Usually, this was the witching hour. This was when Lencar stripped off his humanity, opened the portal, and went to break himself against the rocks.
He stood in the center of his dark room. He tapped his ring.
"[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift]."
The air warped. He stepped through the rift into the Thunder-Crag Peaks.
The storm was raging, as always. The wind screamed like a banshee, tearing at his clothes. The lightning split the sky in blinding fissures of violet light.
But tonight, Lencar didn't draw the Demon-Dweller Sword. He didn't summon the Black Iron Gauntlets. He didn't pull out the scrolls or the potions.
He stripped off his shirt, exposing his scarred, mana-hardened torso to the freezing hail.
He began to run.
He ran across the jagged obsidian plateaus. He dropped and did push-ups until his arms shook. He held planks on the edge of a cliff while the lightning struck below him, holding the position until his core trembled violently.
He focused entirely on his own biology. He focused on the blood pumping in his veins, the thudding rhythm of his heart, the burn of lactic acid in his muscles. He needed to remind his body that it was the primary weapon. The sword could break. The gauntlets could melt. The mana could run dry. But the flesh—the flesh had to endure.
After two hours, he stopped.
He sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the abyss. He let the freezing rain wash the sweat and grime from his back. He was exhausted. Every muscle fiber screamed for relief.
Usually, he would tap the ring and flood his system with Quintessence to erase the fatigue instantly.
But tonight, he didn't.
He let the pain sit there. He let the dull ache settle into his bones. He wanted to feel the limit. He wanted to remember that he was mortal.
"Good enough for today," he thought to himself, watching a thunderhead roil below him.
He stood up, shivering violently, and stepped back through the portal.
He returned to his room, collapsed into bed without casting a warming spell, and slept for six hours.
The next day, the routine repeated, but with a critical difference.
Lencar worked. He laughed. He played. But that night, when the house went quiet, he didn't open the portal.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling patterns.
He was tapering. Just like an athlete before the Olympics, he was letting his body super-compensate.
He could feel it. His body was buzzing with stored energy. His mana core was capped at its absolute peak, vibrating with suppressed power. His muscles, finally given a full cycle to repair without interruption, felt like coiled steel springs. His glycogen stores were topped off.
He lay there in the dark, visualizing the dungeon. He visualized the crystal corridors. He visualized Mars.
Mars wasn't a scorpion. Mars wasn't a bandit. Mars was a tragedy wrapped in diamond armor. He was a child who had been forced to kill his friends to survive. He was a mirror of what Lencar could have become if he lost his humanity.
"I have to be perfect," Lencar whispered to the darkness. "One mistake, and the diamond crushes the glass."
The next morning, the sun rose with a bloody hue, casting long, red shadows across the floor of the Scarlet household.
It was departure day.
Lencar packed a small leather satchel. He didn't strictly need supplies—everything from food to weapons was stored in the Void Vault—but he needed the prop. He couldn't walk out the door empty-handed for a four-day trip without raising questions.
He threw in a change of clothes, a water skin, and a loaf of bread. The bag felt light. Too light for the weight of what he was about to do.
He walked into the living room.
Rebecca was there. She was sitting at the small table, holding a cup of tea with both hands as if trying to warm them. She hadn't slept well. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in a messy wave.
She looked up as he entered.
"You're leaving," she said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
"Just for a few days," Lencar said, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle. "Three, maybe four. I'll be back before you run out of flour."
Before she could respond, Marco ran into the room, still in his pajamas. He slammed into Lencar's leg, wrapping his arms around his knee.
"Bring me a souvenir!" Marco shouted, looking up with wide, trusting eyes. "A dragon scale! Or a magic rock!"
Lencar laughed, but it sounded hollow to his own ears. He reached down and ruffled the boy's hair. He knelt, bringing himself to eye level with Marco and Luca, who was peeking around the doorway.
"I'll see what I can do, buddy," Lencar said. "But I need a favor. You guys listen to Rebecca, okay? You're the guards while I'm gone. Keep the fortress safe. No letting the monsters under the bed get out."
"Yes, sir!" Marco saluted, puffing out his chest.
Lencar stood up. He turned to Rebecca.
She put the tea down with a sharp clink and walked over to him. She reached out and fixed his collar, her hands lingering on the rough fabric of his tunic. She smoothed a crease that wasn't there.
"You're a terrible liar, Lencar," she whispered. Her voice was so low the kids couldn't hear, but it carried the force of a scream.
Lencar froze. The smile died on his lips.
"This isn't a courier job," she continued, looking up at him. Her eyes were fierce, watery, and terrifyingly perceptive. "I don't know what it is. Maybe it's hunting. Maybe it's something worse. Maybe it's something to do with why you have scars you won't talk about. But I know you."
She placed her hand flat over his heart. She could feel it pounding.
"You have a reason. I can feel that. You're not running away; you're running toward something. So I won't stop you. But don't you dare insult me by thinking I believe you're delivering mail."
Lencar looked at her.
For a moment, the urge to confess was overwhelming. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her about the dungeon, about the Diamond Kingdom, about the eye in the sky and the army he was building to keep this exact living room safe from the fires of war. He wanted to tell her that he was the monster under the bed, keeping the other monsters away.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Knowledge was dangerous. Ignorance was a shield he had to let her keep.
"I'm sorry," Lencar whispered, his voice rough. He covered her hand with his own. "I'll explain... one day. When the work is done. When it's safe."
"Just come back," she said, her voice cracking, a single tear escaping to trace a line down her cheek. "That's the only payment I want. Don't you dare die on some road I don't know the name of."
She hugged him. It wasn't a gentle hug; it was fierce and desperate, burying her face in his chest. Lencar hugged her back, grounding himself in her warmth, memorizing the smell of her hair and the soap she used.
This was the anchor. This was why he fought. This was why he was about to walk into hell.
He broke the embrace gently, stepping back. "I'll be back."
He walked out the door. The little bell above the frame chimed—a cheerful sound that felt incredibly out of place.
He didn't look back. If he looked back, he might stay. And if he stayed, they would all die when the Eye came.
He walked through the streets of Nairn. He waved to the baker. He nodded to the guards at the gate. He walked for three miles down the main road, just a traveler with a bag, kicking up dust in the morning light.
Then, when the road bent and the trees grew thick, he cut into the woods.
He walked until the silence of the forest swallowed the sounds of civilization. The birds stopped singing. The air grew still.
He stopped in a small clearing. He dropped the leather satchel on the ground. It was empty anyway.
He stood straight. The slouch of the dishwasher vanished. The shoulders squared. The eyes went cold.
The aura of a Stage 4 ( mage flared around him, displacing the dead leaves on the ground in a swirling vortex.
He tapped his ring. The wooden mask appeared in his hand. He looked at it for a second—the face of the Heretic.
He put it on.
He visualized the coordinates. The canyon. The ridge. The entrance to the dungeon.
"[Spatial Magic]: [Long-Range Coordinate Shift]."
The forest vanished. The boy vanished. Only the mission remained.