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Magus Reborn Chapter 272
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 15:12:40 +0000 UTCChapter 272
King Sullivan crouched low, the watering can tilting in his hand as he let the thin stream fall gently onto the soil. The young plant before him shivered under the droplets, and he stared at the vibrant green. Only a few months ago, it had been nothing more than a fragile sapling. Now its roots clutched firmly at the earth, its branches reaching upward with hunger. Given another year, it would spread across the garden. He almost smiled at the thought. Nothing pleased him more than seeing something he had nurtured take hold, grow strong, and carve out its place.
But even as the water soaked the roots, a heaviness tugged at his chest.
It had been hours now. If he had counted correctly, the battle in the arena should have long since reached its conclusion. A battle he had not foreseen, not until days ago. Even for Regina, this method had been far too direct—too brutal—for her usual maneuverings. To eliminate Count Arzan in open combat, before the eyes of the kingdom? She had set the board boldly this time.
And he had done nothing to stop it.
He could have intervened. He could have shifted the pieces before the duel ever began. But he hadn’t. He had chosen instead to watch from afar, to let the young man shoulder it himself. Arzan had already passed through so many snares, so many traps that would have crippled lesser men. Sullivan had no doubt he would survive this one as well.
But how he would survive—that was the root gnawing at his heart.
Perhaps he had been too eager. Perhaps his desire to measure Arzan’s strength, to see how far the man’s magical power had climbed, had blinded him to the risks. He set the watering can down, fingers tightening around the handle. He got to tighten the soil around the base. A king should not gamble on what he wished to preserve.
Still, news did not come. Knight Roderic, the one Sullivan had ordered to place watchers at the arena, had yet to present himself. The man never strayed far from the royal chambers; Sullivan knew he lingered close even now. And he waited.
The king’s eyes narrowed, his hand brushing against the leaves of the growing plant. Mage duels were never long. Fast, vicious, decisive—that was their nature, even when powerhouses crossed blades.
So why, then, had the quiet stretched so long?
Sullivan himself had once been a fan of Mage duels. In the early years of wearing the crown, he had gone to every one he could, curious to see the sparks of genius and untamed power clashing before him. Back then, each duel had felt like history unfolding in front of his eyes. But years passed, and spectacle became routine. They no longer thrilled him. He had grown bored of them, dismissing them as little more than entertainment for the masses.
Now, as he finished watering the plant and pressed the soil around its base, he straightened with a soft grunt. Worry tugged at him again. It was better to know the results than waste time pacing in circles. He turned, brushing dirt from his hands, just in time to see Knight Roderic walking toward him.
The knight’s stride was steady, but his brows were raised, his face carrying that unmistakable look of shock. Sullivan recognized it at once. He had seen it many times before on the man—he only ever wore that expression when something had truly shaken him.
“I’m guessing you have the results,” Sullivan said.
“I do, Your Majesty,” the knight replied in his usual clipped tone. Sullivan had gotten used to it after talking to the man continuously for years. But his eyes betrayed the stoic stance and showed emotions.
“Roderic, are they so shocking that even you look like… this?” he asked.
“They are. I was held up by the men I stationed at the arena. I had them recount what happened again and again, just to be sure. The whole city is in uproar. Inns and taverns are packed in the middle of the day and the streets themselves are still full of people speaking of nothing else.”
“Is it really that shocking?” he asked again.
The Knight gave a firm nod. “Let me explain, Your Majesty.”
Sullivan folded his hands behind his back and said nothing, waiting.
As his Knight began to recount the events, Sullivan’s mind ran ahead of the words. He already knew the measure of Veridia’s power—her command of shadow, lightning and magma was enough to make whole battalions tremble. And he had heard much of Arzan, whispers carried from Veralt to the capital, the kind of stories that grew larger with each telling. He had imagined what their clash might look like. He had pictured it in his head more than once in the past hour.
But each new detail surpassed his expectations. The battle had not been the clean, swift duel he had thought of. It had been brutal, wild, devastating in ways no story could have captured. The Knight explained it saying that there had been spells that raged like storms, and explosions that shook the entire city to its bones.
Roderic’s voice pressed on: the arena had fallen.
That made Sullivan pause. The arena, a structure that had stood for decades. Sturdy, constantly renovated, reinforced every few years so it could withstand even the fiercest of contests. It had been one of the main prides of the city, a landmark, an attraction. And now he said that it was gone. It had been destroyed in the wake of two Mages who had fought like gods unbound.
Sullivan exhaled through his nose harshly, narrowing his eyes. That was far from a spectacle. That was… something else entirely.
Moreover, the result was as shocking as the descriptions of the battle itself. Sullivan had expected Arzan to put on a show—displaying his strength, forcing the nobles to see him as more than a newly-made Count—but he had assumed the young man would concede before going too far. Show dominance, but not risk all in front of Veridia.
But Arzan had not followed that script.
The Knight’s words painted a picture Sullivan had not imagined: only one man walking out of the ruined arena. Not only alive, not only standing, but not even grievously injured. Arzan had emerged while Veridia still lay unconscious, her body broken enough that healers now struggled over her. That fact alone was staggering.
The entire city knew it already. Every tavern, every street corner whispered the same truth: Count Arzan had defeated the Tower Master in open combat. The balance of power across the kingdom had shifted in a single afternoon.
Sullivan sat back, his hand tightening behind him. He had wanted to gauge Arzan’s strength. Now he knew.
And the truth gnawed at him.
Arzan had not yet reached the fifth circle. Of that, Sullivan was almost certain. It was not possible for him to advance so quickly. Even so, he had accomplished the impossible while still in the fourth circle. His speed was already unprecedented. If this was what he could achieve now, what of him in another year? Two?
The thought pressed heavier on Sullivan’s chest than the crown he wore.
His legs ached suddenly, the weight of realization settling too sharply. He moved toward a nearby chair and lowered himself into it, the wood groaning faintly under his frame. For long minutes he sat in silence, his gaze on the floor, his mind sifting through every implication. Knight Roderic stood close, patient, waiting for him to speak.
At last, Sullivan drew in a slow breath and said, “The strongest Mage… a Duke’s bloodline… the man who has already saved the kingdom from a beast wave and a plague.” He looked up, his eyes sharp with thought. “Tell me, Roderic. What do you think of such a person?”
The Knight did not hesitate, instead, he took a step forward. “I think of him as the future hero of the kingdom, Majesty. If he has not become one already.”
Sullivan’s lips curved faintly, though it was not quite a smile. He gave a single nod.
“That fits him.” A pause stretched, heavy with memory, before he added in a quieter tone, “In my time… heroes were forged in war.”
Sullivan let the silence hang for a moment longer, then leaned back in his chair, sighing. “But I believe there are different types of heroes—heroes forged in different types of battles.”
“There are, Your Majesty.” Knight Roderic gave a slow nod.
“Yes,” Sullivan replied, his eyes narrowing as old thoughts stirred. “And with the result in the arena, Regina will not sit well. She won’t even be able to sleep tonight. Her greatest pawn—her pillar in strength and politics—has fallen. She has been chasing the throne for too long already, waiting and waiting. This may be the push that tips her off. She’ll come for it now, without restraint.”
“Then I will make the security tighten.” Roderic straightened.
“That won’t work. You should know that by now.”
Sullivan shook his head.
For the first time, Roderic hesitated, his brow furrowed as he looked at his king. Sullivan knew the Knight was trained all his life to know solutions for issues concerning safety.
“Then… what are we going to do now?” he asked.
“We will let things unfold. They will, whether I wish it or not. But I will play my part. And I will make sure they unfold as I want them to.”
He paused there, his breath leaving him in a long sigh. His eyes softened, turning glossy as though burdened by ghosts only he could see. “There will be sacrifices. A lot of them. A rain of blood before this is over. But after that storm, I want to be certain the kingdom still sees a ray of hope. That is what I will fight for.”
“And what are your orders to bring that about, Majesty?”
“Tell everyone who still holds even a shred of respect for me to follow Arzan. The Assembly is close now, and there will be no outcome I do not choose.” He leaned forward. “And make sure Arzan is ready for it. Strong enough. The Assembly may turn bloody, and if it does, I want him standing in the center of it.”
***
Kai slept like a child once he finally found a bed.
The moment his body hit the mattress, all the exhaustion he had been holding back slammed into him at once. The drained Mana heart, the countless shallow injuries burning across his skin, the aching bones—everything caught up. He didn’t even register Killian’s voice beside him. His eyes closed, and the world slipped away.
There was no pain, no sound, no light. Only a silence so deep it felt endless. A place without weight, without thought. A place of peace.
He didn’t know how long he drifted there.
When his eyes opened again, the world was no longer the same.
He sat up, his body stiff, his throat dry. The faintest shift sent sparks of pain through his arms and ribs, but he endured it. Before he could even think about food or water, Francis was already at his side, speaking quickly. His old administrator’s words tumbled one after another, filling the silence Kai had been buried in for days.
And the things he heard… they surpassed his expectations.
Of all the surprises, one stood above the rest: the Princes had come. Not all of them, of course—not the first prince. But the other two, both of whom Kai had barely seen in the past, had come personally to ask about his well-being. The Second Prince had even stayed for an entire day, waiting for him to wake, before finally leaving a letter in his hand.
That was how Kai learned another truth—two and a half days had passed since he had fallen asleep. The Assembly was tomorrow.
The realization struck him harder than any spell Veridia had thrown. His stomach tightened. They had planned so much—strategies, alignments, steps to secure their footing at the Assembly. Two and a half days gone meant none of it was ready.
“We’ve lost time,” Kai muttered, his hand dragging across his face. “Too much. We were supposed to be prepared for this. Now… it’s all but ruined.”
“Do not trouble yourself over it, Lord Arzan. The battle has done more for us than any preparation ever could,” Francis said. The old man looked ready to console him at the sudden desperation that clouded his mind.
Kai looked at him, still unconvinced.
“Had you lost, perhaps some would have doubted your strength. Some may even have turned from you. But you did not lose. You crushed a Tower Master, and the city watched it happen. That victory has already secured more faith, more loyalty, than a hundred speeches at the Assembly could ever win.”
Kai leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. His body still screamed for rest, but his mind was already racing ahead. The Assembly was tomorrow.
Now the two Princes—though not declaring full support—had at least taken him seriously enough to visit. That alone said much. Even more surprising was the wave of nobles. Men and women he had never spoken to before, families who had always kept their distance, had either visited in person or sent their heirs to call on him. None openly pledged loyalty. None dared bind themselves to him outright. But their expressions said enough. They looked wary. Cautious. Some were even afraid.
Kai did not like fear as a tool. Fear had to be maintained, sharpened constantly, and sooner or later it always turned into resentment. But right now, on the eve of the Assembly, it was useful. Fear meant hesitation. Fear meant nobles who might have voted against him would think twice, weighing whether it was worth making an enemy of the man who had just brought down Veridia in front of the entire kingdom.
The Assembly was politics, yes, but politics always bent toward power. And after that duel, every rumor against him, every whisper that his victories were tricks or exaggerations, had been crushed. He had done it in the open, with half the kingdom watching. There was no hiding the truth now.
And the truth was simple: he was the strongest Battle Mage alive in the kingdom.
That fact alone would silence many voices. After all, nobles could gossip, plot, and scheme endlessly, but no one wanted to be the one standing in the way of a storm. Especially when that storm had already been rumored to kill his own brother. Whether they believed the tale or not, the weight of it made them tread more carefully around him.
It worked to his advantage.
Kai leaned back, letting his eyes drift to the vials on the table beside him. Health potions. Mana-soothing draught. He had been drinking them steadily during his recovery, their bitter taste still lingering at the back of his throat. His body needed them badly.
Draining one’s Mana heart had consequences—serious ones, if done too often. His wasn’t damaged, not yet, but it had been emptied dry. That kind of exhaustion couldn’t be fixed in a day. Even with potions, he would not be back to full strength for a week. At best.
Which meant tomorrow, at the Assembly, he would be stepping in with a hollowed core. His face would show confidence, his stance would show strength, but in truth, he would be vulnerable. A single real battle now, and he might not last.
He doubted there would be bloodshed. Politics usually didn’t spill into blades. But this was no ordinary Assembly. And if it did turn bloody, he would need to be ready, no matter how shallow his reserves were.
Kai exhaled, fingers brushing the rim of the potion vial. Everything has to be considered.
When he had first arrived in the capital, dueling Veridia had never been on his mind.
He hadn’t even considered it. Yet it had happened anyway, another reminder that the most unexpected things were, in truth, the ones most likely to appear in his path.
That was life as he knew it—plans were always fragile, broken apart by what no one saw coming.
So, for the time he had left before the Assembly, Kai did not waste it. He spent his hours recovering, letting the potions mend his body and steady his Mana heart while he forced himself to sit with Francis. They went over every single point that could be raised in the Assembly, every argument that might be thrown against him, every loophole someone might try to exploit. Later, Duke Blackwood joined them, his presence was grim but grounding, and together they refined their approach until the candles burned low.
Nobles came and asked for audiences. Word spread quickly that he was awake, and soon enough even Princes sent their names forward, requesting to meet him. Kai turned them all away. He had no time for courtesies, not now. The duel had already proven his strength; what he needed now was clarity of thought.
And yet, confidence did not come easily.
He already had a good sense of what would unfold in the Assembly—Francis and Duke Blackwood made sure of it—but confidence in strategy was not the same as confidence in speech. He could face spells and steel without hesitation, but words were a different battlefield. He didn’t doubt his power anymore, but standing before the Assembly, with every noble’s eyes fixed on him, he knew nerves would come. He wanted more than to survive that stage. He wanted to leave it victorious.
There was also something else weighing on him. Something that made even Duke Blackwood shift uncomfortably when it came up.
The medallion.
It had been in the back of Kai’s mind for a long time now, heavier than its physical weight. After his conversations with Duke Blackwood—and with King Sullivan himself—its importance had only grown, until it became his chief worry. The Assembly was the perfect place to use it, and perhaps the only chance he would get.
That thought settled deep into him. The closer the Assembly came, the clearer it became that he would not leave it untouched. Whatever happened tomorrow, one way or another, the medallion’s power and meaning would be drawn into the open.
And whatever happened in that hall, Kai knew it would not be a small matter.
The Assembly would change the kingdom. Perhaps for years. Perhaps forever.
Comments
Silver Beard
!!!! Isn't he also an enforcer? His Mage bit might be expended, but shouldn't be able to cultivate for his enforcer side in the time he has left?
Dominick Zimmerman
Literally can't wait for more😭😭
