CHAPTER 83: PICKING UP

It hadn’t changed. Still no glyph. Still no preview.

Still that one vague, clinical line:

"Inverts the most recent hostile glyph logic within proximity. Result varies."

Lucen rubbed a hand over his face.

Inverted glyph logic wasn’t a thing.

It wasn’t just rare, it wasn’t possible. Glyphs weren’t built to reverse. They had structure. Flow. A cast sequence that demanded completion or cancellation.

If you broke a glyph, the magic failed. If you mirrored it, it destabilized. If you tried to invert one?

That wasn’t spellcraft.

That was sabotage.

He checked the casting structure again. Still reflexive. No draw. Just an instinct trigger.

Like a trap. Or a counterspell.

’Except counterspells break a cast,’ he thought. ’This one flips it.’

Lucen let that sit for a moment.

Then asked aloud, "Flip it into what?"

No answer.

The system just hovered. Passive. Obedient. Waiting.

He opened his stat page, mostly just to clear his head.

[Status]

Unspent Attribute points: 32

Strength: 18

Dexterity: 27

Endurance: 19

Intelligence: 30

Control: 22

Focus: 27

Perception: 28

Luck: 16

He stared at them for a long time. No rush to place the points. Not tonight.

If anything, the number sixteen meant something now.

Not just a level.

A presence.

He could feel it in his casting hand, the way mana coiled near his wrist now instead of his chest.

He could feel it in his eyes, like the world came into focus faster, glyphs sparking behind objects before he even started drawing them.

This was what acceleration looked like.

It wasn’t speed.

It was clarity.

Outside, footsteps moved.

Away from the door. Slow. Measured. Someone finally giving up the pretense of silence.

Lucen didn’t get up.

Didn’t check the feed again.

He just closed the stat page and leaned back once more, eyes half-lidded.

Then muttered, "Training facility tomorrow."

His phone pinged in acknowledgment.

[Scheduled Match — Instructor ID: VARIK]

[Ruleset: Minimal Lethality / Spell Pressure Tier]

[Objective: EXP Optimization / Combat Sync Test]

[Time: 14:00 / Private Hall 9]

[Note: Expect No Mercy.]

Lucen stared at that last line.

Then smirked.

Low. Dry. No joy. Just appreciation.

"Would’ve been disappointed if there was."

He reached for the bottle, still sitting half-finished by the couch arm, and took another slow sip.

The lights stayed off.

The mana in the air stayed still.

The new spell pulsed once in the archive, brief, faint.

Like it was listening.

—

The system woke him before the alarm did.

Not with a chime.

With a presence.

Faint tick in the air. A thread-shift. Something in the mana around his room had drifted half a degree colder. Lucen’s eyes opened without effort.

No dream. No grogginess. Just a tight, practiced awareness and the gentle hum of interface light hovering over his vision.

[Day: Training Scheduled]

[Time: 13:12]

[Status: Fully Recovered]

[Mana: 148 / 148]

[Corruption: 0%]

[Null Reversal: Primed]

[Thread Alignment: Stable]

He sat up, bones not stiff but unwilling. The body didn’t resist. The mind just took longer.

The room smelled like yesterday’s mana burn—still a trace of ozone in the curtain folds, where his glyphs had brushed too close.

He didn’t clean it. Didn’t open a window. Just pulled on his boots, adjusted the pressure clasps around his gloves, and clicked the neck seal on his jacket tight.

He looked at himself once in the converter mirror.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t smile.

Just blinked.

And turned away.

The elevator ride down was silent. Same hall. Same faint scratch marks on the corner panel where someone’s pet spell-creature had once shorted the emergency call button. He didn’t press anything.

The car was already waiting.

Same black body. Same matte glass. Limousine design but with none of the civilian flash. No crest. No decals.

The mana-disruptors in the wheel wells made the asphalt hiss slightly as it idled, barely audible, but enough to catch a trained ear.

Lucen stepped outside into the afternoon light. The sky was dull, cloud-thick. No sunlight reached the road.

The rear door opened before he touched it.

Varik was already inside.

Lucen slid in without hesitation.

The door closed with a hiss like the sealing of a vault.

Inside, the car was dim. Not dark. The lights ran low and blue under the seats, just enough to catch the edge of motion. The windows were privacy-screened. Exterior noise deadened immediately.

Lucen leaned back in the seat opposite Varik and let his head rest against the leather.

"Why do these smell like airless vaults?"

Varik looked up from a file—physical, not digital, and responded without looking. "Because most people who ride in them shouldn’t be heard."

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "Sounds dramatic."

"No. Sounds quiet."

They didn’t speak for a moment.

The car began to move.

No lurch. No roar. Just that smooth, hum-fed glide of military-grade transportation designed to never rattle unless it was under fire.

Lucen tapped a finger against his thigh.

"You’re bringing me to a private facility for a friendly match."

Varik finally looked up. "I’m bringing you to a classified guild-affiliate hall that masks mana signatures and prevents outside trace logs. There’s a difference."

Lucen shrugged. "Still sounds like a friendly match."

Varik watched him.

Then said, "What level are you now?"

Lucen didn’t answer.

Not out of defiance.

Just calculation.

He let a beat pass. Then: "Sixteen."

Varik didn’t blink.

Didn’t nod.

He just said, "Good."

And returned to the file.

Lucen leaned forward slightly, catching a glimpse of the contents, paper thin, sealed with a wax sigil. The kind that didn’t open unless keyed by authority rank.

He didn’t ask.

Varik didn’t offer.

The car turned. Lucen felt it through the seat before he saw it, a slow arc, rightward, descending.

Underground.

The ride continued another minute.

Then the car stopped.

Varik stood, adjusted his coat collar, and opened the door.

"Come on," he said. "Time to see how much the system wants you to bleed for the next level."

Lucen smirked, dry.

"I hope it’s not a lot. I just polished this jacket."