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

“Leave them,” he said, then glanced back at Luna. “It wants them here.”

Luna swallowed, eyes still stuck on the massive silhouette.

“How the hell can you understand that much from a… snort?”

Ludger’s mouth twitched, almost a smile but too tired to commit.

“It’s not the sound,” he said. “It’s the mana.”

He tapped his chest once, as if pointing at the sense itself.

“The color changes. The pressure. The way it spikes when it’s thinking about something specific.” His gaze flicked to the sea monster’s eye, then away, careful, respectful. “It’s like reading its mind through the intensity of its mana.”

Luna stared at him for a second, then exhaled slowly.

“You’re quite….”

“Skilled,” Ludger corrected automatically.

Then he looked back toward the labyrinth gate, eyes going cold again.

“Fine. We leave the bodies.”

A pause.

“And we leave now, before the next group decides to come out and check why their boss stopped laughing.”

Ludger walked to the edge of the surf like he owned the shoreline.

He didn’t. He just refused to act like he didn’t belong there. He tilted his head up at the massive silhouette floating just offshore, the warden’s scars catching faint moonlight.

“So,” Ludger called, voice carrying over the water, “are you ready to take us back home?”

He paused, eyes narrowing with dry irritation.

“Or do we have to do round two? Because round one ended in a… stalemate. Sort of.”

Luna’s head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle her neck didn’t pop.

“Why would you say that?” she hissed, half horrified, half furious. “That thing could swallow…”

The sea monster snorted. A low, heavy breath that rolled over the beach and made the palms shiver. The sound wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t hostile either. Ludger’s eyes went distant again as Mana Sense expanded, reading the pressure and color shifts in that ocean of presence.

No spike of aggression. No predatory rise. Just… approval. A faint, amused pulse, like the creature understood the joke and decided Ludger was still worth keeping. Ludger nodded once.

“Good,” he said, like they’d just agreed on a ferry schedule. “You’ll take us.”

Luna stared at him like he’d lost his mind and then found it in a worse place.

Ludger didn’t give her time to argue. His gaze flicked toward the black mouth of the labyrinth gate in the distance.

“One more thing,” he called, voice turning practical. “Why don’t you just smash the labyrinth? Collapse it on itself. End the problem.”

The warden grunted. Not a roar. Not even irritation. A deep, old sound that carried a weight of limits.

The mana around it shifted, heavy and frustrated, like a massive creature pushing against an invisible wall and finding it didn’t budge. Ludger tasted the intent in the pressure: not possible the way you think.

He exhaled slowly.

“…Right,” he murmured.

Luna frowned. “What?”

Ludger kept watching the sea monster, translating with his eyes half-lidded.

“Even it doesn’t know how to truly close a labyrinth,” he said. “Not permanently. Only sealing. Slowing. Guarding. Holding the door shut until something on the other side decides to push again.”

The warden’s presence pulsed once, as if confirming.

Luna’s expression tightened. “That’s insane. It’s that strong and it still can’t just… end it?”

Ludger looked away from the ocean and back at the jungle, the dead giants, the gate.

“And that isn’t even the real answer,” he said, voice quieter now, more thoughtful than he liked being.

Luna blinked. “Meaning?”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed, not at her—at the idea.

“Threats like this,” he said slowly, “are… necessary. Or so it says…”

Luna stared.

Ludger continued anyway, because the thought had already formed and he hated leaving things half-said.

“Without external pressure, most species don’t get better. They get soft. They rot from the inside.” His mouth twisted, faint disdain aimed at the concept of comfort. “They fight each other over petty things. Status. Resources. Pride. They collapse under their own weight because there’s nothing forcing them to cooperate, adapt, or stay sharp.”

He gestured vaguely toward the gate.

“This,” he said, “is a knife held to the throat of everyone living on this side. It keeps them honest. Keeps them moving. Keeps them from forgetting how fragile they are.”

Luna’s lips parted, then closed again.

“You’re saying the labyrinth is… a lesson?”

“It is saying it’s an ordeal,” Ludger replied. “A filter. A pressure test.”

He glanced at the sea monster again. Its mana was steady, old, resigned—like it had been doing this job for a very long time.

“And the big guy agrees,” he added.

Luna’s shoulders sagged a little. She didn’t look convinced, but she looked… less panicked. Like she’d at least found a place to put the fear.

“Still hate it,” she muttered.

“Same,” Ludger said, deadpan.

The sea monster shifted in the water, massive tail stirring the ocean like a slow-moving wall.

Ludger took a step back from the surf and nodded once more, decisive.

The sea monster didn’t open its mouth for words.

Not human words.

But when it leaned closer to the shallows, when that enormous eye fixed on Ludger, the mana around it shifted with a weight that wasn’t just emotion anymore. It was structured. Layered. Intent stacked on intent, like a sentence built out of pressure and color.

Ludger’s breath slowed as Mana Sense widened. And then he understood. He swallowed once, and translated aloud, because Luna couldn’t hear the monster think.

“It’s saying…” Ludger started, frowning as the meaning settled into place. “This planet’s species are on the brink of collapse.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “Because of them?”

Ludger kept staring at the warden. The mana had an old bitterness in it, like watching the same mistake repeat until it stopped being a tragedy and started being routine.

“Because they went to other worlds for resources,” Ludger continued. “Not trade. Not scouting. Extraction. They found doors, routes, labyrinth paths. And once they learned they could pull from other worlds…” He paused, jaw tightening. “They stopped building anything sustainable here.”

The sea monster’s tail shifted under the surface, stirring a slow, heavy current like an old man turning a page.

“It’s been watching them for over four thousand years,” Ludger said.

Luna froze.

“…Four thousand?” she echoed, voice coming out thin.

Ludger didn’t look away. “At least.”

Luna’s mouth opened, then closed again. Like her brain was trying to reject the number on principle.

The giant sea monster’s mana surged, memory, observation, the long grind of time, and Ludger’s frown deepened.

“After doing that for over a millennium,” he went on, “the snake-people… started getting enough attention. Enough outside resources. Enough notice… that beings from other worlds decided to target them too.”

Luna blinked. “Why them?”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed, and his tone got colder as the next part clicked into focus.

“Because of what they can do with their venom,” he said. “They can solidify it into weapons while keeping the toxic effect alive.”

He glanced back toward the dead guardian in the clearing, then toward the purple spear still half-buried in sand.

“That ability interested the giants,” Ludger finished, voice flat. “They want it. They want to copy it. Mass-produce it. Weaponize it.”

Luna’s face went pale as she connected the same line Ludger had—capsules, prototypes, hybridization, the spear formed by purple saliva. The sea monster snorted again, and its mana shifted into something darker than anger.

Dismissal. Contempt.

“They’re saying the others left the snake-people behind,” Ludger said slowly. “Because they already got what they wanted from this place.”

He paused, eyes tightening.

“Resources. Knowledge. Samples. Maybe routes.”

Then his frown sharpened into something almost like disgust.

“And once they were done…” Ludger murmured, “they moved on. Like locusts.”

Luna stood there, speechless, staring at the ocean like it had just rewritten the shape of her world. Ludger finally looked at her.

“She’s stuck here,” he said, nodding toward the sea monster without taking his eyes fully off Luna. “Watching a planet bleed out because it learned the shortcut before it learned responsibility.”

Luna’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“That’s…” she started, then stopped. Tried again. “That’s not…”

“It’s real,” Ludger said, quiet and certain.

Luna’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her gaze flicked toward the labyrinth gate in the distance, then back to the warden.

“And it’s… four thousand years old,” she whispered, like saying it softer might make it less insane.

Ludger’s eyes stayed hard.

“At least,” he repeated.

The sea monster hovered in the shallows, ancient, scarred, patient, like a living seal on a door the world had learned to kick. Ludger exhaled through his nose.

“…Now I get why she doesn’t just leave,” he said.

And why it had “hired” them. Ludger didn’t look away from the ocean.

The creature’s presence sat just offshore, massive and patient, like a mountain that had learned how to breathe. Its mana rolled in slow tides, old memory, old anger, old restraint.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re guarding the remains of those people,” he said, voice steady, “why?”

Luna glanced at him sharply, then back at the monster.

Ludger kept going, tone turning colder, not accusatory exactly, but honest.

“If you’d truly tried to save them… you could have.”

The sea monster didn’t move.

“You’d have paid a price,” Ludger continued. “Some sacrifices among them. Collateral damage. Some of the ‘species’ you’re protecting would’ve died by your hand.”

He shrugged a fraction.

“But you could have stopped at least some of those attacks.”

His gaze hardened.

“Unless you assumed they got what they deserved.”

The ocean went still. Not physically. The waves still lapped. The wind still breathed. But the warden’s mana… paused. A long, heavy silence that carried more weight than any roar. Ludger exhaled slowly.

“That’s what I thought.”

Luna’s face tightened, a mix of discomfort and anger. “Ludger…”

The sea monster finally responded. Not with sound, but with intent so clear it felt like words pushed into Ludger’s skull. And when he spoke it aloud, his voice lost a shade of confidence.

“It says…” Ludger frowned. “Your planet is going down the same path.”

Luna blinked, genuinely startled. “No we’re not. We don’t…”

“We do,” Ludger cut in, flatly.

Luna’s mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed. “We don’t go to other worlds for resources.”

Ludger stared at the dark water, jaw clenched, and nodded once as if the warden had handed him a piece he’d been missing for a long time.

“We do,” he repeated, quieter. More certain. “We’ve been gathering resources for almost a millennium too. The lionsguard for a bit less, but the empire…”

Luna shook her head, disbelief sharp in her expression. “That’s not… The Empire…”

Ludger finally looked at her, and the disdain in his eyes wasn’t aimed at Luna. It was aimed at the lie.

“The sealed labyrinths,” he said.

Luna froze.

Ludger’s voice stayed controlled, but something in it had gone hard enough to cut.

“The Empire says they’re sealed,” he continued. “Says it like it’s a reassurance. Like it means nothing can pass. Like it means no one can use them.”

He shook his head once, slow.

“But they’re definitely using them,” Ludger said, “and they’re doing it secretly.”

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