"…No."
He shook his head slightly, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips behind the mask.
That wasn't necessary.
He wasn't going to the Forsaken Realm as "The Ghost."
He wasn't going there as the "Sovereign of the Vault."
He wasn't going there as a mage who could shatter glaciers with a flick of his wrist.
He was just going—as their son.
The son who had gone off to find work and finally had a weekend off.
The distortion resumed, the emerald light of his mana swirling around him like a protective cocoon.
And in the next moment—
He was gone.
The world shifted.
Silently.
The sterile, shadowless white of the Void Vault didn't just fade; it folded.
It was a sensation of being turned inside out, a brief moment where the laws of physics held their breath, and then—
The spatial fold released.
Lencar Abarame stepped forward.
And the air changed.
It wasn't stagnant anymore. It wasn't hyper-filtered by the Breath of Yggdrasil or humming with the clinical residue of ancient runes.
It was cool.
Damp.
And overwhelmingly familiar.
The smell came first, hitting him like a physical memory. It was the scent of tilled soil, the sharp tang of wet grass, and the faint, lingering wood smoke that always seemed to drift across the horizon of the Forsaken Realm.
"…Sosei."
Lencar stood at the edge of a dirt path he had walked a thousand times before he ever knew what a "transmigration" was.
Rolling hills stretched outward, looking like a patchwork quilt of uneven green and brown. Low mist hung close to the ground, thick enough to hide the roots of the gnarled trees, drifting slowly in the evening breeze.
It hadn't changed.
In a world where he had seen glaciers shatter and souls be rewritten, this tiny corner of the Clover Kingdom remained stubbornly, beautifully the same.
Lencar stood still for a long moment.
He didn't use his Ki. He didn't activate his Adaptive Skin. He didn't even check his mana reserves.
He just looked.
Then—
He started walking.
The dirt path was exactly as he remembered. Worn. Uneven. Pockmarked by years of wagon tracks and the heavy footsteps of people who spent their lives wrestling a living from the earth.
A few villagers passed by. They carried rusted tools over their shoulders, talking loudly about the harvest and the rising price of grain in the capital.
None of them noticed anything strange about the man walking toward them.
To them, he wasn't "The Ghost" of the Diamond border. He wasn't the Heretic who had hacked a General's mind.
He was just a person returning home.
A familiar one.
"…Lencar? Is that you, lad?"
He stopped.
Turned slightly.
An older man stood a few steps away near a crooked fence, clutching a bundle of firewood to his chest. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, and his eyes were squinting through the twilight.
Recognition came easily. Old Man Gunter. The neighbor who had once yelled at Lencar for "practicing wind magic too close to the haystacks."
"…It's been a while, Gunter," Lencar said, a small, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The man blinked. He dropped a log, then broke into a wide, toothless grin.
"By the gods, it really is you! Look at you! You disappeared for weeks again. Your mother's been worrying herself sick, you know that? She nearly took a broom to the village elder last Tuesday because he suggested you might have joined a traveling circus!"
Lencar chuckled. It was a light, human sound—different from the cold, analytical murmurs he shared with his grimoire.
"…I figured she'd be a bit restless," Lencar replied.
Gunter shook his head, chuckling as he bent down to retrieve his firewood.
"Restless? Lad, the woman's been a walking thunderstorm. You always were like that, though. Quiet, stubborn… always off in the woods doing something you wouldn't explain. But look at you! You look… different. Taller? Thicker in the shoulders? Did the capital actually feed you for once?"
Lencar didn't respond to the observation. He couldn't exactly explain that he was "thicker" because he had surgically reinforced his skeleton with magical crystals.
"…I'll stop by later to help you with that fence, Gunter," he said instead, nodding toward the sagging wood.
"Yeah, you better! And don't think you're getting out of it by playing the 'exhausted traveler' card either. I've got a batch of cider that needs drinking, too."
"…I wasn't planning to skip out," Lencar promised.
The old man laughed and walked off toward his small hut, muttering something about "the youth finally coming to their senses."
Lencar continued forward.
The Abarame farmhouse came into view as he crested the hill.
Small.
Sturdy.
Weathered by years of rain and sun, but standing defiant.
Exactly the same as the day he had left.
He stopped at the wooden gate. For just a moment, his hand hovered over the latch. In the Void Vault, he felt invincible. But here, standing in front of his childhood home, he felt like a fifteen-year-old who was late for dinner.
He pushed the gate open, walked up to the heavy timber door, and knocked.
A pause.
Muffled footsteps from inside. The sound of a chair scraping across a stone floor.
The door swung open.
"…Lencar?"
Marta Abarame stood there. She was holding a dishcloth, her hair a bit messier than he remembered.
She froze.
For a full three seconds, she didn't move. She didn't even breathe.
Then—
"You—! You're back?! Rion! Rion, the boy's back!"
She dropped the cloth and practically lunged at him.
"Why didn't you say anything?! How long have you been in the village? Are you hurt? Did you get into a fight? Did those city nobles do something to you? Answer me!"
Her words came all at once. Rushed. Unfiltered. A barrage of motherly concern that no Mana Skin could ever block.
Lencar blinked, feeling the sudden, overwhelming warmth of her hug.
"…I just arrived, Mom. Nothing happened. I'm fine. I promise."
She pulled back immediately, her hands remaining on his shoulders. She looked him over with the intensity of a Magic Knight Inspector, checking for missing limbs or hidden scars.
"…You've gotten thinner," she declared, her eyes narrowing.
"…I haven't. If anything, I've put on weight," Lencar countered with a dry smile.
"You have! Look at your face! It's all sharp angles. And these clothes—what is this material? Is this black wool? It looks expensive. Did you steal this? Or did you join a cult? I told you, Sosei boys shouldn't wear black, it makes you look like a gravedigger!"
"I didn't join a cult. It's just durable fabric for traveling."
"And did you even eat properly while you were gone? I bet you were living on nothing but dry bread and tap water."
"I ate. I even had scorpion once. It was… crunchy."
"Scorpion?!" She looked like she was about to faint. "Not properly. You haven't eaten properly at all!"
A pause. Lencar thought about his diet of high-mana monster meat and refined potions.
"…Probably not by your standards," he admitted.
She sighed. It was a deep, soul-weary sound. Relieved, frustrated, and loving all at once.
"Come inside. Don't just stand there letting the cold in. Rion! Get the fire going, your son looks like a ghost!"
Lencar stepped into the house.
The warmth hit him immediately. It wasn't just the physical heat from the hearth; it was the atmosphere.
The hearth was lit. Soft, orange flames were crackling, throwing long shadows across the stone walls and the wooden beams.
Rion Abarame sat in his usual chair by the fire. He turned as the door closed, his eyes widening.
"…You're back."
His voice was calm. Steady. The classic "strong, silent" father type.
But his eyes lingered. They swept over Lencar with a depth of emotion he rarely put into words.
"…Yeah. I'm back, Dad."
Rion nodded once. Then, he stood up. He didn't just walk over; he seemed to charge, his heavy boots thudding on the floorboards.
He reached Lencar and delivered a clap to his shoulder that would have sent a normal teenager to the infirmary.
"You've been gone longer this time, lad! Your mother kept asking if you'd run into trouble, or if you'd ever come back to this old village to see your old man and mother!"
"Why would I not come back, Dad? I still mother's cooking to keep me alive."
Rion roared with laughter, a booming sound that filled the small room.
"Hah! That's my boy! Still got that dry tongue. Come here!"