The mana-forbidden zone was quiet in the strange, unnatural way only such places could be. No birds. No rustle of leaves. No distant beasts. Only the faint hum of ambient mana thinning in the atmosphere, like air slowly leaking from a sealed room. It was an environment that rejected magic, resisted it, smothered it. Yet for Lencar, this suffocation was precisely the pressure he needed.
He stood on a shattered patch of stone, shirt removed, grimoire hovering lazily beside him. Every breath left small fractures of misty mana around his skin—faint, inconsistent, unstable.
That instability annoyed him.
He clenched his teeth.
"This is nothing but a glorified shield. Why am I taking so long to perfect it?"
He understood why, of course. His foundation was too broad. His arsenal too large. His magic density far beyond ordinary mages—yet his fine control still lagged behind prodigies like Yuno or Noelle. Lencar's magic expanded like a raging sea; asking it to condense evenly around his skin was like asking a hurricane to sit still.
But difficulty only hardened his resolve.
He sat down cross-legged and activated his Mage-Mode—smooth, controlled, natural. Silver-blue mana rippled outward and wrapped him in a faint glow. He focused on stabilizing it around his hands… then his arms… then his torso…
The glow flickered.
The mana suddenly spiked.
"Too much pressure."
He stopped it before the backlash burned his palms. A thin line of steam rose from his forearms.
Mana Skin required consistency. Uniformity. Flow without fluctuation. But Lencar's mana inherently had a will—it pushed forward, devoured, expanded, overwhelmed. Tempering that hunger was the real training.
He stood up again.
"Let's try the Culling Technique."
It was something he derived from observing the mana flow of natural beasts—how animals instinctively applied their mana only where needed, not wasting even a drop. He coated only his right hand.
A thin sheet of magic formed, shimmering faintly.
Better.
But still not perfect. The thickness varied, denser near the fingertips, thinner near the wrist.
"Not enough. Compress."
He pushed.
The mana shrank inward.
The surface shimmered more evenly now—tight, solid, almost metal-like. He raised his hand and punched a boulder in front of him.
The stone cracked.
His hand did not.
A smile touched his lips. Progress.
He coated the other hand. Then his arms. Then both legs. Each layer took minutes of deep focus. Each slight misbalance threatened to break the whole formation.
"This is why mages spend years on this…"
He inhaled deeply.
"I don't have years."
He pushed more mana outward.
A wave of resistance hit him instantly—the mana-nullifying environment counteracted him, thinning the layer. This was why he trained here: if his Mana Skin could stand in this place, it would be unmatched elsewhere.
Lencar lowered his stance, closed his eyes, and extended his senses through the mana field. He shaped it like a second skin—not armor, but an extension of his body. Not a barrier, but a layer of intent.
The environment fought him.
He fought back harder.
Minutes turned to an hour. Sweat rolled down his back. The air trembled around him.
Then—
Something clicked.
The mana around him pulsed, then settled into an even flow—stable, smooth, controlled.
A flawless Mana Skin wrapped him, glowing subtly. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Efficient.
He opened his eyes.
"I can hold this."
He moved—slow at first, then faster—punching, kicking, dodging imaginary blows. The mana flowed with him, adapting to each motion. No flickers. No spikes.
This was real progress.
But he wasn't done.
Lencar dropped to a stance and channeled mana to his palms, focusing the skin there until it sharpened, forming invisible edges.
He sliced downward.
A clean cut carved into the ground—smooth as a blade.
"Mana Skin: Edge-Weaving. Good."
He tested flexibility next—letting the skin soften around joints and tighten around impact points. Then he added mobility—short dashes, abrupt stops, rapid pivots. The skin adjusted with each movement.
Hours passed.
When he finally stopped, he exhaled slowly. The Mana Skin around him did not shatter; it didn't even waver. Instead, it pulsed calmly along with his breathing.
This was the kind of mastery real battles demanded.
He raised his palm and summoned a thin orb of mana. The orb hovered above his hand, the Mana Skin keeping it from destabilizing.
"Finally."
He wasn't Yuno, born with the world's gentlest affinity. He wasn't Noelle, whose overflowing power eventually sculpted beautiful precision. Lencar's path was different: a violent storm being forced into the shape of a needle.
He tightened his fist.
The orb compressed into nothingness.
He dispelled the Mana Skin and stretched his stiff shoulders.
"Good progress. Next time, I'll test it under heretic mode."
He knew combining the two modes would eventually create something monstrous… but that was a challenge for later.
For now, he was satisfied with this breakthrough.
He walked toward the shadowed edge of the mana forbidden zone, mana settling inside him like a calm tide.