Lencar spent the next twenty minutes weaving a hilarious, vibrant tale. He used different voices for the grumpy, frustrated King, the confused mages, and the invisible, mischievous wind that kept playing tricks on the royal guards—blowing their helmets off and tangling their capes. He pantomimed the King struggling to close the iron box, only to find that when he finally slammed the lid shut, he hadn't caught the wind at all; he had only trapped a stale, heavy silence.
"...and so, the King learned that some things in this world are meant to be wild, and if you try to lock them in an iron box, you lose the very thing that made them special in the first place," Lencar finished softly, settling back into his chair.
Marco let out a huge yawn, rubbing his eyes. "That was a good story, Lencar. But I would have just used a really big net."
Lencar chuckled softly, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair. "I'll be sure to pass your tactical advice along to the King, Marco."
Rebecca stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Alright, you wild things. That's enough excitement for one rainy night. Time for bed."
With a few sleepy groans, the children gathered their blankets. Lencar helped tuck them into their beds, ensuring the window shutters were locked tight against the storm. When he returned to the main room, Rebecca was already blowing out the candles.
"Thank you," she whispered in the dim light, offering him a tired, genuine smile. "They listen to you better than they listen to me half the time."
"They just like the silly voices," Lencar replied, keeping his tone light. "Get some sleep, Rebecca. You look exhausted."
"I intend to," she sighed, turning toward her room. "Goodnight, Lencar."
"Goodnight."
Lencar waited in the center of the living room until he heard the soft click of her bedroom door closing, followed a few minutes later by the steady, rhythmic breathing that indicated she had fallen fast asleep.
The warmth and domestic tranquility of the evening immediately melted away from his posture. His eyes hardened. His jaw clenched. The time for stories was over.
He walked quietly to his room, retrieved his heavy black cloak and the featureless wooden mask from his spatial ring, but he didn't put them on just yet. He dressed in a pair of sturdy, reinforced trousers and a simple, tight-fitting dark shirt.
He stood in the center of his dark bedroom, extending his right hand. He visualized the jagged, desolate landscape hundreds of miles away.
"Spatial Magic: Void Step."
The dark purple portal tore open silently, swallowing him whole.
The transition was violent. Lencar stepped out of the portal directly onto the high, exposed plateau of the Thunder-Crag Peaks. The freezing rain immediately soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his heavily muscled chest. The deafening roar of thunder shook the bedrock beneath his boots. The ambient mana here was a chaotic, crushing weight, completely untamed and hostile to human life.
Lencar didn't flinch. He walked over to the edge of the plateau, where two massive, irregular boulders of solid granite rested.
He picked up the heavy iron chains attached to them and wrapped them securely around his waist, locking the thick carabiner shut. He completely suppressed his own vast mana reserves, dragging his power deep into his core and locking it away. He would rely on nothing but raw, physical sinew, bone, and willpower.
He dropped into a low crouch, gripping the jagged stone beneath his feet, and began to pull.
The agony was instantaneous.
The iron chains dug mercilessly into his waist. The granite boulders, weighing well over two thousand pounds, scraped violently against the plateau. Every muscle fiber in his legs and back screamed, threatening to snap under the immense tension.
Pull. Breathe. Pull. Breathe.
Lencar ignored the pain. He needed this suffering. He was preparing his vessel for the "Overclocking the Soul" rune. If his physical body couldn't withstand the crushing pressure of dead-lifting granite in a freezing storm, it would absolutely explode when he forced his Stage 3 Peak mana into a continuous, unbroken loop within his own veins.
For three grueling hours, Lencar subjected himself to absolute hell. He dragged the boulders back and forth across the plateau. When his legs gave out, he unhooked the chains and moved to a sheer vertical cliff face, climbing the slippery, jagged obsidian with his bare hands until his knuckles bled freely, the rain washing the crimson streaks down his forearms.
He pushed himself until his vision blurred, until his lungs burned like they were filled with hot coals, and until his arms shook violently with every movement.
He was hanging by one bleeding hand from a narrow rock outcropping, roughly fifty feet above the plateau, when he felt it.
A sudden, sharp pulse of heat radiated from the small, concealed pocket on his belt.
Lencar gritted his teeth, pulling himself up over the ledge with a final, agonizing heave. He collapsed onto his back on the wet stone, gasping for air, letting the freezing rain wash over his face.
He reached into his pocket with trembling, bloody fingers and pulled out the smooth, black obsidian token.
The intricate silver inlay in the shape of a leafless tree was currently glowing with a faint, pulsing blue light. It was vibrating slightly, carrying a specific, encrypted magical frequency that Lencar immediately recognized.
It was Mariella. She was utilizing the Far-Speaker's Mirror modification he had anchored to the token.
Lencar didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his own body. His shirt was torn to shreds, his knuckles were raw and bleeding, and he was covered in mud and freezing rainwater. He was completely out of breath. If he answered the call looking like a half-dead peasant who had just been dragged behind a carriage, the carefully constructed illusion of the omnipotent, untouchable Man would shatter instantly.
He needed to recover, and he needed to look the part.
Lencar closed his eyes and channeled a tiny sliver of his remaining mana into the silver ring on his finger. The spatial tear opened directly beside him on the ledge. He rolled his aching body through the portal, leaving the violent storm of the Thunder-Crags behind.
He emerged into the serene, boundless void of the spatial dimension. The soft, ethereal green light of the Breath of Yggdrasil bathed the area, completely cutting off the noise of the thunder and the howling wind.
Lencar dragged himself beneath the hovering, ancient relic. He didn't hold back this time. He opened his mana core completely, drawing massive, concentrated streams of Quintessence directly into his body.
The healing process was intensely comfortable, yet profoundly rapid. The pure, liquid life force washed through his exhausted veins. The micro-tears in his muscle fibers knit back together, becoming denser and stronger. The bleeding cuts on his knuckles sealed themselves, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. His heart rate, which had been hammering dangerously fast, slowed to a calm, steady rhythm.
Within five minutes, the physical exhaustion of a three-hour brutal workout was completely erased.
Lencar stood up in the green light. He stripped off the ruined, wet shirt and tossed it aside. From a small wooden chest he kept stored in the void, he retrieved a fresh, perfectly clean black tunic and the heavy, light-absorbing traveling cloak. He fastened the cloak at his throat, ensuring the fabric draped heavily, hiding his physical build.
Finally, he picked up the featureless wooden mask. He pressed it against his face, feeling the enchantments lock in, instantly altering the resonance of his voice.
He was ready.
Lencar pulled the glowing obsidian token from his belt. He channeled a precise, steady stream of mana into the center of the silver tree inlay, completing the connection.
Instead of just hearing a voice, Lencar utilized a localized illusion spell, mimicking the visual projection of the traditional Magic Knight communication devices. The air roughly two feet above the token shimmered, the ambient green light bending and weaving until it formed a crisp, floating square window.