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

After bathing and putting on clean clothes, Ludger finally opened the front door.

Eclaire was standing there alone. The first thing he noticed was the smile on her face. Forced.

Not terribly, not enough that most people would call it out, but forced all the same. It sat on her expression like something carefully placed rather than naturally born. Controlled. Measured. The kind of smile a person wore when they had decided they needed to appear composed regardless of what was happening underneath.

The second thing he noticed was who wasn’t there. The other two who usually stayed near her were nowhere in sight. Rowan. Jennifer.

Ludger looked past her once, then back at her and asked, “Where are they? Rowan. Jennifer.”

Eclaire blinked, and for a moment some of the strain in her expression shifted into surprise.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to remember their names.”

Ludger gave her a flat look.

“I can remember anyone’s names.”

Then, without changing tone, he added, “What do you want now?”

Her smile faltered just a little at that.

“You hurt me a little when you’re that blunt and direct.”

Ludger didn’t look moved.

“If that much bothers you,” he said, “then you have a lot of problems ahead of you.”

That left her silent for a second on the doorstep, the forced smile thinning further as she looked at him and seemed to realize he was in absolutely no mood to help her ease into whatever this conversation was supposed to be.

Which, to be fair, was her problem.

Eclaire let out a quiet sigh.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was trying to appeal to your feelings to make you nicer to me.”

She gave a faint, self-conscious smile that looked much less practiced than the one from before.

“Force of habit.”

Ludger frowned.

Not because he believed it was harmless, but because it was strange for her to say that so suddenly and without trying harder first. Most people who reached for that kind of tactic didn’t admit it after one failed attempt. They adjusted, softened their tone, tried a second angle, maybe a third. Especially since guilt-tripping him was never going to work in the first place.

So for Eclaire to drop it that quickly meant she either knew it was useless… or was too tired to keep pretending. She seemed to understand the question in his face, because after a brief pause, she explained.

“I was taught to do that from a very young age,” she said.

Her voice had lost most of the earlier lightness now.

“To guide conversations. To make people lower their guard. To make them act more favorably toward me.” Her eyes shifted slightly away from him, not quite downward, but no longer fully meeting his. “A softer voice. A wounded expression. The suggestion that they’re being too harsh, too cold, too unfair. Most people start adjusting themselves on their own after that.”

Ludger remained silent. Eclaire continued in more detail, as if she had already decided there was no point dressing it up.

“I had teachers for that. Among other things.” Her mouth tightened faintly. “People sent by my father to teach me politics.”

That made Ludger’s eyes narrow slightly. She noticed, and her expression turned flatter.

“Not because he wanted to know me,” she said. “And not because he ever intended to raise me openly.” A trace of bitterness entered her voice then, controlled but unmistakable. “I never met him directly.”

That sat in the air between them for a second. Still, she went on.

“But I received his tutors. His chosen instructors. Men and women who taught me how to speak, when to stay quiet, how to read people, how to pressure them without seeming to, how to flatter, how to provoke pity, how to make someone believe a kindness was their own idea.” She gave a humorless little exhale. “How to survive around nobles, in other words.”

Ludger said nothing. Eclaire’s smile was gone entirely now.

“They taught me how to use vulnerability as a tool,” she said. “How to look harmless. How to appear sincere even when steering someone. How to present weakness in a way that made other people want to protect, indulge, or forgive me.”

She paused for a moment.

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“It was considered a necessary education.”

For someone like her, that was probably true. An illegitimate imperial daughter with no secure place in the open structure of power would have needed every social weapon she could get. Not to win. Often just to remain unbroken.

“I don’t always do it on purpose anymore,” she admitted. “Sometimes it just comes out before I think about it.” Then she looked at Ludger again. “That’s why I stopped. Because I knew it wouldn’t work on you anyway, and continuing would only make this conversation more irritating.”

Ludger studied her for a second longer. At least that part sounded honest. And honesty, even partial honesty, was rarer than it should have been around people tied to imperial blood.

Ludger studied her for a second longer. At least that part sounded honest. And honesty, even partial honesty, was rarer than it should have been around people tied to imperial blood.

He stepped aside from the door.

“Come in.”

Eclaire entered without wasting motion, her posture neat, controlled, the kind of refinement that had been drilled into a person until it stopped looking like effort. She moved into the sitting room and remained standing for a moment, like she was waiting to see whether he wanted this to be a conversation or an interrogation.

Knowing his mood, it was probably going to be the second one.

Ludger closed the door behind her and walked past without ceremony, dropping into a chair. His body was cleaner now, his clothes were fresh, and the ink the twins had smeared across his face was gone, but the week in the Frost Labyrinth still clung to him in subtler ways. A dull heaviness in the shoulders. Tiny fractures in the muscles. The kind of exhaustion that went beyond sleep and settled into the bones.

Even so, his eyes were clear. Eclaire noticed that too. She sat opposite him, smoothing her skirt once before folding her hands in her lap. For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Ludger said, “You didn’t come here to explain your childhood.”

Eclaire gave a small nod.

“No. I came because Lord Torvares contacted me.”

That made Ludger’s gaze sharpen.

“Torvares?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back slightly, expression unreadable.

That old bull really had no hesitation when it came to dragging more people into his messes. Though, in this case, it probably wasn’t the worst choice. If he was planning to investigate noble movements, hidden transactions, old family rises and quiet collapses, then having someone trained to navigate aristocratic behavior wasn’t useless.

Still. Ludger’s voice stayed flat.

“He asked you to do what?”

“To give you a hand with your latest investigation.”

He stared at her for a moment.

Then, slowly, “He could have told me that himself.”

“He likely assumed,” Eclaire said carefully, “that if he warned you in advance, you would refuse before hearing what I could offer.”

Ludger’s eyelid twitched once. That was annoyingly plausible. He clicked his tongue. Considering the matter at hand, the assassination of Arslan’s parents and sister, Torvares guessed right that Ludger wouldn’t mind such a cooperation. There are things more important than his pride.

“So how exactly are you supposed to help?”

Eclaire straightened just a little, and for the first time since he opened the door, she seemed to settle into a role she understood.

“I was taught how high-ranking families protect themselves. How they bury intentions. How they create distance between themselves and their dirtiest actions. How they make sure a hand that moves never appears to belong to them.” Her expression sharpened slightly, less like a sheltered girl and more like someone reciting the anatomy of a predator. “If someone powerful is hiding a trail, I won’t necessarily know who they are right away. But I can tell you how they would hide it. And where the cracks in that method usually form.”

Ludger crossed his arms.

“Explain.”

Eclaire nodded once.

“If a noble wants something done quietly, they almost never touch it directly. First, they create layers. A patron to a merchant. A merchant to a contractor. A contractor to someone disposable. Sometimes even more steps if the matter is dangerous enough.” She tilted her head faintly. “Not because that is efficient. Because it is safe.”

“Obviously,” Ludger said.

“Yes. But that’s only the surface.” Her voice remained calm. “The part people miss is that nobles hide traces long before the act itself. They adjust who gets invited where. They pull back from certain investments in advance. They redirect credit. They arrange marriages differently. They delay projects. They make small, boring changes that look unrelated unless you already know what shape you’re looking for.”

That was… actually useful. Ludger kept his face blank. Eclaire continued, more steadily now.

“If a family is about to be ruined, another family often begins behaving as though space is about to open for them.” She lifted a finger slightly. “Not openly. They don’t celebrate. They don’t move too fast. But they become ready. Funds appear where they need to. Connections are warmed. Favors are called in. A candidate suddenly receives backing. A warehouse gets purchased. A new supplier appears. An heir who was previously overlooked becomes strangely active.”

Ludger’s mind moved fast. Breakthroughs. Influence. Families rising after others fell. Sudden expansions. Quiet preparation. Yes. That fit.

“So you’re saying the best place to find intent,” he said, “is not always at the point of attack.”

“It often isn’t,” Eclaire replied. “Especially not with nobles.”

She leaned slightly forward.

“A clever noble doesn’t only erase evidence. They prepare the field so that when someone disappears, sickens, burns, or collapses politically, another hand is already positioned to benefit in a way that appears natural.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed.

“That sounds like experience talking.”

For the first time, her expression tightened in a way that wasn’t rehearsed.

“It sounds like my education. One that my father assumed would be useful for the future.”

He let that sit.

Not the same thing. But not unrelated either.

“And you think you can spot those patterns?”

“I think I was trained to survive among people who make those patterns for a living.”

That was a better answer. Ludger drummed his fingers once against the armrest.

“Wait.”

She stopped.

Ludger’s gaze remained on her, flat and unblinking.

“You still haven’t answered the part that matters.”

Eclaire’s fingers, which had been resting lightly on the papers, stilled.

Ludger leaned back in his chair.

“Torvares asking is one thing,” he said. “But he doesn’t own you. He doesn’t have the authority to order you around.”

His tone stayed even, but there was weight behind it now.

“So why are you helping me now?”