Lencar stood on the deck of The Gilded Eel, the cool river breeze of the Common Realm ruffling his cloak. The mercenaries were busy stowing the cargo, their fear of him driving a frantic efficiency. Garrick was shouting orders, trying to regain some semblance of control over his ship.
Lencar watched them for a moment, satisfying himself that the new hierarchy was established.
"Phase Two complete," he whispered to the wind. "Now... the fun part."
He didn't return to the warm, safe bed in the Scarlet household. Not yet. He had a pocket full of volatile magical items, and bringing unknown variables into a house with three infants and two children was a violation of every safety protocol he had ever designed. He needed a clean room. A place where an explosion wouldn't result in collateral damage.
He activated his [Spatial Magic].
He visualized the coordinates. Not Nairn. Not Hage. He aimed for a location he had marked on his mental map weeks ago—a place hostile enough to deter visitors and durable enough to withstand testing.
"[Long-Range Coordinate Shift]: Destination - Thunder-Crag Peaks."
The world twisted.
The transition was violent. Teleporting within a stable zone was like stepping through a door. Teleporting into a Grand Magic Zone was like being shot out of a cannon into a brick wall.
The air pressure dropped so sharply his ears popped with a painful crack. The smell of river water and incense vanished, replaced instantly by the acrid scent of ozone and freezing rain.
Lencar slammed onto a jagged shelf of black rock. The wind here didn't blow; it screamed. It tore at his cloak, whipping the fabric around him like a frantic animal.
He was in the Thunder-Crag Peaks, a desolate, neutral mountain range north of the Common Realm. Here, the natural mana didn't flow in currents; it crashed in tsunamis. Lightning arcs jumped between floating islands of magnetic rock, and the gravity fluctuated wildly with the magical storms.
Lencar stumbled, grabbing a protrusion of stone to steady himself. The gravity here was heavier—about 1.5 times normal—pressing down on his shoulders like a lead yoke.
"The environment is pretty hostile," Lencar shouted over the roar of the wind, his voice snatched away instantly.
He grinned behind his mask. "Perfect."
He needed to stabilize the workspace. He couldn't perform delicate analysis while being pelted by hail the size of golf balls.
He summoned his grimoire. The pages fluttered violently in the gale, but the golden thread of his mana held them steady.
"[Wind Magic]: [Cyclone Barrier]."
He didn't fight the storm; he redirected it. He created a spinning dome of high-pressure air around his position. The screaming wind hit the barrier and slid off, deflected upward. Inside the eye of his artificial storm, the air went still.
"[Earth Magic]: [Stabilization Rune]."
He stomped his foot. Golden runes spread across the black rock, anchoring the shelf against the chaotic vibrations of the mountain.
"[Fire Magic]: [Ember Sphere]."
A small, floating ball of heat manifested above his head, pushing back the biting cold of the altitude.
Lencar exhaled, watching his breath mist in the now-calm air of his bubble. He took off his mask and set it down. He rubbed his face, feeling the prickle of static electricity on his skin. This was his sanctuary. No Magic Knights. No screaming babies. Just raw physics and mana.
He tapped the [Void Vault] ring.
"Open."
He pulled out the five artifacts he had liberated from Garrick's chest. He laid them out on a flat slab of stone like a surgeon arranging his instruments for a complex operation. The items looked innocuous sitting on the rock, but Lencar could feel the distinct mana signature of each one pulsing against his senses.
The Black Glass Dagger.
The Swirling Quartz Orb.
The Gryphon-Feather Boots.
The Sulfur Ring.
The Wax-Sealed Scroll.
"Time for the autopsy," Lencar whispered, a gleam of genuine, nerdy curiosity in his eyes.
This was the part of magic he loved the most. Not the combat—combat was messy and inefficient. He loved the mechanics. He loved figuring out how someone had bent the laws of reality to create a function.
He started with the Dagger.
He picked it up. It was lighter than it looked. The handle was wrapped in sharkskin, providing a grip that felt almost sticky, refusing to let go of his palm. The blade was obsidian, but it wasn't natural glass; it seemed to drink the light of the Ember Sphere, reflecting nothing.
Lencar carefully channeled a tiny amount of his own mana into the hilt.
Thump.
The dagger reacted instantly. It didn't just accept the mana; it sucked it in. Lencar felt a sharp pull, like a leech attaching to a vein. The blade glowed with a faint, sickly purple light.
"Parasitic absorption," Lencar analyzed, narrowing his eyes.
He looked around for a test subject. He spotted a patch of hardy, iron-thorn moss growing in a crack of the rock. It was a magical plant, tough enough to survive the storms.
Lencar sliced the moss.
He didn't cut it deeply, just a scratch.
The effect was immediate. The moss didn't just bleed sap; it turned grey. The grey spread outward from the cut, traveling down the stem and into the roots in seconds. The plant withered, crumbling into dry dust.
"Necrosis," Lencar murmured, running his gloved finger along the flat of the blade (careful not to touch the edge). "It severs the mana connection in the cells. It doesn't just cut flesh; it kills the biology around the wound. A curse of decay."
He weighed it in his hand. It was balanced for throwing.
"It's can be used as an assassin's tool. If I clash this against a steel sword infused with Reinforcement Magic, the glass might shatter. But if I nick an opponent... the fight is over."
He placed it down. "Designation: The Widow's Fang."
Next, the Orb.
He picked up the quartz sphere. It was cool to the touch. Inside, grey smoke swirled endlessly, never settling.
He channeled mana into it.
The sound of his breathing stopped. The faint hum of the Ember Sphere vanished. He clapped his hands together hard.
...
No sound. He felt the sting of the impact on his palms, but the auditory vibration was deleted from the air before it could travel an inch.
Lencar grinned. He tried to speak. "Testing, one, two."
Nothing. His lips moved, his vocal cords vibrated, but the air refused to carry the wave.
"Complete acoustic nullification," Lencar thought, delighted. "Range... looks to be about a five-meter radius. It creates a bubble of absolute silence."
This was invaluable. With this, he could perform infiltration much easily, fight a guard, and drop a body without waking the person in the next room. He could cast verbal spells without anyone hearing the incantation.
He cut the mana flow. The sound of the wind outside the barrier rushed back in.
"Designation: The Hush Globe."
He moved to the Boots.
They were soft leather, stitched with grey feathers that shimmered slightly. He sat on the rock, unlaced his sturdy work boots, and slipped these on.
They laced up automatically, the leather shrinking to fit his foot perfectly like a second skin.
He stood up.
He felt... wrong. He felt weightless. He pushed off the ground with a normal amount of force intended for a step.
Whoosh.
He shot ten feet into the air.
"Whoa!" Lencar flailed his arms, stabilizing himself with a burst of wind magic.
He drifted down slowly, like a feather. The boots negated 90% of his body weight relative to the ground.
He landed softly. He tried running. It was effortless. He bounded across the jagged rocks, clearing gaps that would have required a spell to cross before. With a thought, he could push against the air itself, allowing for double jumps or slow-fall descents.
"It can enhance movement and I can also fly in air like soru from One piece," Lencar noted, bouncing lightly on his toes. "Not true flight, but it reduces stamina cost for running by half. And it makes footsteps silent—even without the Orb."
"Designation: Strider's Plumes." He decided to keep them on. The mobility was too good to put back in the box.
The Ring.
It was a heavy iron band, smelling of sulfur. When he put it on his finger (next to the Void Vault ring) and pushed [Fire Magic] into it, the ring heated up instantly.
FWOOSH.
A concentrated jet of blue flame erupted from the gem setting, extending about six inches like a dagger of fire. It wasn't a projectile; it was a plasma cutter.
Lencar punched a nearby rock. The flame sliced through the stone like it was butter, leaving a glowing, molten edge.
"Close-range armor piercing," Lencar nodded, deactivating it. "It turns a punch into a thermal lance. It can also be dangerous to the user if not careful. I need to be precise."
"Designation: The Ignis Driver."