CHAPTER 163: SHOWOFF

The "invitation" showed up in his system like a virus.

No sender ID. No seal. Just a blinking icon that read:

[Special Access Granted – Closed-Door Assessment]

[Location: Guild Annex C – Sublevel 4]

[Report Time: 0900]

Lucen stared at it for a good ten seconds before saying aloud,

"Oh yeah. This isn’t suspicious at all."

The system, of course, didn’t respond.

He glanced at the timestamp, barely eight hours from now, and briefly considered forwarding it to Varik.

Then he remembered what Varik would say:

"Decline it."

Or worse—

"I’ll go in your place."

Which, frankly, would ruin the fun.

—

Annex C looked abandoned from the street. The kind of building you’d expect to find filled with dust, leaking pipes, and a raccoon with territorial issues.

Lucen scanned in at the security post.

No official greeter. Just a bored-looking attendant chewing gum and pressing a single button that made the elevator hum to life.

Sublevel 4 smelled like it had been bleached in a hurry.

Bright lights. Reinforced walls. That subtle hum of mana dampeners in the vents.

Lucen’s boots clicked against the polished concrete as he walked into the central chamber.

Seven people were already there. All armed. All clearly watching him.

A semicircle of chairs against one wall, with one unoccupied seat, dead center, waiting for him.

Lucen took it. Slowly. Casually.

The man in the middle, grey hair, perfectly pressed uniform, smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Lucen Ivara," he said like reading from a note card. "We’ve heard... interesting things."

Lucen leaned back. "And yet, here I am, breathing."

A few of the others traded glances.

Grey-hair continued, "This is a capability assessment. Restricted format. You’ll face multiple simulated threats. If you succeed, doors will open for you that you didn’t even know existed."

Lucen tapped his thumb against his knee. "And if I fail?"

The smile thinned. "You won’t."

Lucen grinned. "That’s not an answer."

They didn’t bother with more talk.

The side doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing an arena floor the size of a football field.

Empty except for six massive construct dummies, each one carved from enchanted stone, rune-latticed with gold filaments, and twice the height of a grown man.

Lucen stepped forward.

The air in the arena was heavy, the kind of heavy that made normal people sweat before they even drew a weapon. The dampeners here weren’t just for safety, they were testing who could work under mana restriction.

He rolled his shoulders.

"Begin," Grey-hair called.

The constructs lit up. One at a time. Then all at once.

—

Lucen didn’t move at first.

He just... breathed.

The dampeners pressed against him like molasses. Thick. Slow. Designed to strangle high-output mages.

He didn’t push against them.

He let them wrap around him.

And then, he let the real output slip.

Not enough for the room to register an anomaly. Just enough that the dampeners began to burn out.

One by one, the runes overhead flickered. The air pressure shifted.

By the time the first construct’s arm swung toward him, Lucen was already inside its guard—blade drawn, edge coated in that whispering mana flare he’d practiced all night.

One slash.

The arm fell away. Stone, gold, and magic core sliced clean.

The observers murmured.

Lucen didn’t slow. He moved between the other five like he’d been dancing this pattern his whole life.

He didn’t bother dodging half the swings, he redirected them with precise bursts of pressure, mana threaded perfectly into his muscles.

By the third target, the dampeners were gone completely. The arena’s air shifted, heavy becoming sharp, charged.

The last construct never got to move.

Lucen’s sword kissed its chest once, and the entire rune lattice went dead.

Silence.

Not the awkward kind—

The stunned kind.

Lucen sheathed the sword in a single motion. No bow. No salute.

Just walked back to the observation platform like nothing had happened.

Grey-hair’s voice was careful now. "That... was exceptional."

Lucen tilted his head. "Thought this was supposed to be difficult."

One of the others finally blurted, "What are you ranked...?"

A silence stretched.

He stepped past them, toward the exit.

Just before the door hissed shut, he glanced over his shoulder.

"You wanted to see what I could do? You still didn’t."

Then he was gone.

—

Varik had seen a lot of bad ideas in his career.

Some came from rookies trying to impress the guild.

Some came from politicians trying to justify their paychecks.

But this one, this one was in its own league.

He got the call on a secure channel while he was halfway through dismantling his morning coffee.

"Sir, we have... a situation," came the voice on the other end.

The tone told him two things:

One, the man speaking was scared.

Two, he didn’t want to admit why.

Varik set his cup down. "Talk."

"It’s about Lucen Ivara."

Varik’s chair didn’t move, but the air in his office got colder. "What about him?"

"Annex C—sublevel four—uh, they pulled him in for a closed-door assessment."

Varik’s fingers tapped once on the desk. "Without clearance?"

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

The hesitation on the other end told him everything.

Varik stood, grabbed his coat, and was already heading for the door when the man finally said it:

"He... finished the assessment in under four minutes."

Varik’s pace didn’t change, but his jaw set. "Four minutes."

"Sir—he... disabled all six constructs. Dampeners failed halfway through. Observers are requesting clarification on his actual ranking."

Varik didn’t bother replying. The elevator ride down to the ground floor felt like an unnecessary delay, but it gave him time to think.

Lucen was reckless, sure. Arrogant, definitely. But this? This was calculated.

If he’d done it in front of a crowd of strangers, it meant one of two things:

He was sending a message—

Or someone had backed him into a corner, and he’d decided to show just enough to make them nervous.

—

By the time Varik reached Annex C, the building smelled of scorched mana and cleaning agents.

The security officer at the desk tried to wave him through without meeting his eyes.

Varik didn’t slow.

He found the observation room first.

Grey-hair was there, stiff-backed, looking like a man who’d just had his favorite weapon taken away.

Varik stepped inside. "Explain."

The man hesitated. "We... believed his record understated his potential. We wanted to see where he stood without outside assistance."

"You pulled him into a restricted test without authorization," Varik said flatly.

"It was within protocol—"

"No," Varik cut in, his voice low but heavy enough to shut the man up. "Protocol means you send me a message first. You didn’t."

The others in the room stayed very quiet.

Varik stepped up to the glass and looked down at the arena floor. The stone was still cracked where Lucen’s blade had gone through it.

Dampener runes along the walls were dead, their gold filaments burned black.

He didn’t need the playback to picture it.

Lucen, in that half-bored stance of his, cutting through enchanted stone like it was warm butter.

Holding back, even then.

Varik turned back to them. "You don’t test him again. Not without me present. Not unless you want this entire building in pieces."

Grey-hair cleared his throat. "Is he... truly just B-rank?"

Varik looked at him for a long moment. Then smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t comfort anyone.

"He’s exactly what the record says," Varik said. "And nothing more."

He left before they could press the point.

—

Out on the street, Varik pulled out his phone.

Lucen picked up on the second ring.

"You’re late," Lucen said, voice casual.

"Stay where you are," Varik replied. "I’m coming to you."

Lucen chuckled. "You sound tense. Did someone tell you about my little field trip?"

Varik didn’t answer right away. "We’re going to have a talk."

"Cool. Bring coffee."

Varik hung up.

—

Varik found Lucen exactly where he expected himc leaning against the low stone wall outside the guild annex, a paper cup of something too sugary in one hand and his sword case propped lazily against the other.

Lucen spotted him immediately and grinned. "You did bring coffee, right?"

Varik stopped two steps away. "What were you thinking?"

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too."

"I’m not joking."

Lucen took a slow sip, like he was stalling on purpose. "You mean the test? Yeah, I was thinking, ’Wow, these constructs hit like wet bread, maybe I should try not to yawn mid-swing.’"

"Lucen."

That got him to lower the cup. His smirk didn’t fade, but it sharpened a little. "What? You told me to train. That was training."

"You burned out six dampeners. You cut reinforced stone. You moved faster than the cameras could track. In front of half a dozen observers."

Lucen shrugged. "They asked me to try my best. I tried."

Varik’s voice stayed level, but his eyes didn’t blink. "You’re supposed to stay invisible."

"And I did, for months," Lucen said. "Then someone yanks me into a closed test without warning, starts throwing high-tier constructs at me, and—what?—I’m supposed to trip over my own boots so they can write me up as ’average’?"

"Yes."

Lucen actually laughed. "You’re serious."

"Do you have any idea what happens if the wrong people figure out what you are?" Varik asked quietly. "You’re already in enough danger. The minute your real level gets out—"

"They’ll come for me," Lucen finished, still calm. "Yeah, I get it. Thing is, Varik, they already are. White-haired ballerina ring a bell?"

Varik’s jaw tightened.

Lucen leaned in a little, lowering his voice just enough. "If they’re going to keep sending people like him, I’d rather some of them start wondering if I’m worth the trouble."

"That only works until the ones who don’t scare easy show up," Varik said.

Lucen’s smile flickered, but it didn’t vanish. "Guess that’s when you earn your paycheck."

For a moment, neither spoke. Just the sound of boots and carts rolling past on the street behind them.

Varik finally said, "They’ll review the footage. They’ll test you again, sooner than I want."

Lucen tipped his cup toward him. "Then maybe you should make sure they regret it."