CHAPTER 167: MIDDLE PATH

Varik stepped through what used to be the east gate and stopped dead.

The smell hit first. Burnt hide, scorched stone, the faint metallic tang of blood clinging to the air. Heat still radiated off the cracked floor like it was holding onto the last breaths of the monster that had died here.

He’d seen Lucen walk out carrying that civilian earlier, but... this was not the kind of battlefield you left standing after a "regular" fight.

His eyes swept the space. The arena’s core section was gone, just gone. Collapsed inward like a sinkhole. He crouched, fingertips brushing the blackened edges of the nearest crater. The stone here was melted.

Melted.

That wasn’t standard dungeon magic. That was mana output you only saw from high-A ranks and up, and it took most of them a few minutes of prep to push this much force.

Varik straightened slowly, gaze narrowing. ’He said it was dead. Didn’t say how.’

His boots crunched over debris as he walked further in. Every step was a map, how the fight had moved, where the first blast hit, where the monster had tried to dodge. Lucen’s movement had been deliberate. Controlled. Not the erratic scatter of a panicked C-rank mage.

He stopped near the center of the mess. Something about the way the scorch patterns curved outward, it wasn’t from a wide-area bombardment. It was focused. Sharp. Like a blade, but made of pure mana.

Varik crouched again, tracing the edge of the mark with two fingers.

’A blade spell that clean takes years to master. And Lucen’s only been here... what, three weeks?’

Movement at the far end of the arena caught his eye. A couple of clean-up Hunters, D-ranks, maybe, were picking through rubble for dropped monster cores. One of them, a short guy with dark gloves, glanced up at Varik and froze. Whispered something to his partner.

Varik didn’t move. Just kept scanning, filing away every detail.

The melted stone. The precision. The fact that the Rift hadn’t exploded despite whatever Lucen had unleashed.

He glanced toward the exit Lucen had taken. The hall was empty now, medics long gone.

’You’re hiding something, kid.’

Varik had seen plenty of cocky upstarts. They flared bright, made noise, then got themselves killed. But Lucen wasn’t loud. He didn’t show off unless there was no one around to see. And that, more than the battlefield in front of him, set off alarm bells.

He pulled out his comm and snapped a quick series of photos. Not to report to the Guild, yet, but to study later.

The sound of boots on rubble made him glance up. The braided woman from earlier was crossing the arena, a clipboard in one hand. She stopped a few feet away. "Varik. Didn’t know you were here."

"Didn’t know this place got leveled," he said.

She glanced at the crater, lips pressing into a line. "...you think the kid did this?"

Varik raised an eyebrow. "Kid?"

"That one with the civilian. Black hair, plain jacket. Never seen him before."

Varik didn’t answer. Just let the silence stretch until she shifted uncomfortably and muttered something about paperwork before walking off.

When she was gone, he looked at the crater again.

’If you’re really what I think you are, Lucen... you’ve been playing this game for longer than you’re letting on.’

And for the first time in years, Varik felt the faint, sharp edge of curiosity.

—

Lucen’s apartment door clicked shut behind him.

He didn’t drop the keys on the counter. Didn’t pull off his jacket. He just stood there for a second, back pressed to the door, letting the sound of the lock settle into the silence.

The system pinged.

[Combat Log Complete]

[Performance Rating: S+]

[Anomaly Detected: Output exceeded registered Class tier]

Lucen’s jaw tightened. He flicked the notification closed without reading the rest.

’Not now.’

He crossed to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, downed it in two swallows, and leaned on the counter. His right hand still itched faintly from where the blade had flared mid-fight.

The system pinged again.

[Passive Ability Progression: 3% toward next tier]

[Recommendation: Do not reveal full output to guild personnel]

Lucen smirked at that. "Yeah," he muttered, "I’m way ahead of you."

The knock came two seconds later. Three sharp raps.

Lucen froze. Not the neighbor’s knock. Not delivery. This one was too... deliberate.

He opened the door halfway.

Varik was there.

Jacket still dusty from the arena. Eyes sharp.

Lucen didn’t move. "If you’re here to lecture me, I’m charging overtime."

Varik didn’t smile. He stepped past Lucen without asking. "Close the door."

Lucen shut it, turning slowly. "You want coffee or are we skipping straight to the good-cop, bad-cop thing?"

Varik leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "How long have you been using a blade like that?"

Lucen tilted his head. "Like what?"

"Melted stone. Precision arcs. Hybrid casting."

Lucen’s lips twitched. "Is this a compliment? Because it sounds like one."

"It’s a question," Varik said flatly.

Lucen turned away, heading for the counter. "Then the answer is... I don’t know. Long enough to not die, short enough to still miss a few swings."

"That crater says otherwise."

Lucen didn’t answer right away. Just poured another glass of water. ’He’s fishing. He doesn’t know. Not yet.’

"Monsters panic," Lucen said finally, keeping his tone light. "They trip, they fall, they melt the floor. Who’s to say it was me?"

Varik’s gaze didn’t move. "I’ve fought S-rank mages who can’t do what you did today."

Lucen sipped his water, not turning around. "And maybe I just got lucky."

"Luck doesn’t shape mana like that," Varik said quietly. "Only control does."

Lucen set the glass down, exhaling through his nose. "Are you accusing me of something?"

Varik pushed off the wall. "No. I’m telling you to be careful."

Lucen glanced back, eyebrow raised. "That’s... unusually nice of you."

"Not for your sake," Varik said. "If the wrong person sees that kind of output, you won’t get to pick your missions anymore. You’ll be shipped off to whatever warfront the Guild feels like."

Lucen’s smirk faded. "Noted."

Varik didn’t press further. Just headed for the door.

He paused with his hand on the knob. "Tomorrow. Training field. Bring the blade."

Lucen leaned on the counter again. "Sure thing, Captain."

The door shut.

Lucen waited a full thirty seconds before letting out a breath.

The system pinged again.

[Warning: Suspicion Level from Varik—Moderate]

[Recommendation: Maintain current facade]

Lucen rubbed at his temple. "Yeah... we’ll see how long that lasts."

—

The training field was cold enough to make breath show, even under the morning sun.

Frost still clung to the grass in scattered patches, sparkling faintly under the light.

Lucen stood in the center, sword slung casually over his shoulder, coat half-zipped.

Varik was already there.

He wasn’t wearing armor, just a fitted shirt, dark trousers, and gloves with the fingers cut off. No warm-up, no stretches. The man didn’t need them.

Lucen tapped the sword’s hilt with one hand. "You drag me out here for another one of your ’build character’ exercises, or are we actually going to fight something today?"

Varik didn’t answer right away. He was circling, slow, deliberate, boots crunching over the frost. "You’ve gotten faster."

Lucen smirked. "Or you’ve gotten slower."

"Test me and find out."

Lucen planted the sword tip in the ground. "We’re really doing this?"

"You said you wanted to get better."

"I also said I wanted breakfast first."

Varik’s lips twitched, but his tone stayed level. "Ready."

Lucen sighed, drew the blade, and rolled his shoulders. ’Alright. No full output. Keep it clean.’

Varik didn’t give a countdown. He moved.

One second he was ten feet away, the next his fist was already halfway to Lucen’s face.

Lucen twisted, steel catching the strike with a hard clang. The vibration ran up his arm. Varik didn’t pause, he spun low, sweeping for Lucen’s legs.

Lucen hopped back, boots skidding in the frost.

"Bit early in the day for you to be this cranky, huh?" Lucen said, trying to keep the mood casual.

Varik pressed forward. "You’re holding back."

Lucen parried a high strike, their blades sparking faintly as steel bit steel. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is. You won’t get better if you’re scared of showing your cards."

Lucen grinned. "Maybe I like keeping a few aces."

They broke apart for half a second, boots sliding on the frozen turf, breath visible in the air between them.

Varik lunged again, this time feinting left before snapping a kick toward Lucen’s ribs.

Lucen caught it on the flat of his blade, twisting to throw the leg wide, but Varik used the momentum to spin into a follow-up slash that came within inches of Lucen’s neck.

Lucen ducked, countering with a burst of mana along the sword’s edge, just enough to shove Varik back without leaving scorch marks.

Varik landed lightly. His eyes narrowed. "That wasn’t standard casting."

Lucen kept his expression loose. "Improvising. You taught me that."

"That wasn’t my kind of improvising."

Lucen shrugged. "Guess I’m a fast learner."

Varik didn’t answer. He just came again, faster now, pressing harder, every strike sharper than the last.

Lucen met each one, steel ringing, frost crunching underfoot, their boots tearing shallow grooves in the grass.

Lucen chose the middle path, pushing enough to keep it competitive, slipping just enough to make it look like he was straining.