Magus Reborn

Even on the cusp of victory, things felt too quiet for Kai as he remained within Dorn Castle, preparing for the final battle that would mark the end of this fief war.

Everything was moving as he had planned in the war council. Dorn Castle had fallen with minimal casualties, and according to the reports he’d received, the Enforcers had done their job well. They had hunted down the remnants of noble forces, crushing them with carefully planned tactics and the new Lightwood armors—a game-changer in battle.

The Lightwood’s enchantment-friendly properties had allowed him to outfit his troops with defensive and offensive enhancements, making them a formidable force capable of turning the tide of battle.

What had begun as a desperate uphill battle, where he was astronomically outnumbered, had now narrowed to just Kai versus Lucian’s remaining forces.

But that didn’t mean victory would come easily.

Lucian still had his own soldiers, battle-hardened mercenaries, and the support of the Archine Tower’s Mages and blood drinkers. If their forces clashed head-on, Kai knew that the cost would be high. This was going to be a brutal fight.

Because in war, nothing was ever truly simple.

From an outside perspective, it might seem as if each battle had been won decisively. But victory wasn’t just about winning the fight—it was about what came after. Seizing a castle, defeating armies, and capturing nobles was one thing. Dealing with the aftermath was another.

There were complications.

What to do with the local population? How to make them understand that his forces weren’t there to loot, pillage, or slaughter them? It was always a delicate situation, one that could spiral into rebellion if mismanaged. It was the last thing he wanted, especially when so many things could go wrong in the heat of a moment.

At least here, in Dorn, they had the bulk of their forces. Control was easier.

But in the noble territories where his Enforcers had seized power, things were far more complicated. They didn’t have the numbers to maintain order, so once the nobles were captured, the only choice was to withdraw and return to Dorn Castle with the captured nobles, letting the locals deal with the governance.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but in war, there were no perfect solutions. Only calculated risks.

And now, with the final battle approaching, Kai knew one thing for certain.

The hardest part was yet to come.

In all honesty, Kai just wanted to get it over with since feeding a large army and taking care of a population that wasn't his weren't easy. Keeping up morale everyday was another problem.

The longer this dragged on, the worse it would get. He needed to end it fast. But for some reason, everything had stalled.

According to the Watchers, Lucian’s forces had reached Castle Cragfort, just as expected, preparing to merge with the other noble forces. By now, his brother should have received word of what had happened to them. And yet—there was no movement.

It wasn’t as if Lucian had been completely idle. He had already tried poisoning the nearby river. But that plan had amounted to nothing, thanks to the kraken guarding it. A druidic bond that Kai had put to good use.

But aside from that? Nothing.

Lucian’s forces were simply waiting inside the castle, refusing to venture out. Maybe he was banking on Kai attacking first, confident in his ability to defend a siege.

Kai didn’t want to drag this war out longer than necessary, but storming Cragfort wasn’t an easy option either. By now, they would have countermeasures against his drones. If he launched an attack, the fortifications would hold long enough to make it a grueling battle.

The waiting made him uneasy. Something was coming. He just didn’t know what. But he knew for certain that—something was coming.

But worrying about it wouldn’t solve anything. Kai knew better than to let anxiety rule his decisions. Right now, he needed to keep his forces ready.

He gave Killian orders to keep morale high, reminding the men that only one battle remained. He had Balen’s team of apprentice blacksmiths repairing equipment, the craftsmen building more golems, and most importantly, he waited for the Enforcers to return to Dorn Castle.

Fortunately, he had capable subordinates. Everything was being handled. And that left Kai with one task of his own.

That night, after yet another strategy meeting, he moved through the former Viscount’s manor.

Dorn Castle was larger than the one in Veralt, and now, it was fully under his control. The Viscount was locked in a cell, his family quarantined in their chambers. The halls were quiet. Kai walked up the stone staircase leading to the rooftop, passing the guards who were on duty.

Once he reached the top, he felt the night wind on his face, took a deep breath, and sat down.

It was time to clear his mind. He let go of all his thoughts regarding Lucian and his forces in an instant and he exhaled slowly and began to circulate mana through his body, drawing it in from the surroundings.

Soon, mana flowed into him in waves. He felt the difference. Ever since he unlocked the vault in his legs, his control had grown sharper—he could sense it effortlessly now. But his focus wasn’t on that.

Instead, he worked on his fourth circle.

After being healed, he had devoted every night to it, refining his control. He had even used materials from Sylvastra to brew potions, hastening his progress. A part of him wondered if he was rushing, if he should be more patient with his foundation—but the final battle was looming. Breaking through before then would be a massive

His first three circles were stable, their foundations strong. But the fourth? It was trickier. He had to expand the space inside his Mana heart while constructing the circle at the same time. He had to balance both the processes so that his internal organs wouldn’t get harmed by the excess mana he was drawing in to store.

He exhaled, letting go of all the air in his lungs and paused… three… two… one… he inhaled deeply again. His focus sharpened, guiding his mana toward his heart, enveloping it in his power, and slowly pushing outward.

The sensation was strange—like pulling an invisible rubber band, stretching it further and further. It wasn’t something tangible. He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t touch it.

Only feel it.

At the core of his being, he sensed the fourth circle taking shape. The structure of it was almost complete, pressing against the expanding boundaries of his Mana heart. But it still lacked the final surge of power to solidify. Right now, it was just a half-formed ring.

Kai continued. He drew more mana from the air, feeding it into his body, channeling it relentlessly into the forming circle.

Suddenly, Kai’s eyes snapped open as a sound passed by his ears.

His body moved before thought could catch up—smooth, instinctive, silent. His feet found the cold stone of the rooftop as he straightened, his breath steady despite the sudden jolt of awareness flooding his system and his eyes looked around.

Only the whisper of the night breeze greeted him. The slow rustling of banners far below. And the silence in the distance that had no idea about predators who waited to attack.

But he knew better. Silence never meant comfort or safety. And his instincts—he trusted them.

There had been movement. Calculated. Precise. Too subtle for an accident, too measured for a mistake. Whoever was out there wanted him to hear it.

Kai remained still, his heartbeat slow, his senses expanding as his mana looked around everywhere.

He waited. His eyes swept the rooftop. His ears strained for the shift in the wind, the faintest of breaths, the misplaced weight of a footstep.

A full minute passed. Nothing. Whoever it was had even concealed mana.

His frown deepened. A quiet exhale left his lips.

"Reveal yourself."

Silence.

Then—a ripple.

Not of sound, but of something else.

A presence.

A weight pressed against his senses, creeping into the air like mist, thick and cloying. The very shadows twisted, writhing like something alive, something breathing.

Then—it took shape.

A figure stepped forward from the darkness, emerging as if the night itself had birthed him.

Tall. Incredibly tall. Lean, yet the way he moved—the sheer, predatory grace of it—spoke of something inhuman. His body, though lightly dressed, carried the promise of unrestrained power. A simple black vest clung to his form, tailored like a noble’s, yet without the pretension of armor.

And then, there were the fangs. Gleaming. Sharp. Made for tearing and sucking blood out of whatever that passed it.

His eyes—slitted, crimson—did not just look at Kai. They smiled.

Kai’s expression remained unreadable, but his mind sharpened, turning like a well-oiled machine. Blood drinker.

And not just any.

This one was not hiding his presence.

Kai felt it—the sheer weight of his aura, thick as a thunderstorm waiting to break. It pushed against him, not with brute force, but with an oppressive certainty. A presence that had no doubt of its own superiority.

A Lord.

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One of the highest-ranked in the blood drinker hierarchy. Kai had read of them. Few lived to speak of meeting one. The blood drinker studied him with unhurried amusement, as if indulging a lesser being.

Then, at last, he spoke—his voice a smooth drawl, rich with something dangerous.

“It’s nice to meet you, Arzan Kellius.”

He took a step forward.

The way he moved was wrong. Too fluid, too silent. Like his feet had never needed the ground to walk. His head tilted, just slightly.

“Let me introduce myself.”

He gave off a predator’s smile, fangs glinting under the moonlight.

"I am Shakran. Rank—Lord among the mighty blood drinkers. And I’m here to take your life.”

Kai didn’t react at first. Then, he smiled.

“So… Lucian sent you to kill me,” he said. “I suppose he isn’t confident in defeating my forces after all.”

Shakran chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Your brother has no command over me.”

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s someone else who wants you dead.”

Kai immediately pieced it together. His voice was certain as he said the name. “Regina.”

Shakran’s grin widened. “Right answer.”

He studied Kai, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So, you’re already aware of Mistress Regina and the legions she commands.”

Kai let out a short scoff. “Mistress?” His tone was mocking. “Never thought a blood drinker would swear fealty to a human. Especially when you lot consider us beneath you.”

Shakran laughed maniacally out loud.

"You humans are so blind!” His voice dripped with haughtiness. His eyes looked down on Kai as if he was just another prey. But Kai didn’t falter, he maintained his eye contact with the blood drinker. "So pitifully tied to your fleeting existence. Mistress Regina is nothing like your kind. She transcends your feeble mortality, guided by the same faith that I serve. She swears by it, and so do I! And soon, the world will bow to the fate that awaits it."

Kai didn’t react to the speech. He let the words wash over him, a meaningless tide of devotion and zealotry. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard self-righteous declarations from fanatics, and it wouldn’t be the last. Instead, his fingers twitched subtly inside his robe pocket, weaving an unseen spell.

A thread of mana pulsed at his fingertips, thin as a whisper, as he shaped it into a message spell. Killian. Intruder on the rooftop. Prepare the soldiers on the wall. Enemy forces may be moving.

The magic flickered away, silent and swift, vanishing into the air to find its recipient.

Kai exhaled slowly, his gaze remaining locked onto Shakran. If the blood drinker was here, then Lucian’s forces were already mobilizing. They couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.

Yet, for all his caution, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he tilted his head slightly.

"I’d love to hear more about Regina from you," Kai said, unbothered. "But I have a feeling you didn’t come all this way just to lecture me on your mistress’s grand ideals. No—" He narrowed his eyes. "You’re here to kill me. To drain me dry."

Shakran chuckled. "Ah, you understand so quickly." He spread his arms, a mockery of hospitality. "You’re strong for a human, I’ll grant you that. But against superior strength like mine? You’ll be a corpse before you even realize it."

The air thickened suddenly.

A low hum resonated from the blood drinker’s body, and the shadows beneath him trembled.

Dark crimson droplets lifted into the air around him, swirling and twisting unnaturally, forming jagged edges and wickedly sharp points. The liquid molded itself into weapons—blades, spears, tendrils of slicing death—all hovering in anticipation, waiting for his command.

At the same time, mana surged around Kai, responding to his will. He didn’t need theatrics to show his power. The air crackled, the temperature around him shifting ever so slightly. His body remained still, but his presence grew heavier, a storm coiling beneath the surface.

His heartbeat slowed, his breathing steady.

Finally. The battle he had been waiting for was about to begin.

***

The drumming of hooves echoed through the valley, a relentless rhythm that matched the hammering in Lucian’s chest. His breath came slow but his fingers clenched tighter around the reins. His black warhorse, sensing the tension in its rider, snorted and tossed its head, but Lucian barely noticed.

The march to Dorn Castle had been swift. He had forced it so—if he gave his soldiers too much time to think, to wonder, they might see the same cracks in their fate that he did.

His gaze swept over the ranks. Rows upon rows of men moved in unison, their armor catching the dim light of the moon, their banners fluttering in the breeze. From a distance, it was an impressive sight—a tide of steel and blood, rolling toward war.

But Lucian knew better.

He could see the tension in their shoulders, the stiffness in their strides. Soldiers who should have marched with confidence instead gripped their weapons a little too tightly. Their silence was suffocating. No songs, no idle chatter—just the relentless clank of armor, the rustle of worn banners, the uneasy shifting of warhorses.

They were thinking about it too.

The reports had come in like knives to his pride. The noble forces under him—annihilated. Not scattered, not defeated—wiped out. The blood drinkers had spoken of Arzan’s Knights like monsters, claiming no formation, no battle-hardened troops could hold against them.

It had been absurd. Impossible.

And yet, it had happened.

Just like the kraken.

His jaw tightened at the thought. His poison plan should have worked. It should have crippled the enemy's supply lines, left them starving, desperate, easy prey. But then, from the depths of the very river he meant to poison, the kraken had risen. Not only it had gotten the blood drinkers he had sent, even the ordinary men he had sent after that were devoured with only one of them surviving to tell the tale of what had happened.

It was as if the gods themselves were laughing at him.

Lucian sucked in a slow breath, exhaling through his nose.

There had been no strategy against it, no counter. He had lost soldiers, resources, and time. He had sent for reinforcements—Mages from Archine Tower, noble battalions from outside the Sylvan Enclave—but they were still too far.

Time was something he didn’t have.

His gaze flickered toward the distant stone walls of Dorn Castle, now rising into view over the horizon. He could not stall any longer. His army would not last. Rations were running low. Morale was thinner than parchment.

Arzan could attack at any moment.

Lucian pressed his lips into a thin line. He had gambled.

Shakran had proposed a cleaner end—take Arzan’s head himself and then Arzan’s forces would fall on its own. Lucian hadn’t trusted it. Things always went wrong, and if they do—what would happen?

Shakran and his kind were beasts, not men. Creatures of hunger and darkness that followed their own whims. The blood drinkers did not fight for loyalty, or honor, or even wealth. They fought for the thrill of the hunt, for the taste of war and blood.

But he needed them. He had agreed, even as unease slithered through his gut. Now, as Dorn Castle stood before him, the weight of his choice settled on his shoulders.

The old fortress loomed, its walls jagged and unyielding, banners snapping against the wind. The moonlight bathed the stone in a silver hue, but Lucian felt no warmth from it. His horse slowed, and his army followed suit.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on Garrik.

The old Knight sat straight in the saddle. A deep scar carved down his left cheek. Near his jaw, the burned skin twisted, giving his already fearsome face an even harsher edge. The first time most men saw him, they flinched. Garrik did not fear battle. That was why Lucian had kept him close.

“This is the end, Garrik.”

The old Knight did not hesitate. “Don’t worry, my lord.” His voice was rough, firm—the voice of a man who had seen battlefields drenched in blood and still stood. “The victory will be ours soon.”

Lucian turned to him fully now, his eyes cold, sharp. “I hope your words are correct.”

His gaze swept over the soldiers behind him.

“Because you and the troops can either die in battle—” he let the words settle, his grip tightening on the reins, “or die by my hands if we lose.”

Even the wind seemed to still at those words.

Garrik met his gaze. Then, after a beat, he gave a single nod.

Lucian exhaled, turning back to the castle.

The siege would begin soon.

***

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