He tapped his ring.
"[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift]."
He didn't teleport to the ridge. He teleported inside.
The world twisted violently. The cold wind of the badlands vanished, replaced instantly by the stagnant, heavy air of the dungeon's antechamber.
Lencar appeared in the darkness.
The silence here was absolute, heavy with the weight of centuries. The only light came from the glowing bioluminescent moss clinging to the high, arched ceiling, casting everything in a ghostly teal hue. The pressure was immense—the weight of ancient, condensed mana pressing against his skin like deep water.
"Now to find the entrance runes," Lencar noted. His voice echoed too loudly in the vast, empty hall.
He walked toward the massive stone doors that led to the outside world. From the inside, they were visible—huge slabs of granite, thirty feet tall, covered in glowing blue script. These were the anchor points of the concealment barrier. They were the lock that kept the world out.
He studied them, running his gloved hand over the cold stone. The runes were complex, ancient elven designs that twisted space to hide the physical matter of the dungeon. They were a masterpiece of magical engineering.
"I don't need to break them," Lencar analyzed, his eyes tracing the flow of mana through the carvings. "If I break them, the structural integrity of the entrance might fail, causing a cave-in. I just need to... irritate them. I need to make them glitch."
He stepped back, calculating the precise amount of force needed. Too little, and the barrier would absorb it. Too much, and the doors would explode.
He summoned his grimoire. It floated beside him in the teal light, the pages fluttering.
"[Plant Magic]: [Iron-Root Parasite]."
He slammed his hand onto the stone floor.
CRACK.
Thick, metallic roots erupted from the stone. They didn't attack an enemy; they attacked the door frame. Lencar guided them with surgical precision, forcing the roots to burrow into the microscopic cracks between the containment runes.
"Expand," he commanded, pouring mana into the spell.
The roots thickened, turning from wire-thin tendrils into heavy cables. They pushed against the delicate mana circuits of the barrier, physically separating the flow of energy.
Hummmmm.
The door began to vibrate. The blue light of the runes flickered, turning an angry, unstable violet. The dungeon was reacting to the intrusion, its automated defenses trying to purge the foreign mana but failing against the physical intrusion of the roots.
"More," Lencar gritted his teeth, pouring his Stage 4 mana capacity into the plants. "Get angry. Scream for me."
He added another layer to the disruption.
"[Wind Magic]: [Resonance Whistle]."
He created a high-pitched sonic vibration inside the antechamber. It wasn't a wind blade; it was a frequency. He tuned the pitch to clash with the spatial harmonics of the barrier.
SCREEEEEEE.
The sound was excruciating. The air began to shimmer. The walls shook, dust falling from the ceiling in thick sheets. The mana density in the room spiked, becoming a beacon of chaotic energy that would be visible for miles to anyone with even the most basic sensory magic.
"That should do it," Lencar gasped, cutting the mana flow as the vibration became painful even to him.
The dungeon was waking up. He could feel the pulse of it—a heartbeat of ancient power that was no longer dormant. The concealment barrier was flickering, failing to hide the massive accumulation of energy leaking into the atmosphere. The "Invisibility Cloak" was falling off.
"Time to go."
He didn't wait to see the doors open. If he was here when the barrier fell, he'd be crushed by the influx of outside mana or spotted by the spies who would be rushing the entrance in seconds.
He tapped his ring.
"[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift]."
He vanished.
He reappeared on a cliff face two miles away, hidden deep within a cluster of scrub brush and boulders.
He dropped to his stomach immediately, pulling the [Concealment Magic] around him like a blanket. He adjusted his mask, peering over the edge of the cliff toward the canyon floor.
"Now," Lencar whispered, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Let's see who comes to dinner."
Mars was the perfect benchmark. A mage with immense power, unnatural durability, and the ruthlessness of a living weapon. If Lencar could crack Mars's crystal armor... if he could stand toe-to-toe with a Diamond General... then he would know. He would know if his Mana-Forging worked. He would know if his Stage 3 Control was real. He would know if he was strong enough to stand on the stage with the monsters like the Eye of the Midnight Sun.
"The dungeon isn't empty," Lencar reminded himself, justifying the risk. "I took the sword and the crystal, but there are rooms I didn't explore. There are spell scrolls. There is gold. And there is the political capital of 'saving' the Golden Dawn's prodigy."
If he saved Yuno, he gained leverage over the future Vice-Captain. If he helped Asta, he reinforced their bond. It was a high-risk, high-reward investment.
He sat up. The skirmish below was quieting down. The Clover scouts had retreated to wait for reinforcements, and the Diamond spies were digging in. The dungeon stood open, breathing its heavy, purple mana into the night like a challenge to the world.
"The invitation is sent," Lencar whispered.
He stood up, brushing the dirt and grit from his black cloak. He stretched, his back popping audibly.
He checked the time on his internal clock. 03:00 AM.
He let out a long, weary sigh.
He had to be at "The Rusty Spoon" in three hours. He had to peel potatoes. He had to smile at customers. He had to pretend that the dark circles under his eyes were from reading a good book late at night, not from orchestrating a geopolitical crisis on the border.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. He stood on a cliff, a warlord in the making, watching the start of a miniature war he had engineered. And his biggest concern right now was getting enough sleep so he wouldn't cut his finger while slicing carrots for the lunch rush.
"Priorities," Lencar muttered, shaking his head. "Always the priorities."
He tapped his silver ring.
"[Spatial Magic]: [Coordinate Shift]."
The air warped around him. The canyon vanished. The heavy, suffocating mana of the dungeon faded away.
He was back in his room in Nairn.
The silence of the Scarlet household was profound. It wasn't the menacing silence of the borderlands; it was the soft, comforting silence of a home. He could hear the faint creak of the house settling. He could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of Rebecca from across the hall.
It was a sound of peace. A sound completely oblivious to the storm he had just summoned.
Lencar stood there for a moment in the dark, grounding himself. He took a deep breath, replacing the scent of ozone and dust with the smell of lavender and old wood.
He stripped off his gear, moving with the practiced silence of a thief. He hid the black cloak and the wooden mask in the Void Vault, locking away the Sovereign. He poured water from the pitcher into the basin and washed the canyon dust from his face, scrubbing until his skin was clean and pink.
He climbed into his narrow bed. The sheets were cold, but they warmed quickly.
He lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, his mind still racing with tactical maps, mana calculations, and probability trees. It took a long time for his heart rate to slow down. The adrenaline was a stubborn ghost.
He thought about Asta, likely sleeping in the Black Bulls' base, snoring loudly, unaware that his first real test—the test that would define him as a Magic Knight—was waiting for him in a canyon miles away.
He thought about Yuno, likely polishing his magic stone, unaware that he was about to meet a wall he couldn't just breeze through with talent alone.
"Come on," Lencar whispered into the pillow, his eyes finally drifting shut as exhaustion claimed him. "Come and find it. I'll be waiting in the dark."
He fell asleep to the sound of his own heartbeat, steady and strong, counting down the seconds until the curtain rose on the next act. The script was written. Now, he just had to survive the performance.