CHAPTER 50: NEW SPELLS (4)

The mother clapped once. Kid shook his head. Phones lifted.

Lucen lowered his hand, breath even. A mild tingle traced from palms to neck. His mana dropped to 59/112.

He glanced at the kid. "Not just a tracer trick."

The kid swallowed. Muttered to his mom: "Is he, like, an S‑Rank?"

She tilted her head, watching Lucen.

He smirked but didn’t answer.

Across the floor, the S‑Rank trainer snapped his clipboard shut and walked over. He had clean features, no fluff. Lucen watched his posture tighten, respect, interest.

"Impressive," the trainer said. "That flare... precise sigil threading. That’s not common."

Lucen met his gaze. "Thanks."

Trainer nodded, scanning Lucen. "Name?"

"Lucen Ivara."

"Lucen." He said it once. "The demo’s on tape. I’m recommending you for a live evaluation. Guild panel acceptance is possible with that talent."

Lucen’s jaw relaxed. "I’ll consider it."

A stray apprentice kid whispered, "He’s pro."

Lucen just slid off the floor. He didn’t boast. He didn’t hide. He just moved.

Then he tapped slot 7: Cataclysm Vector.

The room hushed again. Even phones paused.

The rune under him flashed red, then purple. A system warning pulsed: [Extreme AoE – accept dampeners?]

He tapped accept. A blue‑gold dome drew around lane 9; walls hummed.

He felt the crowd’s eyes snap onto him. Heartbeat rose, but he didn’t break.

He whispered glyphs internally. The world bent. Air vibrated. Sound dampened. Oxygen thickened.

He released.

A silent pull, everything sucked toward the center. Then a huge detonation. Flame, lightning, ice shards burst outward. Foam shattered. Dummy exploded. Ceiling tiles rained. Walls shook.

People staggered back. Phones dropped. Dust hung like fog.

Silence returned, heavier than before.

Trainer rushed over, scanning sensors. The mother shielded her child’s eyes; the boy took a shaky breath.

"That... was full power," the trainer said. Voice low. "Containment held. No alarms. But that was intense. Are you considering a full class shift?"

Lucen gathered his bag. Chest tight, vision sharp. "Maybe." He paused. "You want me to take the panel?"

The trainer’s eyes lit. "Yes. Official request to the guild. I saw that blast—we need someone with that control."

Lucen nodded. He stepped past stunned spectators.

He touched the rune zone threshold. The symbol flickered under his finger.

He walked away as the hall’s hum returned, footsteps, murmurs, distant spells.

The mother and kid followed briefly, kid rubbing his ears.

Lucen didn’t look back.

The system pulsed again.

[Mana: 34/112] [Recovery initiated]

He didn’t reply.

He walked out.

—

The hall’s glass doors slid shut behind Lucen with a low hiss. Noise from the main chamber became a distant roar, rubs of cloth, murmur of spectators, distant clang of staff against foam.

He started walking toward the exit corridor. The smell of ozone and burned glyphs faded against fresh air scenting damp concrete. His bag shifted, weights settling.

A few paces in, steady footsteps followed. Lucen didn’t look back.

"Kid from nine," said a voice, it was quiet, measured.

A man in a slate-gray coat fell into step beside him. Not flashy, but purposeful. He carried a clipboard stamped with the guild insignia.

Lucen slowed. No one else followed. No interruption.

"Impressive flare," the man continued. "That was multi-element layering. Pretty advanced for a tracer class."

Lucen lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Thanks. Just mixing fundamentals."

They walked past maintenance panels, graffiti asking "RiP A-rank tests 4eva." Tired fluorescent lights overhead.

The man stopped. Lucen halted too.

"I’m Eamon Vire," he said, firm but polite. "Guild recruiter. Talent-scout team."

Lucen’s eyebrows stayed level. Nothing leaked. "Recruiter?"

Eamon nodded. "We keep eyes on the facilities. That last demo was...unique. Tier beyond tracer."

Lucen nodded slowly. "I like it that way."

Eamon tapped the clipboard. "What’s your class badge list?"

Lucen glanced at the ID clipped to his jacket. A small C‑Rank "Spell Tracer" badge gleamed. He let it show. "C‑Rank tracer."

Eamon nearly nodded like he’d heard exactly that before. "Logical. But skillset could push past tracer constraints. More potential for class shift if you train with us. Official clearance, drift-run support, structured loadouts. I wanted to give you this token as a gift, please do consider it."

Eamon handed over a rune token that Lucen instantly put in his pocket.

Lucen peered at him. "Thank you? So I come in, do guild runs... what, exactly?"

A brow raised from Eamon. He gave a small smile. "We’re building elite teams. We clear Drifts that the city won’t sanction. High stakes. High rewards. You prove you can operate outside tracer toolbox."

Lucen weighed it a moment. He felt the mana residue inside, pulse slow but alive. "Sounds like public runs."

Eamon shook his head gently. "No. Private ops. No bureaucrats. You stay anonymous. Keep your tracer facade. But you learn under S‑Rank instructors. Access to gear. EXP shared. No patrol interference."

Lucen went quiet.

’That’s tempting. But trust is a debt.’

He slid a hand into his pocket and squeezed the rune-token Eamon gave him. Warm metal, embossed guild seal. Still felt alive.

Eamon cleared throat. "Think about it. I’ll be at the hall next week. Lane floor—we’ll keep track."

Lucen nodded again. "I’ll be practicing."

Eamon took a step back. "Good. I’ll feed your signature quietly. Let other tracers talk. But you’ll be on the list."

Lucen offered a casual smile. "Sounds fair."

They both turned. The corridor lights flickered and buzzed overhead. Lucen got back into motion.

Eamon watched him walk away, a hand going to his wrist scanner—no obvious prompt, but eyes focused. "Watch closely."

Lucen stepped out into the late evening with the guild token hidden. The hum of the building faded behind him.

’Let them think I’m just a clever tracer,’ he thought. ’Meanwhile ... I’ll keep stacking spells and sharpening edge.’

He walked down the corridor and out into the night. The token pressed against his seam, quiet reminder that he was already deeper in play than anyone knew.

—

The city lights buzzed low like they were trying not to wake anyone. Lucen stepped off the last glyph-tiled curb and onto the quieter side street, hands still in his jacket pockets. The token Eamon gave him pressed against his thigh, warm from contact, but he hadn’t looked at it again.

No need. He knew what it was.

He passed a row of closed kiosks. Faint mana residue still clung to the locks, shimmer-thin and harmless. Someone had shut them down clean, no alarms, no leftover trace loops. Whoever ran this block wasn’t sloppy.

Lucen exhaled once, breath fogging the air.

System pinged.

Not an idle ping. Not a stat update. Sharp. Urgent.

[!]

[Emergency Gate Signature Detected]

[Local Drift Forming – Tier Classification: Unknown]

[You are within 20m of anomaly epicenter]

[Accept Drift Ingress? Y/N]

He stopped walking.