Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy
From zero to hero
"No magic?,No Problem!"
Encounter 13: Invention vs Intention!
The gate creaked open with a welcoming groan. Rolien stepped through, and a wave of cheers erupted from the gathered townsfolk.
"The young master has returned!"
He hadn't expected this.
Banners fluttered. Flower petals were tossed into the air by laughing children. A few of the older townspeople wiped their eyes. The sound of drums and wooden flutes echoed through the narrow stone-paved streets. People leaned out of windows. Someone handed him a bouquet of wildflowers.
Rolien just blinked, stunned. It had only been a year… but it felt like a lifetime. And somehow, Grey Brook had changed.
The roads were smoother—real cobblestone now. He caught sight of the rotating wooden wheel by the river, powering a water pump system. The once crude water-drawing methods had been replaced with something modern. Efficient.
His blueprint class back at the academy wasn't just for theory, after all.
He moved through the crowd, smiling stiffly. He wasn't good at this part. Then—
Clang!
A hammer slammed down on a hot bar of steel. Sir Yohan, the blacksmith, turned with a wide grin and grease-smeared face. "If it isn't the brainy brat who gave me a month's worth of headaches with those schematics!"
Rolien laughed. "You still whining about that water wheel?"
"No, that bouncy carriage idea of yours nearly made me lose my damn mind. But it works. It actually rides like a cloud now."
"Glad it didn't kill anyone."
Yohan scoffed. "Yet."
They shook hands—no, they gripped forearms, like equals. Friends.
As Rolien passed through the streets, he noticed more changes. The irrigation canals he'd sketched were complete. The public well had a hand-pump now. Even the old lampposts had been refitted with a glowing crystal-light system. Small things. Smart things. Things that mattered to people.
And finally, he reached the manor gates.
Grey Brook's estate hadn't changed much. Still grand, still trimmed with white marble and ivy-covered stone. But something was warmer now. More lived in.
The doors opened, and a blur of motion tackled him.
"Rolien!" Elara nearly knocked him over. "You're back! You're actually back!"
He caught her and hugged her tight, her messy braid swinging into his face.
"You got taller," he teased.
"You got… skinnier!" she poked his ribs. "What, didn't they feed you at that fancy school?"
Before he could answer, a calm but strong voice broke through.
"Son."
Rolien straightened as Grand Duke Edric stepped into view. Dressed in formal wear, but without his usual cold distance. His jaw was set, but his eyes… they were proud.
"Father," Rolien said, bowing.
But Edric shook his head and walked forward. No words—he simply placed a hand on his son's shoulder, and gave a small nod. It was the closest thing to a hug Rolien would ever get from him.
And then she came.
Lady Lerien stepped out from behind Edric. Graceful, poised, with hair the color of starlight and eyes that had cried more than once in secret. She didn't say anything either.
She just wrapped her arms around him.
"You're safe," she whispered. "You're safe, my little star."
And for a moment, Rolien forgot about the exhibition match. About Keain. About Luke and the mask of lies.
He was home.
And For the first time in a long while, Rolien had no battles to worry about, no exams, no blood-soaked monsters or exploding golems. Just peace.
So when his father, Grand Duke Edric, invited him to go hunting, he didn't hesitate.
The next morning, he found himself riding through the lush, green edges of the Grey Brook estate's forest. The air was cool, with the scent of pine and moss clinging to the breeze. Beside him rode his older brother, Elian—broad-shouldered, confident, always calm in contrast to Rolien's more explosive energy. At the front was their father, upright and regal on horseback, while behind them trailed Sir Marcellus, the ever-stern knight commander who'd trained them both in swordplay since they were kids.
"Still remember how to shoot, little brother?" Elian teased, nudging him with his elbow.
Rolien smirked. "Want to make a bet? Loser has to clean the stables."
"Deal," Elian said, already notching an arrow.
The hunt itself was a lively one. They spotted a few deer grazing near the river bend, and with a silent gesture from Edric, the party dismounted and moved into position. Elian landed the first shot—a clean strike through the neck—earning a satisfied nod from their father.
Rolien got his chance not long after. A boar crashed out of the brush unexpectedly, charging straight toward Sir Marcellus. Without thinking, Rolien leapt forward, rolled, and threw his spear—not his magic-enhanced one, just a regular hunting spear—right into the beast's shoulder. It skidded, toppled, and stopped dead at Marcellus's feet.
"Hah!" Rolien grinned as he dusted off his cloak. "Still got it."
Marcellus looked unimpressed but gave a gruff nod. "Sloppy form. But effective."
"That's a compliment coming from him," Elian chuckled.
Later, they set up a small fire in a clearing. They roasted what they caught, shared wine, and for once, the talk wasn't about politics or war—it was just stories. Old ones. Dumb ones. Ones Rolien had nearly forgotten.
Edric leaned back against a log, watching his sons laugh. "Your mother will be upset she didn't come," he said.
"She'll be happier we brought something home," Elian replied.
Rolien just smiled, soaking in the warmth of the fire and the company.
For now… this was enough.
Later that afternoon Rolien is set to prepare their food for that evening.
The scent of chopped herbs and simmering oil wafted through the Grey Brook kitchen, a space rarely used by nobles, especially not the young master himself. Yet here Rolien stood, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in concentration as he examined a strange, pale bulb in his hand.
"This thing looks like garlic, but when you taste it..." He nibbled the tip, then immediately winced. "Yep. Tastes like onion. Freaking weird."
He tossed it into the sizzling pan anyway, trusting his gut. "Okay, so that's one hybrid down. Now where's that vine fruit… Ah! This red one." He held up a fleshy, plum-sized vegetable and sniffed it. "Closest thing to tomato I've found so far. Smells sweet, slightly tangy… nah...is won't do, I need to find something like ah...found it!"
Rolien murmur under his breath and grab a violet ring vegetable it's resembles a spiral vines. he bit it, And his eyes widen then smiles.
"Bingo! Got my garlic!"
Behind him, Lyra stood stunned near the doorway, holding a tray of clean dishes she forgot to set down. "Young master… what exactly are you making?"
Rolien grinned as he began slicing thin strips of a dark meat that closely resembled pork but came from a local forest beast. "Something from an ancient master cook. It's called Adobo. Learned it from my blueprint class—had to study one of the master's cooking diagrams just to recreate it here."
He didn't flinch as oil hissed loudly when he poured in a syrupy, dark extract he found after days of testing. "This thing here? Closest to soy sauce we've got. And that one," he pointed at a small bottle with cloudy liquid, "is almost like vinegar, except it kicks harder."
Lyra blinked. "Your blueprint class can… cook?"
"Technically, no," Rolien shrugged. "But it lets me replicate designs—including ones for tools, structures, weapons… and in this case, recipes. Just needed to break down the food to its base materials and match them with local stuff."
As he stirred, the aroma deepened—savory, sharp, with hints of caramelized spice and earthy richness. Even Lyra's stomach gave a quiet growl. She blushed and looked away.
Rolien laughed softly. "Don't worry, this batch's not for nobles only. You're getting a plate, too."
"R-Really?" Lyra brightened up. "I mean, I would be honored! But… wait, what's ado-bo again?"
"It's food," Rolien said simply, with a nostalgic smile. "Comfort food."
Cut to the dining hall, long after the hunt ended and the servants helped clean and prepare the game they'd caught. But tonight's dinner wasn't going to be led by palace chefs. Rolien insisted he'd handle the cooking himself.
The aroma of vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, and something slightly sweet filled the air. It was rich and strange. Rolien stood by the large iron pan, a confident grin on his face as he plated a steaming serving of Adobo Royale—his own custom creation, born from his "Blueprint" skill.
When the first bite hit Elara's tongue, her expression contorted in a mix of confusion and awe. "What in the world is this, Roah…?"
"It's Adobo," Rolien said proudly, arms crossed like he just finished painting the Sistine Chapel. "But with a twist. I added dark honey, charred lemon zest, and aged wine extract I developed from the cellar. Made it using my blueprint class. Been experimenting during downtime."
His mother, Lady Lerien, blinked a few times. "You cooked this?"
"From scratch," he beamed.
Sir Marcellus, seated near Grand Duke Edric, was already polishing off his plate. "By the gods… this is… strangely addictive."
Elara folded her arms and leaned forward, pouting. "You know, Roah… I'm kinda jealous of that blueprint class of yours. I mean, I got 'High Swordsman' paired with elemental enhancement—and even that took a ton of work. Elian has 'Sword Saint,' which is basically cheating already."
Rolien just kept munching, grinning.
"But you…" Elara pointed at him with her fork. "Even if your class isn't combat-focused, you still fight strong opponents head-on! And now you cook like a five-star chef, too?! It's not fair!"
Lady Lerien chuckled softly, sipping her tea. "You've always been a little dramatic, sweetheart."
Elian leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head as he looked at Elara with an amused smirk. "Don't sweat it, sis. You're good in your own way. But don't force yourself to be like Roah." He winked at Rolien. "This brat's practically above genius level anyway."
"Damn right," Rolien said through a mouthful, smug as ever.
They all burst out laughing. Even the usually stoic Grand Duke cracked a small, rare smile as he looked at his family.
For once, the Grey household felt warm. No politics, no looming monsters, no expectations—just laughter, stories, and a weirdly addictive adobo that probably shouldn't taste that good.
Early Morning, Greybrook Dukedom
The mist clung to the cobblestone streets like a half-forgotten dream as the sun peeked over the mountains. Rolien was already up, jogging along the familiar path around the dukedom with Elian and Elara flanking him. Their breath steamed in the cool morning air, boots thudding lightly on the ground.
Villagers waved as they passed, smiling wide at the sight of the Duke's children running together like any ordinary siblings.
"Morning, young master Rolien!"
"You too, Lady Elara! Lord Elian!"
Rolien offered a grin and a small wave, his pace light but steady. "Morning!"
They rounded the last bend of the main road when a gruff, familiar voice called out.
"Oi! You three, come here a sec!"
Mr. Yohan, the blacksmith, stood outside his forge—arms crossed, eyebrows knitted together. His beard was already singed black from this morning's work, and a tiny trail of smoke puffed out from behind him like a chimney.
They stopped. Rolien tilted his head.
"Good morning, Mr. Yohan."
"Good mornin' my ass! You—you little monster—how the hell do you expect me to finish this thing?" the old dwarf barked, pointing at a massive, unfinished hunk of metal resting on a makeshift cart under a tarp. Rolien's eyes immediately lit up as he jogged over and peeled back the cover.
Beneath it sat what looked like a crude engine—a chaotic mess of gears, pistons, and copper tubing, half-assembled and full of promise.
"Oh, right! I forgot I left this here before I left for school…"
"You forgot?! Gods above…!"
Rolien crouched next to it and began picking through the pieces strewn nearby, muttering to himself. "Okay, this casing here should go on the intake valve. No, wait—let me fuse the gear spindles first. They need to rotate together on a triple-axis motion."
He took two separate parts, one almost cone-shaped and another like a curved gear, and began slotting them together like puzzle pieces. A faint blue glow shimmered at his fingertips—his Blueprint skill activating—and the parts clicked perfectly into place.
"What in the world…" Elara muttered, walking closer.
"This rotor system will act like a mana converter," Rolien explained casually, standing up to retrieve more pieces. "So instead of fuel, it absorbs ambient mana and compresses it here—" he pointed at the central chamber, "—where it heats up this hybrid coil. That makes the inner pistons rotate and creates torque."
Mr. Yohan blinked like a man watching a miracle unfold.
Elian scratched his head. "So… wait. You're turning mana into rotational energy?"
"Exactly!" Rolien said with a grin. "It's basically a proto-mana engine."
Elara's mouth opened slightly in disbelief. "How do you even know how to build something like this?"
Rolien shrugged. "I studied the blueprints of several broken golem cores and mana compressors. Mixed and matched a few designs. Then filled in the gaps with some ideas I had. Blueprint skill helps, too."
The old dwarf grunted, crossing his arms again but with less gruff and more quiet admiration. "Hmph… genius brat."
Elian let out a low whistle."man, I think my brain is not braining this time" elian said grabbing his head. "You're seriously not human sometimes, Roah." he added
Elara gave her little brother a playful side-glance. "We got a monster in the family. And not even a combat class."
Rolien just chuckled, brushing some metal shavings off his sleeves. "Hey, just because I'm not swinging a sword doesn't mean I can't make cool stuff."
Mr. Yohan grumbled, "Well, if you're so good at this, you finish it! And next time, don't dump half your genius projects on my forge without warning!"
"Yes sir," Rolien replied with a sheepish grin. Then, under his breath, "I was just really excited…"
As they started to walk away, Elian patted his younger brother on the back. "One day, you're gonna build something that'll shake the whole world."
Rolien looked up at the sky, a small smile forming on his lips. "That's the plan."
Elian crossed his arms as he looked at the now half-assembled contraption, gears lightly clinking together with the soft morning breeze. "Alright, genius. Now that it's all pieced together—what the hell is this thing even for?"
Rolien wiped the grease off his hands and smirked, brushing his bangs aside. "Well, if it works the way I want it to… it could replace carriages. No horses. No getting stuck in mud. No stables to clean. Just fuel, fire it up, and let it roll."
Elara blinked. "Wait… you're making something that moves… without horses?"
"Basically, yeah." He tapped the makeshift engine lightly. "If I can finish this and make it more compact… imagine the supply wagons, royal processions, even farmers—moving goods without relying on a team of beasts. It'll make things easier, faster, and safer."
There was a pause.
Elian stared at him for a long moment, lips parted slightly. Then he exhaled through his nose, stepping closer and placing a hand on Rolien's shoulder.
"I'm happy to hear that from you, little brother. Really. But you need to slow it down, okay? If enemy nations catch wind of what you're building… this could paint a target on our backs. On you."
Rolien nodded, grin still lingering but a little more serious now. "Yeah… I figured. That's why I hired an adventurer group to stay close. They'll be our personal protectors for now."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Ah, you mean those adventurers you had a party with when you disguise as that black mamba?"
"black wraith sis. And Yep, them," Rolien said with a shrug, then gave a wide, cheeky grin. "Not the most elegant group, but they're strong, loyal, and they owe me a favor or two."
Elian shook his head, chuckling. "You really don't act like a sixteen-year-old, you know that?"
Elara smirked and nudged Rolien's side. "No kidding. I still remember when you couldn't even climb up the kitchen counter without slipping."
Rolien laughed and leaned back slightly. "Hey, I still can't. That counter's cursed."
The three of them stood there under the early morning sun—just a successor, A big sister, and their little brother who somehow might change the world.
Capital City – Royal Palace Gardens
Early rays of sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves above, casting a golden glow on the training courtyard tucked behind the palace. Princess Sophia stood at its center, a few strands of her silvery hair stuck to her forehead as she took deep breaths, eyes narrowed in concentration.
In her hand was a thick, leather-bound spellbook—its pages old and worn, but the contents within were unlike anything she had read before. It wasn't just magic—it was theory, logic, formulas. Rolien's annotations in the margins were filled with comparisons to something called "circuits," "conductors," and "feedback loops." It didn't make complete sense, but the way he explained mana flow like electric current helped her understand something wizards twice her age couldn't grasp.
She raised her hand and began drawing a circular sigil midair. Instead of the usual static earth barrier, the spell rippled, then formed a jagged, layered wall—each plate of stone interlocking like armor.
"Still rough..." she muttered, sweat dripping down her cheek. "But I'm getting it."
A nearby knight who had been quietly observing let out a whistle. "That ain't regular magic, is it?"
Sophia closed the book and smiled slightly. "No. It's something... different. Someone important gave me the foundation."
She never told them the full truth—that Rolien created these theories from his own strange perspective, inspired by things he only ever hinted at. But she trusted it. She trusted him.
---
Elsewhere in the Capital – Adventurer's Guild East Wing
Mira sat by the window, the warm light spilling across a small desk as she carefully adjusted a pair of lenses over her eye. On the table were several sketches and disassembled magical gadgets—mana stones embedded into copper coils, glowing softly.
"Rolien... you little weirdo genius," she chuckled under her breath, flipping to the next page of his "tinkering journal." While it wasn't really a journal—more like ripped pieces of scrap paper and napkins with scribbled notes—he had taught her how to "loop mana into a trigger mechanism."
She assembled the device carefully, her gloved fingers moving with practiced precision. A click, a buzz, and the rune etched on the tip lit up—a flash bolt spell, condensed into a tube the size of her palm.
"Perfect for close-range backup." She smiled, satisfied.
"Oi, Mira! That better not blow up again!" someone shouted from the hall.
Mira snorted. "If it does, it's not my fault this world still runs on mana crystals like it's the dark ages."
---
Training Arena – Knight Academy, Capital
Sweat rolled down Leto's muscled back as he thrust his blade forward, clashing against his opponent with force. The sparring knight staggered back, grunting.
"You're faster than usual," the instructor commented, eyes narrowing. "Did you modify your technique?"
Leto lowered his blade, smirking. "Yeah. I adjusted my footwork. Rolien said—'don't fight like a warrior, fight like a tactician.' Always find the flaw before you strike."
"Rolien?" the instructor blinked.
Leto nodded. "That weird brat back at Greybrook. He gave me a whole list of what he called 'combat efficiency flaws' from watching my last match. I thought he was joking at first, but... turns out he was right."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled parchment—diagrams of sword trajectories, pressure points, and even a breakdown of his own stamina usage. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't textbook. But it was brilliant.
"Honestly," Leto muttered, cracking his knuckles. "If that kid didn't go the engineering route, he'd make a terrifying knight."
---
Back in Greybrook, Rolien sneezed.
"Elian," Elara said, handing him a cloth, "someone must be talking about you."
"Hopefully," Rolien grinned, wiping his nose. "Good things."
Capital – Luke's POV
Deep beneath the Magisterium—far below the classrooms, the dorms, the bustling clamor of noble-born mages—Luke stood in silence.
The chamber was barely lit, save for the flickering runes etched across the stone floor. Scattered around him were cracked gemstones, rusted bits of enchanted metal, and worn-out blueprints smeared with charcoal. The scent of ash and cold iron clung to everything.
He kneeled over a small core housing unstable mana. Its pulse throbbed like a heartbeat.
Boom. Clean. Precise. Loud enough to make a god flinch.
The same type of device he used to build before—before he became a summoned "hero," before the cloak of respectability, before this second life.
Back when he was still human. Still hunted. Still feared.
Still a terrorist.
"Two seconds to ignition… if the compression rate holds," he muttered, measuring the unstable mana flow inside the core. His fingers moved with muscle memory—calm, exact, without hesitation.
He wasn't just building any bomb.
He was recreating the one he used on that city port back on Earth. The one that buried twenty armored tanks in flame and glass. The one that had earned him a spot on every international watchlist.
But this version? Refined. With magic.
He flipped open a black notebook—worn, burned at the edges. Inside were scribbles in both Earth languages and local runes. It wasn't just a schematic.
It was a blueprint for annihilation.
"Rolien's mana theory gave me the missing piece, heh what a piece of shit. You better not be him" Luke whispered. "He builds for brilliance. I build for silence."
The mana within the chamber shifted as he began integrating the explosive core into a spherical, rune-bound frame. Each rune glowed faintly—enough to suppress sound, scatter detection magic, and amplify the blast radius tenfold.
A spell-triggered mana bomb.
Compact. Transportable. Disguised as a spell catalyst.
Someone knocked from the top of the stairs.
"Luke? You're still down there?" One of the instructors.
He calmly threw a cloth over the setup and activated a veil spell. The chamber shifted instantly—now looking like a humble training room with chalkboards and runes mid-practice.
"Yeah! Still working on my arcane dynamics assignment!" he called back casually.
Footsteps retreated.
He exhaled slowly.
And smiled.
"They made me a hero… But I never stopped being what I was."
His eyes flicked back to the bomb. "Let's see who's really in control of this world."
To be continued...