The rain had finally stopped. The early morning mist hung low over the village roofs, coating everything in a quiet shimmer. Lencar leaned against the window frame, a mug of lukewarm coffee in hand, watching as the light broke through the fog.
He had been up since dawn, sketching the same diagram over and over again: a sprawling web of runes, lines, and coordinates. Every attempt got cleaner, more compact. Every symbol had purpose.
Objective: Secure the Kiten Dungeon before Clover or Diamond operatives reach it.
Constraints: Stealth, low mana output, minimal contact.
Tools: Spatial Copy (unstable), Reverse Replication, Wind Mobility, Concealment Runes.
He tapped his pencil against the table, muttering, "The dungeon isn't the risk. The mana signature is."
From the kitchen, Rebecca's voice floated over, "You're talking to your notebook again."
Lencar didn't look up. "It listens better than people do."
She appeared in the doorway with a towel on her shoulder. "Does it make better coffee, too?"
He smirked faintly. "Not yet. Working on it."
Rebecca crossed her arms. "So, are you going somewhere? You've been sketching weird maps and muttering coordinates all morning."
"Just… research," he said. His tone was even, calm — too calm.
Rebecca squinted at him. "Research that needs a travel pack?"
Lencar froze. He'd forgotten to hide the satchel under the table.
He sighed. "Observation trip."
"You mean field trip," she said, rolling her eyes. "You and your mysterious 'projects.'"
He smiled just slightly. "I'll bring back bread."
"You'd better," she said. "Or I'll tell the kids you disappeared into your math again."
A few hours later, Lencar was on the outskirts of the town, the faint scent of dew and stone dust filling the air. His cloak rippled as he adjusted the mana balance around his legs.
He crouched beside a moss-covered boulder, opened his grimoire, and flipped to a page marked with faint silver runes: [Spatial Magic: Link].
The instability from before had been refined — just barely. The [Reverse Replication] spell had let him duplicate the structural matrix of Finral's spell, giving him a version that could be cast at lower mana cost. It was imperfect, but usable.
He tested a small portal to a nearby tree line. The air shimmered for a second — clean, silent, efficient.
"Acceptable."
He deactivated it, closing his grimoire.
Now came the harder part — preparation for the Kiten Dungeon itself. He pulled out a hand-drawn map of the northern region, annotated with layers of mana readings he had gathered from rumors and reconnaissance.
Kiten: An ancient ruin filled with mana-rich stone veins and old Clover-era runic seals. Once a place of study, now crawling with monsters and guarded traps.
He studied it closely.
"Spatial instability along the western corridor," he murmured. "I can use that for extraction. No direct combat unless necessary."
He drew a rough sequence of battle contingencies on a small parchment — every possible encounter, every probable energy spike, each one accounted for.
Then, he leaned back and chuckled softly. "This is ridiculous."
The last time he'd done this kind of detailed prep, he was still at the Royal Academy, analyzing mock battle simulations that everyone else treated like games. He used to hate it — the endless calculations, the sterile detachment.
But now? He found comfort in the process.
It was order. Predictability. Control.
That evening, Rebecca returned from town to find Lencar on the floor surrounded by maps, diagrams, and sealed mana containers glowing faintly.
"Did you lose something?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, straight-faced. "My patience."
She snorted. "Found it yet?"
He looked up, deadpan. "No. It's under the equations somewhere."
Rebecca sighed, stepping around the papers. "You're worse than the kids when they build blanket forts."
Lencar shrugged. "My forts explode less often."
"That's debatable," she said, glancing at a mana seal flickering dangerously near her foot.
He instantly waved a hand, dissipating it. "Fine. Mostly less often."
She rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "You really do get that serious face when you're planning something. Just… don't blow up the village."
"No promises."
"Lencar!"
He laughed — an easy, almost carefree sound that filled the room briefly. "Relax. I'll be gone for three days. Maybe four. I'll send word if I need a portal out."
She frowned but nodded. "Just… don't do anything stupid."
He tilted his head. "I specialize in calculated stupidity."
"Yeah," she muttered, "and somehow make it work."
Night fell. The last candle flickered out in the window.
Lencar stood alone at the edge of the village, wind brushing through his hair, his cloak drawn tight. His grimoire floated open beside him, glowing faintly with the light of a new seal — one he had created just this morning.
[Reverse Replication: Storage Mode] — a refined subspell that let him carry multiple "mirror grimoires" hidden within dimensional folds of mana. Each one was linked to a specific spell type: mobility, concealment, recovery, and one sealed copy of the spatial link.
He exhaled slowly. "All right. No turning back now."
The runes flared to life under his boots — a quiet, whispering spiral of silver light.
"[Spatial Magic: Link – Short Jump]."
The world folded.
And Lencar vanished into the horizon, a blur of wind and light, heading toward the ancient ruins of Kiten.