Lencar lay on the cold stone floor for what felt like an hour, though it was likely only a few minutes. His body felt heavy, as if gravity had doubled. Every breath was a negotiation with his bruised ribs.
Status Check:
Mana: Critical (less than 2%).
Physical Integrity: 65%. Multiple contusions. Fracture in left collarbone. Lacerations.
Consciousness: Fading.
"Not yet," Lencar growled to himself. "The harvest isn't done."
He rolled onto his stomach. He dug his fingers into the dirt and dragged himself forward. He crawled toward the unconscious form of Boran. It was pathetic, undignified movement, but Lencar didn't care. Dignity didn't grant power.
He reached the bandit leader. Boran was breathing heavily, out cold. His grimoire lay open beside him, the light dim.
Lencar pulled his own blank grimoire from his belt. It felt heavier than usual. He placed it squarely on top of Boran's book.
He placed his bloody hand on Boran's chest.
"Your strength," Lencar whispered, his voice raspy. "I'll take it now."
[Replica Magic: Absolute Replication]
The golden light flared. It was brighter this time, hungrier. The Soul Crystals within Lencar—four of them already humming—reached out like spiritual tendrils.
Lencar closed his eyes and gasped as the connection snapped into place.
It wasn't just mana. It was the weight of the earth. He felt Boran's affinity for the ground. He felt the stubbornness, the density of the man's soul. He saw flashes of memory—training in the Diamond Kingdom, the desert heat, the feeling of stone skin forming.
He felt the Soul Gem—the metaphysical core of Boran's magic—being ripped from its housing.
Lencar's body arched in a silent scream. The influx was massive. Boran was a powerful mage, bordering on the strength of a seasoned Knight. His mana flooded Lencar's dry channels like a broken dam.
Then, the barrier shattered.
Snap.
It was a distinct sensation, like a glass ceiling breaking inside his mind.
Lencar's eyes snapped open. The exhaustion was... gone.
His mana pool didn't just refill; it expanded. The edges of his sensory field pushed outward. He could feel the texture of the dust in the air. He could feel the vibrations of the unconscious bandits' heartbeats.
His thinking speed accelerated. Concepts that were fuzzy before—complex mana shapes, spell formulas—snapped into high-definition clarity.
"Stage Five," Lencar breathed, sitting up effortlessly.
He looked at his hands. They were still bloody, still bruised. The Absolute Replication had restored his mana and strengthened his soul, but it had not knit his flesh.
"My capacity has doubled," he analyzed, clenching his fist. "My control... it's surgical."
He looked at Boran. The man was now a husk, stripped of magic.
Lencar stood up. He walked. The pain in his ribs was still there, but his mind processed it as data to be ignored.
He walked to Kael (Steel). Replication.
He walked to Rorg (Fire). Replication.
He walked to Bim (Water). Replication.
One by one, he harvested them. With each book he touched, his arsenal grew. He felt the solidity of Steel. The fluidity of Water. The chaos of Fire.
Finally, he reached Silas, who was pinned to the beam, unconscious from the shock of the battle.
Lencar placed his grimoire on Silas's.
[Attribute Acquired: Spatial Magic]
Lencar felt it. The geometry of the world. It wasn't the crude, forced math he had used before. It was elegant. He understood how to fold space, how to create pockets, how to link two points without tearing the fabric of reality.
"Beautiful," Lencar murmured.
He was done. All ten bandits harvested. He stood in the center of the carnage, a god of stolen power.
But he was still broken. His collarbone grinded when he moved.
"I need to fix this," Lencar said. "I have the mana now. I have the intellect. I just need the spell."
He sat down in a meditative pose, ignoring the blood soaking his tunic. He closed his eyes and dove into his enhanced mind.
He pulled up the data from Jinto (the Plant mage he had just harvested). Jinto's magic was weak—mostly binding vines. But Plant Magic had inherent properties of growth and life.
He combined it with the concepts of Water Magic (flow, cleansing) and Earth Magic (structure, rebuilding).
Hypothesis: If I use Plant magic to stimulate cell regeneration, and Water to flush the toxins, fueled by my Stage 5 mana capacity...
He visualized the spell. He wrote the script in his mind, editing it, optimizing it with his new, supercharged processing speed.
Iteration 1: Failed.
Iteration 2: Unstable.
Iteration 15: Viable.
Lencar opened his eyes. A green, soothing light gathered in his hands. It wasn't just vines; it was a glowing, verdant moss that smelled of spring rain.
[Plant Recovery Magic]: [Verdant Cellular Knit]
He pressed his hands to his chest.
The pain flared white-hot for a second as his bones were forced back into alignment, then vanished into a cooling numbness. He watched as the cuts on his arms sealed, leaving faint white lines that faded within seconds.
He sat there for an hour, casting the spell repeatedly, layering it over his internal injuries. He felt his lungs clearing, his ribs fusing.
Finally, he stood up. He took a deep breath. No pain.
He stretched, hearing his joints pop. He felt incredible. Stronger, faster, smarter.
But as he looked around the mine, at the scattered bodies and the scorch marks, a sobering thought hit him.
"I almost died," Lencar admitted to the darkness. "I have the power of a Stage 5 mage. I have ten attributes. And yet, a group of bandits almost ended me."
He realized the flaw in his design. He treated battle like a math problem. But battle was messy. Boran had surprised him with sheer grit. Kael had surprised him with ferocity.
"I lack experience," Lencar concluded. "I have the hardware, but my software is still running simulations. I need to fight more. I need to bleed more."
He walked over to Boran's unconscious body. He reached down and ripped the heavy gold necklace from the bandit's neck. Proof of the kill.
He walked to Kael and took his signature steel dagger.
He walked to Silas and pulled the signet ring from his finger.
Lencar stood at the entrance of the mine. He turned back one last time.
"No witnesses," he whispered.
He raised his hand.
[Fire Magic]: [Inferno Burst]
[Wind Magic]: [Fan the Flames]
He didn't target the bodies individually. He flooded the mine. A roaring wave of superheated fire swept through the cavern, turning the air into an oven. It would leave nothing but ash and melted rock. It was a mercy, and a necessity.
Lencar turned his back on the heat.
He visualized his room in Nairn. He visualized the spatial coordinates with his new, refined understanding.
[Spatial Magic]: [Void Step]
It wasn't a tear this time. The world simply folded around him. He didn't step through a hole; he was simply there, and then he was here.
He appeared in his room. It was quiet. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale blue light over his dusty floorboards.
Lencar placed the necklace, the dagger, and the ring under the floorboard with his gold.
He sat on his bed and looked at his hands. They were clean now, healed and washed by magic. But he could still feel the phantom weight of Boran's stone fist against his jaw.
"Stage Five," Lencar whispered. "Ready for the Dungeon."
He lay back, closing his eyes, listening to the first stirrings of the Scarlet household waking up below him. The Heretic was home.