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Magus Reborn Chapter 152
🕑 Added 2024-12-18 06:58:08 +0000 UTCChapter 152
Kai’s stay with the barbarians was curt. Though he had won the Duel of Blood and earned their respect, he knew that the hard part was only beginning. Yafgar, the chieftain, seemed to see his vision—at least on the surface—but creating an alliance (a trusted one at that) of the magnitude he needed would take more than spilt blood and shared words.
They would need to hold necessary future meetings to discuss the details and negotiate their relationship for mutual gain before the barbarians could come under his flag. That would take time, and for now, the only thing left was for Kai to task Francis on it, and trust his sharp tongue and knack for negotiation.
Once Kai returned to the camp to head towards the Blackwood territory, he sent a guard to inform him about the latest events.
He knew Francis wasn't the happiest about Kai going away, but he was sure that he’d be satisfied with the new alliances—especially when it was the barbarians, seasoned warriors who would come in handy in the future.
Among several good things, the best part was that no one would ever suspect the barbarians of siding with him. Their reputation as a fiercely independent and tight-knit community made them unapproachable to outsiders.
Barbarians rarely, if ever, extended trust beyond their own ranks, let alone entertained the idea of forming alliances. The thought of such a group joining hands with anyone outside their own was almost laughable to most.
This perception worked in Kai’s favour, making their involvement in his plans an unexpected advantage. To maintain their secrecy, Kai had taken every precaution to hide Ragnar and Brugnar within his territory.
He insisted they pose as ordinary mercenaries, blending into the background to avoid drawing any attention. He knew that even a hint of their true identities could ruin his plans. And it worked well in the end.
Though, there were still concerns.
Barbarians were still considered enemies in the kingdom and siding with them could raise questions on him too, and Kai knew that he would have to deal with them in the future.
Fortunately, he did have plans on how to handle that.
With the brief conversation with the barbarians concluded Kai shifted his attention to his journey and rising his power.
He settled into a steady routine and got himself to the process of creating his next mana circle. This time, he wanted it to be perfect—and that required both focus and stability.
The sway of the carriage and the noise of the wheels became a backdrop for his concentration quite easily, and he tuned out from the world outside.
Fortunately, the group rarely stopped for breaks. They wanted to reach their destination as soon as possible and since Kai wasn't journeying with them publicly, he mostly stayed in the carriage, working on his circle.
The mercenaries alongside Knight Darian and his guards proved more than capable of handling any threat; be it beasts, bandits or any other form of trouble.
The roads beyond the Sylvan Enclave were a surprising contrast to what they’d left behind.
They were well-maintained and busy with the activities of merchants. Due to the smoothness, they were able to fasten their journey—and once they got close to
Blackwood territory, he shifted his attention from establishing his next mana circle and studying more into ice spells to learning the current political state of the kingdom.
Kai knew he needed to get better with politics, as much as he detested it.
Ansel and the Watchers had been tireless, using Malden’s wide network to gather information that could shift the balance. They had already collected a lot of information, filled with everything from updated maps of the kingdom to rumors from merchants and nobles. And every piece of information uncovered more about hidden political relationships, prominent merchants that were rising up to nobles, their alliances—and practically anything that would affect the succession even a little bit.
A big part of the reports was about Duke William Blackwood. With their meeting coming up, Kai needed to know more about the man—and thankfully, Ansel had dug up some pretty interesting details.
The fact that stood out the most was that Duke Blackwood hadn’t backed any prince for the throne. That neutrality made him someone other nobles saw as unpredictable and at the same time, the princes kept trying to gain his favour since having more than one Duke in their factions would guarantee their victory.
Kai’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he read Ansel’s latest report.
Beside him, Claire sat with her legs crossed, idly flipping through a small notebook. She tilted her head to glance at him, “What are you reading, Lord Arzan?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Kai looked up, and folded the parchment in his hands. “Reports on Duke Blackwood,” he replied simply, setting the letter down amidst a pile of maps and scribbled notes.
Claire raised her eyebrows. “We’re meeting him soon, aren’t we?” She leaned forward and let her eyes scan the papers sprawled across the seat next to him in the carriage. “Is all this preparation to use… against him?”
Kai nodded. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, leaning back in his seat. “But if Ansel’s information is accurate, I don’t think the meeting itself will be the hard part.”
“Then what will be?”
“Convincing him to support me,” Kai said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Duke Blackwood has rejected every prince’s overtures so far. They all want him in their corner, but he’s stayed neutral. I could just imagine the amount of persuasion tactics he dealt with.”
Claire tilted her head slightly and leaned forward, seemingly looking very interested now. “Is there a reason behind why he doesn't want to support a prince?”
Kai looked up from the letter in his hands, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He didn’t immediately respond, choosing instead to tap the letter against his fingers in thought. “From the intel Ansel gathered,” he began slowly, “there’s a few reasons why Duke Blackwood has stayed so adamantly neutral.
“First off, William Blackwood is a man of very strong principles. He’s righteous, in his own way. He has a set of values that he adheres to, almost fanatically.” Kai’s gaze grew distant as he spoke, his voice turning more contemplative. “All the princes—every one of them—are tainted in some way. They’re all filled with corruption, ambition, and dirty secrets. And for someone like Duke Blackwood, who stands by his ideals, that’s a huge problem. He needs someone he can actually believe in. Someone who will stand for something beyond just power and personal gain.”
Kai’s fingers ran along the edge of the letter, the paper crinkling slightly as his eyes drifted to the next one. He didn’t speak for a moment, absorbed in the details of the history Ansel had provided. Claire, sensing his pause, waited patiently.
Finally, Kai continued, his voice taking on a more analytical tone as he turned through another page of the report.
“I believe a major part of his reluctance to side with any prince has to do with the history of his house. House Blackwood wasn’t always this powerful, this influential. In fact, almost a century ago, they were on the brink of collapse. They were losing their grip, and no one stepped forward to help them. Not the other noble houses, not even the factions they once had ties with. In fact, they were mocked—laughed at, even—as they fell deeper into ruin.”
Claire’s brow furrowed slightly, taking in the details. She stayed silent, absorbing his words as he paused, his fingers tracing the map.
“The turning point came when the current head of House Blackwood, Duke William Blackwood, took control. His house was barely holding on by threads when he ascended to power. But William Blackwood did what no one else could. He didn’t just sit back and wait for favor to come. He fought in wars, made strategic alliances, and even reformed the economy of his land. The most important of these moves was when he invested in a port city—a critical trade route that connected his land to different islands. It took years of hard work, and a significant amount of resources, but it turned his fortunes around.”
He paused, looking at Claire for a moment before continuing. “That’s why he married late, too. He didn’t want to be distracted by alliances through marriage until he had restored his house’s glory. He couldn’t afford to settle for anything less than complete control over his own fate. That’s something the other princes will never understand. They have it handed to them on a silver platter.”
"So, an idealistic, experienced man of zeal who doesn’t trust the other nobles, yet has no reason to actively support Veralt," she said while tapping her chin. "Sounds like a hard man to sway, unless you can give him something more than just your usual political promises."
Kai shifted slightly, looking down at the letters spread out before him. He could almost feel the stress of the upcoming encounter with Duke Blackwood hanging in the air. "Well, I do think he sees me in a positive light, but some things don't make sense. He probably sent Knight Darian and the other men to fight for Veralt, fully expecting they wouldn't return alive. I don’t know why he sent Darian to an early grave, but that was his way of paying back the debt of killing the necromancer. A heavy price for that, but in his eyes, it was necessary."
Claire nodded at his words. She squinted her eyes before throwing an assumption at him. "So, do you think Knight Darian and his men were punished for something?"
Kai nodded. "When we won against the beast wave, and many of his men survived, it probably made Duke Blackwood take a renewed interest in me. I’m not sure if it’s the victory or the fact that his people fought and survived under my command, but he wants to know me better. Understand where I stand. And Leopold— I believe his son also put a good word for me after our time in the capital. That gives me a solid base to work with. But even without Leopold, I’m confident I can win the duke over."
“Can I know why you are sure about that, Lord Arzan?” Claire asked.
Kai’s smile widened. "It’s simple, really. Duke Blackwood and I have something in common—we both despise necrotic creatures and dead mana. He has a deep hatred for them, and so do I. It’s something we don’t need to speak too much about, but it’s a bond I can build on. When you hate something with the same intensity, it tends to bring people together."
***
Amyra felt like she was seeing a nightmare, but unlike a regular one, there was no sudden shift from dream to waking. Instead, she was stuck in an endless limbo, where every moment was indistinguishable and relentless.
She tried to push her eyes open, but whatever it was—didn’t allow her. It wasn’t a dream; it was her reality. And it was suffocating.
Her gaze swept across the land before her, and a chill ran through her. Cracked roads, littered with bodies everywhere. The lifeless bodies were twisted in every way one could think possible. Her stomach churned at the sight.
She looked at her feet—dry, brittle–and every step felt wrong. The earth itself was rotting beneath her.
Amyra turned her gaze at the horizon—the darkened clouds but deserted lands, with sands that had turned tar. She pushed aside the unease in the pit of her stomach and kept walking. Her eyes scanned the area, half-expecting the haunting figures to appear—but no, everything was still, so dead, so lifeless, so eerie.
And then, the ocean—the ocean that was not blue but a deep, unnatural red, thick and cloying, as though the waters themselves were tainted with blood.
The scent of decay and rot filled her nostrils, making every breath she took feel like she was suffocating, the stench crawling into her lungs and lodging there. It was unbearable, and yet, she couldn’t escape it. There was no relief.
She needed to escape this—whatever this was, but she couldn’t.
Amyra took a step, then another, feeling her legs strain with each movement, but she couldn't stop. There was no choice but to keep walking.
Every time she faltered, every time she paused, the ground trembled beneath her, and a beast would emerge—a shifting form, fluid, monstrous, a nightmare of claws and rotted teeth. It was as if the very darkness around her had given birth to it. She tried to move faster, but it always found her. It always clawed at her, leaving deep raking marks across her skin, as though it was trying to drag her back into the abyss.
Tears fell one after another, and her steps quickened.
She ran, stumbling over rocks and twisted roots, never daring to look back, knowing the beast was always there, watching, waiting for her to falter.
When she stopped, it would close in, drawing nearer with every second.
She could hear her own voice as she called out for help, again and again, the names of those she cared for slipping from her lips.
"Lord Arzan! Claire! Knight Killian! Rhea!"
But the wind swallowed her words, and the only answer was the rustle of dead leaves and the echo of her own cries.
No one came.
She was alone. Again.
But then, as her chest heaved with each desperate breath, a strange, nagging thought broke through the haze of panic.
This isn’t real. None of this is real.
The beast. The endless land. The unrelenting stench. All of it was a cruel illusion. Her mind had trapped her in this place, this nightmare. But how? Why?
She stopped, her breath ragged, but this time, the thought stayed.
How could she escape? What had she done to find herself here, in this prison of her own mind? What path could she take to break free? Every instinct told her to keep running, to flee, but the question clouded her mind: How to get out?
She didn’t know how long she walked. The world around her remained the same—tainted, blackened, a wasteland of despair. She felt herself drifting further, deeper into a kind of numbness, until she found herself standing at the edge of the ocean again. The same cursed ocean, its blood-red waters, lapping against the jagged cliffs below. The cold wind howled around her, biting at her skin. She turned her face towards the horizon, the sense of finality growing stronger.
It had all led to this moment.
The beast would come. It always came. And she had no more strength to run. No more will to fight. Let it take me, she thought. Let it end.
And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, it appeared. The beast. It’s here! Or maybe it never left.
Amyra’s eyes widened.
No matter how many times she’d seen it, the image still scared her—scarred her. Spiked skin, inhuman limbs, almost everywhere on its shifting body. Shiny, black eyes—oozing blood. One moment, it was a shadowy mass of fur and claws, and next, it was skeletal and unnaturally long.
The roar it let out shook the very ground.
Amyra didn't flinch. She turned slowly, fixing her gaze upon the creature as it moved closer. Its claws reached out for her, the air thick with the scent of decay and death. It struck, the claws raking toward her chest, but she didn't move. She didn’t even flinch.
The strike landed. But there was no pain. No blood.
Nothing.
She stared at the beast, her gaze unwavering as its form shimmered, flickering like a broken image, before it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Amyra blinked, confused, the world around her suddenly feeling... wrong. Not like the usual wrong, but extremely… Wrong.
She took a step back, her feet catching the edge of the cliff, but she didn’t fall. Instead, she felt the ground beneath her feet shudder. The sky above her seemed to tilt, the ocean boiling as it churned violently, splashing the cliffs with waves of dark, red water. The earth cracked, fissures splitting open, swallowing the land whole.
And then, before she could react, the world collapsed.
She tumbled, falling, her body weightless, spiraling down toward the bloodied ocean, the dark abyss opening wide beneath her. Her body screamed for release, her heart pounding, but she couldn’t make herself open her eyes. She was too scared.
Too terrified of what awaited her in the depths.
And then—
She woke up.
Her eyes flew open, heart racing.
Her chest rose and fell erratically as she gasped for air, her body trembling with the remnants of the nightmare.
She blinked, her vision blurry, as she tried to piece together the fragments of what had just happened. The familiar sight of her room greeted her—plain, simple, but real.
I'm in my room in Veralt, she realized with a slow breath, relief washing over her. She was alive. The weight on her chest began to ease, but a fog lingered in her mind, clouding her thoughts.
She lifted her shaky, sweaty hand, staring at it as though seeing it for the first time. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her clothes—this was real. She wasn’t in that nightmare anymore.
She was alive. But the lingering dread, the weakness in her limbs, and the haze clouding her mind told her that something was off.
She slowly pushed herself out of bed, her legs buckling beneath her as she tried to stand. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain upright, taking slow, weak steps toward the door. Her body protested, but she ignored it, pushing through the weakness.
She opened the door, the empty corridor stretching before her, eerily silent.
“Where is everyone?” Her voice whispered the question to the still air, but there was no answer. She stumbled down the hallway, hoping to find someone, anyone, who could tell her what had happened after the battle.
If the castle stood, then she knew that they had survived. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.
As she moved, the murmur of voices reached her ears. They were unfamiliar, distorted, floating through the halls like echoes. She paused, straining to make out the words, but they were muffled and unclear.
Her heart raced as she followed the voices, bringing her closer to something—someone—who could answer her questions.
But as she neared the source of the voices, she felt the same uneasy feeling once again. Something wasn’t right.
As Amyra walked cautiously through the corridors, the unfamiliar voices began to grow clearer. They were coming from around the corner, muffled by the stone walls but still distinct enough to make her pause. She could make out the soft tones of a woman’s voice, tinged with gentle authority, and a deeper, steadier voice in reply.
"You should rest more, Princess," the first voice advised, filled with concern. "It’s too early to be roaming the estate."
Amyra’s brow furrowed. The term "Princess" caught her attention, a sliver of confusion piercing through the fog in her mind. Princess? Her thoughts raced. Was there someone of importance here? She shook her head, refusing to be distracted by the oddity, though her curiosity pushed her to move closer.
"I’m not sick anymore," came the firm response. "I’m healed. I’m just too tired of staying in bed. I’ve been doing it all my life."
The words hung in the air, almost as if the speaker was trying to convince herself as much as the other person. Amyra, still unsure of the situation, cautiously rounded the corner, her legs still shaky from the ordeal of her awakening.
And then, she saw them.
Two figures stood before her in the hallway, just as she had expected. The first one stood straight, head held high—was a young woman, young but with an aura of nobility that radiated from her.
Her long hair was pinned up, and her eyes met Amyra with a quiet intensity. She was dressed in silks, a gown of deep crimson.
The other figure was a petite woman—a maid. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her gaze was focused on Amyra, though not in a way that felt threatening. It was a look of observation—of quiet assessment.
Amyra blinked as the silence stretched.
Before she could ask anything, the woman—who Amyra now assumed was the princess—spoke up first, her voice cutting through the quiet.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Amyra hesitated, taking a slow breath as she gathered her thoughts. She expected to find someone familiar to get her answers, but only these two stood before her with no signs of any other maids she knew.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was hoarse, still thick with the haze of her earlier confusion. "My name is Amyra," she said, her golden eyes flickering between the two strangers, trying to read their reactions. "Where can I find Lord Arzan?"
