Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy!
From zero to hero
"No magic?, No problem!"
Encounter 8 : "Protégé vs. Protégé"
"Next Match: Ayden Stroud of the Northern Paladins… versus Luke Arcadia of House Arcadia!"
A hush fell over the crowd—then erupted into a storm of cheers and murmurs. This wasn't just a duel. It was a clash of legacies.
From the north gate, Ayden Stroud marched forward, his silver-lined armor marked with the sigil of the Northern Paladins: a white wolf over a mountain crest. His spear rested across his shoulder, its shaft engraved with runes that glinted under the arena lights. His steps were calm, but his presence was ironclad. Every footfall spoke discipline.
From the opposite side, Luke Arcadia emerged, cloaked in the royal blues and silver of House Arcadia. His finely-crafted longsword shimmered, and his expression—cocky as ever—was matched by a roar from the noble families in the stands. He was a rising star, the pride of a powerful lineage.
They stopped at the center.
Luke smirked. "You look serious today, Paladin."
Ayden gave a curt nod. "I always do, Arcadia."
"Still pretending you're not itching to prove something?" Luke raised a brow.
Ayden didn't flinch. "I don't need to prove anything. Especially not to someone still hiding behind his name."
The crowd ooohed. Even the announcer paused.
The referee stepped in. "Ready…"
Ayden slid into stance, spear lowered, body steady as a mountain.
Luke raised his sword with a flourish, all elegance and sharp edge.
"—Begin!"
The arena roared.
Ayden gripped his spear with both hands, his armored boots thudding onto the stone ring. Across from him, Luke stood relaxed, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his smirk calm and knowing.
"Don't go easy on me, Paladin," Luke called out, his voice cocky enough to draw a few laughs from the audience.
Ayden gave a half-smile, spinning his spear once before settling into a wide, grounded stance. "I won't," he said.
But that was a lie.
The crowd thought they were seeing two elite fighters clash—one a royal-born noble swordsman, the other a famed paladin from the frost-bitten north. But those who looked closer, who understood the rhythm of real battle, might've seen something strange.
Luke attacked first, quick and clean. His blade danced, slashing down in a predictable arc. Ayden blocked it—too slow. The spear met the blade with a clang, but the impact lacked the power he was known for. He staggered back, faking strain.
Another swing. Another dodge that just missed.
Then a thrust.
Ayden's spear shot forward. It should've hit Luke in the ribs—he saw the opening clear as day. But just before the strike could land, Ayden tilted the shaft, letting the attack graze Luke's shoulder instead. A superficial blow.
Luke seized the moment, grabbing Ayden's arm and flipping him hard onto his back with a judo-like move. The crowd gasped.
Dust flew up.
Luke wasted no time—he pointed the tip of his sword at Ayden's throat.
The referee raised a hand. "Match over! Winner—Luke Arcadia!"
The audience burst into cheers, but not everyone was convinced.
"Tch," Leto clicked his tongue, arms crossed. "What a sly fox..."
Mira tilted her head, eyes narrowed on the two fighters. "They don't want Rolien taking the spotlight, so they done this to justify Luke fight too." she muttered.
As Ayden rose, brushing dirt from his armor, he shared a brief glance with Luke. The two gave nothing away—no nods, no smirks, no tells.
But deep down, both knew the real match hadn't begun yet.
Because Rolien was waiting.
The arena's dust hadn't even settled when the announcer called the next match.
"Final duel of the tournament… Rolien of House Edric versus Luke Arcadia of House Arcadia!"
The crowd roared again, louder this time. But in one section of the stands, the mood was colder.
Leto stood with arms crossed, jaw tight. "Something's off," he said. "That fight with Ayden… it was staged. Luke's conserving energy."
Mira nodded, eyes locked on the arena. "He's planning something. He's always two steps ahead when it comes to these kinds of games."
Rolien just finished adjusting his gloves, rolling his neck with a casual crack. He didn't even glance at them.
"I'm serious, Rolien," Leto pressed. "Luke Arcadia isn't just another noble prick. He's methodical. Calculating. If Ayden was in on it, that means—"
"I know," Rolien cut in, finally turning to face them. His expression was calm. Relaxed, even. "He thinks too much."
Mira stepped forward. "Just be careful, alright?"
Rolien gave a faint grin, one eye squinting lazily. Then he pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward Sophia, who was still being treated nearby.
"are you even listening Roah! It was staged," Leto muttered, brows furrowed.
"Tch. What a sly fox," he added under his breath.
"They just don't like Rolien taking the spotlight," Mira said, arms crossed.
Rolien smirked as he leaned back casually, watching Luke soak up the applause.
"Welp, no doubt about that," Rolien said, tone dry. "To be honest, those two could've won a Grammy for their performance."
Leto blinked. "Grammy?"
"Award from what?" Mira tilted her head.
Rolien just waved it off with a sigh. "Nothing. Just forget it."
Luke stood at the center, arms out wide as Rolien entered.
"Well, well… Sir Rolien Edric, the hero,the savior" Luke said, his voice echoing through the arena. "Your reputation precedes you. The 'Magicless Prodigy.' The little duke who plays knight. Shall we begin?"
Rolien didn't answer. He kept walking. Calm. Each step deliberate. He just yawn.
And the reserve sit. Leto almost laugh "did you see Mira! I think I saw a vein pop at Luke's head!" Leto shake Mira while giggling.
Then he stopped ten feet away and looked up.
"Let me guess," he said, voice low but clear. "You're gonna monologue about nobility, bloodlines, or some trash like that, I think I'm gonna pass with that. My ears hurt everytime someone brags about that." Rolien said and still yawning.
Luke chuckled. "What can I say? We Arcadias enjoy theater."
Rolien raised one fist, cracking it into his open palm. "Cool. Good for you I guess. I'm more of a hands-on guy."
Ding!
The match began.
Luke struck first—just like with Ayden—but this time faster, sharper. His blade whistled through the air, aiming for Rolien's left side.
CLANG!
Rolien met it head-on, bare hands catching the blade between his palms with a metallic screech. The audience gasped.
"You're fast," Rolien said. "But you're not faster than me."
He twisted his body and slammed a knee into Luke's ribs. The noble grunted, stumbling back but spinning gracefully to avoid the follow-up punch.
Rolien didn't let up.
He dashed forward, low to the ground, fists flying in a flurry of hooks and elbows. Luke deflected two, dodged the third, but the fourth caught him clean in the chin.
CRACK!
The sound echoed like a gunshot. Blood flew from Luke's mouth as he flipped backward, landing in a roll.
But as he stood, he was smiling.
"Good," Luke said, wiping the blood with his thumb. "I was hoping you'd be worth the trouble."
His eyes glowed faintly.
And then—whoosh—a strange pulse radiated from his body. Magic?
No. Something subtler. Reinforcement? Prediction?
Rolien narrowed his eyes.
"You're hiding something," he muttered.
Luke grinned wider. "Of course I am."
Then, the real fight began.
Rolien dashed forward again, closing the distance like a blur. Luke anticipated him, blade already twisting into a defensive flourish—but Rolien didn't go for a straight strike.
He ducked low, feinted left, and shifted his grip.
Steel flashed.
A hidden latch on Rolien's belt clicked. His blade snapped into his palm, unfolding mid-sprint.
CLANG!
Sparks erupted as sword met sword, their edges grinding as Rolien twisted his wrist and pushed Luke's blade away.
Luke countered with a spinning backhand, but Rolien leaned under it, slammed his shoulder into Luke's chest, and with a roar, threw him ten feet across the ring.
The arena shook when Luke crashed onto the stone.
The crowd erupted in a chaos of cheers and gasps.
"Unbelievable!" the announcer shouted. "Rolien Edric is not just keeping up—he's dominating!"
Luke kipped up with grace, coughing but still smiling.
"I was right. You're more than just show," he said.
"Glad you figured that out," Rolien growled.
But then Luke's smile shifted. Serious. Focused. He raised his hand and let magic pulse through his veins—arcane runes spiraling down his arm like burning brands.
Wind began to swirl. The air around him shimmered.
"Now," Luke said coldly, "let's see if you can handle me not holding back."
He dashed forward with a burst of magic-enhanced speed, faster than before—fast enough that even Mira gasped.
Rolien parried, but Luke was already behind him, blade slashing down.
SCRAPE!
Rolien twisted just in time, letting the sword scrape across his prosthetic—the Jawbreaker arm.
"Tch..." Rolien's eyes flashed. He jumped back, fingers flexing on his left arm.
With a hiss of steam, gears shifted and clicked.
"Alright..." he muttered. "You wanted it. Let's do this."
He slammed his arm into the ground—crowd control mode.
Blue lightning burst outward, crawling across the arena floor in jagged webs. Luke flinched, his body locking as bolts surged through his boots. It didn't do damage—but it paralyzed him just long enough.
BANG!
Rolien reappeared before him, enhanced by Light Boost and Hollowveilforge, body glowing faintly, a silver-blue flame radiating around him.
CRACK!
A blinding uppercut to Luke's chin.
BOOM!
A follow-up haymaker to the ribs. The shockwave from the hit caused debris to scatter off the ring.
Luke coughed blood again, but his eyes didn't lose that glint.
"Come on, Arcadia," Rolien muttered. "That all you got?"
Luke steadied his blade, panting. "Not even close."
He stabbed his sword into the ground and reached into his coat—pulling out a mana core crystal glowing with royal-imbued energy.
A forbidden booster.
Rolien's eyes narrowed. "You cheating bastard…"
Luke laughed. "If you're allowed your toys, I'm allowed mine."
He crushed the crystal in his hand.
BOOM.
Magic erupted from Luke's body like a storm breaking its dam. His aura flared, glowing blue and white, his muscles tensing unnaturally.
Rolien could feel it. The magic wasn't stable—but it was dangerous.
The crowd murmured louder now. Some were on their feet. The energy on the field was unreal.
"This isn't fair," Mira whispered.
"No," Leto muttered, fists clenched. "But Rolien doesn't care about fair."
Back in the arena, Rolien raised his blade again—but his eyes locked on Luke's aura, calculating, calm.
He whispered under his breath:
"Time to shut you down, pretty boy."
And with a twist of his wrist—his sword snapped back into his belt—and the Jawbreaker arm shifted again.
Sword → Airgun.
Airgun → Fist.
Back to the basics.
Then—
CRACK!
He disappeared.
A streak of light exploded from where he stood—boosted with Light + Hollowveil. He zipped across the ring so fast the air imploded behind him, forming a pressure shock.
BOOM!
He appeared behind Luke—just as the noble turned in shock.
"Too slow."
**Rolien's foot slammed into Luke's spine—**launching him forward like a missile.
Midair—Rolien reappeared again.
"And now—" his Jawbreaker's lightning element activated again.
"Stun."
ZAAAAP!
Electricity crashed into Luke's chest midair—arcing off his armor, locking his limbs.
He crashed to the ground, twitching, stunned.
But he was still conscious.
He grit his teeth. His magic boiled around him. He forced himself up. And laughed.
"You're actually pushing me," he spat. "Good. Now I'm pissed."
Rolien rolled his shoulder.
"well, yeah. You look like you're pissing you're in self"he muttered. "That was me warming up."
The arena cracked beneath their feet.
Luke Arcadia stood with one hand raised, black ring pulsing faintly with crimson light. Rolien tightened his stance, sensing the shift in pressure around him. The crowd held their breath, watching the two youngest lions of nobility prepare to collide.
Without warning—boom—Luke vanished.
"Shit—!"
Rolien barely raised his guard as a wind-thick burst of air slammed into his side. A glowing spear of ice exploded against his ribs, followed by a concussive wave of heat. Luke appeared just behind him, a blur of movement, then vanished again. Then from above—boom!—a spike of lightning crashed into Rolien's shoulder.
Another hit to the ribs. His jaw snapped sideways with a sharp uppercut laced with wind magic. His feet skidded across the stone, blood trailing from his lips. He coughed, then gritted his teeth.
Luke didn't stop.
He blinked through space, vanishing and reappearing faster than the eye could follow. Fireballs, frost darts, arcane blades—spell after spell ripped into Rolien's body from all directions. He blocked some, dodged others, but far too many found their mark. His clothes were torn, body scorched and bruised, and one eye had started to swell shut.
"Damn…" he muttered through clenched teeth, staggering back. "This fucker really knows how to fuck people up."
Boom! Another explosion behind him. Rolien flew forward, coughing up blood mid-air. He barely twisted in time to avoid a volley of fire bolts, but a lightning lance clipped his leg, sending him crashing to the ground.
From the stands, Leto stood tense. "Tch… He's not even going full power. He's testing something."
Mira nodded slowly, her brows furrowed. "Luke… he's planning something. This isn't about pride."
Back in the arena, Rolien rolled onto his knees, panting, bruises crawling across his skin like vines. But even as the pain mounted, his eyes sharpened.
He was noticing something.
Luke vanished again.
But this time… just before disappearing, Rolien caught it. The faint glow of Luke's black ring—the flicker of a spell activation—just before he reappeared behind him again.
Boom! A fireball slammed into Rolien's back, and he staggered forward, coughing violently. Steam rose from his scorched jacket.
"Still standing, Edric brat?" Luke said, smirking, stepping forward as his ring dimmed.
Rolien wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, his breathing ragged but steady. He cracked his neck, his voice dry with sarcasm.
"Man. You almost have me run for my money"
Luke narrowed his eyes, watching him carefully.
Rolien slowly stood again, popping his knuckles. He faked a stretch.
"By the way," he said casually, "I just noticed something… my back's kinda itchy. You mind hitting it again? It's real stiff too."
Luke's smirk faltered just slightly.
He's taunting me, Luke thought. Trying to provoke me? Tch. He doesn't even know what he's dealing with.
But Rolien… was watching everything now. The movement of Luke's hand. The twitch of his ring. The rhythm of the attacks. His opponent wasn't teleporting—
He was pausing time.
And now, Rolien was about to force him to do it again.
The arena cracked beneath their feet.
Luke Arcadia stood with one hand raised, black ring pulsing faintly with crimson light. Rolien tightened his stance, sensing the shift in pressure around him. The crowd held their breath, watching the two youngest lions of nobility prepare to collide.
Without warning—boom—Luke vanished.
"Shit—!"
Rolien barely raised his guard as a wind-thick burst of air slammed into his side. A glowing spear of ice exploded against his ribs, followed by a concussive wave of heat. Luke appeared just behind him, a blur of movement, then vanished again. Then from above—boom!—a spike of lightning crashed into Rolien's shoulder.
Another hit to the ribs. His jaw snapped sideways with a sharp uppercut laced with wind magic. His feet skidded across the stone, blood trailing from his lips. He coughed, then gritted his teeth.
Luke didn't stop.
He blinked through space, vanishing and reappearing faster than the eye could follow. Fireballs, frost darts, arcane blades—spell after spell ripped into Rolien's body from all directions. He blocked some, dodged others, but far too many found their mark. His clothes were torn, body scorched and bruised, and one eye had started to swell shut.
"Damn…" he muttered through clenched teeth, staggering back. "This fucker really knows how to fuck people up."
Boom! Another explosion behind him. Rolien flew forward, coughing up blood mid-air. He barely twisted in time to avoid a volley of fire bolts, but a lightning lance clipped his leg, sending him crashing to the ground.
From the stands, Leto stood tense. "Tch… He's not even going full power. He's testing something."
Mira nodded slowly, her brows furrowed. "Luke… he's planning something. This isn't about pride."
Back in the arena, Rolien rolled onto his knees, panting, bruises crawling across his skin like vines. But even as the pain mounted, his eyes sharpened.
He was noticing something.
Luke vanished again.
But this time… just before disappearing, Rolien caught it. The faint glow of Luke's black ring—the flicker of a spell activation—just before he reappeared behind him again.
Boom! A fireball slammed into Rolien's back, and he staggered forward, coughing violently. Steam rose from his scorched jacket.
"Still standing, Edric brat?" Luke said, smirking, stepping forward as his ring dimmed.
Rolien wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, his breathing ragged but steady. He cracked his neck, his voice dry with sarcasm.
"Welp. No doubt about it now," he said. "Those two could win a damn Grammy for their performance."
"Grammy?" Leto repeated from the stands, raising an eyebrow.
"Award from what?" Mira asked beside him.
"Nothing," Rolien muttered. "Just forget it."
Luke narrowed his eyes, watching him carefully.
Rolien slowly stood again, popping his knuckles. He faked a stretch.
"By the way," he said casually, "I just noticed something… my back's kinda itchy. You mind hitting it again? It's real stiff too."
Luke's smirk faltered just slightly.
He's taunting me, Luke thought. Trying to provoke me? Tch. He doesn't even know what he's dealing with.
But Rolien… was watching everything now. The movement of Luke's hand. The twitch of his ring. The rhythm of the attacks. His opponent wasn't teleporting—
He was pausing time.
And now, Rolien was about to force him to do it again.
Rolien barely managed to lean his head to the side as a bolt of ice zipped past his cheek. Then wind magic tore through his coat. A follow-up flame burst exploded at his feet. His body twisted, ducked, rolled. But not all of it.
A searing pain tore across his ribs.
Then a second blast caught him on the thigh. Sparks and ash rained as Luke reappeared above, casting down spells like judgment.
The crowd couldn't even track the fight anymore. To them, it was just Rolien stumbling, falling, rising—getting hammered by attacks from every direction. Luke's movement was erratic, almost impossible to follow. A blur of teleportation, illusion, and raw magical pressure.
Blood ran down Rolien's brow.
His shoulders were heaving.
Then he vanished.
Not blinked. Not teleported in the usual sense.
He simply disappeared from view.
Before Rolien could even raise a guard, a blast of lightning struck his ribs—followed by a barrage of wind blades that cut into his shoulders and legs. Then a fireball slammed into his spine, sending him rolling across the dirt like a burnt coin.
"Fuck...!" he hissed through clenched teeth, barely able to lift his head.
Luke reappeared mid-air and shot another volley of compressed air bullets, riddling Rolien's side and pinning him down.
"Man," Rolien wheezed, coughing. "This fucker really knows how to fuck people up…"
Another strike—this one a hammer-shaped spell—smashed down on him like a divine punishment, cracking the earth under his body.
Blood smeared the ground as he twitched.
Then, something clicked in his mind.
Pattern. There was a pattern.
Every time Luke disappeared… there was a faint glow from the black ring on his finger. Not magic circles. Not chanting. Just that ring.
And then he'd vanish.
And then appear behind Rolien.
He didn't need much to put it together: Luke was pausing time in short bursts.
He's stopping time in a small radius. Not the whole field. Just enough to reposition and strike.
Rolien coughed up more blood. His ribs felt like glass. He couldn't move his left arm. But he still forced a grin.
"Urgh... man. So much for math and calculations," he muttered as he staggered to his knees. "But it's worth it. Hehehehe…"
Luke raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You're laughing now? Did you lose your mind, magicless?"
"Almost," Rolien said, wobbling up like a broken scarecrow. "But I think... it's time I change gear and hit ya hard."
He winked.
Then—tchuck!—he kicked off one of his boots straight at Luke.
Luke casually deflected it with the back of his hand. "Throwing garbage now?"
The boot spun mid-air like a loose screw, slowly tumbling down.
Rolien rushed in. Luke sneered, dashed forward as well.
The moment their distance closed, Rolien covered his eyes.
Luke's eyes narrowed. What the—?
Time stopped.
Luke flickered behind Rolien and slammed an uppercut into his jaw, breaking the boy's tooth and launching him upward.
Time resumed.
Rolien's body dropped with a heavy thud—but so did his boot.
As it struck the ground, a metallic clink echoed.
Then a flash.
A blinding white burst exploded from the dismantled boot—like a small star had detonated right in front of Luke's face.
"GAAAH!!" Luke screamed, shielding his eyes, stumbling backward. Even a few spectators squinted or cried out from the edge of the ring.
Rolien's voice, groggy but grinning:
"Gotcha, bitch."
As Luke staggered, trying to recover his sight, Rolien slowly stood—bloody, hunched, but smiling.
He had timed it.
He estimated the time it took for his boot to fall, the time Luke could stop time, and the range of the time bubble by tracking how far Luke had to move in each sneak attack.
Everything was calculated. Down to the second.
"You… damned nerd!! How you ?!"Luke shouted .
"How? You mean pick you're Petty tricks? Heh using math silly! And use my light scroll. "
You're cheating!" Luke shouted, still blinking rapidly, furious.
Rolien spat blood, still smiling. "You're the one with the cheap ring, bro. I'm just... Give you the same medicine."
Then he charged in.
What followed wasn't elegant. It wasn't even clean.
It was just a desperate, brutal flurry.
Fist after fist slammed into Luke's ribs, face, shoulder, gut. Rolien screamed with every punch, letting out all the pain he had endured.
Luke threw a wide arc of fire—Rolien ducked under and countered with a knee to the chest.
He tackled Luke to the ground and drove his knuckles into his face. Again. And again. Blood spattered onto the dirt.
For the first time, Luke was the one taking the hits.
Luke scowled, breath ragged as he raised one hand. A surge of mana erupted.
"Wind Burst!"
The compressed blast of air slammed into Rolien like a cannonball, launching him across the ring. His back scraped against the stone tiles, sparks and dust flying with each brutal skid before he came to a sharp stop at the edge.
The crowd gasped. Leto stood, gripping the rail. Mira's eyes widened. Even the mages monitoring the match flinched.
Luke, panting, raised his right hand again to tap the ring on his finger—his trump card.
But nothing happened.
No glow. No hum. No stop in time.
He blinked. Tried again. Still nothing.
Luke's breathing was heavy. His confidence, once unshakable, was now fraying at the edges.
He darted around, eyes frantic, scanning the ground—searching, desperate, for the one thing that could turn this fight in his favor.
He reached down, fingertips brushing the stone floor, but there was nothing—nothing except dust and shattered air from Rolien's previous blows.
His heart pounded in his chest. "Where is it—?"
Luke's gaze snapped back to Rolien, who stood still, his arms crossed as if watching a child throw a tantrum.
"Looking for this?"
Rolien didn't rush. Instead, he bounced the ring between his fingers, toeing it up and down like a child playing with a ball. A wide grin spread across his face, mocking, amused.
Luke froze.
"You son of a—" Luke curse but Rolien just wink at him with a kiss .
Rolien whistled and then—tink—kicked the ring upward with the tip of his foot. It spun into the air in a lazy arc.
"Oops," Rolien said, drawing his blade casually.
With one clean swipe, he sliced it in two mid-air. The pieces fell to the dirt with a faint metallic clink.
Luke's eyes went wide.
"Uh… sorry, my bad. Was that your mom's toy?"
The crowd exploded. Whistles, gasps, laughter. Even some of the judges raised an eyebrow.
Luke's expression cracked into rage, his eye twitching as his magic flared uncontrollably.
"You bastard—!"
Rolien rolled his neck, cracking it side to side. "Relax, Luke. You're not dead. Not yet, at least."
To be continued...