CHAPTER 164: PARTY

Varik didn’t reply right away. He was already thinking ahead, names, locations, the handful of S ranks in the world he didn’t have files on. The unknown ones. The ones that might be watching now.

One thing was certain:

If they knew what Lucen really was, today’s stunt just painted a bright red target on his back.

And Varik had no intention of letting them get a clean shot.

—

Lucen sat on the narrow bench in the guild’s locker room, tapping the heel of his boot against the tile like a metronome. The fight adrenaline was still in him, hot, restless, but there was no fight left to burn it on.

He’d already stowed his sword, rinsed his face, and downed half a bottle of water. Still couldn’t shake the buzz in his fingers.

’Spell-surge blade felt different this time... faster. Cleaner.’

The system pulsed a little notification at the edge of his vision:

[Combat Data Logged]

[Form Efficiency: +4%]

[Note: Mana imprint stabilizing under live pressure]

Lucen smirked. ’So you can be useful when you want to be.’

The locker room door opened with a slow squeak. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Varik, the man’s footsteps had a weight you could feel through the floor.

"You’re getting too comfortable," Varik said.

Lucen glanced up. "I thought comfort was part of good form."

"You know that’s not what I mean."

Lucen let the corner of his mouth twitch. "Then maybe clarify before you start throwing cryptic shade."

Varik gave him that long, unreadable stare. "You fought like you didn’t care who saw."

"I did care. I made sure not to pop anything flashy."

"You cut reinforced stone in half."

Lucen leaned forward, elbows on knees. "And yet, no one died. That’s restraint, Varik."

Varik’s jaw tightened. "You’re playing with fire."

"I’m a mage," Lucen said, deadpan. "It’s kind of the gig."

—

Varik didn’t laugh, which was fine, Lucen wasn’t really joking. His pulse still hadn’t settled, and somewhere under all the banter, he was testing himself.

Pushing.

He could feel it in the way the mana was humming under his skin. The system wasn’t just giving him more speed and cleaner control, it was syncing with him now. He didn’t even have to consciously call the surge anymore; it was waiting, curled up behind his grip, ready to go the moment he thought about moving.

’If this keeps up... S-ranks won’t be a problem. Maybe not even SS.’

He shook the thought off before Varik could read it in his face.

The man had a way of looking at him like he could see everything, and Lucen wasn’t ready to explain why his magic, and his body, felt like they were both growing sharper by the hour.

Not yet.

—

He stood and grabbed his bag. "So... am I grounded, or are you giving me another mission?"

Varik didn’t answer right away, and that was answer enough.

Lucen grinned anyway. "Good. I was starting to get bored."

Lucen slung the strap of his bag over one shoulder and followed Varik out into the main guild hall.

The place was busier than usual. A full squad of armored swordmasters clattered through toward the mission board, an archer pair bickering about arrowhead prices, a trio of mages comparing spell cooldowns like they were discussing weather. The smell of roasted meat and sharp mana dust hung in the air.

Lucen adjusted his pace, weaving around a massive guy in half-plate who didn’t seem to notice anyone under six feet tall.

The mission board was lit up, fresh postings scattered across the glowing runes. Guild runners, kids barely out of apprentice rank, darted in and out to swap out the finished jobs for new ones.

Varik didn’t even glance at the board. He moved straight for the guild’s inner desk. The receptionist on duty, a sharp-eyed woman named Meyra, looked up from her ledger and nodded once at Varik, like she’d been expecting him.

Then her gaze slid to Lucen. "You’re up for a solo run."

Lucen blinked. "Already?"

"You’ve been filing higher completion scores than most of the mid-tierers. Word got around. And apparently..." she glanced at the paper in front of her, "...you’ve got a knack for messy assignments."

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "Messy?"

"Outskirts sweep. Small Rift spike near the north canal. The last patrol didn’t come back."

Varik’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes cut to Lucen. "You can handle it."

Lucen grinned. "Nice to see you’ve upgraded from ’don’t die’ to actual confidence."

"It’s not confidence," Varik said flatly. "It’s necessity."

"Still feels warm and fuzzy."

Meyra slid the mission slip across the counter. "Route’s mapped here. Rift’s unstable but not expanding yet. Standard hazard pay, double if you recover anything from the lost patrol."

Lucen took it, scanning the details. "Any specifics on what came through?"

"No. Mana readings are erratic. Could be beasts, could be elementals. Could be..." She trailed off and tapped the desk. "Just don’t get cocky."

Lucen tucked the slip into his jacket. "I’m offended you think I’d get cocky."

"You’re a mage," Meyra said. "You were born cocky."

—

The walk to the equipment bay was short, but Varik matched his pace all the way there.

"You’re taking the spell-surge blade," Varik said as they passed the rows of locked racks.

Lucen kept his face neutral. "Obviously."

"You’ve been practicing with it unsupervised."

Lucen’s mouth twitched. "You check the training logs?"

"I don’t need to. I can feel it."

Lucen smirked, but didn’t answer.

Varik stopped by the door. "If it pulls more mana than you can control, drop it. Don’t force the sync."

"Got it, Dad."

Varik didn’t even blink. "If you die, it’s a paperwork nightmare."

Lucen snorted and moved on.

—

The bay attendant handed him his sword, now freshly sharpened and balanced. He clipped the scabbard to his belt, checked the snap, then strapped a short mana-sling over his shoulder, a compact case holding three condensed mana flasks, each one glowing faintly blue.

’Alright. Sword, backup mana, a bag of recovery dust...’

The system pinged.

[Mission Parameters Loaded]

[Optional Objective: Defeat Rift Entities without lethal spell surge. Bonus Reward: Skill Progression Multiplier +20%]

Lucen muttered under his breath, "You just love making things harder."

The system didn’t respond.

—

The guild’s northern exit opened to a broad, sunlit street. Carts rumbled past, the clatter of hooves mixing with the calls of street vendors. Lucen moved fast, cutting through side alleys until the air grew damp and the scent of the canal reached him.

It was quieter here, houses more spread out, more boarded windows than open ones.

He’d almost reached the northern lock gates when the system gave a sharp warning ping.

[Unregistered Mana Signature Detected]

[Distance: 48 meters | Approach Vector: Rapid]

Lucen slowed, hand brushing the hilt. "Varik said nothing about warm-up rounds."

The signature moved closer. 42 meters. 36.

Then a shape blurred around the corner, a man in tattered armor, eyes wild, breath coming hard. His movements were jerky, almost like—

Lucen stepped back. "Hey—"

The man roared and lunged.

Lucen’s sword cleared the scabbard in one smooth motion, a light flicker of blue sparking along the edge. He twisted, catching the man’s blade on the flat of his own, the impact rattling up his arm.

The attacker pushed hard, too hard, but his stance was sloppy.

’Not trained. Or... not in control.’

Lucen slid his blade down, knocked the man’s weapon wide, and stepped in with his free hand. Mana curled in his palm, low heat, not enough to ignite, just enough to sting. He shoved it against the man’s chest and pushed.

A pulse of force flung the attacker back three meters. He hit the ground, rolled, and came up again, still moving like he couldn’t feel pain.

The system pulsed.

[Foreign Mana Imprint Detected: Rift Contamination]

Lucen’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not even supposed to be this far from the spike..."

The man snarled and charged again.

This time Lucen let the sword’s edge hum with the surge, just enough to bite through the man’s blade when they met. Sparks and mana burst between them, the ruined weapon clattering to the ground.

Lucen pivoted, hooked his boot behind the man’s ankle, and shoved. The attacker went down hard.

He pressed the blade to the man’s neck, keeping the surge low. "You’re going to sleep now."

Mana flared from his palm, this time focused, small stun spell. The man’s body jerked once, then went limp.

Lucen straightened, exhaling slow.

[Combat Logged]

[Foreign Mana Sample Available for Extraction]

He crouched, touched two fingers to the man’s shoulder. The system drew a faint wisp of reddish mana from the skin, storing it in the diagnostic log.

’First Rift already contact and I’m not even at the gate yet. Great.’

—

He tied the man’s wrists with a length of cord from his pack, dragged him into the shadow of a nearby wall, and marked the location in the system’s map. Guild retrieval could pick him up later.

The canal gates loomed ahead, metal frames braced with heavy wood. Beyond them, the water was wrong, dark streaks shifting under the surface like something was moving just beneath.

Lucen felt the mana pressure as soon as he stepped through. It pressed at his skin, not heavy, but sharp, like static before a lightning strike.

’Rift’s close.’

He moved along the canal path, scanning the water and the buildings that leaned over it. The sound here was strange, too quiet, except for the occasional creak of wood and the faint hiss of water lapping at stone.

The system marked the Rift location: 220 meters ahead, in an abandoned grain warehouse.

He passed a rusted barge half-sunk at the water’s edge.

Then another ping, this one sharper.

[Multiple Mana Signatures Detected | Count: 3 | Strength: C-rank average]

Lucen’s hand found the sword’s grip again. "Alright. Let’s test this properly."

Three figures came out from behind the warehouse gate. They moved in sync, too smooth to be random civilians, too wrong to be trained soldiers. Their eyes had that same reddish gleam as the first attacker.

Lucen’s lips twitched. "Guess the party came to me."