SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 93: Underground Fight

The ring was small. Octagonal. Threadsteel corners. Scorch marks old and new across the floor. The stands weren’t really stands, just raised platforms, crates, benches. No tiered seating, no announcements. Just observation.

Gen was already there.

Leaning against a wall just inside the viewing arch, sipping something iced out of a metal canister that looked way too fancy for the setting.

"Glad you made it," he said without turning.

Lucen stopped beside him.

"You weren’t kidding. This place smells like bad decisions."

Gen smiled. "That’s the charm."

Lucen scanned the ring. One fighter pacing in the far corner. Short, lean, low stance. Physical type. Bladed gauntlets. No armor.

No audience cheering.

Just eyes watching.

"How clean is this?" Lucen asked.

Gen sipped again. "No guild. No uploads. No kills, technically. Just pain."

Lucen nodded. "My favorite kind."

"You’ll get one match. That’s how it works here. No rematches. No spell recording."

Lucen glanced sideways. "So why bring me?"

Gen lowered the canister. "Because you built something you haven’t shown anyone. And this ring doesn’t care what you’re hiding."

Lucen looked at the ring again. The fighter across from him cracked their neck slowly. No smile. Just readiness.

Gen added, quieter, "If Threadmask works, this is the place to break it in."

Lucen flexed his hands once. "No introductions?"

"No ranks. No names. Just cast and bleed."

Lucen stepped toward the gate.

Stopped.

"Anyone bet against me?"

Gen smiled. "Yeah."

Lucen stepped into the ring.

"Tell them thanks."

The gate closed.

And the lights dimmed.

—

The ring floor felt different when the gate sealed behind him. Not just colder, thinner. The mana underneath wasn’t clean.

Old spells still clung to the stone like stains, blood, impact burns, broken light refractions from flares cast too close.

Lucen stepped out past the first line, boots quiet. No echo. No applause. Just bodies watching from the edge of the platform like silent gamblers waiting to see who blinked first.

The swordsman stood already center-left. He wasn’t tall, wasn’t armored, wasn’t smiling.

Just a black shirt with exposed sleeves, threadbound cuffs, and twin weapons sheathed across the back,short. Not showy. The kind you draw fast and forget how.

No name tag. No spoken class.

Didn’t need one.

Lucen’s system pulsed once at his side.

[Duel Start: Ring Rules Engaged]

[Fatal Damage Suppressed]

[Active Spells Available: 11]

[Mana: 144 / 148]

The swordsman rolled his shoulders forward. Stretched his neck left.

His body moved like a spring held between thumb and index finge, tight, but calm.

Lucen raised his hand slowly.

Didn’t cast.

Just waved once.

The swordsman tilted his head.

Lucen said, "Nice blades."

No reply.

Then the bell rang.

No countdown.

No warning.

Just a short pulse of mana pressure across the floor, followed by movement.

The swordsman was already in motion.

Lucen stepped backward,one beat late, and snapped a sigil draw across the ground.

[Shockweave Bolt] fired mid-retreat, arcing wide.

It didn’t hit.

The swordsman pivoted hard, bounced to the left wall, didn’t stop. Closed distance again in two quick lunges. The edge of his blade flicked once toward Lucen’s side.

Lucen dropped low.

Rolled backward under the cut.

A second slash chased him,sharp. Almost too fast to read. The strike hit coat, not skin, but dragged mana thread from his sleeve with a hiss.

Lucen snapped up into a crouch.

[Crater Bloom] flared underfoot, aimed behind—

The swordsman leapt over it.

Didn’t even lose momentum.

Lucen’s breath hitched slightly.

’Okay. Close-in duelist. No heavy charge. No spell lag. Might not even need a system.’

He backstepped, quick.

Dragged two fingers across the air.

[Frost Spire] triggered from the left wall—

The swordsman dodged before it fully formed.

Like he’d seen it coming a second before Lucen thought it.

Lucen smiled a little.

’Alright. Guess I need to cheat early.’

He brought both hands up, fingers tracing backward through the air.

Three threads. One loop.

Threadmask.

The space around him bent inward. Mana folded sharp. The glyph collapsed inward with a soft, short snap. Light jittered, shimmered, then pulled outward, displacing his image just a meter left.

Lucen stepped to the right,slow.

The false echo shimmered in place.

The swordsman attacked the wrong body.

Blades tore through the false trail. Mana split in a tight feedback burst, not harmful, but it scraped across the swordsman’s senses like static across his skin.

He twisted mid-strike, confused, looking the wrong way.

Lucen didn’t waste it.

He cast [Soundlash] point-blank.

The pulse slammed sideways. The swordsman’s shoulder snapped back, boots dragging against the floor. He regained balance faster than he should’ve.

But Lucen had room now.

He flared [Ignition Burst] mid-step, using it for propulsion again, not offense. It launched him out of range. He landed crooked but upright.

The swordsman blinked.

That was the first time he showed confusion.

Lucen said nothing.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t taunt.

He just raised his hand again, one finger up.

Then tilted it slightly.

The universal gesture for come on then.

The swordsman answered.

He attacked again, straight line this time, fast.

Lucen didn’t move.

Not until the last meter.

Then he did it again.

Threadmask.

The field shimmered. His image snapped one step right.

He stepped left.

The swordsman adjusted faster this time, started a spinning slash—

But Lucen had already drawn a fast glyph to his side.

[Piercing Flare]

It didn’t hit him.

Didn’t need to.

It hit the floor behind him and rebounded.

Right into the swordsman’s flank.

The man grunted, twisted, still standing.

Lucen muttered, "This guy’s made of duct tape and bad ideas."

[Mana: 91 / 148]

The swordsman paused again. Just half a second.

That half-second was Lucen’s.

[Burn Logic] activated mid-air.

He scrawled it fast, compressed burst glyph, visual trap layer.

The moment the swordsman charged again, Lucen didn’t dodge.

He let him get close.

Let him swing—

And when the man almost used a skill, almost, because Lucen saw the twitch in the wrist, the draw motion—

Burn Logic popped.

Mana reversed through the air like someone yanked the battery out of a spell engine.

The swordsman flinched,his body jerked.

He staggered sideways, blades dropping a fraction.

Lucen finished it.

[Frost Spire] from below.

The spike caught one leg.

Then [Ignition Burst], from behind.

The swordsman dropped to one knee.

Didn’t fall.

But didn’t attack again.

Not yet.

The bell sounded.

Match over.

Lucen lowered his hands.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

The swordsman stood, slow, deliberate, and looked at him.

This time?

He nodded.

Just once.

Lucen nodded back.

Barely.

Then turned and walked off the ring without fanfare, coat dragging a little, breath shallow, pulse calm.

[EXP Gained: 940]

[Spell Effectiveness: Threadmask – Verified]

[Trait Activated: Adaptive Duelcraft – Tier 2]

[System Log: Opponent Class Unreadable – No Registry Match]

Lucen’s inner voice was dry.

’No match. No name. No problem.’

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