Magus Reborn

Feroy felt a rush of power spread through him and his men. It was too bright and powerful. The aethum core in his chestplate hummed violently as the Blinding Seals activated. A bright white light exploded across the battlefield, covering everything in its glow.

In the next second, panicked shouts filled the air. Not just that, triggered horses neighed wildly, rearing up as their riders cried out in confusion. Blinded by the sudden light, many soldiers covered their eyes or waved their weapons uselessly.

On the other hand, Feroy and his forces were prepared. Their helmets had special visors—Dusk Shields—that let them see through the blinding glow. Balen even had managed to create a similar kind for each and every horse—to avoid any sort of unnecessary trouble.

Feroy immediately took the chance of the enemy being blinded.

“Charge!” he shouted.

His men stormed forward, cutting down enemies who couldn’t even see them coming. Spears pierced through armor, swords slashed through flesh, and the battlefield turned into chaos.

“I can’t see!” an enemy soldier screamed.

“Help me!” another shouted before being struck down.

Feroy tore through the carnage, his spear a blur of death. Each strike hammered into flesh, cutting men down ruthlessly—nothing held him back. His men were no different—there was no mercy in their eyes. Spears, shields, swords, arrows, and daggers all joined in the bloodbath, painting the ground red. Everywhere Feroy looked, men were falling, horses crashing, and the desperate screams of those begging for their lives filled the air.

It happened too fast—too violently. In the span of moments, a force of two thousand men and horses had been driven back, and the slaughter began. His men didn’t hesitate. They ripped through the enemy with a savagery that could only be born from the certainty of victory.

Afterall, a blinded enemy was nothing more than a corpse waiting to happen.

Feroy didn’t even need his powers as an Enforcer. His spear sliced through blood-soaked air, carving through bone, flesh, and beating hearts, leaving a trail of mangled bodies right after.

His fingers gripped the reins of his horse, pulling it around as he watched the chaos unfold—men screaming, dying, blood splattering against the earth. Then, he caught sight of some enemy soldiers who’d managed to escape the worst of it. They were turning, fleeing.

Feroy’s eyes locked onto Bord, his sword sinking deep into a man’s throat, earning a loud scream. Blood splurged from the fallen guy’s mouth, and even eyes.

“Bord! Hunt them down!”

Bord’s eyes flicked up, his eyes hard and wild. With a loud grunt, he gathered a few men and shot off after the retreating cowards.

Feroy didn’t slow down. He pressed on, cutting down the men who begged for mercy or a quick death, their pleas lost in the beautiful sound of the battle. One after another, they crumpled to the earth, lifeless.

Is that...?

His gaze snapped to the ground, catching sight of someone through the blood-soaked chaos. A man, sprawled beneath fallen horses, crushed by their weight and the bodies of the wounded. Blood stained his armor, dark and thick, and a spear jutted from his stomach, the point glistening with crimson.

The Viscount.

Feroy hadn’t even seen him during the battle. He must have fallen early. From the way his eyes were closed with his body sprawled like that—Feroy wondered if he was dead. But, Lord Arzan had ordered him to be captured, not killed. Even though every cell of his body would have liked to leave him to die, orders were orders.

Urging his horse forward, he dodged past swinging blades and rearing horses until he reached the fallen man. With a single motion, he pulled the Viscount up onto his saddle. The man groaned weakly, still alive but badly hurt.

Feroy grabbed a small vial from his belt, uncorked it, and forced a few drops into the viscount’s mouth. The potion would keep him alive long enough to be tied up.

Glancing back at the battlefield, Feroy saw that the enemy was slowly recovering. But it was too late for them. Less than a quarter of their army remained, and Feroy’s forces hadn’t lost a single man.

Victory was already theirs.

As Feroy sat on his horse, surveying the battlefield, two men suddenly charged at him. Their eyes burned with fury as they shouted, “Give us back our lord!”

Feroy barely spared them a glance. With a swift movement, he blocked their attack with his spear, then shoved them back with enough force to unseat them. Their horses reared in panic, but before they could recover, Feroy struck their mounts down, sending both men crashing to the ground. Without hesitation, he urged his own horse forward, its heavy hooves stomping down on the fallen enemies.

The battlefield was almost silent now, save for the groans of the wounded and the ones who still fought with all their might.

Feroy scanned the field and then raised his voice for all to hear.

“Anyone who surrenders now will be spared! You will be taken as political prisoners until the fief war is over. Any resistance will lead to your death—just like your comrades!”

That earned more silence than before as the enemy soldiers clad in crimson plates hesitated, looking back and forth between the men who were still alive. Feroy saw how their hands tightened around their weapons, a silent conversation passed between them wondering whether to give up or continue.

But they soon came to the right decision.

The last three hundred of them dropped their weapons to the ground in unison, and raised their hands in surrender.

Feroy smirked and lifted his spear high. “We have won!”

A loud triumphant cheer erupted from his men. They had fought without losing a single soldier, and their victory was absolute.

“We did it!”

“It was fucking easy! Look at them bow now!”

“Long live Lord Arzan!!”

The men shouted, one after another.

Just then, Feroy spotted Bord riding back with a few of his men. Their weapons dripped with fresh blood. Even before Bord spoke, Feroy knew his task had been completed.

Bord stopped beside him and grinned. “I killed all the fleeing men.” his grin expanded as he showed around. “I have to say, I’ve never seen or heard a battle end this quickly. The bards will have a good year with their stories after this fief war.”

Feroy nodded. “For sure. But it’s not over yet.”

Bord tilted his head. “What’s next?”

Feroy paused for a moment, then smiled. “We move to raid House Xandhir. The Viscount and his forces are done, but they might still have reinforcements left. Lord Arzan doesn’t want any loose ends. We’ll make sure the whole Sylvan Enclave is under our lord’s control.”

Bord smirked. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

***

A small army of men rode swiftly across the open plains, heading toward the fortified city at the edge of the Sylvan Enclave. Their horses galloped hard, kicking up clouds of dust that trailed behind them like a storm. The soldiers wore battered green armor, its once-proud metal now cracked and broken. The crest of House Dyerich was barely visible through the dirt and blood that stained their plates.

They were in a hurry. Their horses’ hooves thundered against the earth as they raced toward the city's towering walls. But as they neared the entrance, the archers stationed above quickly took aim.

"Halt, or you will be shot down!" one of the guards shouted.

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The riders pulled on their reins, their horses slowing to a stop just outside the gates. One man stepped forward, his voice urgent and shaky as he called out, "We need to meet Baron Kairnso immediately!"

The archers exchanged wary glances before the same guard called back, "Why? State your business!"

The soldier took a deep breath and shouted, "We were ambushed on our way to join Duke Lucian’s forces! Count Arzan’s men attacked us. We barely escaped with our lives!"

Immediately murmurs spread among the men on the wall. The tension in the air grew thick, the archers gripping their bows tighter.

Finally, the guard at the front narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where is Knight Serian? He was leading your force."

The soldier’s expression darkened. "He’s dead," he said grimly and wiped his nose from the back of hishand. He marched forward. "He fell in battle, along with the rest of our men. We weren’t even able to recover their bodies. Please, let us in!"

The guard hesitated, glancing at his fellow soldiers. A heavy silence filled the space between them. Then, after a long pause, he nodded. "Wait here."

A moment later, the heavy wooden gates groaned open, allowing the weary riders to pass through. As they entered the city, the archers climbed down from their posts, their eyes scanning the wounded men. Blood stained their armor, and some of them looked pale, barely able to stay upright on their horses.

The soldier at the front turned to the guard. "Please, my men need healing. They won’t last much longer."

The guard took in the sight of their injuries and gave a short nod. "We’ll call for the healers. My men will take care of them." He then gestured toward the castle in the distance. "But first, you need to go with me. Baron Kairnso must hear about this immediately."

The soldier nodded. "Of course."

Without wasting another second, the guard led him through the city streets, past rows of stone buildings and bustling city folks who paused to watch the bloodied warrior pass. They made their way toward a small castle at the city’s center, its stone walls sturdy and imposing.

The guard exchanged a few words with a butler at the entrance, who then guided them through a series of barely lit up corridors. The castle smelled of burning candles and parchment, the faint scent of wine lingering in the air.

Finally, they reached a heavy wooden door, and the butler knocked twice before pushing it open.

Inside, Baron Kairnso sat at a polished table, his pudgy fingers wrapped around a goblet of wine. His face twisted into an annoyed scowl as he looked up. "What is it now?” His gaze shifted from the butler, to the guard and finally, to the bloodied soldier standing before him. He frowned. "Are you one of the men I sent to aid Duke Lucian?"

The soldier stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, my lord. Knight Serian led us, but…" He clenched his fists, his voice lowering. "We were attacked. Count Arzan’s forces ambushed us on the way. Our men… were annihilated."

Baron Kairnso’s frown deepened. His fingers tightened around the goblet as he leaned forward. “What exactly happened?”

The soldier took a slow, shuddering breath, his face pale with exhaustion. He kneeled on the floor unable to keep up his body. “We were on our way to join Duke Lucian’s forces when we spotted a cavalry unit approaching—Count Arzan’s men. There weren’t many of them, so we engaged, thinking we had a chance.”

He hesitated, eyes shadowed with something close to fear. “But just before we clashed… they started burning.”

Baron Kairnso’s brows shot up. “Burning?”

The soldier gave a stiff nod. “As if they were demons from hell itself. Flames erupted over them, swallowing their armor, their horses… but they didn’t scream. They didn’t fall. They just kept charging at us, wreathed in fire, untouched by their own flames.”

A shiver ran through the room. The guard and the butler standing nearby exchanged uneasy glances. The scent of burnt leather and flesh still clung to the scorched soldier’s armor, the metal blackened and warped from the heat.

Baron Kairnso slammed his goblet onto the table. “What do you mean, a burning cavalry? Didn’t they burn themselves?”

The soldier shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No, my lord. They seemed… unaffected. Their armor didn’t even seem to get heated.”

Baron Kairnso cursed under his breath, his face twisting with frustration and he stood up.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, pacing across the room. Then, turning sharply, he fixed the soldier with a hard stare. “Are you sure they didn’t chase you?”

The soldier shook his head again. “No, my lord. We took a different route, curved around the main roads, and hid in caves to avoid them. They didn’t follow.”

Kairnso nodded, but the worry on his face did not fade. He started pacing again, his boots clicking against the stone floor. He felt the tension of the room increase by a few degrees.

The guard finally spoke. “What are we going to do now, my lord? Do we still prepare the reinforcements we were sending after Knight Serian?”

Kairnso stopped mid-step, exhaling sharply. Then, with a sudden snap, he turned on the man. “Hell if I know!”

The room fell silent. His scowl deepened as he gestured sharply, his frustration spilling out. “Do your insignificant peasant brain even realize what’s happening here? A Duke and a Count are fighting—using their ancestral forces, their magical powers—to crush each other! And in the middle of it all, I’m getting ground into dust like a damn pebble!”

His words echoed through the chamber. The air was heavy with an unspoken truth—one none of them wanted to face.

Then, from the other side of the room, the scorched soldier spoke up, his voice hoarse but steady. “Then why did you agree to join the fief war, Baron Kairnso?”

Kairnso scoffed, a dry, humorless laugh escaping him. “Do you think I had a choice?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Do you fucking think I had a choice?!” he repeated himself as if no one heard him before. “House Kellius has ruled the Sylvan Enclave for centuries.”

The soldier hesitated before speaking again. “But House Redmont chose to stay neutral.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Kairnso sneered at the scorched man, his voice dripping with disdain. "What do you know? I choose the best possible way, and I don't need to hear anything from a soldier who ran away from battle! Arzan’s forces might not have killed you, but I will if you use that tongue too much."

The scorched man’s lips twitched, his face twisted in amusement. Without a word, he threw his head back and let out a low, eerie chuckle. Baron Kairnso froze on the spot, furrowing his brow in confusion, wondering why the man was laughing. As he did, the scorched man suddenly removed his helmet with one swift motion.

Kairnso’s eyes widened as a sharp, handsome face with a scar running down his neck came into view, framed by dark hair, blue eyes and a bright, unsettling smile. The tremor that was before—gone. This man looked borderline crazy with a grin on his face.

Kairnso instinctively took a step back, his instincts telling him that something was wrong.

“Are you really one of my soldiers?” He asked, voice trembling.

The man caught Kairnso’s confused expression and chuckled again. “I’m sorry. I forgot, a nobleman like you would never be able to remember the faces of his own soldiers. I guess it was easier to get in here due to that.”

The words hit Kairnso like a dagger to the chest, draining the color from his face as his jaw went slack. His mind raced as he struggled to process the implications of the man’s words.

“Who… who are you?” Kairnso stammered, his heart hammering in his chest.

The scorched man’s grin widened, and with a flourish, he replied, “Knight Talon, serving Count Arzan. It’s nice to meet you, Baron Kairnso.”

Kairnso’s face looked like he had eaten shit. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he stumbled backward, his eyes darting toward the guard and butler, who were now both visibly tense.

Before Kairnso could make another sound, Talon moved. In an instant, two short swords whistled through the air. One struck the guard in the neck, the other embedding itself in the butler’s chest. He dragged the short sword from the guard and held it in his hands as the two men fell lifeless to the ground, blood splattering across Talon and Kairnso.

Talon wiped the blood that was on his forehead and it smudged all over his face. He didn’t care.

Kairnso, now utterly paralyzed by fear, found himself on the floor, the window looming just behind him. His mouth moved in vain, no words escaping as he gasped for breath, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Talon took slow steps toward him, his boots silent on the cold stone floor. “You’re much more of a coward than what Ansel reported.”

Kairnso, now frantic, scooted back across the floor, wanting to put as much distance as he could from the lunatic man, his hands bracing himself against the cold stone as he scrambled. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with panic. “You won’t get away with this,” he spat. “I’ll have you killed. My men will tear you apart and save me. You’ll never make it out of the city.”

Talon’s laughter was low and mocking, the sound of it echoing in Kairnso’s ears. He stepped closer. “I really don’t think so,” Talon replied smoothly. “You know why?”

Kairnso’s eyes narrowed, defiance flickering in them, but he said nothing. His mind raced, struggling to piece together what Talon was saying, but the words didn’t make sense. Talon didn’t seem worried in the slightest.

“Because I didn’t come here alone,” Talon continued, his voice almost playful. “And those who I came here with? Led by a woman named Lyra. She’s icy cold, silver hair—ah, scary to look at when she’s in the mood for blood. And she… She is someone who will complete her job no matter what. And do you know what job I gave her?”

Before Kairnso could respond, a faint glow caught his eye through the window. His eyes widened as he turned to look outside, his heart dropping into his stomach. Cold icy mist was rising high into the sky, a terrifying icy inferno consuming the city he had once controlled. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of disbelief and horror flooding through him.

“What the….”

Talon’s smile deepened, the satisfaction in his eyes unmistakable. “It seems like you’ve already lost before you even began properly.”

Kairnso’s face paled further, his mind spiraling in panic, but Talon wasn’t finished. “Thank you for making this easy by not going with your main force. You were too much of a coward to think that far ahead. Now, let me wrap you up nicely, so I can present my lord with a nice gift. Afterall, I owe him the best.”

His voice was a chilling whisper as he crouched down to Kairnso’s level. The Baron opened his mouth, about to beg or curse, but before any words could escape, Talon’s fist landed squarely on his face, cutting off the sound as Kairnso crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Talon straightened, wiping his bloodied knuckles with a casual gesture as he looked down at the fallen Baron. “My job’s over,” he murmured to himself with a satisfied smile, then turned on his heel and walked toward the door, leaving the chaos of the frozen city in the distance.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also, pre orders for Volume 1 are live.

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