He pushed the heavy double doors open. The workshop was a hive of activity. The smokeless forge was roaring, casting a brilliant orange glow over the marble workbenches. Dominante was hunched over a piece of intricately carved silver plating, a jeweler's loupe pressed to her eye, muttering runic equations under her breath.
"The stabilization matrix on the tertiary anchor is still bleeding thirty percent of the input mana," Dominante growled to herself, tapping a fine carving tool against the marble. "If I adjust the angle of the grounding rune by two degrees..."
Lencar walked up to the bench, intentionally letting his heavy boots click against the stone to announce his presence. He reached into his cloak, unslung the heavy leather satchel, and dropped it onto the marble workbench with a deafening, metallic CRASH.
Dominante jumped, nearly dropping her carving tool. She spun around, her vibrant orange hair flying wildly, pressing a hand to her chest.
"Gods above, Lencar! Give a woman some warning!" she scolded, though her eyes quickly darted to the massive, bulging satchel. "What is that? Did you bring me those rare earth crystals I requested?"
"The crystals arrive tomorrow on Garrick's supply run," Lencar replied, his voice resonating smoothly from behind the wooden mask. "This is something else."
He reached out and undid the heavy brass clasps of the satchel, pulling the leather flaps back.
Dominante's jaw dropped. The satchel was filled to the brim with polished gold coins, thick stacks of Clover Kingdom treasury notes, and several pouches of raw, uncut gems. It was a staggering amount of wealth.
"This..." Dominante breathed, her eyes wide. "What is this?"
"Your cut," Lencar stated simply. "From the gross 60% profit returned to the syndicate this week, you are receiving twenty percent. This is your compensation for the artifacts you have produced."
Dominante stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. "You're... you're paying me?"
"Did you assume you were a slave, Dominante?" Lencar asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Well, no, but..." She gestured helplessly to the incredible laboratory around her. "You saved my life. You erased my bounty. You built me the greatest workshop on the continent and provide me with endless raw materials and food. I assumed my labor was the repayment for all of that. I never expected a salary. In the Diamond Kingdom, my research belonged to the state. I never saw a single coin."
"This is not the Diamond Kingdom," Lencar said firmly, his tone carrying a deep, underlying respect. "And I am not King Morris. You are an artisan of unparalleled skill. You create the value that drives our economic engine. A leader who does not fairly compensate the talent that builds his empire is a tyrant destined to be overthrown. You earned this, Dominante. Use it to order whatever exotic materials you desire, or simply hoard it. It is yours."
Dominante looked from the mountain of gold back to the featureless wooden mask. A profound, overwhelming sense of loyalty settled deep in her chest. For the first time in her life, she wasn't a tool being used by a nation; she was a valued partner in an enterprise.
"Thank you, Lencar," she whispered sincerely. "I... I will put it to good use. I have designs for a new type of localized gravity ward that requires a significant amount of refined platinum."
"Send the request list through the portal to Garrick. He will acquire it," Lencar nodded.
He left the artificer to her newfound wealth and moved through the base, seeking out the other two residents.
He found Fanzell in the massive training hall, drenched in sweat, executing a flurry of impossibly fast sword forms. The air in the room was violently turbulent, whipped into miniature cyclones by the sheer force of Fanzell's Wind Magic. The former commander looked healthier, sharper, and far more dangerous than the goofy, half-naked man Lencar had met in Nairn. Consistent food, a safe environment, and a place to truly let loose had restored the edge to the Diamond Kingdom's greatest swordsman.
"Keep your footing lighter on the backswing, Fanzell," Lencar called out over the rushing wind. "Your momentum is carrying you half an inch too far to the left."
Fanzell instantly halted his swing, the cyclones dissipating. He looked down at his feet, realizing Lencar was perfectly correct. He grinned, wiping his brow with a towel. "Eagle eyes, as always, boss. Give me another week, and I'll be ready to spar with you."
"I look forward to it," Lencar chuckled softly.
He found Mariella near the entrance of the base, sitting cross-legged on a stone bench, meticulously sharpening a set of throwing knives. The silver-haired assassin looked up as Lencar approached, her blue eyes sharp and analytical.
"The perimeter is secure," Mariella reported immediately, falling into her professional persona. "The illusion and concealment wards are holding perfectly against the ambient mana storms outside."
"I expected nothing less," Lencar said, stopping in front of her. "But I have a new assignment for you, Mariella. Something that requires your specific... talents."
Mariella stood up, sliding the sharpened knives into the hidden sheaths beneath her cloak. "Name the target."
"No targets. Reconnaissance only," Lencar corrected. "I need you to leave the Crags. Travel to the outskirts of the Royal Capital. Do not enter the central noble districts, but establish a quiet presence in the outer rings. Keep your ears to the ground and your eyes open. I want to know about any abnormal Magic Knight deployments, any whispers of unrest, or any major shifts in the capital's security posture."
Mariella's brow furrowed slightly. "Are we planning an operation in the Capital?"
"Not us," Lencar replied cryptically, his mask completely hiding the deep, canonical knowledge he possessed. "But the board is set, and the pieces are beginning to move. I want to know exactly when the storm hits. Report back via the communication token if anything major happens."
"Understood," Mariella nodded sharply, already mentally preparing her infiltration routes.
With his base secure, his economic engine roaring, and his intelligence network deployed, Lencar had one final visit to make before the night was over.
The forest clearing near the Diamond Kingdom border was quiet, save for the crackle of a large campfire.
The twelve members of the Red Hoods were seated around the flames, their heavy crimson cloaks pulled tight against the night chill. They were no longer the chaotic, drunken rabble Lencar had subjugated weeks ago. They were quiet, disciplined, and alert. Their weapons were clean, their armor was maintained, and their mana signatures hummed with a synchronized, steady rhythm.
When the dark purple portal of Void Step opened on the edge of the clearing, not a single Red Hood panicked. They stood up in perfect unison, stepping away from the fire and dropping to one knee, bowing their heads toward the dark, masked figure that stepped out of the portal.
"Master," the leader of the Red Hoods greeted, his voice respectful and entirely devoid of fear.
Lencar stepped into the light of the campfire. He immediately focused his perception on the leader. The man's mana had undergone a significant qualitative shift. When Lencar had first bound them, the leader had been a competent Ash Magic user, hovering somewhere around Stage 4.
Now, the ambient heat radiating from the man was dense, tightly coiled, and profoundly dangerous. Through rigorous, disciplined training enforced by Lencar's subjugation protocols, the leader had broken his limits. He had reached the equivalent of a Stage 3 Senior Magic Knight. He was a genuine, high-tier threat.