The storm above the Vermillion Belt continued its violent, rhythmic pounding, but Lencar's attention was entirely focused inward—specifically, into the dimensional pocket he had anchored to the silver ring on his finger.
He sat on the obsidian plateau, legs crossed, his mind projected into the Void Vault.
It was a strange sensation, like looking through a keyhole into a universe he had built but didn't fully understand. Inside the vault, the darkness was usually absolute, a static void where time didn't flow and gravity didn't exist. It was a cold storage for cold things.
But now, it was changing.
The Breath of Yggdrasil, the rough green crystal he had harvested from the Kiten Dungeon, was floating in the center of the void. Lencar had expected it to be a battery—a static reservoir of mana that he could tap into when he was running dry. He thought that once removed from the dungeon, it would eventually run out of juice or simply sit there, inert.
He was wrong.
Through his connection to the ring, Lencar watched a fascinating magical phenomenon unfold. The silver ring on his physical finger wasn't just a door; it was a filter. It was acting like a snorkel. The Breath of Yggdrasil was actively pulling the chaotic, aggressive natural mana of the Vermillion Belt through the ring's enchantment.
It sucked in the violent heat and lightning of the outside world, processed it through its crystalline matrix, and then exhaled it into the Void Vault as Refined Natural Mana.
The inside of the dimension was beginning to glow. A soft, verdant mist was forming in the vacuum, swirling around the piles of gold and artifacts.
"It's terraforming," Lencar realized, his eyes widening behind his mask. "It's not just a battery. It's an engine. It's turning this dead space into a biosphere."
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. The Kiten Dungeon—the massive labyrinth filled with traps, golems, and ancient vegetation—had been saturated with mana. The walls themselves hummed with it. Lencar had assumed it was just because it was an "ancient dungeon."
"No," Lencar whispered, watching the green mist swirl inside the ring. "The dungeon wasn't special. The Crystal made it special. For centuries, this stone sat in the treasury, breathing in the earth's mana and breathing out this refined, high-purity energy. It saturated the stones. It animated the golems. It fed the plants."
And now, Lencar had that engine in his pocket.
He watched the green mist thicken. Currently, the vault was just a warehouse. But given enough time? Given enough exposure to high-mana zones?
"This dimension could become a paradise," Lencar murmured, the thought making his heart race. "A sanctuary. If I expand the spatial boundaries... I could grow plants in here. I could create a safe house that exists nowhere on the map. A place where I can recover instantly, where I can hide Rebecca and the kids if the Kingdom falls."
It was a staggering possibility. He had gone looking for loot and found the seed of a new world.
He shifted his focus within the vault. The green mist wasn't just sitting there; it was being consumed.
Floating near the crystal was the rusted, ugly slab of metal known as the Demon-Dweller Sword.
In the hands of a normal mage, the sword was a parasite. It drained mana upon contact, heavy and hungry. But here, in the mana-rich atmosphere of the vault, the sword was in heaven.
It was drinking the green mist.
Lencar watched as the rust on the blade seemed to pulse. The sword was absorbing the Refined Natural Mana at a terrifying rate, yet the Crystal produced it faster than the Sword could eat it.
"Equilibrium," Lencar noted. "The Sword is constantly charging. It's storing the power deep within the anti-magic metal."
This changed everything about his combat doctrine. If he pulled the sword out now, he wouldn't have to feed it his own mana to launch a slash. The sword was already loaded. It was a gun with infinite ammo, constantly reloading itself in the holster.
"I don't need to worry about the drain," Lencar smiled, a genuine, excited expression that no one could see. "I can swing it, fire a blast of pure natural mana, and put it back to recharge. It turns the Demon-Dweller from a liability into a tactical nuke."
He pulled his consciousness back from the vault. He looked at the pile of remaining artifacts on the rock.
There were dozens of them. Golden goblets, jeweled daggers, ornate armor pieces. Lencar picked up a few, scanning them with his Stage 4 senses.
They hummed, but weakly. They were standard magic tools—useful for a commoner, perhaps fetching a few thousand Yuls on the market, but useless to him. They lacked the "soul" of the artifacts he had named.
"Trash," Lencar decided, sweeping them into a separate pile. "I'll store them for funding, but they don't get names."
He shoved the bulk loot into the vault, letting them drift into the green mist to be forgotten until he needed cash.
That left one item on the obsidian slab.
The scroll with the green ribbon.
Sylph, the Spirit of the Wind.
Lencar picked it up. The parchment felt old, textured like dried skin. He felt a faint vibration from it—a haughty, distant hum.
"Yuno's destiny," Lencar said quietly.
In the original story, Yuno found this. It chose him. It gave him the power to fight Mars, to become a Vice-Captain, to rival Asta.
"But I have Wind Magic too," Lencar reasoned. "I have the wind of a commoner, refined by the sniper magic of Saros. I have the mana capacity of a noble. I have the soul of a warrior."
Why shouldn't he have it? Why should he leave the strongest wind power in the world to a boy who got everything handed to him by fate?
Lencar untied the ribbon.
He opened the scroll. It was blank.
"Sylph," Lencar projected his will, pouring his mana into the paper. "I am Lencar Abarame. I offer you a partnership."
Nothing happened.
He pushed harder. He flared his Stage 4 mana, showing off his power. He let the aura of the Breath of Yggdrasil bleed into his hands, showing the Spirit that he had infinite energy.
"Look at me," Lencar commanded. "I have the power to sustain you forever. I have the will to conquer."
The scroll grew warm for a second, then went cold. It was a distinct sensation of turning away. It wasn't that he wasn't strong enough. It was that he felt... wrong.
Lencar's soul was a patchwork quilt of stolen lives. To a Spirit—an entity of pure natural law—Lencar probably felt like an abomination. He felt like a graveyard.
He tried placing the scroll on top of his grimoire, attempting to force a resonance via [Absolute Replication].
Error.
His magic could copy spells. It could copy attributes. But it couldn't copy a sentient entity. It couldn't clone a personality.
He tried bleeding on it. He tried chanting ancient wind spells he had memorized.
Nothing. The scroll remained stubbornly dormant.
Lencar sat back, letting out a long sigh. The wind of the Vermillion Belt howled around him, mocking his failure.
"Fine," Lencar muttered, rolling the scroll back up and tying the ribbon. "Be that way."
He felt a pang of jealousy. It was a human emotion, ugly and sharp. He wanted the power. He wanted the little fairy that could level mountains.
But then, the analyst took over.
"If I keep this," Lencar calculated, "it's a paperweight. I can't use it. But if Yuno gets it... he becomes a powerhouse. He helps defeat the Midnight Sun. He helps defeat the Devil."
If Lencar kept the scroll out of spite, he weakened the "good guys." He increased the probability of the Kingdom falling.
"I am not a villain," Lencar reminded himself. "I am a Heretic. I work outside the system, but I don't want the system to burn down."
He stood up. He looked in the direction of the Kiten Dungeon.
"If it's meant to be, it's meant to be," Lencar decided. "I will put it back. Not for Yuno's sake, but for the sake of the endgame."
He held the scroll. He concentrated on the Verdant Echo Map he had memorized earlier. He visualized the Treasury room. He visualized the empty pedestal where he had found the Demon-Dweller Sword.
He didn't need to fly back. He just needed to send the package.
[Spatial Magic]: [Remote Deposit]
A small rift opened in the air—just big enough for the scroll. Through it, Lencar could see the dark, empty treasury room.
He dropped the scroll. It tumbled through the void and landed on the stone floor, right in the center of the room, waiting for a golden-eyed boy to stumble upon it.
"Good luck, Prince," Lencar whispered as the portal closed. "If you don't pick it up... I'm coming back for it."
He sat down again. The loss of the Spirit stung, but he had the Sword. He had the Crystal. He had the Vault.
The audit was complete. The gains were astronomical.
But Lencar wasn't done. He checked his watch. It had only been four hours since he left Nairn. Rebecca thought he was on a two-day trip.
"I have time," Lencar said, looking at his hands. "I have infinite mana recovery. I have a hostile environment. I have a body that needs to catch up to my magic."
He stood up and cracked his neck. The Loot Goblin was going to sleep. The Warrior was waking up.