The training grounds deep within Lencar's underground base were silent—stone walls layered with runic insulation, glowing faintly as they absorbed mana waves and redirected shock. The air felt still, thick with concentrated mana residue from days of nonstop training.
At the center of the room stood Lencar, dressed in loose training robes, his hair tied back, breathing slow and controlled.
Before him hovered the Demon-Dweller Sword, suspended by thin tendrils of his mana.
The cursed relic hummed like a caged beast.
Its chipped edges pulsed faintly with unstable magic—hungry, restless, always aching to cut something it shouldn't.
Lencar exhaled and grasped the sword hilt.
Instantly the chamber darkened.
Red lines crept across the blade's surface like veins awakening.
"Still resisting me?" Lencar murmured.
The sword vibrated violently, sending a shock up his arm. Most mages would've dropped it. But Lencar only tightened his grip.
"Good. A sword without spirit is worthless."
He pulled the blade free from its resting position, lifted it, and held it horizontally. The weight shifted, almost unpredictably—the Demon-Dweller responded differently to every wielder based on their internal mana affinity.
To Lencar, it felt… conflicted.
Not rejecting him, but uncertain.
As if it sensed something in him that shouldn't exist: Heretic Mana, the anti-magic anomaly that his body could hold.
He brought the sword down in a clean vertical slash.
A deep boom echoed through the room.
A fissure split the reinforced floor despite the mana-dampening runes.
Lencar looked at it with a mild frown.
"Still too much output. I need precision, not brute force."
He repositioned himself, shifting his stance—low, balanced, weight centered.
His grip changed: index finger slightly extended, wrist aligned with the hilt, shoulders loose.
Then—
SLASH
A clean cut in the air.
This time the sword's mana shrieked softly, a sound only Lencar could hear. It wasn't just cutting the air—it was slicing through mana residue, leaving a faint vacuum trail behind.
Another slash.
Another.
Another.
Each stroke faster than the last.
The sword liked speed. It responded to acceleration—its unstable core harmonizing not with force, but with momentum. The faster he swung, the smoother it became, until it almost felt weightless.
Lencar stopped abruptly.
The sword hummed in irritation, wanting more.
"Fine."
He raised it again.
Composite Magic: Wind-Shaping — Slipstream Veil.
A thin layer of wind wrapped around his body, but unlike normal wind spells, this veil didn't push outward—it clung to him like a second skin, reducing air resistance to almost zero.
Lencar accelerated.
The next swing cut through air like a falling star.
The ground cracked beneath his foot, the force traveling backward instead of forward—a sign he was still imperfectly managing recoil.
He adjusted again.
Hours passed in this quiet, relentless rhythm:
Swing.
Adjust.
Analyze.
Swing again.
Until, finally—
He managed a perfect cut.
The sword itself went silent.
Content.
A thin line, barely visible, ran from one side of the chamber wall to the other. The cut was so efficient that the wall didn't break—it simply separated along the atomic line he carved.
Lencar exhaled.
"This sword… It's a nightmare. But a useful one."
The Demon-Dweller was more than a weapon—it was a tool for replication.
When an enemy cast a spell, the sword could absorb the spell structure, letting Lencar recreate it without needing full Absolute Replication rituals.
Perfect for combat.
Perfect for speed.
Perfect for stealth—no one needed to know how he "copied" spells so easily.
He returned the blade to its stand.
Now came the second phase of training.
His grimoire floated open beside him, pages glowing with active runes waiting to be written.
A blank page turned.
"Three new spells today," Lencar whispered. "All based on real combat necessity."
He rotated his right hand and released a sphere of different mana types—earth, wind, lightning, spirit, spatial, and the new crystal element from Mars. All swirling in a synchronized dance.
The first spell was one he'd been designing ever since he absorbed Crystal Magic:
Composite Magic: Crystal-Lattice Armor
A web of microscopic crystal formations layered itself along his arms.
Not a shell.
Not a plate.
A lattice, made from:
Earth magic for density
Crystal magic for structure
Wind magic to reduce drag
Gravity magic to distribute impact
Fire magic to heat and soften enemy projectiles
Space magic to dampen kinetic force
A true hybrid construct.
Lencar flexed.
The armor shimmered like liquid diamond, then shifted into matte black stealth mode.
"Good. It responds to intent."
He stored the spell, then moved on.
He'd designed this after watching Mars manipulate crystal density.
Holding out his palm, he compressed six layers of wind and gravity mana into a tight sphere the size of a fingernail.
The stone floor beneath him trembled.
The air bent.
A faint popping sound rang out—like the world itself choked.
This was not a destructive attack.
It was a vector anchor, capable of forcibly redirecting an enemy's movement, magic, or trajectory.
With placement, he could collapse an enemy's spell midair.
With timing, he could shift his own momentum instantly.
He released it.
The pressure sphere dissolved with a soft whisper.
"Works."
He flipped another page.
This was the spell he'd been refining for months—his biggest breakthrough.
Using Dominante's insight into mana circuits, and combining it with Mars's crystal stability and his own spatial runes, he created a spell capable of:
Automatically reconstructing enemy magic spells into usable forms.
Not copying.
Not devouring.
Not suppressing.
But rewiring them.
He cast the prototype.
A ring of runes formed around him—shifting, bending, scanning the environment for mana constructs.
He fired a simple wind blade forward.
As it traveled, the runes moved like predatory fish.
In a single glimpse they analyzed the structure.
The spell dissolved into particles.
Then—
A new wind blade formed behind him, identical but sharper, smoother, more stable.
"Perfect."
Rune Cascade would become one of his signature spells.
With refinement, it might even allow him to rewrite multiple spells simultaneously.
He closed the grimoire.
Enough training.
He had a restaurant to run.
The moment he stepped out of the underground base into the cool afternoon breeze, the world felt different—lighter, more mundane, far removed from the lethal precision of his training.
He emerged behind the restaurant through a hidden stone door disguised as part of the outer wall. The hustle of common life hit him immediately:
Children laughing
Vendors arguing
Birds crying overhead
Pots clanging from inside the kitchen
Lencar allowed the noise to settle into him.
A reminder that he needed both worlds:
The quiet of a researcher, and the chaos of a fighter.
When he pushed open the kitchen door, Rebecca spun around with a bright smile.
"Welcome back! You're on time today for once."
Lencar blinked. "I thought I was early."
"You are," she said, hands on her hips. "Which is why it's surprising."
He raised an eyebrow, and she burst into laughter.
The restaurant, Amber Hearth, had grown fast. Locals adored Rebecca's cooking, and Lencar's silent presence added mystery to the place. The tables were filled, customers chatting loudly.
He stepped to the back room where Mariella stood leaning against a wall, flipping a knife through her fingers idly.
"You're back," she said without looking up. "Training done?"
"For now."
"Good." She slid a sheet of folded parchment across the table. "You asked for squad movement updates."
Lencar unfolded it calmly.
Mariella continued, "All squads were quiet for a few days… but then something interesting happened."
Lencar hummed lightly. "Go on."
"The Magic Knights received a summons from the capital. Not just captains—full squads."
He stopped reading.
"A mass movement?" he asked.
Mariella nodded. "But not for war. It's an invitation."
She stepped closer, tapping the parchment.
"A Royal Banquet at the capital. All major squads, including the Golden Dawn and the Black Bulls, have already accepted."
The restaurant noise faded in Lencar's ears.
A royal banquet at this timing.
That meant—
The gears were moving.
Events he'd predicted were happening faster.
Mariella crossed her arms. "This isn't normal, Lencar. Banquets for every squad? The royals are planning something."
Lencar folded the parchment neatly.
"Good," he murmured. "Let the capital gather. It will make what comes next… simpler."
Mariella frowned. "You say that like you already know what's going to happen."
Lencar didn't answer and just smiled.
He looked toward the ceiling—toward the distant capital far beyond it.
Lencar turned away calmly.
"Now we," he continued, "need to be ready."