The shimmering, localized projection of the small, dusty attic in the Noble Realm hovered steadily in the serene green light of Lencar's spatial dimension. Mariella's tired but fiercely intelligent blue eyes looked back at him from the floating window.
After delivering the crucial intelligence regarding the upcoming Magic Knight awards banquet, the conversation naturally shifted to the mundane but necessary logistics of their growing operation.
"The last supply drop from Garrick arrived on schedule," Mariella informed him, her tone shifting back to the dry, clinical delivery she preferred for operational details. "The preserved meats and the fresh root vegetables were of adequate quality. However, Dominante has requested that the next shipment include a higher volume of refined lamp oil and high-grade charcoal. She has been running the forge late into the night, and the ventilation system is burning through our current fuel reserves faster than anticipated."
"I will relay the request to the smuggler," Lencar replied, his masked voice a calm, metallic rumble. "Is Fanzell managing the confined space well? I know he prefers the open air."
Mariella offered a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "He complains constantly about hitting the ceiling with his extended wind arcs, but he spends eight hours a day in that training hall regardless. He is restless, Master. He knows we are preparing for something, and he is eager to prove his worth."
"His time will come," Lencar assured her. "Patience is a weapon we must forge just as carefully as any sword. Which brings me to your orders for the coming week."
Lencar stepped closer to the glowing projection, his posture straightening into a line of absolute, uncompromising authority. The casual, conversational tone completely vanished.
"Listen to me carefully, Mariella," Lencar instructed, every word carrying a heavy, undeniable weight. "When the sun rises on the day of this royal banquet, you are to evacuate your position in the outer ring of the Noble Realm entirely."
Mariella frowned slightly, her assassin's instincts immediately rebelling against the idea of abandoning a prime observation post right before a major event. "Evacuate? Master, if there is a disruption, being close to the central district will allow me to gather the most accurate intelligence on the Magic Knights' response times and defensive formations."
"No," Lencar cut her off sharply. "The disruption I anticipate will not be a minor skirmish. It will be a coordinated, highly destructive assault on the capital itself. The central districts will become a war zone. The perimeter will be locked down by whoever remains of the royal guard. If you are caught inside those walls when the chaos erupts, your silver hair and your lack of a Clover Kingdom grimoire will make you an immediate target for both the invaders and the defending knights."
Mariella's eyes widened a fraction. The sheer certainty in his voice sent a cold chill down her spine. He spoke of a massive invasion on the most heavily fortified city on the continent as if it were a scheduled rainstorm.
"You will fall back to a high vantage point well outside the capital walls," Lencar commanded. "A nearby hill or a tall watchtower in the surrounding countryside. You will observe the structural damage and the flow of the battle from a safe distance. Under no circumstances are you to enter the capital during the assault. Is that perfectly clear?"
Mariella bowed her head deeply. "It is perfectly clear, Master. I will establish a perimeter watch post outside the city limits."
"Good," Lencar said, the tension easing slightly from his broad shoulders. "Keep the communication token close. I will contact you when the dust settles. Stay hidden."
He cut the flow of mana to the token. The image of the silver-haired assassin vanished, plunging the spatial dimension back into quiet, undisturbed serenity.
Lencar stood beneath the glowing green aura of the Breath of Yggdrasil for a few more minutes, allowing the Quintessence to completely flush the lingering fatigue from his muscles. The intelligence Mariella had provided was the final puzzle piece. The canonical Royal Capital Assault was locked in. The Eye of the Midnight Sun was about to make their grand, bloody debut on the world stage.
He slipped the token back into his pocket, grabbed his discarded, sweat-soaked shirt, and stepped out of the void, returning to the freezing, howling misery of the Thunder-Crag Peaks.
He wrapped the heavy iron chains back around his waist, hooking them to the massive granite boulders. The rain lashed against his bare back, but he hardly felt it. His mind was miles away, calculating timelines, assessing threats, and mapping out exactly how he was going to turn the impending disaster in the capital to his own advantage. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, dragging the stone across the plateau, pushing his physical vessel closer and closer to the threshold required for the closed-loop rune.
In the blink of an eye, the days bled together into a grueling, relentless rhythm.
By night, Lencar tore his muscles apart on the jagged peaks of the Grand Magic Zone, bathing in freezing rain and the deafening crack of natural lightning. By day, he stood over the chopping blocks of the Rusty Spoon, smiling politely at customers and washing endless stacks of greasy pewter plates.
The physical toll of maintaining this extreme duality was massive, but the Quintessence kept his body from breaking down completely. Mentally, however, the pressure was beginning to mount.
It was now just two days away. Forty-eight hours until the Star Awards Festival. Forty-eight hours until Rades Spirito flooded the lower districts with his undead, and Patolli sprang his trap on the Captain of the Crimson Lion Kings.
The morning sun filtered weakly through the small window of the Scarlet household kitchen, casting a pale, buttery light across the worn wooden table.
Lencar sat in his usual chair, a steaming mug of dark, bitter tea cradled in his hands. Across from him, the morning routine was in full, chaotic swing. Marco was standing on his tiptoes, desperately trying to reach the platter of fried sausages sitting in the center of the table before his older sister noticed. Luca was busy trying to braid little Pem's sparse hair, while the toddler aggressively chewed on a piece of crusty bread.
"Marco, if you take a third sausage before your sister has even had one, I'm making you scrub the washboards this afternoon," Rebecca warned without even turning around. She was standing by the hearth, flipping a thick, heavy pancake in an iron skillet.
Marco immediately pulled his hand back, looking incredibly guilty. "I wasn't taking one! I was just... checking to make sure they weren't burnt!"
"Nice try, kid," Lencar chuckled softly, taking a sip of his tea. He reached out, grabbed a sausage from the platter, and casually tossed it onto Luca's empty plate.
Rebecca sighed, shaking her head as she carried the skillet to the table and slid the massive pancake onto a serving dish. She untied her apron, draped it over the back of a chair, and finally sat down across from Lencar, pouring herself a cup of water.
She took a long sip, her green eyes studying the young man sitting across from her.
Lencar looked the same as he always did—calm, polite, and ruggedly handsome in a quiet, understated way. But Rebecca had sharp instincts. She had spent enough time around him to notice the subtle, almost imperceptible shifts in his demeanor. Lately, there was a tightness around his eyes, a faint, lingering tension in his broad shoulders that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. He looked like a coiled spring, constantly braced for an impact that only he could see coming.