The night air above the River Tero was humid and thick with the sound of crickets. Lencar balanced on the tree branch, his [Concealment Magic] wrapping around him like a second skin, bending the light and dampening his mana signature until he was nothing more than a distortion in the air.
He looked down the river. There were a few fishing boats moored at the docks of Oakhaven, but none of them matched the description of Garrick's vessel, The Gilded Eel.
"He's cautious," Lencar noted. "He wouldn't dock at a town. He'd anchor in a cove."
Lencar pushed off the branch. He didn't fall; he hovered. Using [Wind Magic] to manipulate the air pressure around his body, he drifted silently over the water, his boots inches above the surface.
He needed to find the ship, but visual searching in the dark was inefficient.
He landed softly on a large rock jutting out of the water in the middle of the river. He crouched down and placed his hand on the wet stone, which was covered in river moss and algae.
"[Composite Magic]: [Sensory Domain: The Whispering Roots]."
He activated the spell he had engineered for hunting the Red Hoods, but he adapted the parameters. Instead of connecting to the forest network, he pushed his mana into the water and the riverbed plants.
Expansion.
His consciousness stretched out.
He felt the current pushing against the rocks. He felt the fish sleeping in the mud. He felt the roots of the mangroves tangling deep underwater.
The sensory input was overwhelming—a chaotic noise of biology and fluid dynamics. Lencar frowned behind his mask, his mind acting as a filter, stripping away the useless data.
Ignore the fish. Ignore the current. Look for displacement. Look for wood that doesn't belong.
He scanned downstream. Nothing.
He scanned upstream.
Ping.
Three miles upriver. A large object displacing water. Anchored. Heavy. And radiating a faint, sour mana signature.
"Got you," Lencar whispered.
He stood up, breaking the connection.
He launched himself into the air, using [Wind Magic] to fly low and fast, hugging the curve of the river to stay out of sight.
Ten minutes later, he saw it.
The Gilded Eel was a wide-bellied river barge, modified for heavy cargo. It was painted black to blend into the night, and it was anchored in a small inlet shielded by weeping willows. It was a perfect hiding spot.
Lencar slowed his approach, drifting to a stop fifty meters away.
He scanned the deck.
Two figures were patrolling the upper deck. They held lanterns that were shuttered, letting out only a sliver of light. They weren't slacking off; they were walking patterned routes, checking the horizon.
"Mercenaries," Lencar analyzed. "Disciplined. Not drunk."
This was different from the bandits. These men were professionals. If he made a noise, they wouldn't just investigate; they would raise the alarm and likely have protocols for defense.
Lencar drifted closer, moving with the wind.
He waited until the two guards turned their backs to each other at the far ends of the ship.
He moved.
[Wind Magic]: [Gale Step].
He crossed the fifty meters in a blink, landing silently on the aft deck behind the first guard.
The guard started to turn, sensing the displacement of air.
Lencar didn't use magic. He stepped inside the man's guard and delivered a precise, mana-reinforced chop to the vagus nerve in the neck.
Thwump.
The guard collapsed. Lencar caught him before he hit the deck, lowering him gently.
He looked across the ship. The second guard was turning around.
Lencar raised his hand.
[Mist Magic]: [Suffocation Sphere].
A small bubble of vacuum formed around the second guard's head. The man opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came out. He clawed at his throat, panic setting in instantly.
Lencar sprinted across the deck—silent, deadly. He grabbed the struggling man and slammed his head into the railing.
Crack.
The guard went limp.
"Deck secure," Lencar breathed.
He dragged the bodies into the shadows of the cargo crates.
He moved to the captain's quarters. It was a raised cabin at the stern of the ship. Light leaked from under the door, but it was faint.
Lencar approached the door. He sensed the mana inside. One signature. Strong. Fluid. Feels like stagnant water mixed with rot.
Garrick.
Lencar placed his hand on the wood of the door.
[Wind Magic]: [Sound Barrier].
He encased the room in a bubble of pressurized air. No sound would escape this cabin. If Garrick screamed, only Lencar would hear it.
He took a breath. He turned the handle—it was locked, but a quick pulse of [Vibration Magic] shattered the tumbler mechanism—and pushed the door open.
He slipped inside.
The room was surprisingly opulent for a smuggler's barge. Silk drapes, a mahogany desk, and the smell of expensive incense. In the corner, a large bed. Garrick was asleep, a heavy quilt pulled up to his chin.
Lencar moved toward the bed. He intended to end this quickly. A simple knockout, then the harvest.
He took two steps.
Creak.
A floorboard groaned.
Instantly, Garrick's eyes snapped open.
They weren't groggy. They were wide, alert, and glowing with a sickly purple light.
"INTRUDER!" Garrick roared, throwing the quilt off.
Lencar's eyes widened. He was awake? No, a sensory ward on the floor!
Garrick didn't reach for a weapon. He thrust his hands forward.
"Curse-Water Magic: Rotting Geyser!"
A jet of black, foul-smelling water erupted from the floorboards directly beneath Lencar's feet. It wasn't just water; it hissed like acid.
Lencar reacted on instinct. He couldn't dodge in the cramped space.
[Wind Magic]: [Repulsion Blast].
He fired a burst of wind directly downward. The air pressure collided with the water jet, blasting it sideways. The black liquid splashed against the walls, eating through the silk drapes with a sizzling sound.
"You're fast!" Garrick snarled, scrambling out of bed. He was a thin, wiry man with a face like a rat. He grabbed a wand from his nightstand. "Water Magic: Sea Serpent's Fang!"
He swung the wand, unleashing a whip of pressurized water aimed at Lencar's neck.
"You're loud," Lencar countered calmly, stepping under the whip.
The water whip slashed the bookshelf behind him, slicing through wood and leather bindings.
Lencar closed the distance. Garrick was good—fast reflexes, dangerous magic—but he was a caster. He needed range.
Lencar didn't give him any.
He appeared right in front of the smuggler. Garrick's eyes widened in terror as he looked into the wooden mask.
"Chain Magic: Binding Serpent."
Lencar slammed his hand onto Garrick's chest.
Steel chains erupted from Lencar's palm, wrapping around Garrick's torso, pinning his arms to his sides. The suppression seals flared.
"Gah! My mana!" Garrick choked, the light fading from his wand. "Who... who are you?!"
"The Audit," Lencar said.
He didn't waste time with banter. He punched Garrick in the jaw.
CRACK.
Garrick's head snapped back. His eyes rolled up. He slumped in the chains, unconscious.
Lencar stood there for a second, breathing steadily. The adrenaline was pumping, but he kept it contained.
"I was Sloppy," Lencar critiqued himself. "I missed the floor ward. I assumed that he was asleep. Never assume."
He checked the sound barrier. It held. The noise of the fight hadn't leaked.
He dragged the unconscious smuggler out of the room.
"Now for the crew."
He moved to the lower deck. The crew quarters were a long, narrow room filled with hammocks. Twelve men were sleeping, the sound of snoring filling the air. They had no idea their captain had just been taken out.
Lencar stood in the doorway. He didn't want a fight. He wanted inventory.
He opened his grimoire.
[Plant Magic]: [Slumbering Poppy Pollen].
He blew a handful of the purple dust into the room. Then, he used a gentle [Wind Magic] breeze to circulate it, ensuring every sleeping man got a lungful.
The snoring deepened. A few men shifted, settling into a coma-like slumber.
Lencar waited for a minute, then walked in.
"Chain Magic."
He moved from hammock to hammock, binding each man in steel chains, gagging them, and ensuring they wouldn't wake up even if the ship exploded.
Ten minutes later, the ship was silent. The guards were out. The captain was captured. The crew was neutralized.
Lencar stood on the deck of The Gilded Eel, the cool river breeze ruffling his cloak. He looked at the unconscious bodies lined up neatly on the planks.
"Ship secured," Lencar whispered to the moon. "Now... let's see what you're smuggling, Garrick."
He turned back to the captain's quarters, ready to begin the harvest.