The five-day journey from the Forsaken Realm to the heart of the Common Realm was a study in changing demographics. For Lencar, every mile walked was a new set of data points added to his mental map of the Clover Kingdom. The air, once filled with the scent of wild grass and manure in Hage, gradually thickened with the smell of coal smoke, industrial runoff, and the dense, overlapping mana signatures of thousands of people.
Lencar walked at the back of the small caravan, his boots rhythmic against the packed dirt road. Beside him, Asta was a perpetual motion machine, shadows of fatigue never touching his face, while Yuno moved with the effortless grace of a man who belonged in a higher strata of society.
As they walked, Lencar performed a silent, internal check. He felt the weight of the four soul crystals—Sand, Fire, Wind, and Concealment—settled into his spiritual core. He was 8 times stronger physically than the boy who had first picked up a grimoire. His mana capacity had doubled, now sitting at a formidable 52.8 units, and his control was a surgical 10 times sharper.
If I were to engage Asta now, Lencar mused, watching the boy do handstand-hops along the side of the road, I would be at least three times more powerful in a direct physical confrontation. But the goal isn't conflict. It's invisibility.
By the afternoon of the fifth day, the sprawling town of Nairn appeared on the horizon. It was a hub of stone buildings and bustling marketplaces, the primary transition point for those seeking entry into the Royal Capital. The town served as a filter; those with enough coin could take the shortcut, while the rest faced another three days of walking.
"We're here!" Asta roared, pointing a trembling finger at the town gates. "The Capital is right over there!"
"That's Nairn, Asta," Yuno corrected, not even looking at him. "The Capital is still miles away. We're here for the spatial gate."
As they entered the town, the crowds became a suffocating sea of humanity. Lencar maintained a low-level Concealment Stealth Magic: "[Void Echo]", keeping his presence muted. He didn't want to be noticed by the local guards or the noble candidates who were already sneering at the "peasants" from the outskirts.
They were passing through a crowded residential district near the marketplace when Lencar felt a sudden, familiar pulse in the local mana. It wasn't powerful, but it was warm—like the hearth fire of a home.
He looked toward a small, weathered stone house. Standing in the doorway was a young woman with vibrant red hair. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped under the weight of an infant strapped to her back in a rough cloth sling. In each hand, she held the tiny fingers of two other children who were peeking out at the passing mages with wide, hungry eyes.
Her gaze drifted over the crowd of candidates and landed directly on Lencar.
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked. Lencar saw the exhaustion of a girl forced to grow up too soon, a girl whose life was a series of sacrifices for the siblings she held. She looked at his travel-worn clothes, then at the grimoire at his hip, and her expression flickered with a mix of envy and distant hope. Then, as if realizing she had stared too long, she quickly looked the other way, pulling her siblings back into the shadows of the doorway.
Lencar stopped for a microsecond.
Rebecca Scarlet. The name surfaced from his deep-seated meta-knowledge. She was a girl who would later become a significant "data point" in the lives of the mages he knew. Seeing her here, in the cold reality of Nairn, made the world feel painfully real. She wasn't just a character; she was a girl trying to survive in a kingdom that didn't care about orphans.
"Lencar? You coming?" Asta asked, looking back.
"Just analyzing the terrain, Asta," Lencar replied, turning away. He felt a strange pang of sympathy—a variable he usually tried to suppress—but he filed it away. He couldn't help her now. Not if he wanted to stay hidden.
They reached the central platform of Nairn, a stone dais etched with glowing blue runes. Standing in the center was a tall, thin man in a long, navy blue robe decorated with silver stars. His face was a mask of professional boredom.
"I am Dax, the Regional Spatial Transit Officer," the mage announced, his voice magically amplified. "The fee for transport to the Royal Capital is fifty yul per person. Form an orderly line. Do not touch the runes."
Asta fumbled with his pouch, pulling out the coins Sister Lily had carefully saved for him. Yuno did the same, his expression neutral. Lencar paid his fee, his fingers brushing Dax's hand for a fraction of a second.
Entry: Spatial Magic - Gateway. Capacity: Dax (Mid-Tier).
The siphoning was automatic now, a "Standard" replica that Lencar filed away in the back of his book.
Dax opened his grimoire, the pages glowing with a deep indigo light. Spatial Transit Magic: "[Crossing the Threshold]".
A swirling vortex of blue and purple energy tore open in the air, a doorway to the most powerful city in the world. Candidates began to step through, disappearing into the light.
"This is it," Asta said, his voice unusually quiet. "The real deal."
"Let's go," Yuno said.
Lencar stepped into the light. The sensation was like being pulled through a straw—a momentary loss of gravity followed by a sudden, jarring return to solid ground.
When the light faded, Lencar stood in a massive stone plaza. Above him, the sky was framed by white stone towers that seemed to touch the clouds. The air was thick with the scent of expensive incense and the overwhelming, humming pressure of tens of thousands of mages.
They had arrived. The Royal Capital: Kikka.
"Whoa..." Asta whispered, his neck craning so far back he nearly tipped over. "It's... it's huge!"
"Attention, candidates!" a guard in polished silver armor shouted. "The Magic Knight Entrance Exam begins in four days. You are responsible for your own lodging. Failure to present your travel pass at the arena gate on the morning of the exam will result in immediate disqualification. Move along!"
Lencar looked at the sea of stone and gold. "Four days," he thought. "Ninety-six hours to blend into the scenery before the harvest begins."