SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 108: Battle (2)

Rikta climbed to his feet.

One hand bracing his side. Face flushed now. Breathing louder.

"You’re not support."

Lucen blinked once.

"I never said I was."

Rikta spat once to the side. Then regripped his weapon.

"I’ve fought pressure casters. You’re not one of them."

Lucen tilted his head.

"You sure?"

Rikta came again.

But this time, silent.

No big swing. No overcommitted charge.

Just steps. Close. Tighter stance. Low blade. Controlled lines.

Lucen’s eyes sharpened.

Now he was thinking.

Now it was dangerous.

He cast [Crater Bloom].

Timing mattered here.

He let Rikta come close, within three steps, then shifted his heel back and snapped the glyph into the floor behind him.

No visual cue. The spell embedded under the surface like a trapdoor with no handle.

Lucen baited an opening. Deliberate drop in posture.

Rikta took it.

Charged the final pace and swung wide—

Lucen sidestepped.

One whisper: [Piercing Flare].

The beam cut diagonally, clean, searing, angled across the upper torso. Rikta dropped his head just in time, but his coat caught fire.

He kept swinging.

The sword came low, inside Lucen’s knee line—

Too fast.

Lucen cast [Null Reversal].

It snapped into place mid-swing.

Mana flared white across the blade. Rikta’s forward pressure hit a wall that shouldn’t have been there.

The strike stopped.

Then snapped backward, feedback force hurling the blade off-line.

Rikta stumbled.

Lucen followed up, no cast. Just a front kick.

Boot to gut.

Rikta hit the floor again.

Not hard.

But the second fall always hurt more.

Lucen stood above him. Breathing steady.

Rikta panted once. Looked up. Blinked sweat from his eyes.

"How the hell—"

Lucen tilted his head.

"Stop yelling. You’re making it obvious."

He turned away.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t pose.

Just walked back to center.

The crowd’s roar sounded distant. Like a memory.

The system pinged quietly in the corner of his vision.

[Current mana: 71]

[Recovery Active]

Still had plenty.

And this?

Was just round one.

—

The crowd roared like someone had scored a kill.

Rikta was still on the floor.

He didn’t stay there long.

He rolled once, slammed a hand against the ground, and shoved himself to his feet—hard enough that his sword scraped sparks along the stone as he jerked it upward.

His coat flared. His eyes glowed, not magically, but from pressure, rage, blood flushing past restraint.

Lucen turned to face him again.

Calm. Still breathing through his nose.

Rikta pointed the sword.

"You think this is funny?"

Lucen blinked.

"No. I think you’re tired."

"Bullshit."

Rikta stepped forward.

No finesse now. Just stomped into centerline, sword dragging a tight arc through the air. Every movement fast, too fast, like his muscles were reading ahead of his body.

Lucen watched him move.

He saw the twitch in Rikta’s fingers.

The stutter in his breath.

’Enhancer,’ he thought. ’Short-cycle. Fast-burn.’

He didn’t say it out loud. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Rikta launched forward before another word could land.

The floor cracked behind him from sheer push-off. He came in low this time, swinging up, from hip to collarbone. An ugly, real arc.

Lucen pivoted.

Mid-movement, he fired [Ignition Burst] into the ground to his left.

The small explosion kicked heat into the air, forced Rikta’s step to angle wider than he wanted. He missed by half a meter.

Lucen stepped back in.

"Breathe slower," he said, almost conversational.

Rikta growled, turned, slashed again.

Lucen raised his right hand, flat, and cast [Frost Spire].

The spike ripped upward between them. Rikta’s blade caught on the edge of it, fractured ice flying in all directions.

He roared and punched through the top of the spike with the hilt of his weapon, shattering the whole thing in a violent, pointless blow.

"You little—!"

He lunged again.

Lucen ducked left, let the momentum swing past him, and kicked hard into Rikta’s back as he passed.

Not to knock him down.

Just to keep the rhythm broken.

Rikta caught himself on one knee.

Lucen stepped into midrange and raised two fingers again.

[Burn Logic].

The jagged glyph twisted out and flared into chaotic flame. It danced in the air like it had no idea where it wanted to go. Neither did Rikta.

He slashed at it mid-flight.

Missed.

It detonated harmlessly behind him.

But the twitch in his body said he expected pain.

Lucen exhaled.

"You’re reacting to everything," he said. "That’s not fighting. That’s flailing with a good haircut."

"Shut up!"

Rikta threw the blade in a low charge swing, telegraphed. Too much.

Lucen stepped under.

Grabbed the edge of Rikta’s coat.

Spun him with it.

Rikta went flying three feet, boots skidding across the floor like he’d hit oil.

The system pinged softly behind Lucen’s eyes.

[Current mana: 79]

[Recovery Active]

Still plenty left.

Rikta climbed back up, again.

This time slower.

But his expression wasn’t broken.

It was ugly.

Wild.

He was sweating now. Neck flushed red. One arm twitching slightly like it wanted to swing before the rest of him agreed.

"You don’t get to stand there and talk down to me," Rikta said, voice shaking slightly, not from fear, but from barely contained charge.

Lucen tilted his head.

"Why not?"

"You’re a support class. I saw your registry."

Lucen smiled once. Just barely.

"You should’ve looked a little longer."

That did it.

Rikta screamed, not battle-shout. Just rage, and lunged with everything he had.

This time, the strike was tight. Controlled.

He pushed all the force inward, compressing his attack into a vertical rush that hit like a piston. Fast. Efficient. Deadly if it landed.

Lucen didn’t cast.

He rolled.

Hit the floor, shoulder-down, kicked off the far side, and skidded into crouch.

Mid-slide, he fired [Piercing Flare].

The beam shot low—angled and precise. It sliced just past Rikta’s heel and scorched a line behind him. He jumped instinctively, then staggered on the landing.

Lucen came up from the crouch, firing [Shockweave Bolt] again, straight to the back.

Rikta convulsed forward, spun with the hit, and dropped to one knee.

But he didn’t fall.

The enhancer kept him upright.

Rikta stood again.

Breathing ragged.

Not from damage.

From something else.

Something chemical.

Lucen narrowed his eyes.

Then stepped in and whispered [Null Reversal].

The glyph snapped against his palm, ready.

He waited.

Rikta raised his blade again.

One last charge.

Lucen watched his feet.

Watched his hips.

Waited for the moment the blow committed.

And when it did—

Lucen took it.

The sword hit his warding arm—

And bounced.

Rikta’s body snapped backward.

The energy recoiled.

Lucen grabbed his shoulder mid-stumble.

Spun him once.

And cast [Crater Bloom].

The glyph detonated at their feet.

Rikta caught the full force in the chest.

Slammed backward.

Hit the arena wall.

Dropped.

Hard.

The entire crowd screamed.

Lucen stood alone at center, breath even.

He watched as Rikta pushed himself halfway up, one hand trembling against the floor, blade clattering away from his reach.

Then stopped.

Didn’t get up again.

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