Speed of Inevitability
The departure of Valtos and the maimed Sally left a vacuum in the cave—not of air, but of hope. In their place stood the man who called himself Licht. He stood perfectly still amidst the moonlit wreckage of the collapsed ceiling, his white robes unblemished by the mud and soot that coated everything else. He was a singularity of pure, hostile mana.
Lencar forced his legs to straighten. His muscles screamed in protest, the lactic acid burning like fire, but his mind overrode the biological warnings. Pain is just a notification, he told himself. Ignore the alert.
He looked at Sister Theresa. The old nun was breathing heavily, her staff glowing with a defiant but flickering light. Lencar's internal database pulled up the "original file" of this encounter. In the canon timeline, Theresa was about to be overwhelmed. Licht's Light Magic was too fast, too precise. She would be stabbed through multiple vital points, turned into a pincushion before she could even finish a chant.
"Sister," Lencar said, his voice low and urgent, keeping his eyes locked on Licht. "You need to run. The children are already safe and should have arrived at the church. So you too should go to church. Now."
Theresa blinked, bristling at the command. "Run? I am a woman of the cloth and a former—"
"You are a close-combat mage facing a long-range sniper who moves at the speed of light," Lencar cut her off, his tone losing its usual politeness. "Your defense is based on reaction time. You cannot react to him. If you stay, you become a liability. Go."
He didn't wait for her answer. He turned his head slightly toward Gauche, who was hovering protectively over the spot where he'd left Marie.
"Gauche," Lencar whispered. "Listen to me closely. This guy uses Light Magic. You use Mirror Magic. In terms of physics, you are his natural predator. Light travels in straight lines; you can bend it."
Gauche's eyes narrowed. "I know how my own magic works, peasant."
"Good," Lencar replied. "But don't use it yet. He's faster than your casting speed. If you try to shoot him now, he'll dodge and kill you before you blink. Wait. Wait until his focus is entirely on Asta or me. Wait for the moment his vector is committed. Then, give him a surprise he can't reflect."
Lencar then looked at the boy with the anti-magic sword. "Asta. Get up. You're the only one here who can actually touch his magic without getting burned. Keep that sword up. Don't think about attacking; think about nullifying."
"I don't know who this shiny guy is," Asta growled, planting his feet in the mud and raising the Demon-Slayer sword, "but nobody hurts my friends!"
Licht, who had been watching them with a look of detached sorrow, finally moved. It wasn't a step; it was a shift in reality. The air buzzed.
"You speak of strategy while standing in the presence of judgment," Licht said softly. "How human. You think you can calculate a way out of your sins?"
He raised a single finger.
Danger. High-velocity mana spike. Vector: Direct.
Lencar's [Ki Sensing] screamed. It wasn't a visual cue—if he waited to see the light, he would already be dead. He reacted to the intent.
"Light Magic: Arrow of Judgment."
A beam of concentrated light, thin and sharp as a needle, shot from Licht's finger. It was aimed directly between Lencar's eyes.
In the milliseconds before the spell was fired, Lencar's hand had already moved beneath his cloak. He didn't reach for his grimoire; that was too slow. He reached for the heavy, rune-etched hilt strapped to his lower back.
It was a prototype. A gift from Dominante Code, the Witch of the Black Market, created in her basement in Nairn. She called it the Mana-Conduit Claymore. It was a sword made of highly conductive metal, designed not to cut flesh, but to channel raw elemental magic.
Lencar ripped the blade free in a reverse grip.
"Flame Magic: Red-Hot Edge."
He didn't cast a spell; he simply flooded the metal with his fire mana. The blade turned a glowing, angry orange instantly.
Clang!
The sound was like a tuning fork being struck by a hammer. Lencar deflected the beam of light just inches from his face. The arrow of light skidded off the superheated metal, sizzling into the rock wall behind him and punching a hole ten feet deep.
Smoke rose from Lencar's blade. His hands were numb from the vibration, but he was alive.
Licht's eyes widened slightly. For the first time, the look of detached boredom cracked. "You... reacted? A human reacted to light speed?"
Lencar exhaled a plume of steam. "Light travels in straight lines. You pointed your finger before you fired. I didn't react to the light; I reacted to the trigger."
But Licht wasn't looking at him anymore. His gaze had drifted past Lencar, drawn by a strange, dark resonance. He was staring at Asta. Specifically, at the dirty, rust-covered sword Asta was holding, and the five-leaf clover grimoire hanging at his hip.
The sorrow in Licht's eyes deepened into something profound and terrifying.
"That grimoire..." Licht whispered. "And those swords... The Demon-Slayer... and the Demon-Dweller..."
"Hey!" Asta shouted, pointing his blade at Licht. "Stop looking at my stuff! Do you want a piece of this too?!"
Licht's expression twisted. It was a mix of nostalgia and revulsion. "That grimoire does not belong to a filthy human like you. It belonged to... the Master. To see it in your hands, covered in dirt and wielded with such clumsiness... it is the ultimate insult."
"Master?" Asta blinked. "I don't know who you're talking about! This is my grimoire! It chose me! And even if I'm dirty and clumsy, I'm gonna use it to become the Wizard King!"
"Wizard King..." Licht repeated the words like they tasted of ash. "Another title built on stolen glory. You humans take everything. You took our land. You took our lives. And now, you even scavenge our magic."
While they spoke, Lencar took a half-step back, his mind racing. He's distracted. This is the monologue phase. I need to secure the perimeter.
"Gauche," Lencar muttered without moving his lips. "Did you call headquarters? Did you signal for a Captain?"
Gauche, who was clutching a mirror so hard it was cracking, nodded stiffly. "I sent a transmission mirror signal the moment we saw the mud monster. But Nean is miles from the Capital. Unless a Captain can fly at supersonic speeds, we're on our own."
Variables unfavourable, Lencar thought. Reinforcements are a probability, not a guarantee.
He turned his head to Theresa again. "Sister. Go. I'm serious. You're injured, and your mana is focused on healing. You can't tank a hit from him."
Theresa slammed the butt of her staff into the ground. Her old eyes blazed with a fire that matched Lencar's own. "Don't insult me, boy! I may be old, and I may have retired to raise orphans, but do you know who I am? I was the instructor for the Royal Family! I taught Fuegoleon Vermillion how to hold a flame! I taught Mereoleona how to punch!"
She stepped forward, ignoring the pain in her joints. "I am a former Magic Knight! And a Knight does not abandon children to face monsters alone!"
Lencar stared at her. He calculated the odds. Her refusal to leave increased the casualty risk by 40%. But... her presence also added a support variable he hadn't accounted for.
"Fine," Lencar said, a grim smile touching his lips. "Then prove it, teacher. I'm running on fumes. If you want to help, make me hotter."
Theresa grinned, a fierce, predatory look returning to her face. "Don't get cocky, brat. Just make sure you don't burn out."
She raised her staff high. The mana in the cave began to shift. It didn't explode outward; it compressed. It felt heavy, warm, and dense.
"Mana Zone: Solar Sanctuary."
Lencar felt it instantly. The fatigue in his muscles evaporated. His mana, which had been trickling like a dying stream, suddenly surged as if a dam had broken. It wasn't just healing; she was actively feeding him ambient mana from the environment, processing it through her own zone and injecting it into him and Asta.
Efficiency increased by 300%, Lencar noted, his grip on the conduit sword tightening. She's not just a healer. She's a battery.
"Come on then!" Theresa shouted at Licht. "Let's see if your light can outshine an old woman's fire!"
Licht stopped looking at Asta. He looked at the three of them—the boy with the anti-magic, the commoner with the tactical mind, and the old nun with the mana zone.
"So be it," Licht said, hovering slightly off the ground. "If you wish to burn together, I will provide the pyre."
The air around him fractured. Dozens of glowing orbs appeared, each one humming with the threat of death.