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]
