He let out a slow, wondering breath.
"I've fought plenty of strong people. I've been near death before. I've been desperate. But I've never, ever felt anything like that before."
His voice dropped slightly, carrying a tone of absolute awe.
"Right now…" Garrick whispered, looking inward at his own spiritual core. "my mana pool… it's not normal. It's wider. It's deeper. It feels like the pathways themselves have been forcibly widened."
He gave a crooked, bloody grin, looking up at Lencar.
"If I had to compare the density… I'd say I'm sitting somewhere around a Senior Magic Knight now."
He paused, letting the magnitude of that statement settle.
"At least by Clover Kingdom standards."
Silence followed the declaration.
Then, Garrick narrowed his pale eyes slightly, staring intently at the masked man standing over him.
"That wasn't just me, was it, Boss?"
Lencar didn't answer immediately. He didn't confirm or deny it right away. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and stepped past Garrick slightly, looking toward the distant, hazy white horizon of the spatial dimension.
"You adapted under immense, lethal pressure, Garrick. You pushed past your limits to survive."
Garrick snorted, a harsh sound.
"Don't give me that philosophical crap," Garrick shot back, his street-smarts flaring. "…I've been in worse situations. I've been cornered by entire squads of Magic Knights. …I didn't suddenly evolve like a butterfly back then."
He leaned forward slightly, wincing as his broken ribs ground together, refusing to let the masked man deflect.
"…That day, You did something to our Grimoires right?" Garrick demanded, his voice gaining strength. "What did you actually do, "boss"?"
The air in the white room stilled completely.
For a long moment—there was absolutely no answer. The masked phantom just stood there, his back turned slightly.
Then—
Lencar finally spoke. His voice was no longer a harsh whisper, but a calm, resonant tone that carried the weight of absolute truth.
"…It connects."
Garrick frowned, clearly unsatisfied.
"…That's it?" he grumbled. "…A simple connection? A magical leash?"
Lencar turned his head slightly, the edge of his wooden mask visible.
"It is not a leash, Garrick. It allows interaction at a much deeper, far more fundamental level than you understand." Lencar explained, his tone almost academic. "…It connects our mana. It connects our magical structure. And, most importantly…"
Lencar turned fully to face him.
"…It connects our potential."
Garrick stared at him, his mouth falling slightly open as the implications slammed into his brain.
"…So you're saying…" Garrick stammered. "…you messed with my natural growth? You gave me that spell?"
Lencar tilted his head slightly, a gesture that almost looked human.
"…Not directly. I didn't write the spell for you, Garrick. You earned that on the deck of your ship. You bled for it." Lencar clarified smoothly. "…But I did remove certain limitations. By tying your grimoire to my own, your soul is no longer constrained by the natural ceiling of a commoner. You are drafting off my wake."
Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.
Garrick leaned back slowly, his back hitting the stone floor. He stared blankly up at the white ceiling for a long time.
"…Hah."
He let out a low, disbelieving laugh that bubbled up from his chest.
"…Of course you did."
He reached up with his good hand and rubbed his face, smearing some dried blood across his cheek.
"…And here I thought I was just naturally talented and incredibly motivated by the fear of death."
Lencar said nothing. He allowed the smuggler the time to process the absolute, terrifying reality that his soul was now actively linked to a monster.
Garrick glanced at him again from the corner of his eye.
"…That new spell…" Garrick muttered. "…Abyssal Rot Tide… it didn't feel like something I planned or constructed over months of study. …It just… happened. Like a download."
Lencar nodded slightly, confirming the theory.
"…Your understanding of your own attribute reached a critical threshold in a life-or-death moment," Lencar said. "…And because your ceiling is gone, the grimoire responded instantly, synthesizing the spell to keep you alive."
Garrick exhaled a long, foggy breath.
"…Yeah…" he whispered. "…Guess that's one way to put it. I'm a remote terminal for your magical network."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The heavy, life-altering tension in the air slowly eased slightly, settling into a strange, twisted sort of acceptance. Garrick was a pragmatic man. If being tied to a monster meant he got to live and gain Senior Magic Knight-level power, he could live with it.
Then—
Garrick pushed himself up slightly, looking around the massive, impossibly bright, endless white room for the first time.
"…Where exactly are we?" he asked, squinting against the glare.
"Safe," Lencar replied simply, offering no further geographical details.
Garrick raised an eyebrow.
"…Helpful. Thanks for the detailed map."
But he didn't press the issue further. He knew better than to ask a ghost for his address. Instead, he shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain flared in his thigh. He looked around again, his face tightening with sudden, genuine anxiety.
"…My crew?" Garrick asked, his voice dropping. "The ship?"
"They're alive," Lencar assured him, his voice perfectly even. "…I pulled your entire ship through the spatial rift before Kael could secure the area. The Gilded Eel is heavily damaged, but it's resting safely in a hidden inlet on the Clover coast. Your crew is tending to their wounds. They think they outran him."
Garrick let out a massive, trembling breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. He let his head fall back against the stone.
"…Good."
Silence settled over them again, far more peaceful this time.
Then—
Lencar turned his gaze back toward the broken smuggler, stepping slightly closer.
"…Rest."
Garrick blinked, looking up in confusion.
"…What?"
"You've completely exceeded your physical and magical limits," Lencar stated, his tone brooking no argument. "…Your body hasn't even begun to truly recover from the shock of the new spell, let alone the blunt force trauma. The Mana in the air here will heal you, but you need to sleep to let it work."
Garrick scoffed, trying to sound tough.
"Yeah, I noticed that part too, doc."
Lencar continued, ignoring the bravado.
"…If you try to move or channel mana right now, the further strain will cause permanent, irreparable damage to your newly expanded meridians. You will cripple yourself."
Garrick sighed heavily, all the fight finally leaving him.
"…Fine. You're the boss."
He leaned back again, making himself as comfortable as possible on the hard stone.
"…Not like I can move much anyway without screaming."
He closed his eyes, preparing to let the heavy, drug-like pull of the dense mana environment drag him back into unconsciousness.
But just as he settled—
Lencar spoke again, his voice dropping the medical concern entirely and shifting right back to cold, hard business.
"Where is it?"
Garrick opened one bloodshot eye, staring up at the masked phantom.
"Where's what?"
Lencar's dark gaze remained perfectly steady, utterly unamused.
"This time's harvest. The books I told you to acquire."
A long, heavy pause hung in the air.
Then—
Garrick smirked faintly, a genuine, amused smile breaking through the blood and grime on his face.
He let out a weak chuckle, wincing as it pulled his chest. He jerked his head slightly to the side, pointing lazily toward an invisible horizon.
"Cabin crate." Garrick rasped. "Locked iron box under the desk. …Bottom layer, wrapped in oilcloth."
He closed his eye again, a tired smile still playing on his lips.
"Books are perfectly intact. Didn't even get a scratch on them during the explosion."
Lencar nodded once, a sharp, satisfied movement.
"Good."
Garrick watched the masked man through half-open eyelids for a moment, studying the enigma.
"You really care about those ancient rune books, huh?"
No response. Lencar just turned away, his black cloak sweeping the white floor.
"Figures." Garrick muttered.
He closed his eyes again, letting the darkness take him.
"Hey, Boss…" Garrick called out weakly to the retreating figure.
"Next time…"
"Help us early and don't only pull us out at the brink of death."