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Magus Reborn Chapter 282
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 14:26:52 +0000 UTCChapter 282
Kai walked through the long hallways of his estate, the echo of his boots steady against the polished stone. His subordinates followed a few steps behind, their silence was heavy and their gazes darted between one another as if they could sense what was about to come. Tradition said he should have called for a gathering, a crowd large enough to hear him all at once. That was the proper way, the ceremonial way to announce his bid for the throne. But time was not something they could afford to waste on formality.
The moment the balcony came into view, Kai didn’t hesitate. He lifted his hand, spoke the spell under his breath, and leapt. Wind wrapped around his legs and waist like invisible ropes, holding him aloft as he rose higher. Below, his subordinates rushed to the railing, eyes wide, their mouths parting with surprise.
“Don’t worry,” Kai said. “You will hear everything.”
He climbed higher into the sky, until the whole city spread beneath him like a living map. He saw everything that was happening below him. The streets bustled with movement—merchants calling out from their stalls, workers shouting to one another over the noise of hammers of the forges, wagons rattling over the cobblestones. Near the gates, long lines of travelers streamed inward. Patrols in clean armor marched their rounds, while near the Adventurers’ guild, a group of young hunters dragged carts piled with the carcasses of wolves as proof of their bounty.
Kai hovered there, drinking it all in. His lips curved into a smile. So much time had passed. So much had been built from the dust and the ruin. Now, the city was alive again, its heartbeat strong.
And yet, beneath that pulse, he could feel the tremor of unease. Rumors swirled in taverns and whispered at marketplaces everyday—rumors of civil war, of the throne trembling, of Kai himself stepping into the struggle for the crown. He could see it in the way strangers looked up at his estate, and hear it in the hush that sometimes followed his name.
But soon there would be no guessing, no uncertainty. His next words would strip away all doubt, and the truth would stand firm.
Trade with the rest of the cities in Sylvan Enclave had already been bolstered, and by tomorrow the news would spread like fire through dry grass. And when it did, the city—and the world beyond its gates—would know exactly where he stood.
Hence, it was his duty to make sure that when word spread, the first feeling his people carried wasn’t panic, but confidence. Confidence in him. Confidence in the army that stood behind him.
Kai raised his hands, fingers moving with sharp precision as he wove two spells at once. The runes of light shimmered at his fingertips. Already, people had begun to notice him—figures standing on rooftops, pointing, shouting, their voices carrying faintly through the wind.
Then the first spell burst.
A radiant light bloomed above the city, brighter than day, flooding every street and alley until shadows vanished. For several heartbeats the city glowed, and even beyond the walls the brilliance was seen—travelers on distant roads stopped in their tracks, blinking in awe. Every head turned upward, every mouth paused mid-word.
Chatter erupted like a storm.
Then Kai released the second spell.
A pulse of mana rippled outward from him, soft as breath, yet vast as the sea. It swept through the air and brushed past every soul. Voices stilled, footsteps slowed, and silence rolled through the city like a tide receding. When the wave settled, Kai’s voice filled the ears of every man, woman, and child in Veralt as though he stood beside them.
“Citizens of Veralt,” he said in a steady voice. “I am Arzan Kellius, speaking to you now. I know this is sudden, but I ask for your attention. I want to speak with you about what is happening in the kingdom, and about the rumors that have spread regarding me, and my intentions. Many of those rumors… are true.”
The words struck like a hammer against an anvil. He allowed the silence to linger, and gave them space to grasp the meaning. Rumors could be doubted, twisted by gossip. But words from their lord’s own lips were iron.
“The kingdom,” he continued, “is now caught in a civil war. Prince Thalric Lancephil has struck the first blow, and soon the other two princes will rise to claim their right to the throne. The struggle is no longer a question of if, but when.”
Kai paused again, his gaze sweeping the city below. In the streets, no one moved. His voice alone carried.
“And aside from this civil war,” he said at last, his voice cutting clean through the silence, “I must tell you something else. By right of the medallion granted to my mother by King Sullivan himself, I too have entered the contest for the throne of this kingdom.”
Murmurs washed through the crowd. Kai let them roll, then cut through them with steady words.
“And I plan to use that right,” he said. “I will enter this war. But you do not need to fear for your homes. No blood will fall on Veralt, Veridis, Veyrin, or anywhere in the Sylvan Enclave. I will see to that.”
A few people shouted back—half relief, half disbelief. Kai did not soften his next line.
“That is not to say this will be easy. It will be hard. It will be bloody. It will reshape the kingdom.” He spoke each word as though setting stones into place. “I will not pretend to justify war. I would never have joined if I believed any of the princes could lead us to a better future.”
Faces tilted up at him.
His eyes caught a few reactions. On a low rooftop, a little boy clutched his mother’s sleeve. An old woman pressed her hand to her mouth. But he didn’t stop.
“These princes watched while the land starved. When the beast wave came, they did not move. If I had not carried my own men into Vanderfall, the palace would have done nothing while our streets drowned in the plague. I will fight against that!”
At that, cheers broke out from several blocks. Some climbed onto rooftops and bowed, smiling at one another as if the whole thing were a festival announcement.
The reactions came in fragments: a drum of approval in a tavern, a woman whispering a prayer, a child pointing and laughing.
Kai watched each fragment the way a smith watches a blade being heated. He knew an old truth about speeches: people moved most by what they felt, not what they heard. Anger at neglect, grief for lost kin, hope for safety—those were the cords he could pluck. The royal family had left those cords taut and exposed; it was not cruel to use them, he thought. It was duty.
He lowered his voice, letting the city lean in. “I will not let the throne forget us again,” he said. “If you stand with me, I will protect your homes. I will end the hunger that took our children. I will make sure no lord above us forgets the faces of those he rules over.”
Silence held, heavy and expectant. From below, someone began to chant his name. It spread, first in one block, then another, steady as a growing drumbeat. Kai kept his face calm.
“I will not force this on you. There will be no forced conscriptions,” he said and meant it. “We have been taking more people into the army, but it is not mandatory. I would never ask that of you.”
He watched faces upturned toward him. “War is dangerous. If you feel you cannot fight, you may stay. I promise your home will be safe.”
A murmur ran through the crowd like a low current. Some heads nodded; some mouths pressed thin with worry. Kai raised a hand to quiet them and went on.
“For those who wish to stand with me,” he said, “the estate will take you in. We will give you armor and train you for what comes next. If you do not want to fight at the front, there are other ways to help. We will build workshops to make armor. We will form logistics and supply units to keep our forces moving. We need tailors, blacksmiths, wagon drivers, cooks — men and women who can keep a city and an army fed and clothed. You can be guards who patrol the streets and keep the peace.”
He named jobs like a captain laying out a plan: short, clear, practical. The crowd listened and small conversations began.
“All of those who join me will be rewarded,” Kai promised. “Land, coin, respect, glory. I only ask one thing: understand why I do this. It is for the kingdom. It is for our future. It is for your fellow citizens!”
He let the idea sink in and spoke again. “A bad lord leaves the people to rot. History is full of kingdoms that fell because one man above them did not know how to rule. If a leader is weak or blind, those under him grow careless. I will not be that kind of lord. I will learn. I will fight. I will win and then I will bind this land together again.”
At the last words, something in the crowd shifted. The fear that had tightened faces loosened into hope. Then the city answered.
From street to street the cry spread until the whole valley echoed with it.
“Glory to Lord Arzan!” they shouted.
“Long live Arzan!”
The applause was deafening. It washed over Kai like a tide, fierce and warm. He looked down at the sea of bowed heads and raised his hand once, not in command this time but in thanks.
For a moment he let himself share in the noise, and then he turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the war waited, and the work truly began.
Kai smiled, but the smile had a weight to it. He knew war would touch them all. It might not burn through Veralt, but even one family member gone to the frontlines would change a household forever. He could not pretend otherwise. He was not strong enough to win this war alone. Some choices simply had to be made to keep peace, and this was one of them.
For a long moment he let the cheers wash over him, floating above the city while the wind cooled the heat on his face. He looked down: the neat rows of houses, the dark green sweep of the Vasper Forest, the distant line of the border walls. All he could do was end the fighting as quickly as he could. It would be the hardest thing since he woke up as Arzan, but hard would not stop him. It had to be done.
When he drifted back toward the estate, the place was alive with movement—people lingering in the gardens, servants whispering in knots, and banners still shaking from the shout of the crowd. He settled before the balcony where his men waited; Amara was also there, looking up at him, and Killian stood with his arms folded.
“Looks like the whole kingdom will know where I stand soon enough,” Kai said.
Killian nodded once. “It will. But some people won’t be happy about it.”
Kai let out a short, rueful sound. “They’re never happy with what I do,” he said. “Still, it's a pity I won’t be there to watch their reactions when they hear I have formally entered the war.”
Amara’s eyes flashed at that, half worry, half pride. A few of the men exchanged glances.
Kai folded his hands behind his back and turned to look back at the city. The city hummed below, alive and fragile. He had given his word to protect it. Now he had to keep it.
***
Thalric watched the chaos with a strange calm. Another slab of stone tore loose from the ruined wall of Fort Minith and came crashing down, crushing men beneath its weight. Screams split the air, mingled with the wet crunch of bone and the metallic tang of blood that stung his nose. Enemy soldiers fell. A handful of his own did too. Yet a smile stretched across his face.
They were winning.
Soon Fort Minith would fall, and with it the keys to three major ports in the region. From there, his campaign could spread like fire, one step closer to the throne.
His men swarmed the battlefield. Infantry clashed steel on the courtyard stones. Archers picked off defenders from half-collapsed walls. By the shattered gate, soldiers pressed forward, cutting down the last desperate defenders. Beyond, the interior of the fort lay open, a bleeding prize waiting to be claimed.
Even the duel of Mages above was hollow theater. He could see it in the way their spells flickered, in the hesitation of their movements. Most of the fort’s sorcerers had already fled at the first word of his charge, throwing their lot in with his brothers instead. What remained were the loyal greenhorns that were as stupid as they came.
Thalric’s smile cooled into a frown as he thought about that. Men and women who could have served him elsewhere now lay broken in their foolish loyalty. They had clung to old allegiances, blind to the truth—that he was the kingdom’s only hope.
He sighed, shaking his head as though at children who refused to learn. Then he looked to the circle of Knights around him—five men armored in steel, shields polished and raised, and one lone Mage, robes darkened with soot. Their faces were grim as if they were waiting.
“Let’s go,” Thalric said and commanded. “We’ll end this bloodshed. I’ll take the lead.”
The Knights tightened their grip on their shields, ready to catch the next strike meant for him. Not that he expected they’d need to.
He strode forward and entered the ruined gate. A squad of enemy soldiers spotted him at once. They broke from cover with a desperate shout, blades flashing in the smoke.
Thalric only grinned and stepped forward.
The first swung high, steel whistling toward his throat. He bent low, smooth as water, the blade missing by inches. His sword hissed upward, slicing clean through the slit of the man’s visor. The soldier’s scream died in a gurgle as he collapsed, and Thalric stepped over the body without breaking stride.
The second soldier faltered, stumbling back at the sight of his comrade crumpled to the ground. Before he could flee, one of Thalric’s Knights surged forward, shield raised, sword plunging. The man’s scream cut through the din of battle, but Thalric paid it no mind. His boots carried him onward, steady and unhurried, toward the stairway that led to the walls.
The fighting above was all but finished. Clusters of men still hacked at one another with the stubborn rage of cornered beasts, but the outcome was clear. The fort belonged to him now.
Thalric’s gaze swept the carnage, but all the noise and blood blurred together until his eyes fixed on one man. Captain Rurik Leinfort. The commander of the fort. He fought like a wolf, his blade driving into one of his men, his boot kicking another from the parapet. For a moment, it almost impressed Thalric until the Captain turned and saw him.
Their eyes met. The Captain faltered.
“Captain,” Thalric called and lifted his free hand. “Stop the resistance. I have already won.”
The man straightened, jaw clenched. “Prince Thalric,” he shouted back. “You cannot betray your father. You need to understand—”
He never finished.
Thalric’s fingers twitched, and a bolt of lightning cracked through the air. It slammed into the Captain’s chest, hurling him backwards. Smoke curled from his armor as he writhed on the stones.
“Kill him,” Thalric said, turning away before the man had even stopped twitching. His words were directed at the nearest Knight. “And put his head on a stake for everyone to see.”
The Knight bowed sharply. “At once, Your Highness.” He strode forward with precise, practiced movements, sword already sliding free of its sheath.
Thalric smiled, pulling off his helm. The cool air kissed his damp brow as he looked over the conquered fort. Smoke rose in lazy trails. Corpses lay sprawled in the mud. The cries of the wounded mixed with the cheers of his own men. It was a song he enjoyed.
He turned to the Knights who remained by his side. “Get everyone of age trained for the battles ahead. The girls can take support roles. And if they’re pretty…” He let the word linger, a cruel gleam in his eyes. “…use them to give the men incentive to work harder. We have many battles coming.”
The nearest Knight lowered his head. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
Thalric stepped forward and leaned casually on the blood-slick railing, overlooking the field beyond. The last scattered skirmishes of resistance raged below, but he ignored them. They no longer mattered.
Beyond the fort’s broken gates, he suddenly saw a rider galloping hard, cloak whipping behind. Dust clouded the horse’s hooves. Even from this distance, Thalric recognized the bearing and the urgency. He was a messenger and there was only one reason why a messenger would come looking for him.
His grin returned feeling eager than ever.
“So,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as the rider drew closer. “The other players have finally made their move.”
Comments
T'Ericka
The king has trash sons.
Dusk
Can't wait for Thalrics head to roll first.
