The connection flared.
For a brief moment, Lencar felt the faint mark he had left behind respond like a thread being violently tugged from far away.
Garrick.
The cursed water mage smuggler.
The mark Lencar had embedded in his soul stirred faintly, transmitting a ripple of frantic, desperate mana across the tether.
Lencar closed his eyes tighter. Mana flowed carefully through the connection. His consciousness followed the thread.
Then—
The world shifted.
A day Earlier
The sea wind smelled like salt, rotting kelp, and old, waterlogged wood.
Garrick leaned lazily against the thick wooden railing of his ship, the Gilded Eel, watching the rocky shoreline slowly approach through the morning fog. He picked at his teeth with a thumbnail, spitting over the side into the churning grey water.
Behind him, taking up the majority of the ship's main deck, several large crates filled the cargo hold. Inside them were carefully packed magical artifacts. Old relics. Broken enchanted weapons. Fragments of spell formations. And a handful of things Garrick himself had no idea how to classify.
But that didn't matter. To smugglers like him, value was determined by one thing.
Demand.
And right now—demand for ancient magical artifacts was rising.
"Boss, the harbor is just ahead!" One of his crew members shouted from the mast.
Garrick lazily waved his hand. "I can see that, idiot."
The ship slowly approached the coastal town. It was a sprawling port settlement built against dark, unforgiving cliffs. Tall wooden towers overlooked the harbor while countless ships filled the docks. Some of them belonged to merchants. Some to adventurers. And many—to people like Garrick.
The town was called Ruinshade Port.
Among smugglers, the place was practically legendary. Ruinshade Port had been built near a region filled with ancient underground structures. Old dungeons. Ruins from civilizations long forgotten. For decades, mages had explored those ruins. Some found treasure. Most found death. But even after all those years, countless secrets still remained buried beneath the earth.
Fragments of ancient magical theory. Unknown rune systems. Spell constructs older than most kingdoms. Things that scholars would pay enormous sums to obtain.
And smugglers like Garrick? They made their living moving those discoveries through the shadows.
The ship finally docked. Garrick jumped down onto the wooden pier. His heavy boots hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Alright," he said casually, turning to his crew. "You lot unload the cargo. Same rules as always. No stealing. No gambling. And if anyone starts a fight in this town, I'll personally drown you in a puddle of my own magic and throw you into the sea."
His crew nodded quickly. They had worked under Garrick long enough to know he wasn't joking. Garrick might be a smuggler—but he was not a reckless bandit. Ruinshade Port had rules. Breaking those rules usually meant disappearing. Quietly.
Garrick pulled his cloak tighter and began walking through the crowded, muddy streets. His destination was already decided. After all… his terrifying new boss had given him very clear instructions.
Focus on magic runes. Focus on magical knowledge.
Garrick still didn't fully understand why. But that masked monster had proven one thing already. Disobeying him would be extremely, fatally unwise.
"Strange guy…" Garrick muttered to himself, shuddering as he remembered the phantom. "But he pays well."
Eventually he stopped in front of a large stone building. A wooden sign hung above the door.
Veltrin's Archive
Among smugglers, the shop had a very solid reputation. Veltrin himself was an old merchant who specialized in ancient magical texts. He didn't ask questions. And he didn't cheat his customers. Which made him incredibly valuable.
Garrick pushed the door open. A small bell rang. Inside the shop, towering shelves filled with dusty books stretched to the ceiling. The smell of parchment filled the air.
An old man looked up from behind a desk. "Ah," the merchant said calmly. "A returning customer. The Blight Mage."
Garrick grinned. "You remember me?"
Veltrin adjusted his thick glasses. "I remember anyone who spends as much gold as you."
"Fair enough." Garrick walked over. "I'm looking for rune theory. Anything you've got."
The merchant raised a bushy eyebrow. "That's… unusual. Most people in your line of work come here for artifacts, not research materials."
Garrick shrugged. "New employer."
Veltrin nodded slowly. "I see."
He disappeared behind the shelves. After a few minutes, he returned carrying several thick, heavy books. "These should interest you."
Garrick flipped through one of them. The pages were filled with strange geometric symbols. Ancient rune diagrams. Half-deciphered magical structures. Exactly the kind of thing Lencar had asked for.
"Perfect." Garrick tossed a small, heavy pouch of gold coins onto the table. "I'll take them."
The merchant weighed the pouch briefly before nodding. "A pleasure doing business."
Garrick gathered the books and left the shop. The sun was beginning to lower when he returned to the harbor. His crew had already finished loading the ship with fresh supplies.
"Everything ready?" he asked.
"Yes boss!"
"Good."
Garrick stepped aboard. He placed the incredibly valuable books carefully inside his personal cabin, locking them away.
"Boss still hasn't shown up again…" he muttered. That mysterious masked man appeared and disappeared like a ghost. Still… Garrick had a feeling they would meet again soon. And when they did—he would have something valuable to present.
After about fifteen minutes, the Gilded Eel left the harbor. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, churning and grey.
Garrick leaned against the railing again. His crew handled the navigation. For now, his job was simply to exist.
He sighed loudly. "Man… Working every day like this… looking over my shoulder… I'm getting thinner." He patted his stomach. "…Actually, maybe that's not a bad thing."
But just as he finished speaking—
The entire ship suddenly shook violently.
BOOM.
A massive explosion of displaced water erupted off their starboard bow.
Garrick frowned, his lazy demeanor vanishing. "What the hell was that?"
A terrified voice suddenly shouted from the crow's nest. "BOSS!! RECON REPORT!!"
Garrick looked up, squinting into the fading light. "What now?!"
"There's a massive ship approaching!" the lookout screamed. "Just a few kilometers away!"
Garrick's expression changed. "…What?"
Without hesitation, he activated his magic. His grimoire flipped open.
Dense, foul-smelling, pitch-black water began swirling rapidly around his boots and body, emitting a toxic, heavy aura.
"Cursed Water Magic: Abyssal Geyser Step!"
The corrosive liquid pressurized beneath his boots. His body shot up into the air, riding a pillar of dark water high enough to see clearly across the ocean.
Then—his scarred face went completely pale.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
On the distant, darkening horizon… a massive black warship was approaching at terrifying speed. Its hull was covered in jagged, terrifying metal plating. Dark flags fluttered aggressively in the wind. The ship radiated an incredibly oppressive aura of malevolent mana.
Garrick recognized it instantly.
The Abyss Serpent.
The flagship of Darian Voss. A notorious, bloodthirsty smuggler who had once ruled half the underground trade routes in this region. But recently… Darian had become something worse. Rumor said he had pledged absolute loyalty to a powerful, terrifying mage from the Spade Kingdom. Since then, his operations had become far more violent. Ships that crossed his path rarely survived.
Garrick slowly descended back onto the wooden deck. The toxic water evaporated around his boots. His voice was deadly serious.
"Everyone listen carefully."
His crew immediately froze, sensing his panic.
"That ship out there…" Garrick pointed a shaking finger. "…belongs to Darian Voss."
A wave of absolute terror spread through the crew.
"What?!"
"The Abyss Serpent?!"
"We're dead!"
"Shut up!" Garrick snapped. He pointed forward. "All mages prepare acceleration spells. We are leaving. NOW."
His crew immediately began casting magic. Wind spells blasted the sails. Water propulsion magic roared to life at the stern. The ship surged forward across the dark sea.
For a desperate moment… it seemed like they might escape.
But then—
A figure suddenly appeared on the distant, black metal bow of the warship. A mage stepped forward. Heavy black robes, trimmed with dark fur, fluttered aggressively in the wind.
Garrick's eyes widened as the temperature plummeted. "…Spade Kingdom."
The mage raised one hand lazily. Mana gathered violently, sucking the life out of the air. The air itself seemed to freeze solid.
Then—a massive, building-sized spear of pitch-black, demonic ice formed high in the sky.
Garrick felt a terrible chill run down his spine. "Oh no…"
The Spade mage pointed forward. And the colossal spear launched.
It tore across the darkening sky like a falling, apocalyptic star. Straight toward Garrick's fleeing ship.
"DEFENSE SPELLS!" Garrick roared.
His crew immediately reacted. Weak barriers formed. Wind magic surged. But Garrick knew one thing. That attack—was far too powerful. It would splinter the ship to kindling.
Cursed, pitch-black water exploded around Garrick like a toxic geyser. He leapt high into the freezing air once again.
"…Guess I have to deal with this myself," Garrick grunted, staring death in the eyes.
Above the churning ocean, the massive spear of dark ice descended rapidly. And Garrick, drawing on every ounce of his Stage 4 power, prepared to intercept it head-on.