The world returned in a swirl of distorted color.
Lencar emerged from the spatial fold with one hand gripping the mist-shrouded body of Fuegoleon Vermillion. The wind around them screamed instantly—howling like a living thing as the Grand Magic Zone tore open above the horizon.
The sky here was always wrong.
Clouds twisted into spirals, lightning stitched fractures across the air, mana swelled and collapsed like tides trapped in a whirlpool. It was a place where magic lived like a storm with a pulse.
It was the only kind of place where Lencar could do this safely.
He lowered Fuegoleon onto a raised outcrop of stone. The Captain's body was limp, breathing shallowly, the front of his uniform soaked with blood. The torn stump where his arm once was still crackled with faint residue from the spatial attack that severed it.
For a moment, Lencar just stared at him.
Not coldly.
Not indifferently.
He inhaled through the mask, silent but steady.
"…You fought well," he murmured.
His voice carried a soft heaviness — not pity, not sorrow, but a recognition of what men like Fuegoleon gave to the world.
A quiet acknowledgment.
Lencar's gloved fingers hovered above the Captain's throat, checking the pulse a second time.
Strong enough.
Alive.
Good.
He stepped back, boots scraping lightly against the uneven stone. The storm winds surged past him, twisting his coat, but he stood unmoving — calm, collected in a way that didn't belong in a place this violent.
His own grimoire opened behind him.
It didn't flutter wildly or glow violently. It simply opened… like a loyal instrument waiting for its next function.
Lencar lifted Fuegoleon's grimoire gently with one hand.
A thick, powerful tome with blazing Vermillion-red pages, scarred from battles, stained with ash and smoke. Each page pulsed with the density of a Captain-level mage. The spells were carved into the paper like fire etched into steel.
Lencar's breath exhaled lightly at the weight of it.
"Captain-class fire magic," he whispered.
There was respect in that tone.
But the decision had already been made.
He raised his other hand.
The storm around him dimmed.
The Grand Magic Zone seemed to still — as if sensing what was about to happen.
"Absolute Replication."
The words were spoken softly, without drama, without ceremony.
They were not a declaration.
They were a key turning in a lock.
Fuegoleon's grimoire trembled once.
Then, with a faint sigh of dissolving mana, the pages began to break apart.
Not violently — gently.
Like a book turning into floating embers.
Page by page, spell by spell, the Captain's knowledge lifted into the air in glowing strands of flame-colored script.
Blazing arc-shaped runes hovered around Lencar.
Each was a spell, a technique, a lifetime of mastery.
His Replica Magic accepted the input cleanly, as if waiting for it.
No mutation.
No chaotic backlash.
His core did not warp.
It did not fracture.
It simply processed the new data — neatly, efficiently, methodically.
A new page formed inside his own grimoire.
One single page.
But on that page:
All of Fuegoleon's battle spells
All Vermillion-style fire reinforcement sequences
All flame-based movement techniques
All high-level incantations
Even the subtle flame-control instincts that separated royal fire from common fire
All stored not as separate spells…
But as one comprehensive set.
A perfect archive of Fuegoleon Vermillion's magic.
The last ember of the original grimoire faded.
Lencar lowered his hand slowly, breathing out.
"…It's done."
There was no triumph in his voice.
No rush of pride.
Just a quiet acceptance.
His mana surged.
Not explosively — steadily.
Like water rising in a sealed chamber.
The air around him tightened.
Mana pressure swelled.
The ground cracked beneath him.
The Grand Magic Zone's storm recoiled instinctively.
His grimoire's edges glowed with a faint, steady light.
He felt it settle into place:
Arcane Stage: 1.
Not monstrous.
Not overwhelming.
Clean.
Refined.
Sharp.
He lifted his gloved hand, watching faint traces of fire flicker across his fingertips — golden, disciplined, Vermillion flames adapting to his flow without resistance.
Fuegoleon's magic had merged with Replica Magic perfectly.
No distortion.
No corruption.
No mutation.
Just integration.
His breath trembled, only once.
"…Captain-level mana density… I understand why people fear you."
It wasn't fear in his voice.
It was appreciation.
Respect for the magnitude of the fire he now controlled.
Lencar turned his attention back to the unconscious Captain.
Even in this state, Fuegoleon's face held the disciplined serenity of a man who had lived his life with purpose.
The masked boy — the shadow none of them knew — crouched beside him and placed the recreated grimoire next to the Captain.
He had forged it perfectly using Reverse Replication:
Every burn mark.
Every page crease.
Every ink stroke.
Indistinguishable from the original.
He touched the cover lightly.
"…You won't remember this," he whispered.
"But you will continue your path."
Then he rose.
The storm wind screamed and the mana currents whipped around him as if sensing his heightened presence — but Lencar's mana remained sealed behind his anti-magic suppression.
Arcane Stage or not, no one would sense him.
Not Asta.
Not Noelle.
Not Leopold.
Not even a Captain.
He tugged the mist around him with a single gesture.
It coiled like silk around Fuegoleon's body, concealing him entirely.
Lencar traced a spatial sigil with two fingers — slow, precise, soundless.
Not a dramatic gateway.
Not a violent tear.
Just a thin ripple in reality, enough to move a body without alerting anyone.
He carefully lifted Fuegoleon into the spell.
A soft, tired exhale escaped behind his mask.
"Let's get you back before the others reach the plaza."
He stepped forward.
The mist swallowed them both.
And the Grand Magic Zone
returned to its storms
as if nothing had happened.