SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 96: Level 20 (2)

Lucen stepped into the center of the room.

The floor felt different now. Not just cold, ready. Like something in the concrete remembered fights and still wanted more.

Varik stood opposite him, coat off, sleeves rolled, a long curved blade in one hand. Not oversized. Not ornate. No mana runes on the hilt. Just clean steel. Used.

Lucen eyed it, then muttered, "Didn’t know you swung old school."

Varik’s grip didn’t shift. "Sometimes control beats distance."

Lucen cracked his neck. "You’re not giving me range. Got it."

Varik didn’t answer.

The fight started without a cue.

Lucen moved first.

A snap of his hand—[Shockweave Bolt]—cast fast and wide. The arc flared across the room, chasing Varik’s left side.

The sword moved.

Not fast.

Just right.

One step, one turn of the wrist, and the bolt cracked against the flat of the blade like it had never mattered. Dispersed instantly.

Lucen dropped his stance lower. [Crater Bloom] pulsed under Varik’s feet.

He didn’t dodge.

He adjusted.

Shifted weight to one foot, let the collapse start, then slipped backward like he’d rehearsed it six hundred times.

The floor cracked.

Varik didn’t.

Lucen cast again. [Piercing Flare], low angle, bounce trajectory off the floor—

Varik moved through it.

Not around it.

Through.

The beam grazed his coat, but never slowed him.

Lucen’s brain stuttered.

’He’s reading me before I draw.’

He dropped low, [Threadmask] mid-movement.

Field bent. Image shimmered. Displacement cast clean.

He moved left, quiet, slow.

Varik didn’t look at the echo.

He turned straight to Lucen and struck.

Lucen blocked with his forearm, took the edge of the sword flat, still hurt. Like getting punched by a truck wrapped in steel.

He stumbled back.

"Cute trick," Varik said.

Lucen gritted his teeth. [Frost Spire], wide spread, multiple angle cast—

Varik flipped over them.

Didn’t even flare a spell. Just used height, gravity, and control.

Lucen didn’t have time to react.

The blade came down, sharp, deliberate, but pulled at the last second. Still slammed into Lucen’s shoulder hard enough to drive him three steps sideways.

[Health Warning: 48%]

He didn’t scream.

Didn’t cast.

He dropped a dummy glyph behind him and rolled to create space.

Varik didn’t chase.

Just walked forward, sword lowered.

Lucen’s mind spun. Fast.

’He’s too efficient. Doesn’t waste motion. Doesn’t guess. Reads everything.’

He flared [Burn Logic] mid-air and baited Varik with an open cast—

Varik pretended to take it.

Then veered wide and let it blow out harmlessly.

Lucen’s breath caught.

He was using spells like traps.

Varik was fighting like he’d seen them all before.

Lucen drew wide this time.

Big arc.

Full flare.

[Cataclysm Vector]

Room went red-white-blue.

Fire.

Lightning.

Ice.

Everything.

Exploded.

It took five seconds to settle.

Lucen stood in the smoke.

Sweating.

Breathing.

’Got him. Had to.’

Then the smoke shifted.

Varik stood at the edge.

Burn marks on the coat.

No cuts.

No damage.

Sword still drawn.

Still walking forward.

Lucen’s hands shook once.

He closed them into fists.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t cast.

He whispered, "You’re holding back."

Varik said, "Of course I am."

Lucen smiled. Tired. Bitter.

"I hate this."

Varik’s expression didn’t change.

"That means you’re learning."

The sword came up again.

Lucen braced.

And charged anyway.

—

Lucen rushed in.

Not because it was smart.

Because it was all he had left.

His boots skidded over broken floor lines, breath sharp in his throat, left arm half-dead from the last clash.

Varik moved like his body was a script and Lucen was trying to guess the next line, but the page kept changing.

[Soundlash] fired at point-blank range.

Varik spun with it.

Used the impact to pivot and swing.

Lucen blocked with a snapped-up shield glyph, fragile, improvised.

It shattered like glass.

The sword came through and stopped just before it split his chest open.

Lucen hit the ground.

Hard.

Coughed once.

Blood. Just a little. Tang of copper.

He rolled, hands flat, drew three glyphs at once, none of them real. Distraction. Dust kicked up.

Varik didn’t fall for it.

He stepped through the miscasts and kicked the last one aside.

Lucen flared [Shockweave] to the floor. Mana burst up. Disoriented him more than Varik.

He staggered to his feet.

Varik didn’t press.

Just watched.

Silent.

Waiting.

Lucen’s vision blurred. His hands ached. His spells felt like ripping pages out of a book already on fire.

’He’s testing the shape of my limit.’

Lucen cast [Ignition Burst] toward his own feet—propulsion, not attack. He slammed into Varik’s side.

The sword caught him in the ribs, flat again.

Still hurt.

He dropped to one knee.

The room swam.

His system blinked warnings.

[Health: 22%]

[Mana: 19 / 148]

[Next cast not recommended]

Lucen spat blood. Not much.

He smiled.

’Stupid spell system. This is the fun part.’

He stood.

Not tall. Not straight.

Just stubborn.

Varik raised the blade again.

Not tired.

Not smug.

Just present.

Lucen whispered, half-cast:

"Threadmask."

The room bent.

The image split.

Varik turned—

And Lucen was already mid-cast behind it.

[Burn Logic], raw, unrefined, cast with pain behind the wrist.

It didn’t catch Varik.

But it flared bright enough to force pause.

Lucen stepped through it.

Body failing.

Vision collapsing inward.

The last step felt like dragging bricks through his spine.

Then—

Everything stopped.

The air thickened.

Mana paused.

His system blinked once.

No sound.

No lead-in.

Just a deep tone, low and final, like steel echoing through bones.

[LEVEL UP: 19 → 20]

[Class Threshold Reached — Perk Slot Unlocked]

[New System Notice: Unique Trait Acquisition Beginning...]

[DO NOT INTERRUPT]

Lucen collapsed forward.

Didn’t hit the ground.

Hover-locked mid-drop, eyes wide.

Breath frozen in his chest.

The world around him began to bend.

Like a new shape was being born, and it wasn’t human.

Lucen couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t choking.

He just wasn’t inside breath anymore.

He hung in midair, chest forward, fingers curled, knees bent, like the world had paused between decisions.

His vision was full of light, but not blinding. It pulsed in layers. Glyphs moving backward through space.

Threaded letters folding and folding and folding, like someone was building a box inside a mirror with no back.

Then came the voice.

Not real.

Not spoken.

Just there.

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