Reincarnation of the magicless!
"No magic?, No problem!"
Chapter 15: Ashes and Vows!
As Rolien drifted into the void, time seemed to warp and bend around him. Memories of his family, his friends, and the battles he had fought flickered through his mind like a slideshow, each image seared into his consciousness. He felt a pang of regret, a sense of unfinished business. "Dang, am I dead again? Tsk, what a short life... I wish I could save them before I died," he thought, his mind clouded by sorrow.
Suddenly, a mysterious voice boomed through the void, its timbre like thunder on a summer's day. "Wake up, child! You're not dead yet; you still have a mission to do in this world. Don't give up!" The voice was like a warm breeze on a cold winter's night, filling Rolien with a sense of hope and determination. It was a male voice, deep and resonant, with an otherworldly authority that commanded attention.
As the voice faded away, Rolien heard the voices of his loved ones, each one a lifeline pulling him back from the brink of death. Elara's voice was filled with worry, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Rolien, please come back! We need you!" Mr. Yohan's calm reassurances provided a soothing counterpoint, his deep voice a steady anchor in the storm. "Easy, kid. We've got this. Just focus on coming back to us."
The warmth of Lyra's smile and the strength of Sir Marcellus's presence filled Rolien with a sense of purpose. He felt a surge of determination, a renewed will to live and fight. Suddenly, a bright light pierced through the darkness, illuminating his surroundings. Rolien felt a pull, a beckoning force drawing him toward the light. He fought against the sensation, clinging to the memories of his loved ones, but the light was insistent.
"Rolien!" Elara's voice called out again, her words echoing through the void. "You have to come back! We need you!"
Rolien's eyes snapped open, and he was greeted by the sight of his big sister Elara and Lyra healing him. Elara's eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with worry. Lyra's hands were glowing with a soft, golden light as she worked to mend Rolien's wounds.
Meanwhile, Sir Marcellus was fighting the S-class beast, his movements a blur of steel and leather. The beast was enormous, its body a twisted mass of scales and claws. It had the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the tail of a scorpion. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly energy, and its roar was like thunder.
Mr. Yohan stood nearby, his eyes fixed on Rolien as he shouted, "Though we'd lost you there kid. It's a good thing we decided to follow you after we finish the enhancement." He tossed Rolien a set of gears, which Rolien caught with a nod of thanks.
As Rolien struggled to his feet, Elara enveloped him in a tight hug. "We thought we lost you. You are so reckless! I told you not to rush!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.
Rolien smiled wryly, feeling a sense of gratitude toward his big sister. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, big sis. I'm fine now. Lyra!"
Lyra jumped back to his side, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yes, young master!"
Rolien turned to her, his voice firm. "We need your support and agility boost!"
Lyra nodded, her hands glowing with energy as she worked to enhance Rolien's abilities.
As they prepared to face the S-class beast, Rolien turned to Sir Marcellus, who was still weaving and dodging the beast's relentless attacks. "Sir Marcellus, can you still hold up?" Rolien asked, his voice filled with concern.
Sir Marcellus parried the beast's claws, his movements swift and precise. "Yeah, how long do you need?" he asked, his voice steady.
"A minute!" Rolien replied, his eyes locked on the beast.
Sir Marcellus nodded, his face set in a determined expression. "Got it!" he exclaimed, dashing forward to kick the beast in the face.
The beast stumbled back, its eyes flashing with anger. Rolien took advantage of the distraction,
Rolien's hands moved swiftly as he put on the gears, the metallic clangs echoing through the air. He was still securing the last piece when a window popped up, displaying a system notification:
Rolien's basic stats were:
Name: Rolien Grey
Race: human/reincarnator
Class:* Master Artificer
- Level: 10
- Health: 1000
- Attack: 200
- Defense: 150
- Agility: 120
- Critical Hit Chance: 5%
*Description:* Master Artificers are skilled craftsmen who specialize in creating and improving complex devices, gears, and potions without relying on magic or mana. They use their knowledge of science, engineering, and materials to design and build innovative solutions, often pushing the boundaries of what is possible.
*Specialization:* Gearcrafting, Potioncrafting
*Skills:*
- *Blueprint Skill:* Rolien's blueprint skill allows him to access a vast library of blueprints for various items, including gears and potions. He can purchase and obtain new blueprints using Reputation Points (RP), which are earned by gaining the admiration and respect of others.
- *Crafting:* Rolien can create gears and potions using various materials and blueprints.
- *Acquisition:* Rolien can acquire Earth-based weapons, such as firearms, through his connections or by crafting parts to modify them.
*Reputation Points (RP):* Rolien earns RP by completing quests, helping others, and demonstrating his skills and expertise. He can use RP to purchase new blueprints, acquire rare materials, or obtain new gear.
*Blueprint Library:* Rolien's blueprint library contains a vast collection of blueprints for various items, including:
- Gears: Complex gears that provide mechanical advantages, such as increased movement speed or damage output.
- Potions: Special potions that provide temporary boosts to health, stamina, and other attributes.
Reputation points available (RP) 100,000
*Task 1: Defeat the King Beast - "Kraxxor"*
Kraxxor, the King Beast, is a fearsome creature with the body of a giant lion, the wings of an eagle, and the tail of a scorpion. Its scales glisten in the sunlight, and its roar can be heard for miles.
*Class:* S
*Reward:*
- Random Box (Class D)
- All Stat +5
- *Toughened Leather Gloves*: A pair of durable gloves that provide +10 Defense and +5% chance to block attacks.
*Task 2: Defeat the Horde of Groteus*
Groteus is a terrifying creature that combines the massive size and strength of Godzilla, the armored plating of the Armored Titan, and the powerful jaws of the Jaw Titan. Its sheer size and power make it a formidable foe.
*Class:* Catastrophe
*Description:* Groteus stands at an astonishing 100 meters tall, its body a fusion of the three titans. Its armored plating provides immense protection, while its powerful jaws can crush even the strongest fortifications. Groteus's roar is like thunder, and its very presence causes the ground to shake.
*Reward:*
- Random Box (Class A)
- *Special Blueprint:* Steam Engine - a blueprint for a powerful steam engine that can be used to enhance machinery or create new devices.
- *Job Specific Skill:* One of the following six skills will be randomly assigned:
1. *Tactical Analysis*: Analyze enemy weaknesses and strengths.
2. *Survival Instincts*: Increased chance to dodge attacks and avoid danger.
3. *Engineering Expertise*: Improved crafting and repair skills.
4. *Explosive Specialist*: Deal massive damage with explosives.
5. *Mechanical Mind*: Understand and analyze complex mechanical systems.
6. *Adrenaline Rush*: Temporarily increase stats in critical situations.
The random skill will be assigned upon completion of the task.
*Equipment Set: "Apex Predator set"*
- Helmet: Defense Boost +40, Attack Boost +20, Agility Boost +10, Healing Boost +10
- Shoulder Piece: Defense Boost +60, Attack Boost +80, Agility Boost +40, Healing Boost +20
- Chest Plate: Defense Boost +80, Attack Boost +40, Agility Boost +20, Healing Boost +30
- Gauntlets: Attack Boost +60, Agility Boost +80, Critical Hit Chance +10%, Healing Boost +10
- Greaves: Defense Boost +40, Agility Boost +60, Movement Speed +20%, Healing Boost +20
*Set Bonus:* When all pieces are equipped, gain access to the special skill "Kairos" (3 uses). Kairos unleashes a devastating one-punch attack that deals massive damage to a single target.
*Duration:* 30 minute
With the gear enhancements, his stats increased to:
- Health: 1500 (+500 from gear)
- Attack: 560 (+360 from gear)
- Defense: 430 (+280 from gear)
- Agility: 340 (+220 from gear)
- Critical Hit Chance: 15% (+10% from gear)
Rolien felt a surge of power flow through him as he gazed at his new stats. He was ready to take on the S-class beast.
"Alright, I'm ready!" Rolien exclaimed, his eyes locked on the beast. "Let's finish this!"
Sir Marcellus nodded, his face set in a determined expression. "Let's do this!"
Lyra's voice chimed in, her eyes shining with excitement. "I'll provide support and agility boost, young master!"
With a deep breath, Rolien charged forward, his fists clenched and ready to unleash the power of Kairos.
---
Rolien tightened the last strap of his chestplate, the worn leather creaking softly under his fingers. The suit of borrowed armor felt heavier than he imagined, but now—now it felt like an extension of himself.
As the last buckle clicked into place, a rush of heat surged through his body. Not burning—but alive. Mana coursed through his veins like lightning down a copper wire, sparking to life every nerve, every fiber. His heartbeat synced with the rhythm of something ancient and powerful.
His fists trembled—not with fear, but with raw energy.
"So this is how it feels to have mana," he whispered, almost in disbelief.
No time to dwell on it.
He exploded into a sprint.
The forest floor blurred beneath him, boots crunching leaves as his body moved faster than ever before. His vision sharpened, muscles obeying him with perfect precision.
The beast—a massive, bristling fangboar with red eyes and tusks like jagged stone—reared back, its snout twitching at the sudden approach. Rolien didn't slow.
From the side, Sir Marcellus caught the boy's motion. His instincts flared. An opening? He lunged at the creature's flank, timing his blade with Rolien's rush.
Rolien ducked under the tusks, pivoted sharply to the left, and swept his leg in a sliding kick, knocking one of the boar's forelegs off balance. Its head dipped just enough—
—CLANG!
Sir Marcellus brought his greatsword down, the blade cutting deep into the shoulder. Blood sprayed, but the beast roared and thrashed, trying to throw both of them off.
Rolien was already moving again. He vaulted off a tree, flipping in midair as his borrowed sword sang through the wind. He landed on the beast's back and plunged the blade between its shoulders—metal scraping against bone.
The beast bucked. Rolien held on, twisting the blade for better purchase.
Marcellus moved in again, sweeping around the creature's left and aiming a clean thrust for the gut. The boar twisted—too late. The sword sank in.
This boy… Marcellus couldn't believe it.
An eight-year-old is fighting at my side—not slowing me down, not needing protection—but moving like we've trained together for years.
He doesn't just move fast. He reads the fight, adapts on the fly. He's not some lucky street brawler. He's a combat genius.
He remembered the reports—how Rolien had no mana core. No Kigen either. And yet now…
Is this what the world feared?
If he had even a sliver of knight's power, he'd be unstoppable.
Marcellus roared and swung again, his blade crashing down as Rolien flipped off the beast's back, giving him a clean strike.
The boar squealed in fury and pain, charging blindly.
Rolien hit the ground in a roll, came up on one knee, and threw a throwing knife he'd taken earlier. It sank just beneath the eye. The beast reared again, stumbling.
Marcellus followed through with a leaping overhead strike—crushing down with full force. The blade cracked bone.
Rolien rushed forward again, sliding under the beast, slicing at its belly in one clean motion, his sword carving deep.
The boar collapsed, gurgling a final breath.
The silence that followed was broken only by the steam rising from its wounds and the heavy breathing of the two fighters.
Rolien stood, panting, cheeks flushed, eyes wide—not with fear, but clarity.
Sir Marcellus walked over, sword resting on his shoulder.
He looked down at the boy. No words at first. Just a nod.
"You're beyond what I thought possible," he said quietly. "And now I see why the world held back from giving you magic or Kigen. If you had even one…"
He trailed off, looking at the dead beast.
"You'd be the strongest damn child I've ever seen. Maybe even the strongest the kingdom has ever known."
---
As the Kraxxor collapsed with a final, thunderous crash, Rolien stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum. Blood dripped from the edge of his blade, his arms still trembling from the exertion—but also from the rush.
He did it.
He actually did it.
A surge of pride and relief surged through him like a second wave of mana. He had fought side by side with Sir Marcellus, and not just survived—but made a difference.
Suddenly, a chime echoed faintly in his mind, followed by a glowing screen that shimmered into view before him.
---
CONGRATULATIONS!
You have completed the quest: Defeat the King Beast - Kraxxor
Rewards:
Random Box (Class D)
All Stat +5
Toughened Leather Gloves: A pair of durable gloves that provide +10 Defense and a 5% chance to block attacks.
---
Rolien's eyes widened in amazement. He could barely believe what he was seeing. The stat boost alone made his breath hitch—every part of him suddenly felt sharper, faster, stronger. And the gloves...
He slipped them on. They fit snugly, like they were made just for him. As soon as the buckles snapped into place, he felt a subtle but solid layer of protection wrap around his hands and forearms. The leather was thick, yet flexible, reinforced with faint runes only visible when they caught the light.
Then the Random Box hovered in front of him, pulsing with soft light.
"Let's see what you've got," Rolien muttered. He tapped it.
A flash of radiant light burst outward, momentarily blinding him.
---
You received:
Class D Revitalizing Potion
A potent potion capable of rapidly healing wounds—but only if the user's HP is above 30%. Ineffective when the body is near death or critically damaged.
---
He read the description twice, absorbing its value. Not a miracle fix, but something that could mean life or death in the right situation. A tactical item. One he'd need to use wisely.
"Not bad," he said with a satisfied grin.
He looked at his hands again—gloved now, steadier than ever. He wasn't just the magicless boy anymore. He had earned this. He had grown stronger.
Sir Marcellus approached, dragging his blade behind him, blood still wet on the steel. His eyes weren't stern now—they were proud.
"Well done, young one," he said, voice low but firm. "You've grown a lot… but don't let this get to your head."
He gave Rolien a brief glance up and down. Not judging—measuring.
"Power comes with burden. You've scratched the surface, but there's a storm coming. Groteus won't wait for us to celebrate. Now let's move—there's a city that still needs us."
Rolien nodded, the smile fading from his lips. He slipped the potion into his belt pouch, his grip tightening around his sword.
His body still ached, but the fire in his chest burned hotter than ever.
"Let them come," he said quietly, eyes locked on the horizon. "I'm not running anymore."
He turned to follow Marcellus, step for step, no longer just tagging along—but walking the path of a warrior.
The gates of Greybrook came into view—but instead of the safety Rolien expected, the city looked like a battlefield swallowed by chaos.
Smoke curled through the air. Screams echoed off stone walls. Fires raged in pockets where buildings had collapsed or were still under attack. The streets were flooded with citizens—some screaming, others dragging injured loved ones—all running in different directions.
And among them—
Mana beasts.
Dozens of them. Some the size of hounds, others towering like siege weapons. Rolien could see the differences—shimmering auras wrapped around each creature, signifying their threat levels. Class F scuttlers with jagged limbs and twitchy movements. Class C winged beasts that dove from above like living arrows. Even Class D brutes that slammed through walls like they were made of paper.
But it was the Class A that turned his blood cold.
A towering, obsidian-armored monster with glowing red cracks along its limbs and two tusks curling upward from a misshapen jaw. Its presence warped the air around it. Even the lesser beasts steered clear of its path, sensing something they couldn't challenge.
The city guards and knights were scattered, struggling to hold a perimeter. Blood streaked the cobblestones. A young guard barely older than Rolien was crying, holding a sword in trembling hands as he stood protectively over a child. Another knight fought two Class C creatures at once, his shield cracked and arm bleeding.
Sir Marcellus clenched his jaw, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
"Knights of Greybrook!" he bellowed. "Split into groups! Prioritize evacuation! Get the civilians to safety!"
Several knights turned at the command, their faces lighting with recognition—and relief.
"Javen, Moriah, Balden—escort the citizens to the southern district gate! Get them to the tunnels!"
He turned toward the group near the city plaza.
"Lyra! You're our healer—fall back and stabilize the wounded!"
A young woman with ash-blonde hair and glowing green hands nodded. Her expression was tight with worry, but she moved immediately, robes flaring behind her as she sprinted toward the wounded.
Marcellus pointed toward the far corridor, where a cluster of civilians had taken cover behind broken carts.
"You three—escort Lady Elara Grey to the underground bunker. Guard her with your lives. If anything happens to her, we lose more than a noble."
Three knights saluted and dashed off toward Elara's position. She was helping carry a wounded child when she looked up and spotted Rolien. Their eyes met—hers wide with fear, but pride shining through it.
Rolien gave her a nod. A silent promise: I'll be okay.
Sir Marcellus turned to the boy, eyes narrowing slightly. Around them, the clash of steel and roars of beasts thundered through the burning city, but in that brief second, only the two of them existed.
"You ready?"
Rolien's breath steadied. His heart pounded—not with fear, but with purpose.
"Let's clean this up."
They charged.
Marcellus raised his greatsword, his steps heavy and thunderous. Rolien sprinted beside him, perfectly in sync—his lean frame low to the ground, every movement sharp and precise.
The beasts turned.
A cluster of Class D shriekers lunged from the left—spindly limbs slashing, jaws wide with howls.
Marcellus met them head-on, cleaving through two with one swing. Rolien ducked beneath a swipe, twisted mid-air, and fired his air rifle at point blank, the mana shot exploding through a beast's eye. He landed clean, then flowed into a reverse slash that disemboweled another.
It wasn't just raw talent—it was instinct.
Marcellus stole a glance as he fought.
He's not just a boy anymore. He's a soldier.
No. Not just a soldier.
The way Rolien moved—every dodge, every parry, every shot and strike—he read the battlefield like a seasoned warrior. He used walls, debris, enemy momentum—nothing was wasted. He moved like someone who had danced through a dozen wars.
No hesitation. No wasted breath. It's like... this body holds someone else entirely.
Someone reborn.
This boy—Rolien Grey—fights like a hero long dead, given another chance.
Behind them, knights rallied, inspired by the deadly coordination between boy and commander. They pushed forward, blades flashing, shields raised. The tide of chaos met resistance.
Rolien darted ahead of a charging brute, fired twice—one shot to the knee, one to the throat—then spun into a sliding cut that hamstrung the creature. It fell, and a knight finished the job with a thrust to the skull.
That wasn't instinct. That was experience.
Together, Rolien and Marcellus became a storm at the center of the battlefield—cutting a path through fire, blood, and screams.
And though the sky was dark with smoke, and danger still loomed on every corner…
Hope began to rise.
Greybrook's lower district was in shambles.
Buildings burned, smoke stung the air, and the cries of wounded civilians rang louder than any bell. But even amid the destruction, there was movement. Knights ushered civilians toward the underground bunker entrance—an old iron gate hidden beneath the Greybrook Chapel.
Elara Grey stood near the entrance, her hair tied back, her face streaked with soot, and her hands trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer effort of keeping calm for everyone around her.
A woman clung to her arm, eyes wild with panic. "My son—he's missing, I can't find—he was just behind me, please, Lady Elara—!"
Elara gently placed both hands on the woman's shoulders. "What does he look like?"
"Red hair, freckles—he's eight—he's just eight—"
Elara turned to the nearest knight. "Check the plaza ruins. Now." She faced the woman again and steadied her voice. "We'll find him. I swear on my house name."
The woman sobbed, but nodded, clutching Elara's sleeve before letting go.
Inside the bunker, the wounded lay in rows. Children cried. Mothers prayed. The air was heavy with blood, smoke, and despair.
Elara moved quickly, checking wounds, soothing the frightened, offering words that didn't feel like enough but still helped. She wasn't a healer, and she wasn't a fighter—but she was a Grey. And she wouldn't let her people fall apart while her brother fought to keep them alive.
As she cleaned a child's wound with trembling hands, she whispered, more to herself than to anyone, "Come back to me, Rolien. Please."
---
Back above—
Rolien flipped over a Class C flier, twisting mid-air as its talons scraped past him. He landed on its back, drew his dagger, and rammed it between its shoulder blades. It shrieked and crashed into a rooftop, shattering tiles on impact.
"Rolien! Left!"
He pivoted, fired his air rifle, and the blast caught another beast square in the face.
Marcellus roared as he charged a Class D brute, slamming into it with raw force and driving it back with a fury even the monster couldn't match. His blade pulsed with mana as he struck again and again, bones cracking under his blows.
And still, they kept coming.
The Class A was drawing closer now, slow and deliberate—like it knew it didn't need to hurry.
Rolien paused, breathing hard, face bloodied, armor scraped. He looked toward the creature, watching how the ground buckled beneath its steps, how the shadows twisted around it.
It's not just strong. It's smart. Waiting. Watching.
Waiting for them to exhaust themselves.
Marcellus saw it too. "We'll never reach it in time if we don't cut through the next wave."
Rolien didn't hesitate. "Then we don't hold back."
He pushed forward, diving through a cluster of beasts with reckless precision. A blade slashed his shoulder—he barely flinched. He rolled low, fired up into a leaping flier's chest, then kicked off its falling body to launch himself upward and hurl a grenade into a group below.
Boom.
The street shook with the impact. Smoke burst outward. The remaining knights surged forward with a battle cry, inspired by the boy who fought like a war-forged specter.
Marcellus charged beside him, slashing through the smoke.
And the Class A beast finally moved.
It roared—deep and guttural—like the sound of a mountain collapsing.
Its hulking frame launched forward, closing the distance faster than any of them expected. Knights scrambled to intercept, but it swatted them aside like twigs.
Marcellus planted himself between it and Rolien, blade raised.
"Stay behind me!"
But Rolien didn't listen. He leapt to the side, taking a flanking angle, reading the creature's pattern. Watching how it moved.
He wasn't just acting on instinct.
He was strategizing. Timing his movement. Looking for openings.
Like a veteran would.
No... not like a veteran.
Like someone who's done this a hundred times before.
This boy isn't just fighting to survive—he's fighting like it's his war and it was.
The Class A mana beast snarled, its red-glowing cracks pulsing like veins of magma. Its tusks scraped the cobblestone as it moved, and its hulking, blackened limbs made the ground tremble.
Rolien sprinted to flank it, while Sir Marcellus moved like a wall of iron, intercepting every sweep of the beast's claws.
Rolien dodged a swipe, slid between its legs, and fired upward. His air rifle hissed with pressure—boom—the shot hit one of the beast's leg joints, staggering it briefly.
"Go for the knees!" he shouted.
"Already on it!" Marcellus bellowed.
The two coordinated strikes—Rolien attacking fast and low, Marcellus hammering with overwhelming strength.
Then, from above—
A deafening roar split the sky.
Everyone—man, beast, and child—froze.
A shadow passed overhead, cutting through the thick smoke like a blade of light. Wings. Massive, white, scaled wings.
A dragon.
Its scales shimmered with mana, and its eyes burned with intelligence. With a furious screech, it dived, wind howling in its wake. And behind it—
A colossal monstrosity lumbered into view.
The Groteus.
A Catastrophic-class mana beast. Towering like a mountain come alive. It had the bellowing fury of a living volcano and the shape of a nightmare stitched together: the hunched mass of a behemoth, jagged black plates like twisted armor, and a grotesque, wide-jawed maw that split vertically down its neck like a second mouth. It looked like the bastard child of Godzilla, the Armored Titan, and the Jaw Titan—made worse by the sheer wrongness in how it moved, too fluid for its size.
The white dragon slammed into the Groteus, fire erupting from its maw as it struck with talons that tore deep into the beast's armored face.
The impact rocked Greybrook.
Several mana beasts turned and bolted. Others froze in fear.
"The Emperor!" a knight shouted.
"They're here! Reinforcements!"
"We're saved!"
Rolien stood breathless, eyes wide, heart pounding.
The white dragon circled, and he spotted the three riders on its back. Clad in imperial armor, one held a mana-forged spear glowing like a comet. But the one in the rear—
"Elian…" Rolien whispered.
That unmistakable silver-blonde hair. The relaxed poise even in mid-air. His big brother had arrived.
"You've got a knack for dramatic entrances, big bro," he muttered under his breath, unable to hide a grin.
But he didn't have time to bask in it.
Because his fight wasn't over.
The Class A beast in front of him—not the Groteus, but another terror named Dreadmaw—reared its tusked head and roared. It charged again, limbs like battering rams and jaws wide to crush him whole.
And then—
DING!
System Notification:
> [New Objective Assigned!]
Quest: Slay the Class A Mana Beast – Dreadmaw
A brute of raw destruction, Dreadmaw is known for ripping through fortress walls and feasting on steel. Its armor-like hide and enhanced regeneration make it nearly impossible to kill through brute force alone.
Weak points detected: Base of neck, under left armpit.
Rewards:
Instant Level Up ×3
Random Box (Class F)
Rare Achievement: Beastslayer (Rank C)
Rolien's eyes narrowed.
"Alright, Dreadmaw," he growled, steadying his breath. "Let's dance."
The beast let out a deafening snort, baring jagged teeth stained with blood and ash.
Rolien raised an eyebrow.
"You seriously look like a warthog and a boulder had an ugly kid," he muttered, rolling his neck. "And that kid decided to eat lava for breakfast."
He launched forward just as Dreadmaw brought its arm down to crush him. He slid low, letting the blow smash into the street behind him, then sprang up, air rifle already firing. The shot cracked into the base of the beast's throat.
Without slowing, he fired his grappling hook into a shattered wall, whipped around, and aimed for the beast's exposed armpit.
Marcellus slammed into the beast's back, roaring, driving his glowing greatsword down its spine. The beast flailed—Marcellus tanked the hits.
Rolien struck the weak points.
The monster screamed, blood jetting from a deep gash under its arm as Rolien's blade stabbed true. Its regeneration already trying to knit the flesh back—but not fast enough.
Rolien flipped back, landing in a crouch a few meters away, panting hard.
"I've pissed it off," he muttered.
"You got its attention," Marcellus said, cracking a grin. "Now finish this"
He launched forward just as Dreadmaw brought its arm down to crush him. He slid low, letting the blow smash into the street behind him, then sprang up, air rifle already firing. The shot cracked into the base of the beast's throat.
Without slowing, he fired his grappling hook into a shattered wall, whipped around, and aimed for the beast's exposed armpit.
Marcellus slammed into the beast's back, roaring, driving his glowing greatsword down its spine. The beast flailed—Marcellus tanked the hits.
Rolien struck the weak points.
The monster screamed, blood jetting from a deep gash under its arm as Rolien's blade stabbed true. Its regeneration already trying to knit the flesh back—but not fast enough.
Rolien flipped back, landing in a crouch a few meters away, panting hard.
"I've pissed it off," he muttered.
"You got its attention," Marcellus said, cracking a grin. "Now finish it."
Rolien's boots scraped against the blood-slicked cobblestones as he stood, chest heaving. The air around Dreadmaw shimmered with raw mana as the beast roared and slammed a claw into the side of a building, bringing it down in a shower of rubble and smoke.
"Okay," Rolien muttered, flexing his fingers, "Time to end this."
He pulled up his system menu with a flick of his wrist, sweat beading down his temple.
Skill Activation: [Kairos punch /kill shot]
> Charges: 3/3 only
Cooldown: 3 minutes
Damage Output: Lethal (Single Target)
Warning: Will drain stamina and render dominant arm temporarily numb
Rolien's arm tingled as the mana surged through it—heat building fast, climbing from his shoulder down to his fingertips like a forge lighting from within.
"Marcellus!" he shouted. "I need a clean shot!"
Sir Marcellus didn't need to ask why. He saw the glow, the shift in Rolien's stance—the way the boy's right hand had begun to crackle with pure force.
The knight turned without a word and charged.
He met Dreadmaw head-on again, slamming his shoulder into the beast's chest. His greatsword swung in a brutal uppercut, splitting armor plating and forcing the beast to rear back.
It roared and tried to retaliate, but Marcellus wasn't giving it the chance.
"I've fought tougher bastards than you in the Wyvern Wars!" he bellowed, ducking under a tusk and driving his blade into the beast's gut. "Now hold still—!"
Dreadmaw thrashed, and Marcellus used the motion to roll under its arm, driving his weight behind his shield and jamming it against the beast's elbow—exposing its left flank.
"NOW, BOY!" he roared.
Rolien was already moving.
His entire right arm glowed with concentrated mana—burning white-gold and crackling with arcs of energy. His coat flared behind him as he sprinted straight at the beast.
Each step sounded like thunder.
His eyes locked onto the exposed weak point—just under the armpit, where armor was thin and already wounded.
His breath steadied. The world slowed.
He cocked back his fist.
"Here comes the ugly kid's bedtime story," Rolien muttered.
And then—
He punched.
A single, devastating blow. Mana erupted outward like a cannon blast, compressed force exploding against Dreadmaw's flesh.
The shockwave sent nearby debris flying. Knights staggered back. Even Marcellus flinched as the concussive force slammed outward in all directions.
Dreadmaw didn't scream—it choked.
Its eyes bulged, body seizing as the punch caved in its entire side and lifted the monster off its feet.
It slammed into the side of a stone wall, leaving a crater.
Rolien dropped to one knee, arm limp and smoking, teeth gritted against the pain.
"Gods… remind me to only use that on things that really deserve it," he hissed, blinking sweat from his eyes.
The beast wasn't dead yet… but it wasn't moving.
Not much.
"Marcellus…" he muttered, still catching his breath, "...think it's time for the kill shot?
Outside Greybrook, Western Ridges – Reinforcement Vanguard
The sound of war drums pounded like distant thunder as rows of armored knights galloped over the cracked roads leading into the smoke-wreathed valley. Imperial banners fluttered—silver threads glinting against crimson cloth—as mages hovered above in formation, scanning the battlefield ahead.
At the front rode two figures: one, regal in posture, with a long navy cape trailing behind his steel-gray armor; the other, younger, with fire in his eyes and a scowl that hadn't left his face since they left the stronghold.
Duke Alfonse Arcadia adjusted his reins, eyes locked on the columns of smoke spiraling out from Greybrook.
"We're close," he said grimly.
Behind him, his son let out a frustrated sigh.
"Why should we help those fools, Father?" Luke Arcadia spat, barely hiding the disgust in his voice. "Let the stampede tear them apart. Less work for us."
The Duke didn't look at him. "Because if Greybrook falls, the next city on the migration path is ours."
Luke scoffed, but Duke Arcadia's voice sharpened.
"And this is a royal decree. From the emperor himself. He flew in alone with his retinue before we even left the stronghold." He finally turned his head, eyes like ice. "You think he'd risk that for nothing?"
Luke said nothing at first, jaw clenched, fists tight around the reins. He looked ahead, spotting the flashes of battle in the distance—fire lighting the sky, beasts screaming, and magic pulsing like a heartbeat.
"I still wish they suffer more," he muttered under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," Luke lied, forcing a straight posture.
But his mind burned with the memory.
That day.
That smug, magicless brat with no mana, no Kigen, and no noble name. Thats magicless third son of the grand duke who'd wiped the floor with Luke and his elite squad in front of the whole academy.
No spells. No Kigen enhancement nor weapon. Just pure skill.
The nobles had laughed at me
Luke Arcadia—defeated by an eighth years old boy a year younger than him.
Even the princess had chuckled behind her fan.( He imagine that)
The shame had never left him.
One day, he'd make Rolien eat dirt in front of the same crowd.
As the Arcadia forces rode into the fire-lit city, Luke's grip on his sword tightened. His father's words, the screams of the stampede, even the blinding light from the Groteus's battle—they all faded into the background.
All he could see was that damn courtyard.
That day at the Imperial Academy.
He had cornered a trembling commoner boy near the training fields. The boy had accidentally bumped into him during sparring drills and hadn't known his place. Luke and his group—heirs of noble bloodlines—taught him a lesson with their fists.
And then—
"Mind if I join your play?"
That voice. Calm. Annoyingly casual.
Rolien Grey stepped in like he was asking to join a card game, hands in his pockets, no magic swirling around him, no noble aura. Just that half-smirk that made Luke want to punch his teeth in.
They laughed. Until Rolien moved.
In five seconds, it was over.
Luke's face slammed into the dirt, one of his friends had his wrist dislocated, and another still couldn't walk properly for a week. The Third Princess, who had stopped to watch, chuckled behind her fan.
That memory still burned like acid.
Luke blinked back to the present, his eyes narrowing as the city gates drew near.
"One day, Rolien," he whispered, voice low and venomous. "I'll return that favor—with interest."
But not yet.
Duke Arcadia snapped him out of it. "You can sort out your bruised pride another day. Right now, our people need us."
"Tch…"
Their scout mage suddenly shouted from the skies, "Groteus sighted! And at least two dozen Class B and C beasts still active in the city perimeter! Civilian routes are compromised!"
The duke didn't blink.
"All battalions prepare for engagement. Mages, suppress the outer ring. Lancer units, follow me—straight to the central square!"
Luke adjusted his gloves and kicked his mount forward, still silent.
But his heart burned hotter than the mana swirling around him.
And as they charged into the smoke, one thought stayed buried in the back of his mind:
Next time I see Rolien… I'll crush him. And this time, everyone will be watching.
To be continued....