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

Chapter 605

The dual wielder kept clapping as he approached, expression bored in that dangerous way, like he’d only woken up because something finally stopped being dull. When he reached the edge of the ring, he stopped clapping and let his hands hang.

“That,” he said, voice carrying without effort, “was one hell of a match.”

A few northerners rumbled approval. Others grinned, pleased to have their entertainment validated.

The man’s eyes swept the arena, broken snow, scattered weapons, bruised bodies, the two centers of violence that had emptied the field.

“Much better than the ones I’ve seen lately,” he continued, and there was a faint edge of annoyance in it, like the past few days had bored him enough to consider leaving.

Then his gaze settled on Ludger. Still and sharp and measuring.

“Still,” the man said, “I didn’t expect the one who would surprise me the most… would be an imperial boy.”

The words landed heavy. Not an accusation. A fact presented like a challenge.

The crowd shifted. Eyes tightened. The air around the arena sharpened with interest, some curious, some hostile, some suddenly cautious.

Ludger’s expression didn’t change.

He didn’t flinch at the label, didn’t rush to deny it, didn’t posture. He just met the man’s gaze like he was looking at another problem that needed to be solved.

Freyra, sitting in the snow beside him, clicked her tongue quietly but didn’t speak.

The man tilted his head slightly. “Name.”

Ludger answered evenly. “Ludger.”

Herack’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Ludger.” He tasted the name like it might carry meaning. “Mine’s Herack.”

A few northerners murmured it like they were confirming it for the benefit of the outsider.

Herack took one more step forward, close enough that Ludger could see the faint scars along his knuckles, the old nicks in his sword grips, the lazy posture that didn’t hide the readiness in his hips.

Then Herack asked, casually, as if discussing weather:

“You come here to spar… and eventually kill me?”

The arena went quieter again. Not full silence, but the kind of hush that meant everyone wanted to hear the answer. Ludger didn’t look away.

“No,” he said.

Herack’s brows lifted slightly, amused.

Ludger continued, voice flat and honest. “Sigrid said I’d find a good master around these parts.”

He nodded once toward Herack, the gesture minimal and precise.

For the first time since he’d climbed onto the platform, Herack’s bored expression cracked. Interest slid through, sharp as a drawn blade.

Then he smiled, slow and dangerous, like someone who’d finally been offered something worth biting into.

“Good,” Herack said.

And the way he said it made the arena feel smaller.

Herack rolled his shoulders like the entire arena had just become slightly more comfortable.

“If you want to learn from me,” he said, voice casual, “that’s fine.”

A few northerners around the ring shifted, some smiling like they already knew what was coming.

Herack’s eyes stayed on Ludger. “But I only teach in one way.”

He lifted his hands slightly, palms open, as if the answer was obvious.

“By fighting.”

Freyra’s grin returned immediately, like she’d been waiting for this line more than the tournament itself.

Herack took a slow step toward the ring, boots crunching. “So,” he continued, “are you ready to learn now?”

Ludger didn’t hesitate. Not because he was brave. Because hesitation wasted time, and time was leverage.

“The sooner the better,” he said.

Herack laughed, deep, hearty, the kind that shook his chest and made the nearest spectators flinch like the sound had weight.

“Good,” he said again, and this time it carried that predator satisfaction.

He reached down and gripped the hilts at his waist.

Metal whispered as he drew both curved short swords in one smooth motion. The blades caught torchlight and threw it back in pale arcs, edges clean and used. Not ceremonial. Not decorative.

Real.

Herack flipped one blade once in his hand like he was testing the balance, then glanced at Ludger with lazy amusement.

“I’m bad at holding back,” he said.

That made a few northerners chuckle nervously, like they weren’t sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Herack continued, tone still light. “But I’m also slow to get in pace.”

He spread his stance slightly, shoulders still relaxed, swords angled down like he didn’t care.

“So do your best,” he said, smile widening, “to survive.”

Ludger’s brow knit for a fraction of a second.

Slow to get in pace…?

The words didn’t fit the way fighters usually talked. Most of them bragged about speed, explosiveness, overwhelming pressure.

Herack talked like a man warning you about weather. Then Ludger felt it.

A shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like the atmosphere itself had been caught in someone’s grip.

Herack’s skin darkened under the torchlight as a thin layer of mana spread over him, not flaring, not pulsing, but steady. Complete coverage. Head to toe. Like a second skin of invisible armor.

Not Rage Flow. Not a loud aura. Something cleaner. Controlled. Ludger’s guard rose immediately, forearms up, stance tightening. His eyes sharpened.

Overdrive.

He knew the feel of it now. The way it reinforced. The way it made joints quieter and muscles more obedient. The way it turned casual movement into lethal efficiency.

His mind flicked through what he knew of northerners, raw strength, shaman tricks, rage techniques, brutal endurance.

Overdrive wasn’t part of their common skillset. Not in the groups he’d met. Uncommon wasn’t even the right word. It was… inexistent.

Ludger’s gaze locked onto the thin mana layer coating Herack’s entire body, unwavering. His mouth flattened.

So that’s the secret art.

Or at least the first knife of it. Herack’s smile widened, reading the realization on Ludger’s face like a book.

“Ready?” Herack asked again, still friendly, still lazy.

His swords lifted a fraction. The crowd held its breath.

Ludger didn’t answer with words. He answered by settling his weight, letting his own Overdrive hum, letting Rage Flow coil tight and quiet.

And when Herack finally moved, when that “slow to get in pace” became action, Ludger would find out what those words had really meant.

Ludger’s eyes widened despite himself.

The thin Overdrive layer that coated Herack’s body didn’t stop at skin.

It flowed, clean and obedient, down his arms and into his hands… and then it spread over the blades.

Both curved swords took on a sheen that wasn’t light and wasn’t heat, a razor-thin film of mana clinging to steel like it had always belonged there. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t flare. It didn’t roar.

It just made the edges look too sharp, as if reality had decided to cooperate with the cut.

Weapon Enhancement.

But not the crude, burst-heavy version Ludger knew, the kind you ignited like a match, burning bright and fast, always threatening to sputter or spike if your control slipped.

This was smoother. Sharper. Like the difference between a hammer and a scalpel.

Ludger could feel the gap the moment he saw it. Not in raw power, though Herack had plenty of that, but in refinement. In the way mana sat on steel without turbulence, without wasted spill, without that familiar strain line that told you your technique was fighting your own body.

Herack was using both Overdrive and weapon reinforcement like bread and butter. Like breathing. And the worst part?

Ludger probably been doing it for almost ten years, but he wasn’t as skilled…

Ludger’s mind flickered, fast, cataloguing possibilities, already trying to steal the method just by watching the mana behave. He got half a heartbeat of analysis. Herack took the other half.

The “slow to get in pace” ended.

Herack surged forward with sudden, smooth explosiveness, no wasted stomp, no telegraphed lunge. Just a quiet shift of weight and then he was there, closing distance like the snow had lost friction.

Ludger’s guard snapped up on instinct, forearms crossing. Herack’s right blade came down in a clean, controlled downward arc, simple, almost lazy. If it had been an ordinary sword, it would’ve been a test cut.

With that coating, it was a statement. Ludger caught it on his forearm guards. The impact rang out like struck metal.

KRAK.

Sparks burst, bright orange flecks thrown off in a fan as mana-coated steel ground against reinforced guard plating. The sound wasn’t just steel scraping steel.

It was pressure. It was power pressing through material, trying to decide what was weaker.

Ludger braced… and felt his body get pushed downward. Not knocked back. Not thrown aside.

Forced down as if someone had placed a heavy hand on the top of his spine and decided he belonged closer to the ground.

His boots bit into packed snow. His knees flexed a fraction against his will. His shoulders tightened as he absorbed the line of force. Herack didn’t pull away after the first clash. He leaned in.

The sword edge ground along Ludger’s guard with deliberate cruelty, sparks spitting with every inch of movement. The mana film on the blade didn’t flicker. It didn’t waver.

It just kept cutting at the idea of resistance.

Herack’s mouth curled into a vicious smile, wide, satisfied, predatory, as he watched Ludger hold.

“Good,” Herack murmured, almost like praise.

Ludger’s teeth clenched. The pressure increased. The metal screamed.

And Ludger understood the meaning of “slow to get in pace” in the most unpleasant way possible: Herack wasn’t rushing to kill him. He was warming up, using Ludger’s guard as a whetstone.

Ludger felt the pressure in his bones.

Herack’s blade kept grinding down his forearm guards, sparks spitting in hot bursts while the mana-coated edge tried to turn “defense” into “suggestion.” Ludger’s boots dug deeper into the packed snow. His knees bent another fraction. The earth beneath him began to complain, thin cracks spidering outward as the weight of force concentrated into a single point.

He could hold it. For now. But Herack was still smiling. Which meant this wasn’t even a good pace yet. Ludger made a decision.

Fine. Flame Overdrive.

Not the careful, polite reinforcement he’d been using in bursts. Not the “save stamina, save mana” version meant for long fights.

He reached deeper, preparing to ignite a stronger layer, something closer to the internal bracing he’d learned over years of borderline illegal self-experimentation.

And then—

The System hit him. Not like a notification drifting politely into his vision. Like a hammer dropping onto the moment.

[Class Unlocked: Auramancer ] All Parameters + 05 per level.

Ludger’s eyes widened. A second window snapped into existence before he could even process the first.

Skill Unlocked: Overdrive - Increases all parameters except luck by +10 per skill level while active Cost: 30 Mana per second

For half a heartbeat, Ludger just… stared.

He was still being pushed down. Sparks were still flying. Herack’s sword was still grinding on his guards. The ground beneath him was still cracking.

And yet his brain froze like someone had yanked the reins on his thoughts.

Overdrive.

Not his technique. The System’s Overdrive.

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