Night pressed heavily against the underground base.
Not the calm kind of night that invited rest, but the kind that felt watchful—thick, suffocating, as though something unseen lingered just beyond the edge of perception. The artificial lights lining the base's corridors glowed steadily, yet even they felt dimmer than usual, as if the darkness outside refused to stay outside.
Space folded.
Lencar emerged from the Grand Magic Zone in complete silence.
The air around him shimmered faintly as spatial distortions collapsed inward, leaving no trace of his arrival. His cloak settled around his shoulders, still dusted with residual mana from prolonged training. His breathing was steady. Controlled.
But his senses were already searching.
Rebecca's mana signature—normally gentle, warm, flowing like a quiet stream—was fractured.
Not injured.
Disturbed.
That alone made something tighten in his chest.
He didn't walk.
He moved.
The corridors blurred as space compressed around him, shortening distances instinctively. Runes embedded in the walls reacted to his presence, activating lighting sequences ahead of him before he reached them. Doors slid open automatically, the base recognizing its master's urgency.
He reached the central hall.
Rebecca stood there.
She was rigid, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold something together that was already breaking. Her eyes were swollen and red, tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes. She hadn't cried recently.
She had cried a lot.
Mariella stood close to her, one hand resting firmly on her shoulder, Thread Magic faintly reinforcing the ground beneath Rebecca's feet in case her legs gave out. Dominante leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her usual sharp confidence was absent, replaced with something grim and unsettled.
Rebecca looked up the moment she sensed him.
Her breath hitched.
"Lencar…"
Just his name—and it broke her.
Her voice collapsed into itself, and she pressed a hand to her mouth as tears spilled freely again.
Lencar crossed the remaining distance in three steps.
"Rebecca," he said quietly.
She shook her head, struggling to breathe evenly. "They're gone."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Who?"
"…The kids." Her voice trembled violently now. "Marco. Luca. Pem. Noah. Mia. And… others. Children from the church. They were all there when Sister Theresa checked on them before bed. And then—"
Her fingers dug into her sleeves.
"—this after a few hours they were just… gone."
The word echoed in the hall.
Gone.
Not taken. Not attacked. Not missing.
Gone.
"…Explain," Lencar said, tone controlled but razor-sharp beneath the calm.
Rebecca swallowed hard. "No signs of forced entry. No broken barriers. No blood. Nothing. The beds were cold. The windows intact. The wards untouched. Sister Theresa said it was like they vanished between one breath and the next."
Lencar closed his eyes slowly.
The night outside suddenly felt heavier.
"…The Magic Knights?" he asked.
"She went with them," Rebecca said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice. "She said they'll find them. She said they'll bring them back. But—"
Her voice cracked completely.
"I've heard people say that before."
That sentence struck deeper than any scream could have.
Lencar opened his eyes again.
For the first time since forming the organization—since gaining power that dwarfed entire squads—his certainty wavered.
Just slightly.
"…Tonight," he murmured.
Mariella stiffened. "What?"
"Tonight," Lencar repeated, quieter now. "This is the night they move."
Rebecca frowned weakly through her tears. "Who…?"
The realization surged forward with brutal clarity.
Licht. The Third Eye. The sacrificial ritual. Children stolen under the cover of darkness.
The plot he knew.
The plot he had hoped—foolishly—might fracture under his interference.
"…Damn it," he whispered.
His hands clenched slowly at his sides.
He had altered battles. Redirected fate. Shifted outcomes.
But this—
This was core.
Foundational.
He stepped forward and gently placed both hands on Rebecca's shoulders. She flinched at first, then leaned into the contact without realizing it, like someone grasping for something solid while drowning.
"Rebecca," he said softly, firmly, "listen to me."
Her eyes met his, wide and terrified.
"I will bring them back."
She swallowed. "You… you promise?"
"I don't make promises lightly," he said. "But this one—I will keep."
Her shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight crushing her chest eased just a fraction.
"…Alright."
Lencar straightened and turned.
"Mariella," he said, composure locking back into place. "Capital status."
Mariella exhaled slowly. "You didn't read the report I sent earlier, did you?"
He grimaced faintly. "…I was busy."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no humor in it. "Of course you were."
Her expression hardened.
"After the invasion, the Wizard King appeared publicly—late evening. Declared the attack the work of a terrorist organization. Claimed multiple members were captured. Promised a swift investigation and retaliation."
She crossed her arms. "The announcement stabilized things. Curfew enforced. Patrols doubled. The public's afraid—but quiet."
Lencar nodded slowly.
"I see."
So history held.
"…It seems my actions didn't disrupt the larger narrative," he thought.
That meant the Third Eye would proceed as intended.
He turned away from them.
"I'm going to Nairn."
Rebecca stiffened. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Lencar—"
He glanced back, eyes steady, voice calm.
"I won't be long."
Space folded.
He vanished without sound.
Snow fell quietly over Nairn.
The town slept, unaware that something monstrous had already passed through it. Lanterns flickered dimly along empty streets. The air was cold enough to bite, frost clinging to windows and rooftops alike.
Too quiet.
Lencar appeared at the town's edge.
He immediately expanded his senses.
Vector Perception Field bloomed outward, invisible geometries slicing through terrain, buildings, and forest alike. Ki perception layered atop it—still imperfect, but refined enough to distinguish intent.
Mana signatures scattered weakly.
But—
Five kilometers northeast.
A cluster.
Dense. Alive. Hostile.
Children.
"…Found you."
Space twisted.
The forest beyond Nairn was silent beneath the falling snow.
Mana warped the air unnaturally, bending light between the trees. Strange laughter echoed faintly—distorted, playful, wrong.
Lencar arrived at the clearing's edge.
And saw Marco.
The boy's small body flew through the air and crashed into the snow, skidding across the ground before slamming into a tree trunk. The sound was dull. Wrong.
Marco gasped weakly, curling in on himself.
Blood stained the snow beneath him.
Something inside Lencar snapped.
Not calculation. Not strategy.
Anger.
Hot, violent, unfamiliar.
Mana surged instinctively, the ground beneath his feet fracturing slightly as space warped in response. Snow lifted into the air in slow, spiraling currents around him.
"…So," Lencar said softly, eyes locking onto the figures deeper in the clearing.
"This is how you want to do this."
For the first time—
He stopped thinking like a tactician.
And started thinking like someone who would not forgive.
The night held its breath.