his own household anymore. Ludger’s voice came out quieter than usual.

“It almost sounds like you’re talking about betraying the Empire later.”

He didn’t say it like an accusation. He said it like he was turning a blade in his hand, checking the balance.

“What would be the point of an alliance in that case?” Ludger asked. “If we go in already planning to slip the leash, why bother putting it on at all?”

Arslan didn’t flinch. If anything, his eyes steadied, like Ludger had finally asked the question he’d been waiting for. He leaned back and let out a short, humorless breath.

“Because an alliance,” Arslan said, “isn’t a marriage.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed.

Arslan’s voice hardened. “Promises and signatures on pieces of paper don’t mean shit if both sides don’t agree on the terms anymore.”

The bluntness hit the room like a slap. Elaine didn’t react. She’d lived with that kind of truth long enough to know it wasn’t cynicism. It was experience. Arslan tapped the table with two knuckles, once.

“I’m being pragmatic,” he said. “Accepting the offer doesn’t mean I trust them. It means I understand the balance right now.”

He held Ludger’s gaze, steady and unapologetic.

“And I know very well how this works,” Arslan continued. “Any side with power can renegotiate the terms with force. They don’t need to call it that. They’ll call it ‘revisions.’ ‘Clarifications.’ ‘New circumstances.’ But it’s the same thing.”

Ludger’s mouth tightened. Arslan shrugged slightly, the movement carrying the ghost of old scars.

“That’s why I don’t worship paper,” he said. “I look at what we gain today. What we protect today. And I assume the agreement lasts only as long as it’s convenient for the people who can enforce it.”

He paused, then added, quieter:

“I learned that as an adventurer. Out there, the contract didn’t keep you alive. Your strength did. Your allies did. Your ability to walk away when the deal turned bad.”

Arslan’s eyes sharpened, the pragmatism Ludger recognized settling fully into place.

“So yes,” Arslan said, “I’m talking about taking the deal while it benefits us… and staying strong enough that if the Empire ever decides to tighten the leash, we’re not helpless.”

He looked at Ludger like he was reminding him of something fundamental.

“That’s the only kind of alliance that exists in the real world.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Not awkward silence. Not the kind you filled with words to make yourself feel better.

It was the silence that followed a truth everyone recognized but nobody enjoyed.

The candle crackled once. Somewhere deeper in the house, a floorboard settled with a soft creak. The twins stayed asleep, blissfully unaware that the shape of their future was being argued over the dining table.

Ludger didn’t move.

His face stayed calm, always calm, but inside, something twisted.

Because Arslan was right. And Ludger hated that he was right in the way only experience could be right. Paper didn’t bind power. Power bound paper. And Ludger… Ludger wasn’t immune to the same weakness that made good offers dangerous.

Family.

He had a soft spot for it, even if he’d rather bite his tongue off than admit it out loud in order not to let his enemies be aware of it.. He only entertained the idea of negotiating with the Regent because of them.

Not because he wanted a title. Not because he wanted the Empire’s recognition. Not because he dreamed of wearing velvet and being called “Lord” by people who’d spit on adventurers the moment they weren’t useful.

Because of Elaine. Because of the twins. Because Arslan, stubborn and proud, had still walked into the capital and taken the insult of “figurehead” without drawing steel, just to buy them time.

Everything Ludger had done so far, every road leveled, every manual written, every bracer sold, every rule carved into stone, was for one reason.

To make sure that when the world tried to crush them again, they wouldn’t be alone. To build a support system so strong that even an empire had to think twice before putting a boot on their throat.

And if he looked at it from that angle, coldly, logically, it made sense.

Accepting the offer on the Empire’s terms would give them armor they couldn’t forge themselves: legal protection, status, a wider network, and a reason for the Empire to treat them as “theirs” instead of “disposable.”

It would make Elaine and the twins safer. It would make Viola safer by extension. It would make Torvares’ position cleaner. It would buy time, influence, and room. So why did it still feel like stepping into mud? Because Ludger could smell the future hidden in the ink. Because accepting meant hooks. And hooks never came out clean.

His family had always supported his decisions. That was the worst part. They’d trusted him when he pushed boundaries, when he did strange things, when he made choices that scared other people.

Now that trust was pressing on him from the other side. Because if he chose wrong here, it wouldn’t just be his pride that paid. Elaine broke the silence. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t soften it either.

“Then,” she asked, “what is it?”

Her eyes moved between Arslan and Ludger like she was pinning them in place.

“What are we going to do?”

The question hung in the candlelight. Ludger’s throat tightened slightly. He could feel both answers sitting in front of him like two doors, both marked with the same word: consequence.

After a long silence, long enough that Arslan shifted once, long enough that the flame dipped and recovered, Ludger finally spoke.

“I need to think,” he said quietly. “For a while longer.”

Elaine’s gaze didn’t leave him. Arslan didn’t push. And the room returned to silence, this time not from shock, but from agreement that some choices didn’t get rushed, no matter how impatient the world was outside.

Ludger left the table without another word.

Not because he was angry, he didn’t waste anger on people he trusted, but because staying in that room one more minute would turn his thoughts into arguments, and arguments into commitments. He wasn’t ready to commit.

He walked down the hall with quiet steps, the candlelight fading behind him. The house was asleep around him. The kind of sleep that existed only because Elaine fought for it—because she built routines, enforced quiet, and made even exhausted men like Arslan sit down before they fell over.

Ludger reached his room and closed the door.

The silence inside was different. Cleaner. No voices. No politics. No paper promising salvation with one hand while sharpening knives with the other.

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at nothing. Annoyance crawled up his spine like a familiar itch. He’d worked for this.

Not this exact conversation, maybe, but this type of situation, the moment when power came knocking with a smile and expected him to nod. He’d prepared.

He’d turned Lionfang into an engine. Built infrastructure that made people depend on them. Written manuals to create competence instead of hoarding it. Spread the bracers carefully, controlled the market, controlled the narrative. Built routes that made travel cheaper and safer. Created training rules that cut out rot before it spread.

He’d done everything right. He’d done it with one goal: leverage.

Leverage so that when nobles and ministers and regents tried to pull him into their games, he could choose the best option for his family and his guild instead of being forced into whatever was convenient for the Empire.

And yet… It still wasn’t enough.

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