Magus Reborn

Shakran looked down at the man crouching on the floor, his eyes wide with terror as he stared up at him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling with each trembling exhale. The blood drinker tilted his head, curious.

What are you thinking right now?

Was he afraid for himself? Regretful of something he had done? Perhaps thoughts of his family crossed his mind, the realization that he would never see them again? Or had he not yet grasped the gravity of the situation? That death was right in front of him—not as a soldier on the battlefield, but as a meal.

Slowly, Shakran crouched, his hollow, hungry gaze locking onto the man's. The mortal flinched, his pupils shaking, and Shakran found himself enjoying that look of despair. His voice was smooth when he finally spoke.

“Are you wondering why you were sent here, to my camp?”

The man’s head bobbed in a shaky nod, his lips pressed tight as though holding back a plea.

Shakran chuckled. “Well, it’s because you are an unlucky human.” His fingers tapped against his knee as he continued. “You look good, perhaps even fight well by mortal standards. But you have ruffled some feathers. Someone above you doesn’t like you, so they sent you to me… as my dinner.”

The man’s breathing quickened.

“You know,” Shakran mused, “when I asked for living men to feast upon each day, your lord didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. He didn’t flinch, not even once. Do you understand what that means?” His lips curled into a smirk. “He doesn’t care about you. Not your life, not your service, not your loyalty. He doesn’t care. He sent you here without a second thought.

“But me?” Shakran tapped his chest. “I’m just a creature having his dinner. You eat goats and chickens, don’t you? It’s the same here.” His voice softened, though his eyes glowed with hunger. “The real evil is your lord.”

The man trembled violently now. His lips parted, barely able to form words before a desperate whisper escaped—

“Please… spare—”

Shakran was already moving.

His hand clamped around the man's neck, his fangs sinking deep into the soft flesh. A choked whimper left the man’s throat, his fingers twitching before the strength bled out of them. Shakran drank, savoring every drop of the rich, warm taste as it flowed over his tongue. The man’s body convulsed once… twice… and then his skin grew pallid, his veins drained of every last drop.

The body crumpled to the ground—pale, lifeless, hollow.

Shakran wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, exhaling in satisfaction.

“That wasn’t a bad meal.”

Footsteps echoed outside the tent. He turned his head just as one of his servants entered, dropping to one knee in practiced submission.

“I greet Lord Shakran,” the blood drinker intoned.

Shakran studied him for a moment before leaning back, his hunger sated. “What news do you bring?”

The servant remained on one knee, his head bowed as he spoke.

“As you expected, my lord, I and the others followed Arzan’s knights after we saw them lead a small force out a few hours after the Battle of Dorn ended. We trailed them to the three noble houses that are in support of Duke Lucian.”

Shakran leaned back after sitting in a chair, tapping a claw against his knee. “So, what came of it?”

The servant’s voice was steady. “Annihilation.”

Shakran raised a brow.

“All three noble houses lost their major forces,” the servant continued. “Their armies were slaughtered, and their lords taken prisoner.”

For the first time in a long while, genuine surprise flickered through Shakran’s mind. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the lingering remnants of his last meal. He studied his servant’s composure, searching for any sign of exaggeration—but there was none.

His voice came out as a single word.

“How?”

The servant lowered his head slightly. “They used tricks, my lord. It was all a trap. The noble armies expected an easy victory, believing Arzan’s forces too few to pose a threat. But their Knights had unique armor—armor that blinded the enemy with bursts of light, that burned with fire and crackled with lightning.” He paused. “When they charged, they could not be stopped. The noble forces were overwhelmed before they even had the chance to retreat.”

Shakran narrowed his eyes. “A special enchanted armour, then. Ordinary ones won't be able to take enchantments such as the ones you are describing without breaking down.”

“We believe so,” the servant confirmed. “Not just that—while the noble armies were distracted, those small forces led by Knights also moved to capture their cities.”

Shakran exhaled slowly, watching his servant with growing interest. For the second time, he wondered if the man was bluffing—but no. The weight in his words spoke of something witnessed firsthand.

“Just how strong are these knights they call Enforcers?” He voiced the question aloud.

The servant hesitated before answering. “I do not know, my lord. This battle was won through trickery and deception. But if we take the Battle of Verdis into account… They are at least as strong as us. Especially if they are prepared.”

Shakran chuckled, his sharp nails tapping against the armrest of his seat. “This is turning out to be far more interesting than I initially expected.” His eyes sharpened. “Keep an eye on their armor and weapons. We need to bring samples to Queen Regina. She would be very pleased to see them.”

The servant nodded. “Yes, my lord. There is one more thing.”

Shakran lifted a brow. “Oh?”

“It’s a small matter, but we noticed something… unusual.”

Shakran’s lips curled into a smirk. “And what is that?”

The servant met his gaze. “Birds, my lord.”

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Shakran tilted his head slightly, urging him to continue.

“Normally, when we fly, birds scatter away from us. They recognize a stronger creature and flee.” The servant’s voice grew thoughtful. “But during the entire watch, my lord, we saw the same birds circling above the battlefield. They did not move away—not once.”

Shakran’s smirk widened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “And you suspect Arzan is controlling them.”

The servant nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Shakran leaned forward, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Druidic magic. Now that is interesting. I never thought I would see it in the hands of a human, when even the Maleficia have no knowledge of it.” He exhaled, this had certainly taken a very interesting turn. “We need to find the source of this power. If Arzan has access to it… then we must take it from him.”

He leaned back, his fingers tapping once more against the wood. “Deliver this information to Queen Regina. She will want to know.”

The servant hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“So… should I inform Duke Lucian about this, my lord?”

Shakran looked at him, then let out a slow, amused chuckle. His fangs gleamed as he grinned.

“No,” he said smoothly. “Lucian doesn’t need to know anything.” He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes glinting. “I initially thought this war would be an easy victory for him. But no. He’s going to lose. And even if, by some miracle, he wins, it’ll be a pyrrhic victory at best.”

The servant gave a slow nod. “Then… what are your next orders, my lord?”

Shakran’s smile remained, but it sharpened at the edges. “Don’t tell Lucian anything. He can’t do anything about it at this point. With no reinforcements coming, he’s done for. We will hold the end of the bargain by helping him in the battle, but not more than that.”

The servant bowed his head. “Understood, my lord.”

Shakran stood from his seat, his gaze flickering toward the dead, pale corpse at his feet. “What we need to do,” he continued, “is follow Mistress Regina’s orders.” His voice deepened. “She wants Arzan’s head.” His fingers twitched, as if already imagining them closing around his target’s throat. “And I will make sure to get it.”

He turned his gaze back to his servant. “While I battle him, your job will be to move into Veralt and find me this knowledge. The armor, the drones, and—” his lips curled slightly, “—the druidic magic.”

The servant gave an affirmative nod. “Yes, my lord.”

Shakran’s smirk widened in approval. “Good.”

His gaze drifted once more to the lifeless human at his feet, and he tilted his head, amusement dancing in his blood-red eyes.

“Oh, Arzan…” he murmured.

His foot nudged the corpse slightly, watching as it lay still—pale, lifeless, empty.

“I can’t wait to make you exactly that.”

***

In the dead of night, two figures soared through the sky, their forms blending seamlessly into the darkness. The night was their ally, cloaking them in its shadowy embrace as they glided silently toward the great river that bordered House Dorn’s lands.

Each carried a large sack under their arm, their burden heavy, yet their flight unhindered. Below them, the land stretched vast and quiet, unaware of the destruction about to unfold.

They had heard of this place—the great river that wound through much of the Sylvan Enclave, one of the largest sources of water in the region. A lifeline to the humans.

What they were about to do would corrupt that lifeline, poisoning it for years to come. But to the two blood drinkers, it meant nothing. Orders had been given, and they would be carried out. The lives of humans were no more valuable to them than those of livestock. If this act would cripple Count Arzan and his forces, then it was necessary.

One of them touched down on the riverbank, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. He glanced around before nodding.

“I believe this spot should be good,” he murmured. “Let’s do it and get back. Lord Shakran seems to be growing impatient, and new orders could come at any time.”

The other blood drinker grinned, baring fangs that gleamed in the moonlight. “Yes. I can’t wait for those humans in the castle to come fetch their precious water… only to drink their deaths.” His eyes gleamed with wicked amusement. “Do you think they’ll be tasty?”

His companion gave a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve long since lost my taste for mortal blood.” He paused, then smirked. “Now, Mage blood… that’s a different story.”

His gaze shifted downward, watching the river rush past them, oblivious to its fate.

“Anyway,” he said, shaking the bag loose, “let’s get this poison in the water and fly off.”

With that, they knelt.

The other blood drinker nodded, adjusting his grip as they prepared to empty their sacks into the river. They moved in unison, lifting the heavy bags, ready to dump the poison into the flowing water—

One of them suddenly froze.

The other noticed immediately, frowning. “What is it?”

“I saw something move,” the first one murmured, his red eyes narrowing as he scanned the dark waters.

The second scoffed. “A lowly fish, no doubt. It’ll meet its end the moment we dissolve this into the river. Don’t let it distract you.”

The first hesitated for only a moment before nodding, shifting the bag again. But—

This time, the river trembled. A deep vibration rippled through the ground beneath them.

Both blood drinkers stiffened. Their instincts sharpened, their bodies tensing as they instinctively stepped back, ready to flee if necessary.

Then—

The water erupted.

Something massive surged from beneath, sending a wave crashing over the shore. One of them cursed and instantly shot into the air, abandoning the bag entirely—

But before he could get far, a thick, glistening tentacle lashed out and seized his leg.

A startled snarl tore from his throat as he struggled, clawing at the appendage, but the grip was like iron. His companion’s eyes widened in horror as he watched, and then—more tentacles rose from the depths.

His breath hitched as a monstrous form emerged from the river. An enormous creature loomed over them, its slick, chitinous skin reflecting the moonlight, its many eyes glinting with an unnatural intelligence.

A kraken.

“Damn it!” The second blood drinker snarled, hands flashing as he unleashed a flurry of crimson attacks. Blades of condensed blood, sharp as razors, sliced through the air, striking the writhing limbs—

—and did nothing.

Whatever wounds his attacks inflicted vanished in an instant. Healing almost instantly.

His stomach dropped.

Meanwhile, his companion was hauled violently downward. A sickening crack echoed through the night as the kraken smashed him into the riverbank, sending dirt and debris flying.

“Shiran!” the second one shouted, lunging forward—

But more tentacles lashed out. Too many to count.

They wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso, pulling him toward the beast’s gaping maw.

For the first time in centuries, a cold, primal fear slithered through him. He had become prey out of nowhere.

The kraken’s countless eyes bore into him, unblinking.

And then—

It fucking smiled.

A slow, creeping grin that stretched wide, exposing rows upon rows of jagged fangs.

The blood drinker thrashed, trying to summon more power, but the grip around him tightened—

And then, with horrifying ease, the kraken’s mouth opened, and the darkness of its throat engulfed him.

The last thing he saw was his companion’s mangled body being lifted toward the same fate.

The kraken bit down.

The night was silent once more.

Only the river remained, flowing undisturbed, as if nothing had happened.

***

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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