The lock clicked open with a soft sound, and Lucen stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind him. The air inside was cooler. Faint trace of old coffee, rubber soles, and filtered mana dust from the converter on the wall.
He dropped his coat on the chair, then slumped onto the couch, arms across the back. The cushions were uneven, but better than standing.
He exhaled slowly.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
The system didn't ping.
The archive stayed quiet.
But his head?
Still looping.
Frost Spire. Shockweave. Soundlash. Echo timing. Interval space. Watching those duels made it obvious, people weren't stacking. They were building walls. Every spell isolated. No chaining. No recursion. No loops.
Lucen ran a hand through his hair and grabbed the mana tab off the counter. The seal hissed as he cracked it open.
He took a long drink, wiped his mouth, and muttered, "He's gonna walk in swinging."
—
