CHAPTER 159: FIRE SWORD

Lucen took one step back.

Then stilled.

He stared at the blade resting in his grip. Breath even. Shoulders square.

The tip hovered just above the reinforced tile floor, and there, without a word, without a chant, without even a hand sign, he let the mana shift.

Just once.

Not enough to drain anything. Not enough to trigger cooldowns or trip combat recognition flags.

Just a flicker.

And flame kissed the edge.

Not fireball flame. Not the bright, noisy, show-off kind mages used for crowd control. This was cleaner. Tighter. A line of red-orange heat curling up the edge of the blade like a ribbon of warning.

The system pinged once.

[Custom Elemental Binding Activated: Fire (Type I – Localized Edge Enchant)]

[Duration: Manual Sustain]

[Stamina Drain: Low]

[Heat Output: Moderate]

Lucen stared at it.

The fire didn’t roar. It didn’t flicker wide. It clung to the steel like it belonged there, thin, focused, controlled.

He rotated the hilt slowly, watching the glow change as it moved through air.

’Not bad.’

The flame left a thin distortion in the air around it. You’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

He swung.

Just once.

A clean arc through the air in front of him.

And the wall three meters away hissed.

Not because it was hit, because the air between the blade and the wall had heated fast enough to leave a pressure trail. No explosion. No mark.

But that hiss?

It was the sound of power moving the way it wasn’t supposed to.

Lucen stared at the sword like it had just admitted something embarrassing.

Then he grinned.

Not big. Not wide.

Just a little tilt of the lips. The kind that said: I could get used to this.

He whispered under his breath, "’Flame sword. Very subtle, Lucen. Totally normal behavior.’"

The system pinged again.

[Weapon Enchantment Duration Reached: 1 Minute]

[Your affinity with controlled fire has increased]

[+0.1 Arcane Discipline]

[New Elemental Skill Slot Unlocked: Bind - Fire (Tier I)]

Lucen snorted.

"Okay, but can I name it Flamey?"

The system didn’t dignify that with a response.

He dropped the enchant.

The flames vanished instantly.

No smoke. No smell.

Which felt wrong somehow. Fire should have a smell. But the system was clearly doing cleanup as it went, suppressing byproducts, keeping the edges clean.

’Probably for stealth. Probably also cheating.’

Lucen stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

The blade was still warm. Not hot. Just... content. Like it liked what had just happened.

He re-sheathed it.

Then turned toward the cot again. Thought about lying down.

Didn’t.

Instead, he paced once across the room. The system still open, windows flickering behind his eyes. He opened his mana node diagnostics. The last set of readouts showed low drain, stable rhythm, nothing scorched or fractured.

Good.

He pulled up the Training Overlay. A blank field waited for custom drills.

Lucen clicked the corner icon. Opened a small window labeled "Experimental Functions."

A line of text pulsed:

[Would you like to register your Flame-Enchanted Sword Form as a Personal Combat Routine?]

[Warning: This will make it visible to your system logs and possibly to observers who breach your internal firewall.]

Lucen hesitated.

Then typed back: [Rename: Ghostfire Edge.]

[Routine Registered.]

He stepped back. Rolled out one shoulder. Then stopped.

His stomach growled.

"...Right. Food."

He walked to the rations locker. Opened it. Stared at the options.

Field bars. Caffeine gel. Vacuum-packed tofu strips. Guild issue.

He reached for the bar. Thought about it.

Then reached past it and grabbed the cookie stash he’d hidden behind the emergency flare beacon.

Unwrapped one.

Sat down.

Bit in.

It was stale.

Lucen chewed anyway. "Best part of waking up is subpar glucose."

The system didn’t laugh.

But he felt like it wanted to.

He finished the cookie, grabbed a bottle of electrolyte water, and sat back on the cot again. This time he let himself breathe a little slower.

No alarms.

No explosions.

Just fire in a blade.

And a little more understanding of what he was turning into.

He held the sword across his lap one more time.

Just in case.

His fingers tapped lightly against the hilt.

The blade hummed, faint and low. Like it was listening.

"Ghostfire Edge," he said under his breath.

Then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Only for a second.

Because he knew.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow they’d make him use it.

—

Varik stepped out of the stairwell exactly at 6:00 a.m.

Lucen was already waiting in the wide, unused hallway next to the old elevator shaft, stretching one arm across his chest like he was just a regular guy with regular ligaments. No sword drawn. Yet.

"You’re early," Varik said, voice flat.

Lucen grinned. "Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get ahead on annoying you."

Varik didn’t blink. "Mission accomplished."

Lucen stopped stretching, then leaned back against the wall. He looked rested, maybe even too rested for someone who barely slept. His eyes were sharp. Not tired. Not wild.

Focused.

"You said we’d keep training," Lucen said. "I figured we’d test something."

Varik tilted his head. "What something?"

Lucen pulled the sword from his back. The metal slid free with a whisper of friction. Plain steel. Dull at the edge. Normal-looking.

Then the air shifted.

Varik’s posture changed before he even realized why. Like something in his instincts twitched. Danger, but not loud. Subtle. Coiled.

Lucen looked him dead in the eye.

Then the sword lit up.

No fireball. No chant.

Just a thin red-orange line crawling up the edge of the blade. Controlled. Quiet. The hallway didn’t even heat up. It just changed.

Pressure. Intensity.

Lucen said, casual as anything: "I figured you’d want to see the new form."

Varik stared at the sword. "You enchanted that yourself?"

Lucen twitched one shoulder. "System says I imprinted it. Not really an enchant. More like the fire and I are roommates now."

Varik’s gaze didn’t move. "And you want to spar. With that."

Lucen nodded once. "Light spar. You’re faster. You won’t die."

Varik muttered, "What if you die?"

Lucen flashed a grin. "I’ll log the results before I hit the ground."

He stepped forward. Not lunging. Just sliding one foot ahead. The blade was low. Pointed at the ground.

"I won’t swing to hit," Lucen said. "Just want to see what it does against real defense."

Varik stepped forward too. Slowly. Hands behind his back.

"No magic."

Lucen arched an eyebrow. "That’s not really fair to you."

Varik ignored the bait. "No spells. No system boost. Just fire and edge."

Lucen twirled the sword once. The flame didn’t falter. It clung to the steel like memory.

"Alright," Lucen said. "Three strikes. You stop me."

Varik nodded.

Lucen moved.

First strike—horizontal, clean, aimed at Varik’s hip, too slow to land on purpose.

But the air where it passed wavered.

A ripple shot out from the sword, maybe a meter wide. Like a heatwave pulled sideways.

Varik stepped through it. No flinch. "Subtle."

Lucen twisted.

Second strike, vertical this time, down the centerline. Again, light. Again, just for the motion.

But as the blade came down, the light at the edge pulsed once.

A thin scorch line appeared on the concrete floor between them. Not cut. Just marked. Like someone had taken a branding iron to reality.

Varik’s eye twitched. Just once.

Lucen smiled. "Okay. That was cool."

Third strike. He stepped back first—then rushed in.

Feint. Spin. Low-to-high sweep.

Varik moved to intercept. Hand out, fingers curled, catching the flat of the blade mid-air.

The moment skin hit steel, the fire vanished.

Lucen blinked. "What."

Varik held the blade with two fingers. The metal steamed where his skin touched it.

Then he pushed it down gently and let go.

"You’ve got too much power riding the edge," Varik said. "It’s flaring off your timing."

Lucen tilted his head. "So... good flare?"

"Good if you want to melt your own kneecaps."

Lucen looked at the blade. The fire hadn’t returned. It felt like it was... sulking.

He sheathed it.

"Still," Varik said, finally relaxing his stance. "Your control’s better."

Lucen nodded. "Feels easier now. Like my body’s finally figuring out what it wants to do with the magic."

Varik walked past him. "It wants to get you killed. That’s what."

Lucen followed, steps echoing softly. "You’re not even a little impressed?"

Varik paused at the end of the hall. Didn’t look back.

Then said: "It’s terrifying."

Lucen blinked. "Was that—did you just compliment me or file a report?"

Varik walked into the lift. "Get breakfast. We spar again in two hours."

Lucen stared at the closed door after him. ’That went well. Sort of. Maybe.’

The system chimed.

[Ghostfire Edge - Training Level Up]

[Current Mastery: 6%]

[Adaptive Trait Progressing: Flame Memory]

Lucen muttered, "So dramatic."

He glanced at his hands.

Felt the tingle still in his fingers.

’This is gonna get fun.’

He turned. Walked the opposite direction. Toward the cafeteria. Toward food. Toward coffee. Toward whatever the next set of skills might bring him.

He didn’t have all the answers yet.

But he had a sword.

And the sword was listening.