The jump from the frigid, mist-choked mountains of Sosshi back to the arid warmth of the Forsaken Realm was jarring. Lencar stumbled as he stepped out of the spatial distortion, his boots landing in the dry dust of the outskirts of Sosei.
He fell to one knee, gasping for air. The Long-Range Coordinate Shift was brutal on his equilibrium, even with his expanded Stage 4 mana reserves. But it wasn't just the mana; it was the sheer weight of the souls he was carrying. Heath Grice, Fluss, Abari, Garry—their essences were still settling into his spiritual architecture, like fresh stones added to a foundation.
Lencar looked up. The familiar, sprawling fields of the Sosei region stretched out before him. The giant skull of the demon—the landmark of Hage—loomed in the distance, a grim reminder of history. But here, the wind smelled of dry earth and tilled soil, not blood and ice.
He pulled off his mask and stowed it away. He adjusted his cloak, hiding the fine quality of his boots and the faint hum of magic that now clung to him like perfume. He wasn't the Heretic here. He was just a boy coming home.
As he walked toward the village, the tension in his shoulders didn't loosen; it just changed frequency. Fighting the Eye of the Midnight Sun was simple physics and tactics. Facing his parents? That was a battlefield with no clear rules.
"Lencar? Is that Lencar?!"
A shout broke his reverie. He looked up to see Old Man Horg, a farmer he had helped with irrigation months ago, pointing a calloused finger from a cart.
Within moments, the quiet road became a bustle of activity. Villagers from Sosei and even a few travelers from Hage who recognized him began to gather. They didn't swarm him like fans; they surrounded him like family.
"You're back!" Horg clapped him on the back, a cloud of dust puffing from Lencar's cloak. "We were wondering when you'd show up. Asta and Yuno left ages ago, but we hadn't seen hide nor hair of you."
A woman holding a basket of laundry stepped forward, her face soft with pity. She looked at his plain clothes, the lack of a squad robe, the weary look in his eyes.
"Oh, Lencar," she said gently. "You don't have to say anything. The exam is rigged, everyone knows that. Unless you're a noble or have some flashy magic, they don't look twice at folk like us."
"That's right!" another man chimed in. "Don't you be sad about it, boy. You're the best mage Sosei has ever produced, robe or no robe. Who needs the Magic Knights anyway? They never come out here to help with the boars."
Lencar looked at them. In his past life as Kenji, failure was a mark of shame, a data point of inefficiency. Here, failure was expected, and the community wrapped you in a blanket of shared hardship to soften the blow.
It made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with injuries.
He forced a smile. It wasn't his "customer service" smile, nor his "predator" grin. It was small, tired, and genuine.
"I'm not sad," Lencar said, his voice raspy from the mountain air. "I learned a lot. But... I haven't seen my parents yet. I should go to them first."
"Right, right! Let the boy through!" Horg shooed the crowd away. "Go on, Rion and Marta have been pacing the floorboards thin waiting for you."
The crowd parted, offering words of encouragement as he walked the final stretch to the small, weathered house at the edge of the village.
He stood before the wooden door. He hesitated. His hand hovered over the latch. He had killed fifteen people in the last week. He had harvested souls. He had stood by while villagers were threatened to ensure his own power growth. Could he really walk in there and play the son?
I have to, he told himself. This is why I do it. To make sure this door never gets kicked in by someone like Heath Grice.
He opened the door.
"Mom? Dad?"
The house smelled of stewed root vegetables and dried herbs—the smell of his childhood in this world.
His mother, Marta, was scrubbing a pot at the basin. She froze. The pot clattered into the water. She turned, wiping her wet hands on her apron, her eyes wide.
"Lencar?"
She didn't walk; she ran. She collided with him, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. She was smaller than he remembered. Or maybe he had just grown larger, his body reinforced by magic and violence.
"You're back," she sobbed into his tunic. "You stupid boy, you took so long! We heard the others left and came, but you never even sent a letter!"
"I'm sorry, Mom," Lencar murmured, awkwardly patting her hair. "I got... sidetracked."
His father, Rion, emerged from the back room. He was a man of few words, his face etched with the lines of hard labor in the sun. He looked at Lencar, scanning him for injuries. Seeing none, his shoulders slumped in relief.
"Welcome home, son," Rion said, his voice gruff to hide the emotion. He walked over and squeezed Lencar's shoulder. The grip was strong. "Don't worry about the exam. We never expected you to become a wizard king or whatever those kids shout about. Living a life like us ordinary fellows isn't too bad either, Lencar."
"I know, Dad," Lencar nodded.
"Come, come!" Marta pulled away, wiping her eyes. "You look thin. Have you been eating? I made stew. Sit down."
Lencar sat at the familiar, scratched wooden table. He ate the stew. It was simple—carrots, potatoes, a few scraps of salted meat—but it tasted better than anything he had eaten in the capital. He let the warmth settle in his stomach, grounding him.
"So," Rion said, breaking the silence as they ate. "What's the plan now? The fields always need tending. Or maybe you can help the smithy?"
Lencar put down his spoon. This was the moment. The script he had rehearsed.
"I'm not staying in Sosei," Lencar said quietly.
Marta stopped eating. Rion frowned.
"I found work," Lencar continued, weaving the lie with careful precision. "In the Common Realm. A town called Nairn. I... I caught the eye of someone."
"A girl?" Marta asked hopefully.
"A Noble," Lencar corrected.
The atmosphere in the room chilled instantly. In the Forsaken Realm, nobles were not saviors; they were distant, dangerous gods who taxed you and trampled your crops.
"I did a favor for him during the exam preliminaries," Lencar lied. "He didn't recruit me into a squad, but he offered me a position as a... private agent. managing some of his assets in Nairn. It's off the books."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a heavy leather bag. He placed it on the table. The thud was loud in the quiet room.
He untied the string and spilled the contents.
Gold and silver coins spilled out, gleaming in the candlelight. 200,000 Yuls. It was more money than Rion had made in his entire life.
Marta gasped, covering her mouth. Rion stared at the pile, his face paling.
They didn't look happy. They looked terrified.
"Lencar..." Marta whispered, looking from the money to her son. "This... you aren't doing something dangerous, are you? You didn't steal this?"
"I earned it," Lencar said firmly. "It's an advance. For a year's work."
Rion reached out and touched a gold coin, as if testing to see if it was an illusion. He pulled his hand back quickly.
"A Noble gave you this?" Rion asked, his voice low and serious. "Son, listen to me. Nobles don't give gold to peasants out of kindness. If he's paying you this much, he expects something. Something that might cost more than sweat."
Rion leaned across the table, his eyes intense. "Is it illegal? Is it... dark magic?"
"It's just logistics, Dad," Lencar said, keeping his voice steady. "But it requires discretion. That's why the pay is high."
"I don't like it," Marta shook her head, tears welling up again. "It feels like blood money. Lencar, we don't need this much. We just need you safe."
"I am safe," Lencar said, reaching out to take his mother's hand. Her skin was rough, calloused from years of scrubbing and planting. "But you need this. I don't want you breaking your back in the fields until you die. I don't want you worrying if the winter will be too cold."
He pushed the coins toward them. "Take it. Fix the roof. Buy better tools. Eat meat more than once a week. Please."
Rion looked at his son. He saw something in Lencar's eyes that hadn't been there before he left. A hardness. A maturity that bordered on sorrow. He realized, with a father's intuition, that his son had already crossed a line into a world they couldn't follow.
"Lencar," Rion sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. "You were never one to back down. Even when you were little, climbing trees too high... you always wanted to see what was at the top."
Rion looked at the gold, then back at Lencar. "We will keep it. But not to spend. We will keep it for you. In case this Noble turns on you. In case you need to run."
"Dad—"
"Promise me," Rion interrupted, his voice sharp. "Promise me you will be careful. Nobles utilize people like tools. When a tool breaks, they throw it away. Don't let them break you."
"I promise," Lencar said. "I'm harder to break than I look."
They talked late into the night. His mother fretted over his clothes, his hair, his eating habits. His father gave him practical, grim advice about trusting powerful men. Lencar listened to every word, soaking it in.
He slept in his old bed that night. It felt too small. The ceiling felt too low. He lay there, listening to the wind outside, feeling the hum of the four captured souls in his chest. He was a monster sleeping in a child's room, but for tonight, the monster felt loved.