The battlefield was quiet now—unnaturally quiet. The swirling ash that had once moved at Catherine's command now lay inert on the ground, like dust after a storm.
Catherine lay sprawled across the shattered stone floor, her body half-buried beneath drifting piles of grey ash—her own magic, now nothing more than residue without will. The air still trembled faintly where her spells had lingered moments earlier, but the battlefield had gone quiet, save for the distant screams from the far side of the capital and the muffled thud of collapsing buildings.
Lencar exhaled softly.
Yuno's unconscious form lay several feet away, his grimoire still trembling faintly with leftover wind mana. Catherine had drained his magic until his body failed him, and even though he had fought with unshakable resolve, he had been pushed past his limit. Had Lencar emerged any earlier, Catherine would have adapted her draining formation. He needed her to believe she'd already won.
That moment had passed. She was helpless.
And so, now, Lencar walked toward her.
His steps were slow and deliberate, each one kicking up a faint cloud of ash. The street around them was deserted; the civilians had run long before the fight reached this neighborhood. Lencar stopped beside the unconscious witch and crouched down, observing her closely.
Catherine's once proud expression—so full of vanity and cruelty—was slack now. Her mask of beauty had dissolved, revealing her true age and her true rot. Her mana core flickered weakly, still functioning but severely depleted.
"Fitting," Lencar murmured, raising one hand. "A magician who steals beauty and mana… reduced to this."
His grimoire floated beside him, its pages fluttering with a faint rumbling sound—the unmistakable rhythm of anticipation. It knew what he intended. And unlike the Demon-Dweller Sword, the grimoire required no chant, no swing, no external trigger. Replication magic was a part of him.
He extended his palm toward the ash witch's grimoire lying a few inches away from her limp hand.
"Absolute Replication."
His voice was quiet, but the effect was immediate.
His grimoire snapped open to a blank page, and a black sigil pulsed to life on the parchment. Catherine's grimoire jerked violently, as if resisting, but in her weakened state, there was no real struggle.
A stream of luminous script—words, runes, spell structures—erupted from her grimoire like a flowing river of symbols. They poured into Lencar's book, page after page filling in an instant. The process was clean, silent, and absolute. When the final page was drained, Catherine's grimoire collapsed into dust, crumbling between her fingers.
Her breathing hitched. Even unconscious, she felt the loss.
Lencar's grimoire closed itself, glowing faintly in satisfaction.
He scanned its pages and saw them—new spells etched in shimmering ink:
Ash Binding Formation
Ash Absorbing Baptism
Ash Reversal Curse
Life-Drain Circle
Illusory Seduction Loom
Youth Extraction Ritual
His eyes narrowed.
"Six spells… all layered onto a single page," he whispered. "Your magic structure was more elegant than I expected."
He flipped the page back and forth, admiring the ash magic circlework, the way Catherine's spell formulas were built upon overlapping mana drains and life-steal cores. Functional, optimized, efficient. A specialist's magic.
"And now… mine."
He could feel the attribute settle inside him—the cold, powdery mana of Ash Magic, swirling beneath his ribs like smoke trapped in glass. A new attribute. A new discipline. His body responded well, absorbing it without resistance.
He glanced back down at Catherine.
Her pulse was weak. Her aura was unstable. She was alive, but fragile.
For the first time since arriving, Lencar hesitated.
He lifted his hand, holding it over her throat. In this moment, ending her would be easy—cleaner, simpler, safer. Catherine was a dangerous witch, loyal to the Eye of the Midnight Sun, a fanatic who would kill children without blinking.
Ending her here might prevent future trouble.
It might prevent her from hurting Rebecca, or the children, or anyone else he cared for.
His fingers twitched.
But then his expression softened—just barely.
"…No. Not yet."
His hand lowered.
"Killing you here would be too wasteful. You are more useful alive—for now. And there's no need to alter the story so drastically."
He remembered the original sequence of events. Catherine wasn't supposed to die here. Eliminating her might stir unnecessary changes.
He raised his grimoire again.
"Reverse Replication."
A blank page slid out of his book and floated above Catherine. Runic veins began to spread across it, recreating the exact magical pattern of the grimoire he had devoured. The shape formed first—the size, the color, the texture—then the words, the original spells, the ownership signature keyed to Catherine's mana.
Within seconds, a new ash grimoire hovered above his palm—whole, complete, and functional.
But subtly altered.
Any spell cast from this grimoire would never affect Lencar.
His mana was now its origin point.
He lowered the book onto Catherine's chest. Her fingers twitched, instinctively clutching it even in unconsciousness. With that, the thread of normalcy was restored.
Satisfied, Lencar turned toward Yuno.
The young Magic Knight lay on his back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His grimoire hovered faintly near his right hand, pages fluttering weakly as if trying to protect its owner.
Wind magic still lingered around him—soft, light, and stubbornly pure.
Lencar approached quietly.
He knelt beside Yuno and rested a hand on the boy's grimoire. It vibrated in instinctive rejection, but Lencar's mana seeped into it, steady and overwhelming.
"This is nothing personal, Yuno," he whispered. "I need your magic. And you will get your grimoire back—stronger and unharmed."
His grimoire floated beside him again, opening itself to the replication page.
"Absolute Repli—"
Before he could finish, a violent burst of wind mana exploded in front of him.
A small figure materialized in the air, swirling with emerald light—tiny wings beating furiously, eyes blazing with fury.
"Back away from Yuno!"
The voice was sharp, high-pitched, and trembling with protective wrath.
Sylph.
The Wind Spirit.
Her aura blasted outward, sending debris skittering across the ground. Lencar squinted against the sudden gale, raising an arm to shield his eyes. Sylph hovered protectively beside Yuno, her tiny face twisted in anger.
"You! You're touching Yuno's grimoire!" she screeched. "What are you trying to do, you creepy, shady magician!?"
Lencar lowered his arm slowly.
"So the wind spirit chooses to appear," he murmured. "I wondered if you would show yourself."
Sylph bristled.
"You won't lay a finger on him again! Yuno is my chosen human! My genius! And I don't care who you are—if you try to hurt him, I'll blow you across the kingdom!"
She lifted both tiny hands, swirling with condensed wind mana.
Her presence sharpened, climbing rapidly, far beyond normal elemental spirits.
Lencar's expression remained calm.
"So you're going to fight, then."
Sylph's wings flared open.
"I won't let you touch Yuno's grimoire! I won't let you take anything from him!"
The air around her rippled, shaking the nearby debris.
Lencar closed his grimoire, letting it float calmly behind him.
"I wasn't planning to kill you," he said softly, "but if you stand between me and what I need… I will not hesitate."
Sylph shot forward, leaving a sonic crack in the air.
And Lencar stepped back, mana swirling, his eyes sharpening.
The battle began in the next heartbeat.