CHAPTER 158: STALKER (4)

Lucen’s back hurt.

Not because of some deep injury or trauma. Just because the cot was ancient, the air was dry, and he’d spent the last two hours alternating between staring at the ceiling and playing rock-paper-scissors against his system’s interface.

The system kept winning.

Which he found offensive.

’Should’ve coded in a mercy rule.’

The lights in the safe room flickered once, barely noticeable,but the sound came first. A hiss of pressurized air behind the vault entrance. Metal teeth disengaging.

Lucen sat up, shoulders tight.

Boots hit the steps. One at a time. Same even pace as always. No rush. No urgency.

Varik.

The door opened with a mechanical clunk.

Lucen didn’t speak.

Varik didn’t either. He walked in like he lived here. Calm. Tired, maybe, but composed. His coat was dusted in something, dirt, maybe ash, and one of his sleeves was torn halfway up the arm. Didn’t seem like he cared.

Lucen leaned back against the wall, hands resting behind his head.

"So..." he said casually, "You forget your jacket or did you fight a car?"

Varik didn’t look at him right away. He crossed the room, opened the small side locker, pulled out a sealed bottle of water and drank half of it in one go. Only then did he glance over.

"Still alive?"

"Barely," Lucen muttered. "My feelings are deeply wounded. You ditched me in a panic room like I was a goblin egg."

"It worked."

"Did it?" Lucen pointed to the wall. "Pretty sure the blast proof wall has a new dent in the shape of my soul."

Varik didn’t smile. He sat down on the edge of the cot across from Lucen, hands clasped between his knees. For a second, he said nothing.

Then: "You saw him?"

Lucen nodded once. "White hair. Creepy face. Walked like a bored ballerina."

"That was S-rank."

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "The guy I almost beaned with a lamp?"

"You were about to bean an S-rank with a lamp."

Lucen shrugged. "It was a sturdy lamp."

Varik didn’t answer. His gaze had turned sharp again. Focused. But not angry.

Just... calculating.

Lucen noticed. Sat forward a little. "Okay. Spill. Who was that guy?"

Varik paused. Then said, "Doesn’t matter. He won’t be back."

Lucen stared at him.

"No," he said flatly. "We’re not doing the cryptic mentor thing right now. You broke half the city chasing that guy. Who the hell was he?"

Varik looked away for a second. Eyes narrowed.

"Someone who wasn’t supposed to find you."

Lucen exhaled slowly. Leaned his head back against the wall. ’Right. Great. More vague answers.’

The system pinged.

[New System Entry Unlocked]

[Passive Trait: Combat Response Sync (Lvl 1)]

[Due to prolonged exposure to high-level pressure, reflex growth has accelerated]

Lucen blinked once. ’Huh. So stress does work out.’

He tapped open the details. The interface shimmered behind his eyes, just long enough for the notification to scroll.

Agility stat ticked up by 0.2.

’Barely anything. But still. Growth.’

He closed it.

Varik watched him. "You’re syncing."

Lucen tilted his head. "And you know that... how?"

"I taught you."

Lucen pointed at his own face. "Different me. New build. You’ve been on a recon arc or something."

"You’re worse at jokes when you’re nervous."

Lucen didn’t deny it.

The air was quieter now. The hum of the ventilation system, the faint pulse of the mana shielding, the creak of old concrete under strain, it all sounded louder with the tension gone.

Lucen finally said, "He knew something. I could feel it. Not just the way he moved."

Varik nodded.

"He was testing the water," he said. "Not attacking. Not yet."

Lucen muttered, "So what happens when they stop testing?"

Varik stood. Brushed off his hands. Walked toward the far terminal.

"They’ll stop when we’re too strong to bother with."

Lucen’s eyebrows lifted. "And by ’we,’ you mean me."

Varik didn’t answer. Which was an answer.

Lucen ran a hand through his hair, then frowned.

"...I can’t even beat half the people at the guild in a fake spar. And you want me to scare off SS-ranks?"

"You beat a dungeon boss last week," Varik said calmly. "You cut through a Rift beast’s arcane core with half a breath of mana. And you knocked a guy out so clean we had to lie to the medics."

Lucen pointed at him. "That guy was being annoying."

"And the Rift boss?"

Lucen paused. "Also being annoying."

Varik turned away. Quiet. But Lucen could tell he was amused.

Lucen stood. Walked over to his locker. Unlatched the inner case.

Sword inside. Still dulled at the edge from the last outing. He ran his fingers over the grip. It buzzed faintly.

’Still feels strange. But not bad.’

He exhaled. Quiet. Then turned.

"So what’s next?"

Varik didn’t hesitate.

"Rest."

Lucen stared. "That’s not very dramatic."

"You need your head clear."

Lucen sat back down. "You’re not worried they’ll try again?"

"They will."

Lucen narrowed his eyes. "That was not a comforting response."

Varik glanced back. "That’s not my job."

Lucen cracked a grin. "Right. Protector, trainer, cook, and emotional support all rolled into one."

Varik didn’t smile. But his tone eased a hair. "Just rest. Eat something. Log your system. Tomorrow—training resumes."

Lucen saluted without standing. "Aye aye, Captain."

Varik hit the terminal. The reinforced locks reengaged. The hallway sealed again.

Then he was gone.

Lucen let the silence stretch. Just him and the sword and a system that still smelled like burning circuit boards.

He opened his interface again.

The menu blinked:

[Main Questline: Unrevealed]

[Secondary Quest: Keep Breathing]

[Personal Note: This was not part of the plan.]

Lucen muttered under his breath. "Yeah. No kidding."

He leaned back. Sword across his lap. Air still cool. The distant hum of magic filters pulsing steady.

His eyes shut for a second.

Just one.

Then two.

—

Lucen didn’t sleep.

He lay there. Lights dimmed. Sword balanced across his knees. Left ankle itching. Back sore from the cot. And his system wouldn’t stop pinging.

Not with quests. Not with warnings.

With suggestions.

[User body strain detected: Moderate]

[Would you like to enter Passive Recovery Mode?]

[Estimated gains: +0.3 Agility | +0.2 Strength | -0.7 Stress Accumulation]

[Warning: User will be partially conscious.]

Lucen stared at the flickering box.

’Partially conscious sounds like all-nighters with extra steps.’

He accepted it anyway.

The room blinked slightly as the system dimmed ambient noise—dampened the hum of vents, lowered brightness. Made the sword lighter in his lap, like the weight didn’t bother him anymore.

His breathing slowed. Not asleep. But somewhere in between.

And that’s when the other window opened.

A new one. Different color scheme. Grey border. Faint static.

[New Passive Trait Available: Arcane Sync Shift]

[Description: Your affinity for spell manipulation has begun bleeding into muscle memory. Mana imprinting may now affect physical routines.]

Lucen blinked.

’...Okay. That’s new.’

He reached out, mentally tapped the icon. The system pulsed.

[Due to recent exposure to high-pressure combat, your system has begun cross-referencing physical combat with spellwork. You are now eligible for Hybrid Form: Spell-Surge Blade.]

Lucen sat up.

Fast.

The sword didn’t move. The air didn’t shift.

But inside?

Mana curled.

It didn’t rush like normal mana, high tide in his bloodstream, pressure behind the eyes. No. This felt more like... static building under skin. Like rubbing socks on carpet before touching metal.

His fingers twitched once.

’Spell-surge blade. What does that even mean?’

The system didn’t explain further. Just blinked out like it had done its job.

Lucen ran both hands over his face. Then muttered: "I am going to need so many coffee credits."

He stood up. Cracked his neck. The recovery mode left his limbs light. He felt rested, sure, but also a little... off. Like the blood in his body had been rearranged alphabetically.

Still. He moved to the center of the safe room. Spread his feet. One hand hovered in front. Open. Relaxed. Mage stance.

The other?

Reached for the sword.

He didn’t ignite anything. Didn’t activate mana the way he usually did. He just... thought.

’Surge blade.’

His vision didn’t change. No flashy HUD. No skill name overlay. Just—

His hand closed around the hilt.

And the blade whispered awake.

Not literally. No sound. Just a flicker of blue along the steel’s edge. Like a spell was hiding there. Waiting.

Lucen narrowed his eyes.

He turned.

Swung once.

Not fast. Not strong. Just precise.

The air rippled. Like someone had drawn a line through smoke. It left no mark, but Lucen could feel the mana displacement trail for a solid two seconds.

’Okay. That’s... dangerous.’

He stepped again. Left foot forward. Swung in reverse.

The system pinged again.

[Hybrid Combat Detected]

[Recording sequence for Custom Technique Slot?]

[Note: This function is not publicly available.]

Lucen raised a brow. "Why are you like this?"

He accepted.

The sword pulsed slightly, nothing showy, just a response, like it liked being noticed. And Lucen liked exactly that.