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

She held his gaze and continued calmly, as though she had not just dropped another layer onto the plan.

“If I’m the visible point of contact, and you’re beside me as protection, then your silence becomes normal. Your watchfulness becomes normal. Your lack of small talk becomes normal. No one expects a bodyguard to explain himself unless something has already gone wrong.” She folded her hands lightly. “It is the only way I can think of to keep people from questioning you too much at first glance.”

Ludger considered it. Annoyingly, it made sense.

A quiet, dangerous guard attached to a unknown girl with business that was best left undescribed? That fits the sort of ugly half-legitimate dealings a black market might already be used to. More importantly, it explained why he would be standing there without needing to speak like a merchant, bargain like a broker, or posture like a gutter thug.

Eclaire added, “You would also need a good disguise.”

He kept looking at her.

“Not just different clothes,” she said. “A real disguise. Something that shifts your outline, age, and general impression enough that no one immediately connects you to the bounty posters and rumors. If the role is bodyguard, then you should look like someone hired for that purpose, not like Ludger in a darker coat.”

That was also true. Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose. She really had thought this through. He said exactly that.

“You sure thought a lot about this.”

Eclaire’s expression changed slightly at those words. Not enough for most people to notice, but enough for him. Some of the sharpness in her face eased, leaving behind something a little more tired.

“I was trying to make myself useful,” she said.

Then, after the briefest pause, she added more quietly, “To compensate for the past.”

Ludger’s eyes stayed on her for a second.

There were a lot of things that sentence could mean. The years spent hiding. The habit of surviving through stillness. The manipulation that came naturally now. The simple fact that while others had bled, fought, built, and carried burdens, she had remained tucked behind the shelter they provided.

Maybe she meant all of it. He gave a small nod. At least she was consistent.

Then he said, “I know where I can get a good disguise.”

That made Eclaire blink once.

“You do?”

Ludger’s expression stayed flat.

“Yes.”

He did not elaborate immediately, and that alone made her suspicious. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

“The way you said that worries me.”

Eclaire seemed to read the shift in his expression well enough to understand that the planning stage had already ended in his head.

So she said, “Then we should depart soon.”

Ludger looked up at her.

“The black market doesn’t operate the same way in every place,” she explained. “There are smaller ones scattered through certain parts of the Empire, but the deeper gatherings only happen on specific days, in specific regions, under specific conditions.” She paused briefly, then added, “And the best option is always the one near the capital.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Why?”

“Because that is where the highest-grade buyers, brokers, and intermediaries circulate,” Eclaire said. “More money. More rare goods. More risk. More information.” Her gaze remained steady. “The deeper the market, the closer it tends to drift toward the center of power, even if everyone involved pretends otherwise.”

That sounded exactly like the Empire. Eclaire continued.

“The main gathering near the capital only happens once a month,” she said. “And it takes place on the night of a new moon.”

Ludger’s thoughts moved fast. He did the count in his head almost immediately, then gave a small nod. They only had three days left. Not much time. Enough. He rose from the chair.

“Then we depart tonight.”

Eclaire blinked once, but only once. Not because she disagreed. More because she had clearly expected him to hesitate for at least a little longer before deciding to throw himself at the next dangerous problem. Instead, Ludger was already moving.

“Go get ready,” he said.

Eclaire stood as well and gave a short nod.

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“All right.”

She didn’t linger. No extra words. No awkward attempt to soften the moment. She simply turned and headed for the door, understanding well enough that when Ludger’s mind locked onto a direction, standing in front of it for no reason was a bad habit to cultivate.

At the threshold, she paused only long enough to say, “I’ll be ready before sunset.” Then she left the house. The door shut behind her. For a moment, the room was still again. Then Ludger exhaled slowly through his nose and shifted his attention to the next problem.

The disguise.

If he was going into the capital’s black market as Eclaire’s bodyguard, then “different clothes” would not be enough. He needed something better. Something tailored properly. Something that altered his shape, age, and impression before he even spoke. Preferably something that didn’t look like it had been assembled by a blind thief in a rain ditch.

Which meant there was only one place worth checking first. Ludger left the room, stepped out of the house, and headed off to find Julia.

Ludger arrived at Julia’s workshop just in time to catch her sealing a wooden box with thick cord and a strip of wax pressed flat over the knot.

The old woman moved with the brisk efficiency of someone who had spent too many years handling materials too expensive to fumble with. Once the seal was set, she lifted the box, set it behind a stack of more ordinary-looking crates, and only then turned toward the entrance.

The moment she saw Ludger, her brows pulled together.

“You arrived at a weird time,” she said.

Ludger glanced once at the boxes, then back at her. Julia noticed, snorted softly, and waved the matter away before he could ask anything.

“Not your business,” she said. “At least not yet.”

That was fair enough.

“I was actually about to send it to you,” she said. “Finished making half the suit. Wanted you to check the fit before I made the final adjustments.”

“I need it now,” Ludger said.

Julia stared at him for a second.

“Of course you do.”

“I have to leave for the capital,” he said. “And I need to keep my appearance hidden.”

That made the old woman scratch at the side of her head, her expression shifting from irritation into the specific kind of annoyance craftsmen reserved for clients who remembered urgency only after the hard part was done.

“This could be a problem,” she said.

Ludger waited. Julia gestured toward the hanging suit pieces.

“Me and Raukor finished the physical work on it,” she said. “Spider silk layers, padding, scale placement, the ugly little details that keep a fool alive when something sharp or heavy introduces itself too quickly.” She jabbed a finger toward him. “But you were the one supposed to engrave the runes on it.”

Ludger looked at the suit again. That was true.

The material composition was only half the point. The real value was what he intended to carve into it afterward. Stability arrays. Strain diffusion. Temperature regulation. Impact dispersion. Maybe even a few more specialized effects depending on how much time he had and how greedy he felt.

Or, apparently, how desperate.

He said, “I’ll do it along the way.”

Julia’s face immediately flattened into the kind of expression usually reserved for accidents, bad weather, and children with too much talent and not enough patience.

Then she facepalmed. Actually facepalmed. The sharp slap of her palm against her forehead echoed through the workshop.

“Kids these days live in a hurry,” she muttered.

The old woman bent down, pulled the sealed box back out from behind the common-looking crates, and undid the cord with quick, practiced fingers. She broke the wax seal, flipped the lid open, and turned the box so he could see inside.

Then she showed him the suit. Ludger frowned immediately. Not because the design was wrong. It was exactly how it was supposed to be.

A cloak. A hood. A fitted shirt. A mask designed to cover the upper half of his body cleanly while hiding half of his face without looking clumsy. The shape was practical. Sleek. Built for movement. Built to conceal lines and silhouette without screaming disguise to anyone with functioning eyes.

That part was fine. The problem was the color. Instead of the pale white tone of giant spider silk, the whole thing was dark. Not pitch black, but a deep, muted shade that swallowed light better than it reflected it. The borders had been trimmed in dark green as well, subtle enough not to look decorative at first glance, but unmistakable once noticed.

Ludger stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Julia.

“When did I tell you to add those colors?”

Julia didn’t even look apologetic.

“You didn’t.”

Ludger’s expression flattened.

The old woman crossed her arms.

“I just thought those were the most suited ones,” she said. “You wanted something to hide in, not some flashy noble peacock outfit stitched out of moonlight. White spider silk may be rare and expensive, but if you walk around in it while trying not to be noticed, then you’re just volunteering to be remembered.”

That… was irritatingly reasonable.

Still.

Ludger looked back down at the suit.

The dark coloring did make more sense for the use. Less obvious. Less memorable. Easier to pass off as deliberate rather than exotic. The green trim was strange, but not enough to ruin the effect. If anything, it gave the whole thing a sharper identity, something distinct without being loud.

He sighed.

It was supposed to be a prototype anyway.

That meant perfection was a luxury, and right now luxury was losing badly to urgency.

Ludger lowered the lid, closed the box again, and said, “Good job. You can continue with the other parts of the suit.”

Julia blinked once.

That was probably more direct praise than she expected from him on short notice.

Naturally, she recovered immediately.

“I was going to continue anyway,” she said. “My work ethic doesn’t depend on your approval.”

Ludger ignored that and started moving away with the box in hand.

Behind him, Julia called out, “And try to hide your eyes as well.”

He glanced back over one shoulder.

“The emerald green of your eyes is pretty rare, after all,” she said.

That made him pause for half a step.

Right.

The suit altered silhouette. The mask hid part of the face. The hood changed framing. But the eyes were still a problem. Bright green was memorable. More than memorable, in some places. Distinct enough that the wrong person only had to hear the detail once before it stuck.

Ludger clicked his tongue softly. Another annoyance to solve. Without turning fully back, he said, “I know.”

Then he kept walking, box in hand, already adding that problem to the growing pile in his head. A bracer for the broker. The capital. Eclaire. A bodyguard role. A proper disguise. And now, apparently, his own eyes.