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

Chapter 685

Everyone went weightless for a split second.

Then gravity returned with interest.

Bodies slammed into planks. Gear flew. A sailor bounced and skidded, stopped only by a rope snagging his arm. Renvar hit the deck hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Viola’s swords clattered against wood as she was thrown, her shoulder catching a beam. Luna went down too, rolling and catching herself on an elbow just before she smashed into the rail.

Kaela’s wind flared instinctively, cushioning part of the impact for those nearest her, but even she was knocked off balance, boots sliding on wet wood.

Maurien grabbed a support post with one hand, the other braced, eyes cold and awake in a way they hadn’t been a minute ago. Ludger hit the deck, shoulder-first, pain blooming sharp for an instant before he forced it down.

The ship groaned like it might split. The sea roared. And as the lightning faded, leaving only darkness and rain, one truth was carved into everyone’s mind:

The target had arrived. Right when Ludger decided to run.

Ludger pushed himself up on one elbow, water streaming off his hair, the deck still tilting under his knees like the ship hadn’t decided whether it wanted to float or roll over and die.

“Move!” he roared, voice cutting through wind and panic.

His eyes snapped across the deck, locking onto the people who could actually change the physics of this mess.

“Kaela! Maurien! Renvar, wind magic!” Ludger shouted. “Push the ship! Back to the coast! Now!”

Kaela was already braced, teeth bared in a grin that wasn’t joy so much as finally, something to fight. Maurien’s eyes were ice-cold, mana rising around him like pressure building before a blast. Renvar dragged himself to his feet and nodded once, grim and focused.

Then Ludger turned his head toward the others.

“Viola! Luna! Shera! Valk!” he barked. “Keep people on the ship! Tie lines! Grab whoever slips, don’t let anyone go overboard!”

Viola snatched up her swords and nodded hard, face tight and serious. Luna moved immediately toward a staggered sailor, catching his arm and pulling him away from the rail. Shera grabbed a rope coil and started lashing it to a post with quick hands, eyes bright with violent intent. Valk stepped into the chaos like it was a training exercise, grounded and calm, catching a sliding crewman by the collar and setting him on his feet with almost gentle force.

For a breath, it worked. Orders turned into motion. Fear turned into tasks. The ship shuddered, but people found footing. Lines were grabbed. Hands met shoulders. The crew’s training crawled back into their bodies.

Then the lightning flashed again, brief and savage, and the ocean beside them rose. The tail moved. Not slowly. Not with effort. It lifted with the casual power of something that had never been challenged by wood and sail in its life.

The massive end of it came up out of the water again, dripping sheets of foam, angling for another strike that would not just knock them sideways… it would finish the job.

Everyone froze. Not because they wanted to. Because their instincts screamed that there were moments where moving didn’t matter. Where you just watched the end arrive.

Ludger’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“No,” he said, quiet at first, voice like stone grinding.

Then louder, a command thrown at the sea itself.

“No. You don’t.”

Mana surged.

Above him, the air filled with shimmering shapes, mana swords, dozens of them, forming in a tight barrage. Blue-white blades with clean edges, summoned fast and precise, each one angled like a spear meant to pierce rather than slash.

They appeared overhead in a clustered halo, suspended for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then Ludger snapped his hand forward. The barrage launched.

The swords screamed through rain and wind like falling stars, striking the tail in rapid succession, thunk, thunk, thunk, piercing into thick flesh and armored ridges. The beast’s skin resisted, but the mana blades forced their way in, punching holes that sprayed dark blood into the storm.

Blood fell in sheets, mixing with rain, turning the deck slicker and the air metallic with the scent of something ancient and alive.

The tail jerked slightly. A reaction. Not pain the way a man felt pain. More like irritation. Like a giant noticing a thorn.

The swords dissolved after impact, their light fading as quickly as it had formed, leaving only puncture wounds and bleeding cuts that already looked… small compared to the scale of the limb.

Ludger stared at the damage, jaw tightening. It wasn’t nothing. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. The tail remained raised. Still capable. Still ready to strike again. And in the brief lull after Ludger’s barrage, the storm seemed to lean closer, waiting to see what a thirteen-year-old boy would do next when his “no” wasn’t respected.

Ludger’s first barrage bought them a breath.

The tail hesitated, just a fraction, water sliding off its ridges in sheets, blood mixing with rain in thin, dark streams. It didn’t retreat, but it paused long enough for the deck to remember motion again.

“Now!” Ludger snapped.

Kaela, Maurien, and Renvar surged with wind magic, pushing at the sails and the very air around the ship, trying to force speed out of wood and canvas that were already being bullied by a mana-charged storm. Sailors scrambled to obey Rathen’s shouted orders, tying lines, adjusting angles, doing everything they could to keep the ship from becoming driftwood.

For a heartbeat, it almost felt possible.

Then the tail moved again. Not slowly. Not with caution. It began to rise and swing, the sheer mass of it displacing water like a wave generator. The motion alone created a violent gust and a slap of spray that stung faces and blinded eyes.

Ludger’s eyes hardened.

He summoned another barrage, more mana swords, tighter formation, and launched them.

Blades hammered into the same section of tail, puncturing, slicing, drawing more blood. The rain turned pink for a moment in the lantern light.

The tail didn’t stop. It didn’t even hesitate this time. It just kept moving, muscle and momentum ignoring pain like pain was a suggestion. Ludger’s mouth twisted.

“Fuck,” he spat, the word ripped away by the wind but carrying the full weight of his realization.

He couldn’t let another hit land. One more strike like the first could split the ship, snap the mast, or throw half the deck into the sea. And they weren’t near shore.

They were more than a thousand kilometers from the coast, too far for drifting, too far for swimming, too far for luck to matter. If the ship broke out here, it wouldn’t be a tragedy. It would be an erasure.

Ludger’s mind snapped into a colder place. No more testing. No more “maybe.” He needed force. Immediate force. The kind that didn’t negotiate. He inhaled, held the breath for half a heartbeat, and made a decision he hated making on the ocean.

Secret technique.

He drew mana hard, fast enough that his channels protested, and stacked every buff skill he could afford. His body tightened, heat blooming beneath his skin as enhancement layers snapped into place: reinforcement, acceleration, pain tolerance, the whole ugly toolkit that turned a boy into a weapon for a short, dangerous window.

Then he formed a rune. Not on the air. Not on stone. On himself.

He pressed a palm to his chest and traced the pattern with mana directly over his sternum, an internal glyph that burned into existence for a heartbeat, glowing through soaked fabric like a brand. It wasn’t a normal rune meant to sit safely on an object.

It was a consumption rune. A forced infusion. He poured mana into it until it thickened, then… He let his body absorb it.

The rune sank into him like molten metal poured into muscle, spreading heat through his limbs, doubling the pressure in his veins. His heartbeat kicked harder. His senses sharpened and blurred at the same time. The world narrowed into vectors and openings and distances.

His muscles screamed in anticipation. His bones felt too light. Too fast. Too much.

Overdrive ×2.

The air around him distorted slightly, rain blowing away from his body for a split second as if his presence had become heavier than the storm. Ludger lifted his head toward the towering tail. His eyes were no longer uncertain.

They were predatory.

“Alright,” he growled, voice low and vicious, meant for the monster more than the humans.

“You wanted to swing?”

He stepped forward onto the slick deck like the laws of balance had become optional.

“Try.”

Overdrive ×2 lit his body like a fuse.

Ludger didn’t think in words anymore.

He thought in distance, angle, timing.

The tail was coming in—massive, inevitable, swinging toward the ship’s side with the kind of momentum that turned wood into splinters.

Ludger moved first.

He kicked the deck.

Not a step.

A launch.

His foot slammed into wet planks and the wood cracked under him with a sharp, ugly sound—boards spiderwebbing out from the impact point like the ship itself had taken a blow. The force didn’t just go down. It went out.

Water on the deck exploded away from his boot in a circular burst, flung outward in a clean ring as if someone had swept the ship with an invisible hammer. Spray and rain scattered in the air around him, forced aside by the pressure wave of his movement.

Then Ludger shot forward.

A blur across the slick deck, traction solved by brute force and control. For a heartbeat he looked unreal—too fast for a thirteen-year-old body, too heavy for the ship to believe.

He met the tail at the moment it was about to finish its swing.

And he punched.

Not a wild swing.

A straight, brutal line.

His fist drove into the moving wall of flesh and armored ridges like he was striking a mountain that had decided to move. The contact point flared with violent force, mana and kinetic energy detonating together.

A shockwave erupted.

It wasn’t just loud.

It was physical.

The blast echoed across the sea like a cannon fired inside the storm, so intense it kicked the air outward in a ring—an expanding wall of pressure that shoved the rain away for dozens of meters. For a split second, the ship sat inside a dry bubble of space, the storm held back by the impact like the world itself flinched.

Then the rain slammed back in, furious.

Ludger’s body couldn’t stay planted.

Even with Overdrive, even with every buff stacked, the tail’s mass and momentum fought back. The recoil hurled him backward like a stone kicked off a cliff.

He skidded across the deck on one knee, boots carving lines through pooled water, hands catching on a rope to keep him from sliding into the rail. Pain flared through his arm and shoulder—compressed and sharp—then got swallowed by the Overdrive heat before it could slow him.

But the tail… changed.

Its swing didn’t stop.

Nothing that big stopped.

But the angle shifted. The speed bled. The force redirected.

When it finally clipped the ship’s side, the impact was… minimal.

“Minimal” still meant the hull groaned, the deck lurched, and sailors stumbled.

But it didn’t lift the ship this time.

It didn’t tear planks free.

It didn’t split the mast.

It was the difference between death and damage.

The deck froze in the half-second after.

Lantern light flickered. The wind howled. The cyclones churned in the distance like hungry mouths.

And everyone stared at Ludger like he’d just punched the sea itself into behaving.

Kaela’s eyes were wide—genuinely wide—her usual confident smirk gone, replaced by stunned calculation.

Renvar stood with his mouth hanging open, the earlier humor erased from his face like it had never existed. His hands were still clenched around a line, but he wasn’t pulling anymore. He was just… staring.

Maurien’s expression had shifted from bored competence to something sharper and colder—respect edged with disbelief, like he’d just watched a technique that shouldn’t exist on a child’s frame.

Shera looked like she’d forgotten to breathe, lips parted, eyes bright with awe and a hint of fear.

Valk remained grounded, but his gaze had changed—no longer observing a talented boy, but watching a weapon that had just proven it could strike giants.

Viola’s swords were still in her hands, but she didn’t look ready to jump anymore. She looked… humbled. Shocked. Like the ocean had reminded her what “power” actually looked like.

Luna’s face was pale under the lantern glow, eyes locked on Ludger with a mixture of alarm and something dangerously close to admiration.

Even Rathen—hardened captain, storm veteran—stared over his shoulder at Ludger with raw disbelief, as if his ship had just been protected by an act that belonged in drunken dockside legends.

Ludger pushed himself fully upright, chest heaving once, rain sliding off him again as the storm rushed back into the space the shockwave had cleared.

He flexed his fingers, ignoring the pain, eyes snapping back to the ocean.

The tail was still there.

Still moving.

Still enormous.

And now it knew he could hit back.

Overdrive ×2 lit his body like a fuse. Ludger didn’t think in words anymore. He thought in distance, angle, timing.

The tail was coming in, massive, inevitable, swinging toward the ship’s side with the kind of momentum that turned wood into splinters. Ludger moved first. He kicked the deck. Not a step.

A launch.

His foot slammed into wet planks and the wood cracked under him with a sharp, ugly sound, boards spiderwebbing out from the impact point like the ship itself had taken a blow. The force didn’t just go down. It went out.

Water on the deck exploded away from his boot in a circular burst, flung outward in a clean ring as if someone had swept the ship with an invisible hammer. Spray and rain scattered in the air around him, forced aside by the pressure wave of his movement.

Then Ludger shot forward.

A blur across the slick deck, traction solved by brute force and control. For a heartbeat he looked unreal, too fast for a thirteen-year-old body, too heavy for the ship to believe.

He met the tail at the moment it was about to finish its swing. And he punched. Not a wild swing. A straight, brutal line.

His fist drove into the moving wall of flesh and armored ridges like he was striking a mountain that had decided to move. The contact point flared with violent force, mana and kinetic energy detonating together.

A shockwave erupted. It wasn’t just loud. It was physical.

The blast echoed across the sea like a cannon fired inside the storm, so intense it kicked the air outward in a ring, an expanding wall of pressure that shoved the rain away for dozens of meters. For a split second, the ship sat inside a dry bubble of space, the storm held back by the impact like the world itself flinched.

Then the rain slammed back in, furious. Ludger’s body couldn’t stay planted.

Even with Overdrive, even with every buff stacked, the tail’s mass and momentum fought back. The recoil hurled him backward like a stone kicked off a cliff.

He skidded across the deck on one knee, boots carving lines through pooled water, hands catching on a rope to keep him from sliding into the rail. Pain flared through his arm and shoulder, compressed and sharp, then got swallowed by the Overdrive heat before it could slow him.

But the tail… changed. Its swing didn’t stop. Nothing that big stopped. But the angle shifted. The speed bled. The force redirected. When it finally clipped the ship’s side, the impact was… minimal.

“Minimal” still meant the hull groaned, the deck lurched, and sailors stumbled. But it didn’t lift the ship this time. It didn’t tear planks free. It didn’t split the mast. It was the difference between death and damage.

The deck froze in the half-second after. Lantern light flickered. The wind howled. The cyclones churned in the distance like hungry mouths.

And everyone stared at Ludger like he’d just punched the sea itself into behaving.

Kaela’s eyes were wide, genuinely wide, her usual confident smirk gone, replaced by stunned calculation.

Renvar stood with his mouth hanging open, the earlier humor erased from his face like it had never existed. His hands were still clenched around a line, but he wasn’t pulling anymore. He was just… staring.

Viola’s swords were still in her hands, but she didn’t look ready to jump anymore. She looked… humbled. Shocked. Like the ocean had reminded her what “power” actually looked like.

Luna’s face was pale under the lantern glow, eyes locked on Ludger with a mixture of alarm and something dangerously close to admiration.

Even Rathen, hardened captain, storm veteran, stared over his shoulder at Ludger with raw disbelief, as if his ship had just been protected by an act that belonged in drunken dockside legends.

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