SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 102: Challanger (4)

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Chapter 102: Challanger (4)

Lucen didn’t move for a while.

The recording was long over. The archive was off. The window hadn’t opened since he got back. But the air in his apartment felt warmer now. Buzzed, like residual heat after a long cast. It wasn’t coming from the city.

It was coming from his phone.

It buzzed once.

Twice.

Five times.

He let it.

The sixth time, he picked it up.

Didn’t check the name.

Didn’t have to.

He answered with a sigh. "Gen."

"What the hell did you just do."

Lucen walked to the counter, snagged the half-empty mana drink from earlier, and leaned against the sink.

"I told the truth. Politely."

"You just went full dead-eye message-drop on a seventeen-year-old duelist with half the city’s camera drones following him around."

Lucen sipped. "So?"

"So he answered." Gen sounded like he was pacing. "Publicly. Loudly. With a high-resolution sponsor-confirmed stream and a combat cage already booked."

Lucen blinked once. "That was fast."

"Because he was ready. This is what he wants. This is what he does. You just walked into his domain, and you’re doing it with spell records that don’t exist in public index. That’s a tracking flag."

Lucen leaned his head against the cabinet and closed one eye. The mana drink tasted like burnt fruit and regret.

Gen kept going.

"Do you want to be flagged? Do you want system analysts combing through your footage looking for traces that don’t match public spell archives? Because that’s how this happens."

Lucen opened his eye again. "You said he wouldn’t say my name."

"He didn’t." Gen exhaled. "But he didn’t have to. You answered. That’s traceable enough."

Lucen set the drink down. "Then scrub it."

"I can’t scrub this. Not fully. It’s already being clipped. You’re in five reaction compilations and two influencers are calling you ’the ghost caster’ again."

Lucen rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Of course they are."

"You’re trending in five local drift nets and one underground forum that trades spell compression data. That video was supposed to be a warning shot. You just started a countdown."

Lucen walked to the window. Still closed. Still dark. The blinds cast long blue lines across the floor.

He said, "You want me to back out?"

Gen paused. "I want you to be careful."

"I am."

"No. You’re being smart. But this? This is different. You’re not in the shadows anymore."

Lucen tilted his head. "You saying I can’t take him?"

"I’m saying it doesn’t matter if you can. What matters is who’s watching you when you do."

Lucen didn’t reply.

Gen softened his voice. "Look. Just... don’t escalate unless you have to. There’s still time to frame this quiet. Walk into the cage, let it run, walk out without giving them a name. Make it noise, not signal."

Lucen exhaled slowly through his nose.

"You’re not wrong," he said.

"I never am," Gen muttered. "But I’m always ignored."

Lucen ended the call.

The apartment went quiet again.

Then the phone buzzed one more time.

Not Gen.

Unknown ID.

No message preview.

Just one word:

"Agreed."

Lucen stared at it.

Didn’t reply.

Didn’t need to. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

The window hadn’t opened. The air hadn’t shifted. But Lucen’s system felt alert now. Not like combat. Not like danger. Just... waiting.

He stared at the message again.

[Agreed]

No ID. No encryption. Just a text-ping and a finality that made the room feel smaller.

Lucen tapped the screen once, dragged up his contact list, and stopped on the blank entry near the top.

No name.

No photo.

Just a number.

He hit dial.

One ring.

No static.

Varik’s voice answered with the usual efficiency.

"Something happened."

Lucen didn’t bother with pleasantries. "I’m fighting the kid."

There was a pause on the line. Not long.

Just enough to let Lucen know Varik had already heard.

"Rikta," Varik said. Not a question.

"Calls himself undefeated. Sword user. Loud."

"You’re not doing this in private."

"Wasn’t my idea."

Another silence.

Then Varik asked, "What’s the plan?"

Lucen looked around the apartment. At the dim lights, the off archive, the half-crushed mana tab still sitting on the counter.

"I walk into the cage. I give them a show. I walk out."

"No spells revealed?"

Lucen shrugged. "They won’t know what they’re looking at."

"You’re assuming they won’t figure it out."

"I’m assuming they’ll be too busy cheering to try."

Varik’s tone didn’t shift. But something under it stiffened slightly. Like a line being drawn. Quiet. Sharp.

"You’re not built for exposure," he said.

Lucen leaned against the windowsill. "Too late."

"You’re not at a level where public fights are safe."

"They’ve never been safe."

"You’re still thinking small," Varik snapped.

Lucen paused.

That was rare.

Varik didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t drop tone. But that edge? It was there now.

"Everything you’ve trained for," he continued. "All the spells you’ve built. That perk. It’s only effective if no one knows you have it. If people start logging your timings—if they build counters to your casting rhythm—your entire style collapses."

Lucen nodded to himself. "Unless I change the rhythm again."

There was silence.

Not because Varik didn’t have an answer.

Because he knew Lucen already had one.

"You’re committing to this," Varik said.

"I already did."

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then: "Pick the right spells."

Lucen smirked faintly. "That’s the plan."

"I’ll be watching," Varik said.

Lucen’s grin widened a millimeter.

"Wouldn’t be a show without you."

The line cut.

No goodbye.

Just the soft ping of a closed connection.

Lucen stood there a moment longer, watching his reflection in the black glass. It looked tired. Slightly thinner than last week. A little more cracked around the shoulders. But the eyes? Still calm.

Still reading the whole match two moves ahead.

The air changed two blocks from the entrance.

It wasn’t magic, no field, no drift gate, no spell-screen tension. Just pressure. The kind you couldn’t measure. The kind that seeped through old alley lines and cheap neon to warn you: someone here thinks they’re being watched.

Lucen didn’t slow his steps.

His coat was zipped up to the collar. His face was half-covered, nothing obvious. Just a deep wrap pulled high beneath his eyes, hood low, shadow cutting across the bridge of his nose. Nothing about him screamed attention.

That was the point.

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