The warm, golden glow of the hearth in the Scarlet household was a stark contrast to the cold calculation running through Lencar's mind. It was late—past the witching hour. The children, exhausted from a spirited retelling of Rapunzel (where Lencar had improvised a scene involving a tactical hair-grapple), were finally asleep. Even Rebecca had succumbed to fatigue, dozing off in the armchair with a mending basket in her lap.
Lencar stood in the doorway, watching them. For a moment, he wasn't the Forged Heretic. He was just a boy looking at a peace he hadn't earned. He reached out and gently draped a blanket over Rebecca, his movements silent and careful.
"Sleep well," he whispered. "I have bills to pay."
He retreated to his room, locking the door with a click that felt like a gunshot in the silence. The transformation was routine now. The apron came off; the dark tunic, the reinforced bracers, and the heavy cloak went on. He tied the plain wooden mask over his face, hiding the eyes that had just looked so softly at a sleeping family.
He reached under the floorboard and pulled out the gruesome trophies of the Red Clay Bandits: Boran's heavy gold necklace, Kael's chipped steel dagger, and Silas's signet ring.
[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Jump]
The air warped. Lencar stepped through the grey haze and emerged into the rotting stench of the black market.
He marched straight to Jareth's booth. The one-eyed informant was half-asleep, nursing a bottle of cheap wine. He jerked awake as Lencar slammed the items onto the table.
"Business," Lencar said, his voice a distorted growl.
Jareth squinted at the items. He picked up the ring, inspecting the crest. His eye went wide. Then he picked up the dagger.
"No way," Jareth breathed, sobering up instantly. "You... you actually got them? The Red Clay lot? All of them?"
"They have disbanded," Lencar said coolly. "Permanently."
Jareth looked at the masked figure with a new kind of fear. The Red Clay Bandits had evaded Magic Knights for months. And this... this kid (he assumed it was a kid from the height) had wiped them out in a single night?
"Right. Right," Jareth stammered, fumbling with his lockbox. "Bounty was 200,000. My cut is 30%, as agreed. That leaves you with 140,000 Yuls."
He counted out the gold and silver plates. It was a small fortune for a commoner—enough to feed Rebecca's family for three years comfortably. Lencar swept it into his pouch without a tremor in his hand.
"I need more," Lencar said.
Jareth paused. "You've got a death wish, don't you? Most hunters retire for a month after a haul like that."
"I am not most hunters. I need targets. Active threats. People with unique attributes."
Lencar leaned forward. "Give me the ones you ignored before. The ones that are dangerous."
Jareth swallowed hard and pulled out a fresh scroll. He scribbled rapidly.
"Here. Five names. These aren't organized like the Red Clay, but they're nasty. If you die on these, don't come haunting me."
Lencar took the scroll and disappeared into the shadows.
He reappeared on a rooftop overlooking the industrial district. He unfurled the scroll under the moonlight.
Target List:
Gulliver "The Rot"
Attribute: Poison Magic.
Threat: Uses corrosive gas clouds. Hiding in the sewers beneath the tannery.
The Iron-Eater Brothers (Torg & Mruk)
Attribute: Iron Magic (Creation & Reinforcement).
Threat: Two brothers who ambush travelers on the North Road. They cover themselves in metal and just beat people to death.
Saros the Gale
Attribute: Wind Magic (Sniper).
Threat: An assassin who uses compressed air bullets from extreme range. Hiding in the abandoned clock tower.
Madame Vex
Attribute: Illusion Magic.
Threat: Lures victims into traps using visual hallucinations. Operates near the red-light district.
Bronto
Attribute: Beast Magic (Bear Transformation).
Threat: A madman who enhances his body with animalistic traits. Pure physical power.
Lencar studied the list. His analytical mind wanted to pick Saros—hunt the sniper, stay clean, use strategy.
But his soul—the part of him that was growing, evolving—demanded something else.
"I relied too much on magic against the Red Clay," Lencar muttered, flexing his hands. "When my mana ran dry, I nearly died against Boran. My body is strong, but my instincts are still soft. I flinch. I hesitate."
He looked at the entry for Bronto. Beast Magic. A melee fighter.
"To forge iron, you must strike it," Lencar decided. "No spells. No tricks. Tonight, I brawl."
He located Bronto's hunting ground—a dilapidated warehouse near the river.
Lencar entered through the roof. The warehouse smelled of wet fur and old blood. In the center, a massive man was tearing into a side of raw beef, grunting like an animal. Bronto was huge, easily seven feet tall, with hair that covered most of his body.
Lencar dropped to the floor. Thud.
Bronto stopped eating. He turned, eyes glowing yellow in the dark.
"Fresh meat?" Bronto rumbled. His voice was guttural, barely human.
"Training dummy," Lencar corrected, loosening his cloak and letting it fall. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't open his grimoire.
Bronto laughed—a barking sound. "Beast Magic: Bear King's Hide!"
Thick, coarse fur erupted from Bronto's skin. His muscles swelled, tearing his shirt. His fingernails elongated into obsidian claws.
"I'm gonna rip your head off!" Bronto roared, charging with the speed of a freight train.
Lencar didn't dodge.
Constraint applied: No offensive magic. Only Mana Skin for defense.
He met the charge.
CRASH.
Lencar was thrown back ten feet, skidding across the dusty floor. His forearms, crossed in a block, throbbed with agony. Bronto was stronger than Boran. This was raw, feral power.
"Is that all?!" Bronto screamed, swiping his claws.
Lencar ducked under the swipe, feeling the wind of it slice a few strands of his hair. He drove a fist into Bronto's gut. It felt like punching a mattress wrapped in steel wool.
"Too soft!" Bronto backhanded Lencar.
Lencar flew into a crate, shattering it. Splinters dug into his back. Blood trickled down his chin.
Pain.
It flared white-hot in his mind. In his old life, Kenji Tanaka would have panicked. He would have looked for a doctor, a spreadsheet, an exit.
But Lencar Abarame smiled.
"Good," he wheezed, spitting a tooth. "That actually hurt."
He got up. His blood was boiling—not with mana, but with adrenaline. His Soul Crystals pulsed, feeding on the intensity of the combat.
"Again," Lencar challenged.
For the next twenty minutes, it wasn't a battle of mages. It was a brutal, ugly fistfight. Lencar was tossed around like a ragdoll. He suffered deep claw marks on his chest. His nose was broken and reset by a swift jerk of his hand.
But with every hit, he learned. He learned the rhythm of a beast. He learned that pain was just information—a signal to move faster, hit harder.
He stopped thinking about angles and started thinking about impact.
Bronto was tiring. The Beast Magic consumed stamina rapidly. Lencar, forged by years of hellish training, was just getting warmed up.
"Why... won't... you... die?!" Bronto panted, drool dripping from his jaws.
Lencar stepped forward, his face a mess of blood and bruises, but his eyes burning with terrifying clarity.
"Because I need the XP," Lencar whispered.
He slipped past a clumsy claw swipe. He didn't use a spell. He used the torque of his hips, the snap of his spine, and delivered a devastating uppercut to Bronto's jaw.
Crack.
Bronto's eyes rolled back. The beast fell.
Lencar stood over him, swaying. His body was a wreck. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds.
He reached for his grimoire.
[Replica Magic: Absolute Replication]
He placed it on Bronto's chest. The golden light flared.
He felt the Beast Magic flood him—the primal instincts, the durability, the roar. He felt his own soul expand, drinking in the essence of the wild.
And as the magic settled, he felt something else. His broken nose knit itself back together with a snap. The claw marks on his chest stopped bleeding.
"Recovery," Lencar noted, his voice raspy. "My soul is stronger. My body's natural healing is accelerating."
He didn't stop there. He used [Plant Recovery Magic]: [Verdant Cellular Knit].
Green light bathed him. The bruises faded. The fatigue remained, but the damage was gone. And beneath the healed skin, the muscles felt denser. Harder.
"What doesn't kill me," Lencar murmured, looking at his fist, "literally updates my hardware."
He burned the body. He took the bounty proof (a distinct ear piercing Bronto wore).
He walked out of the warehouse, not as a boy playing hero, but as a predator who had just finished a meal.