Inside was a pair of gauntlets. They were beautiful in a brutal, industrial way—forged from matte-black iron and etched with silver runes that glowed with a faint, shifting light that seemed to change color depending on the angle. They were lined with soft, mana-conductive silk.
"Black iron gauntlets," Dominante explained, her voice gaining a hint of professional enthusiasm. "They're designed to act as a frequency dampener. If you channel multiple attributes at once, the gauntlets take the heat of the friction instead of your skin. They won't melt, and they'll keep your arms from exploding when the mana frequencies clash. I call them 'The Harmonizers'."
Lencar slipped the right one on. It felt snug, like it was made specifically for his hand. He felt the runes hum against his skin.
"The price," Lencar said, looking up from the iron.
"You paid twenty thousand Yuls as a deposit," Dominante said, crossing her arms. "The materials alone cost double that, and the labor... well, you're paying for my genius. Pay the remaining forty thousand, and we're square. And then you can go back to being a ghost."
Lencar didn't hesitate. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a heavy bag of coins he had prepared from his stash.
"Forty thousand," he said, handing the bag over. "A fair price for a masterpiece."
Dominante took the bag, her eyes widening at the weight. She looked at the masked boy, her curiosity clearly winning over her fear for the first time.
"Who are you, exactly? A spy? A rogue knight?"
Lencar adjusted the gauntlet, the black iron gleaming in the moonlight. "Just a man who wants to own the bakery, Dominante. Not just eat the tarts."
Dominante stared at the heavy bag of gold in her hand, then back at Lencar. The leather pouch was warm, heavy with the promise of survival. For months, she had been scraping by, selling minor trinkets to travelers and repairing farm equipment for copper coins, all while hiding in the damp shadows of the Forsaken Realm.
Now, a masked stranger had just handed her forty thousand Yuls without blinking.
"You have a lot of money for a ghost," Dominante remarked, her voice wavering between suspicion and relief. She tucked the bag into the inner pocket of her cloak, feeling the weight settle against her ribs. "Most people who wear masks in the woods are looking to take money, not give it."
Lencar ignored the jab. He was busy inspecting the merchandise. He flexed his right hand, watching the black iron plates of the gauntlet slide over each other with the smooth, silent precision of a snake's scales. He pushed a tiny pulse of wind mana into the lining. The silver runes etched into the metal flared briefly—a soft, geometric glow—and then dimmed as they dissipated the energy heat.
"Money is just a tool. Just like these gauntlets," Lencar replied, his voice calm and modulated. "I value results. And looking at the syntax of these runes... this is a very good result."
Dominante relaxed slightly, her professional pride piqued. Even a fugitive Witch liked to be complimented on her craft.
"They aren't just iron," she explained, stepping closer, her fear temporarily forgotten in the face of a knowledgeable customer. "I used a high-density mana-conducting alloy I scavenged from an old dungeon near the border. The inner lining is etched with stabilization runes I developed myself. They act as a buffer. If you try to channel two conflicting mana types—say, Fire and Water—the runes absorb the dissonance vibration. They'll keep your arms from exploding."
Lencar looked closely at the runes. To an ordinary Clover Kingdom mage, they were just pretty patterns. To the Magic Knights, they were archaic script. But to Lencar, who viewed magic through the lens of a data analyst, they were code.
He traced a silver line on the knuckle.
"The syntax is fascinating," Lencar murmured, more to himself than to her. "Clover Kingdom runes are usually flowery. They rely on the caster's intent and emotional state. They flow like water."
He looked up, meeting her purple eyes through the eyeholes of his wooden mask.
"But these... these are geometric. Rigid. Brutal efficiency. They don't ask the mana to move; they force it into a grid. It's an industrial approach to magic."
Dominante stiffened. Her hand, which had been gesturing to the gauntlet, froze in mid-air. The professional pride vanished, replaced instantly by the cold dread of a woman who had just realized she had shown too much.
"You know too much about rune theory for a simple buyer," she whispered, her other hand drifting toward her sleeve again.
"It's not Clover craftsmanship," Lencar continued, his voice steady, ignoring her growing agitation. "It's not Heart Kingdom methodology either—they use natural runes. No... this aggressive, militaristic syntax... this belongs to a kingdom that treats mages like weapons."
The air in the clearing grew heavy. The wind seemed to stop.
Lencar took a step forward.
"It's Diamond Kingdom engineering. Isn't it, Dominante Code?"
The name hung in the air like a curse.
Dominante stumbled back as if he had physically struck her. Her face drained of color beneath her mask.
"How..." she choked out. "How do you know that name?"
From the shadows of the birch trees, the temperature plummeted.
Mariella moved. She didn't walk; she blurred. The ice magic assassin stepped out of the darkness, her grimoire open and glowing with a lethal, pale blue light. Three jagged icicles formed in the air around her, aimed directly at Lencar's throat.
"You're a spy," Mariella hissed, her eyes cold and dead. "I knew it. You're one of Morris's dogs."
Lencar didn't flinch. He didn't raise his guard. He didn't even look at the icicles hovering inches from his jugular. He kept his gaze fixed on Dominante.
"Tell your student to stand down, Dominante," Lencar said calmly. "If I were a Diamond Kingdom assassin, we wouldn't be having a conversation. I would have poisoned the air before I even stepped onto this roof. Or I would have brought a squad of Mage Warriors to burn this forest down."
Dominante was trembling. She looked at Mariella, then back at Lencar. Her mind was racing, calculating odds, looking for escape routes.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice shrill. "How did you find me? I've been careful. I haven't used my name in years. I haven't cast a major spell since I crossed the border!"
"I deal in information," Lencar lied smoothly. "And frankly, you haven't been as careful as you think. You sell high-grade magical items in the black market of the Forsaken Realm. Items with Diamond syntax. Do you really think the underground brokers don't talk? Do you think the whispers don't travel?"
He took another step, closing the distance. Mariella tensed, the icicles vibrating, but Dominante raised a hand to stop her.
"Wait," Dominante commanded, her voice shaking. "Let him speak. If he wanted us dead, he had the element of surprise."
Lencar nodded. "Exactly. I'm not here to turn you in, Dominante. And I'm not here to kill you."
He looked at her, his posture shifting from that of a customer to that of a negotiator.
"I know why you're here. You're running. You're hiding from the Diamond Kingdom's assassins. You're hiding from Morris. You're living in a shed, selling genius-level inventions for scrap just to buy food for yourself and Fanzell."
At the mention of Fanzell Kruger, Dominante's eyes widened further. This masked man knew everything. He knew her family. He knew her weakness.
"What do you want?" she whispered, defeated. "You have the gauntlets. You have the gold. Just leave us alone."
"I want to make a trade," Lencar said. "A real one."
He gestured to the dark woods around them.
"Look at you. You're a genius. You were one of the brightest minds in the Diamond Kingdom's research division. And now? You're a fugitive living like a rat. You're terrified of every shadow. You can't walk into a town without looking over your shoulder. You can't use your magic freely because the signature might alert a tracker."
Lencar leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, compelling pitch.
"That's not a life, Dominante. That's a slow death."
Dominante looked down at her muddy boots. He was right. Every day was a torture of paranoia.
"And what do you offer?" she asked bitterly. "Pity?"
"I offer a way out," Lencar said. "I offer you a chance to walk in the light again."