CHAPTER 162: HOLDING BACK

Varik stared.

Lucen added, "It was technically a warning strike."

Varik blinked once. "With a sword?"

Lucen pointed at his system overlay. "I used the flat side."

Varik took a long drink from his bottle like he was trying not to say something worse.

"Let me guess," he said. "You didn’t report it until afterward."

"I left a note."

"On a corpse?"

Lucen frowned. "Not a corpse."

Varik gave him a look.

Lucen muttered, "A minorly injured adult with decision-making issues."

"You left a note."

"Technically Gabe filed the paperwork. I just color-coded the diagram."

"Color-coded—?"

Lucen waved a hand. "Can we skip to the part where you either ground me or say ’well done, soldier’ so I can go find snacks?"

Varik didn’t say anything.

He just turned around and started walking.

Lucen stared after him.

"...That’s not an answer."

Varik stopped.

Then said, "Follow."

Lucen sighed. "Great. The walking punishment."

—

They walked through the secondary guild corridor, past the dispatch floor and into the empty sparring wing. The one with the old reinforced tiles, no surveillance, and a concrete smell like someone had once exploded an entire training dummy and forgot to clean it up.

Varik didn’t explain.

Lucen didn’t ask.

He’d been here before.

Varik stepped onto the mat. Cracked his neck. Set his drink down without looking.

Lucen raised both eyebrows.

"...You’re going to lecture me by trying to stab me again, aren’t you?"

Varik gestured. "Draw your sword."

Lucen made a face. "You do remember I only got home from that fight twenty minutes ago, right?"

"You can’t afford to lose the momentum."

Lucen scratched his neck. "Or the ability to feel my arms."

Varik’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

Lucen grinned.

Then drew the sword.

—

The first ten minutes were fast.

Too fast.

Lucen dodged the first three swings, stepped out of the fourth, barely blocked the fifth. His muscles weren’t fully recovered, and the system’s cooldown timers were still ticking in the corner of his vision.

He didn’t say that.

Instead, he said, "You know, back when I almost died in a crypt, this was not how I imagined spending the recovery window."

Varik’s sword hummed. He lunged again. "Fighting teaches faster than complaining."

Lucen ducked. Spun. The tip of his blade hissed across the mat.

He kicked off the far wall. Landed. Parried the next strike.

Sparks flicked off metal. The sound rang low.

Varik didn’t slow.

Lucen thought, ’Alright. Time to cheat a little.’

His system flickered.

[Hybrid Form: Spell-Surge Blade – Active]

[Current Surge: Level 1]

[Mana Load: 12%]

Lucen stepped in. Twisted his grip. Let his fingers curl slightly, like activating a cantrip, then pushed mana through the blade. Not much. Just enough to make the edge buzz faintly.

Then he swung.

Not wild.

Just sharp.

Focused.

The air around the blade warped as it moved, like it cut faster than it should’ve. The blade sparked, not from friction, but from arcane velocity.

Varik stopped the blow with his bare hand.

No sword.

No spell.

Just one glove-covered hand pressed flat to Lucen’s blade.

Lucen froze.

The air cracked.

His sword hummed.

Varik didn’t blink.

"You think that’s enough?" he said quietly.

Lucen exhaled. "Nope."

Then dropped his stance and stepped back, shaking out his arm.

"Okay," he muttered. "Plan B. Cry and make Gabe feel bad for me."

Varik stepped off the mat. Grabbed the towel by the bench.

"Your control’s better," he said. "The blade answered."

Lucen nodded. "It liked being flashy."

"Don’t get used to that."

Lucen glanced at him. "Because it’s dangerous?"

"No. Because it’s predictable. A flash you don’t earn becomes a beacon."

Lucen paused.

That one he kept.

Varik sat. Pulled his coat over one knee. "Tell me everything he said. From the moment the mission started."

Lucen blinked. "You want the actual conversation?"

"Yes."

"Like, all the words?"

Varik stared.

Lucen threw his hands up. "Okay. Fine. I’ll even do voices."

Varik leaned back slightly. "Don’t."

Lucen grinned. "Too late."

He started to speak, dramatic tone, obnoxious cadence, and all.

As his voice echoed slightly through the empty training hall, the system blinked a soft reminder:

[New Threat Class: Syndicate Observation – Active]

[System Analysis: Do not escalate mana usage without cover.]

[Note: Higher-profile movements are now being tracked.]

Lucen kept talking.

Didn’t flinch.

But inside?

He smiled.

’So they’re watching. Good. That means they’re nervous.’

And Lucen had no problem playing dumb.

Especially when it made them sweat.

—

Lucen’s voice trailed off halfway through his imitation of the enemy caster, complete with high-pitched whining and dramatic hand gestures.

"—and then he does this little wrist swirl thing like he’s the archduke of compression glyphs. I honestly thought he was gonna curtsy."

Varik didn’t laugh.

Lucen didn’t expect him to.

He finished anyway.

The training hall was quiet again. Just the sound of the wall fans and the low hum of the sword still vibrating gently in Lucen’s grip. His breath had evened out. Sweat dried on his collar.

He turned the blade once in his hand and set it gently down across his lap. "You’re going to tell me I should’ve retreated, right?"

Varik didn’t speak right away. He just reached into his coat and pulled out a flat data chip. Tossed it across the mat. It landed with a light clink.

Lucen blinked. "That... better not be homework."

Varik said, "Guild report. That fight is already in the logs."

Lucen picked it up. Slid it between two fingers. "Did they say I handled it poorly or brilliantly?"

"They said ’incident logged and closed.’"

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "No lecture?"

"No one died."

Lucen muttered, "That’s a low bar."

Varik stood. Walked toward the gear bench.

"They’ve got you marked down for solo aptitude."

Lucen paused. "What?"

Varik opened a cabinet. Pulled out a practice dummy, one of the big ones, double-weighted with shock resistance and blood-pack inserts for realism. He dropped it on the mat.

"They think you’ve got the instincts for independent operation," he said. "You’re not ready."

Lucen smirked. "Tell that to the guy who got knocked out cold."

"You clipped his ear."

Lucen shrugged. "It’s a memorable ear now."

Varik folded his arms. "You were emotional. You got involved for personal reasons."

"He was threatening a kid."

"Which was good," Varik said evenly. "But you didn’t wait for backup. You didn’t verify rank. You could’ve gotten shot from a blind angle, glyph loop, or support mage."

Lucen sighed. "You know I know all that."

"Yes. That’s why you’re still on the roster."

Lucen grinned. "So this is you being proud?"

Varik didn’t smile. "This is me being patient."

He turned the dummy upright and locked it in place.

Lucen eyed it.

Then eyed him.

"...You’re not done with me, are you?"

"No."

—

They didn’t train long. Just enough for Varik to watch Lucen swing five more times, adjust his grip twice, and accidentally overload the blade with mana during a reverse parry.

That one singed a chunk off the dummy’s shoulder.

Lucen winced. "Oops."

Varik just tilted his head. "Control."

Lucen wiped sweat off his face. "I am controlling it."

"You’re muscling the cast. Flow it, don’t force it."

Lucen stabbed a finger at the dummy. "He was asking for it."

Varik walked off.

Lucen sighed. "You could at least pretend to say ’good job.’"

Varik didn’t turn around. "Good job."

"Not convincing."

"Don’t care."

Lucen cracked a tired smile.

The mat still smelled like scorched rubber.

—

Back in the guild’s side hallway, Lucen grabbed a bottled drink from the vending machine. His arm muscles still twitched. The good kind of tired. Training fatigue. Not adrenaline-fueled panic like yesterday.

He leaned against the wall, cap still on the bottle, and let his eyes half close.

[System Notice]

[Fatigue: Moderate]

[Recovery Window Available: 2h 17m]

[XP gained from sparring: +72]

[Technique Logging: ON]

He flicked through the menu lazily.

One of the new skills still hadn’t been named. Just sat there under [Pending Custom Slot] blinking like it wanted attention.

’Later,’ he thought. ’Naming things means I’m keeping them.’

A shadow moved in the hall.

Lucen looked up.

It wasn’t Varik this time.

Guy in a sharp navy blazer, slacks that cost too much, and a guild badge tilted to the side like he’d worn it for five minutes and got bored. Mid-thirties. Smug smile already loaded on his face like a weapon.

Lucen blinked. "Can I help you?"

The guy walked up like they were old friends. "Lucen Ivara, right?"

Lucen kept leaning against the wall. "Depends. Are you from billing?"

The man chuckled. "No. Personnel division."

"Worse."

He ignored that. Held out a hand. "Marcos Delvetti. I manage specialized placements. Sub-guild assignments. Sponsored affiliations."

Lucen stared at the hand.

Then slowly shook it. "Sounds boring."

Marcos didn’t flinch. "That’s what people say before they’re rich."

Lucen tilted his head. "Ah. So you’re here to make me rich."

"I’m here to offer you something better than another month cleaning up drift slime with Gabe’s team."

Lucen uncapped his drink. Took a slow sip. "I like Gabe’s team."

"They’re holding you back."

Lucen raised an eyebrow.

Marcos continued, slick now. "I’ve read your logs. I know you’ve got potential. You’ve already started building a hybrid technique. Most new recruits don’t even understand how to layer mana control yet."

Lucen said nothing.

"Look," Marcos leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a persuasive murmur. "We’ve got a spot open in the Kepler branch. Better gear. Bonus missions. Even a housing stipend."

Lucen whistled. "A stipend? You trying to seduce me?"

Marcos smiled. "I’m trying to recruit you."

Lucen crossed his arms. "Does this come with strings?"

"No more than usual. You’d be under the Kepler license, answer to their regional director. It’s a clean deal."

Lucen waited a beat. Then said, "And what happens if I say no?"

Marcos’ smile flickered. Just barely.

"You’ll still have your spot. But you’ll miss a... unique opportunity. Fast track. Stronger teams. Bigger missions."

Lucen tapped the side of his drink. "You came to me. That means someone’s already watching. Someone already noticed."

Marcos shrugged. "I’m just the messenger."

Lucen smiled. Just a little. Nothing warm.

Then said, "I’ll think about it."

Marcos straightened. "Don’t think too long. This kind of offer doesn’t linger."

Lucen stepped forward. Just a half-step. Still casual. Still easy.

But his tone wasn’t.

"Do me a favor, Marcos. If someone’s using you to scout for them—tell them to pick better bait next time. This pitch was see-through."

Marcos blinked. "Excuse me?"

Lucen smiled wider. "You didn’t check my profile properly. I’m the type that likes cleaning up drift slime."

Then he walked past him.

Left the man standing there, blinking, confused, and probably reporting back to someone that Lucen Ivara was more trouble than he looked.

Which, to be fair—

He was.