The next morning, Lencar left before dawn. He couldn't handle another tearful goodbye. He left a note on the table next to the gold, promising to write.
He walked to the outskirts of Sosei, where the demon skull cast a long shadow over the valley.
"Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Mother," he whispered.
He raised his hand. [Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift].
The world folded.
He reappeared in the alleyway behind the "Rusty Spoon" in Nairn. The transition was smoother this time; his body was adapting to the spatial tears. He quickly changed his demeanor, shaking off the heaviness of Sosei and putting on the mask of "Lencar the hardworking employee."
He walked into the kitchen just as the sun was cresting the buildings.
Rebecca was already there, kneading dough. She looked up, startled, and then a massive smile broke across her face.
"You're back!" she exclaimed, wiping flour from her cheek. "I thought... well, I was worried the 'rare beast' might have hunted you instead."
Lencar looked at her. The morning light caught her red hair, making it glow. In that moment, the image of his mother—worrying over him, hugging him—superimposed over Rebecca.
Connection established, his mind supplied, but his heart just felt warm.
"I'm okay," Lencar said, offering a genuine, soft smile. "The beast was tricky, but I managed. Did Marco burn the house down while I was gone?"
"He tried!" Rebecca laughed, wiping her hands on her apron. "He tried to 'cook' an egg on the fireplace using a spoon. It exploded. There was shell everywhere. I'm still finding pieces in the rug."
"Standard Marco," Lencar chuckled, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. "I'll handle the prep. You sit down for five minutes. You look like you've been fighting a flour golem."
"But the morning rush—"
"Sit," Lencar ordered gently, taking the knife from the counter. "Or I won't tell you the end of the mermaid story."
Rebecca sat immediately on a stool, feigning annoyance but clearly grateful. "Fine. But you better make it good. Luca has been asking if the mermaid has to eat fish, and it's getting morbid."
For the next few days, Lencar slipped back into the skin of the diligent employee. He peeled potatoes with surgical precision. He charmed the regulars. He fixed the leaking roof that had been bothering Rebecca for months, using a subtle application of [Earth Magic] to fuse the tiles when no one was looking.
By day, he was Lencar, the big brother figure who carried Pem on his shoulders and taught Marco how to throw a proper punch (for self-defense only, Rebecca insisted).
By night, however, the itch returned.
He sat in his small room, the moonlight filtering through the window he kept immaculately clean. He held his grimoire. Since Sosshi, since harvesting Heath Grice and his subordinates, his mana capacity had settled firmly at Mid-Stage 4.
He was strong. Stronger than most Magic Knights. Stronger than many Vice-Captains in terms of raw versatility. He spent the nights silently practicing his new acquisitions. He wove [Mist Magic] around his fingers, watching it dissolve into the air. He formed delicate sculptures of [Ice Magic], testing the structural integrity before melting them with a thought.
But power is a hungry thing. The more you have, the more you realize how much you lack.
"I have capacity," Lencar murmured to the empty room. "But my application is still... academic. I need more data."
He looked at the floorboard where his money was hidden. The hunt called to him. Not just for gold, but for the refinement of his soul.
On the fifth night, he couldn't sit still any longer.
He donned his gear—the black cloak, the wooden mask, the reinforced boots. He checked his presence. It was muted, a void in the mana of the world.
[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift].
The room folded.
Lencar reappeared in the familiar, damp gloom of the black market.
The atmosphere was different tonight. It wasn't the panic of an impending raid, but it was tense. The usual boisterous haggling was subdued. People huddled in corners, exchanging whispers instead of goods.
Lencar moved through the crowd, his senses expanded. He reached the back of the cavern where Jareth's booth sat in the shadows.
The informant looked exhausted. Jareth was usually a jittery man, vibrating with the energy of a thousand secrets, but tonight he just looked old. He was slumped in his chair, staring at a half-empty bottle of wine.
Lencar sat down opposite him. The wood creaked.
"Business looks slow, Jareth," Lencar said, his voice distorted by the mask.
Jareth jumped, nearly knocking over his bottle. He squinted at the mask, then let out a long, ragged sigh. He didn't reach for his ledger. He didn't offer a sly grin.
"You," Jareth groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was wondering when you'd show up. You've got terrible timing, kid."
"I need targets," Lencar said, ignoring the mood. "Bandits. Rogues. The usual."
Jareth laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Targets? There aren't any targets, kid. The ecosystem is broken. And do you know why?"
He pointed a shaking finger at Lencar. "Because you broke it."
Lencar tilted his head slightly. "Explain."
"The Magic Knights are sniffing around," Jareth hissed, leaning over the table. "And I don't mean the usual patrol that comes down here to collect bribes. I mean the Department of Magical Forensic Research."
Lencar felt a spike of alertness. "Forensics?"
"Yeah. Blue robes. Glasses. They look like librarians, but they smell magic like bloodhounds." Jareth took a swig of wine. "They've been combing the area around Nairn. The buffer zone. The mountains."
"What did they find?" Lencar asked calmly.
"Ash," Jareth said. "Piles and piles of ash. They found the remains of the Red Clay Bandits in the mines. They found scorch marks in the alleys where you cooked Garrick. They found the empty hideout of the Iron-Eater Brothers."
Lencar remained perfectly still. "Bandits kill each other all the time. It is a hazardous profession."
"Not like this," Jareth shook his head. "They find it... weird. That's the word I heard one of them say. 'Weird.' Because there are no bodies. Just ash and lingering traces of magic that don't match."
Jareth looked around nervously. "They found traces of Fire. Wind. Steel. Earth. All at crime scenes that happened days apart. They're trying to build a profile."
Lencar analyzed this.
Assessment: They haven't identified me. They haven't identified a "Grimoire Eater." They are confused by the anomaly.
"What about Sosshi?" Lencar asked, testing the waters. "Did the Black Bulls report anything?"
"Sosshi?" Jareth frowned, confused. "The village in the boonies? Yeah, heard about that. The Bulls saved it from some ice mages. Big loud fight. They took the credit, got a star or whatever. Why?"
Lencar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Good. Asta and the others didn't notice me. Or if they did, they didn't think it was worth reporting to Headquarters. To them, the mist was just part of the enemy's magic.
"So," Lencar said, leaning back. "The Forensic team is investigating bandit disappearances. Why does that concern me? I am cleaning up the Kingdom's trash. The Wizard King should send me a medal."
"You don't get it," Jareth whispered. "They don't care that bandits are dead. They care about volume. You wiped out six groups in two weeks, kid. That's not a hunter; that's a crusade."
Jareth looked him in the eye. "They aren't looking for a monster. They think there's a new organization moving in. A rival syndicate clearing out the competition to set up shop in Nairn. They want to know if you're a threat to the Kingdom's stability."
"They are looking for an organization?" Lencar repeated.
"Yes. They want to find this 'group' and determine its allegiance. They aren't hunting you to execute you yet. They're hunting you to audit you. But if they find you... if they see that you're just one person using ten different magic attributes..."
Jareth dragged a finger across his throat. "Then you become a lab rat. Marx Francois isn't here personally—he's too busy babysitting the Wizard King—but his juniors are thorough. They're asking questions in town. Asking if anyone has seen strangers. Asking about mages with unusual powers."
Lencar sat in silence. The threat level had shifted. It wasn't an immediate "kill on sight" order. It was a bureaucratic inquiry. But in some ways, that was worse. A monster can be fought. An investigation has to be evaded.
"Wizard king isn't paying attention," Lencar deduced aloud.
"For now," Jareth warned. "But if you keep dropping bodies, you're gonna force him to look. You need to cool it, kid. Stop hunting in Nairn. Go on vacation. Take up knitting."
Lencar looked at the table. He had money. He had power. He had a home with Rebecca.
"I cannot stop," Lencar said softly. "But I can relocate."
He stood up. "Keep your ears open, Jareth. If the investigation upgrades to a manhunt, or if a Captain gets involved... you signal me."
"How?"
"Hang a red cloth outside the entrance to the market," Lencar said. "And Jareth?"
"Yeah?"
"If you sell me out to the Forensics team..." Lencar's voice dropped, becoming cold and hollow. "I won't leave ash next time. I'll leave a mess."
Jareth went pale and nodded frantically. "I ain't saying nothing! You're the best customer I have who doesn't threaten to eat my eyes!"
Lencar turned and walked away, melting into the shadows of the tunnel.
He moved quickly, his mind racing through contingencies. The Forensic Knights were looking for a syndicate. That gave him cover. As long as he appeared to be a solitary, low-level mage in public, he didn't fit their profile of a large criminal organization.
But he couldn't hunt in Nairn anymore. Not for a while. The "buffer zone" was burned.
He reached a secluded alcove and prepared to jump back to his room.
Strategy Update:
Status: Under Investigation.
Current Location: Compromised for hunting.
Action: Maintain cover at the restaurant. Shift hunting grounds to the far borders or the Dungeon region when it opens.
He raised his hand. [Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift].
He appeared in his room. It was quiet. The moonlight hadn't moved.
Lencar sat on his bed and removed his mask. He looked at his hands—hands that could freeze water, melt steel, and fold space.
"They are looking for an organization," Lencar whispered, a dry smile touching his lips. "I suppose, with twenty souls inside me... I am an organization."
He lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The Dungeon Arc was coming. That would be the perfect chaos. A massive mana zone, international conflict, dangerous enemies. The perfect place for a "ghost" to disappear into the noise.
Until then, he would peel potatoes. He would tell stories. He would be Lencar.
But the Heretic was awake, and he was waiting for the dungeon doors to open.