Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy
From zero to hero "No magic?, No Problem!"
Encounter 14: Pick A Side?
It was a crisp morning at the outskirts of Greybrook when Rolien stood by the old stone bridge that arched over a quiet river. The mist hadn't lifted yet, curling around his boots as the faint sound of hooves and laughter echoed in the distance.
He looked up just in time to see a small group approaching on horseback — four figures, well-equipped and battle-worn. At the front rode a tall woman with a long spear strapped to her back, her eyes sharp and assessing.
They stopped a few feet away from him. The woman was first to dismount and offer a nod.
"Young Master Rolien," she said respectfully. "We received your summons."
"Tessa," Rolien greeted with a warm smile. "Glad you could make it."
Behind her dismounted Bragg, the towering tank with a greatshield strapped across his back, Solis the silent mage with bright, calculating eyes, and Ren — the smallest of the four, slipping off his saddle like a shadow.
All of them gave him polite nods.
"We're honored to serve the Greybrook house," Bragg rumbled.
"Your estate's quiet, but well-positioned. We've already run a few patrols since settling in," Ren added, arms crossed. "No trouble yet."
"Good," Rolien said, motioning toward the manor in the distance. "Let's talk inside. I've got something important for you all."
---
Inside Greybrook Manor – Mission Briefing
The sitting room overlooked the hills in golden morning light. Rolien spread out the parchment Principal Thorne had given him — the map inked with symbols and old routes leading toward the jagged peaks of the Velkarian Dragonlands.
"This is where I'm headed," he said, pointing at the map. "The borderlands of Velkaria. Somewhere within those mountains lies the Mother of All Flames. I'm going to find it."
There was a beat of silence.
"You're going... alone?" Tessa asked, brow raised.
"I only need escort up to the border," Rolien clarified. "Once I cross, I go on solo. It's something I have to do myself."
"With all due respect, Young Master," Bragg said, arms folded. "That land is hostile. Dragons, warded ruins, rogue scouts... You sure you don't want a vanguard deeper in?"
"I appreciate it, truly," Rolien said, meeting their eyes. "But this path... it's personal. I won't risk anyone else's life for it."
Solis finally spoke, voice soft but sure. "We understand. Escort to the border, nothing more."
"You've done more than enough by accepting to stay here in Greybrook. Having the Asher Hawks as our permanent protectors is a big help," Rolien added, sincere. "I trust your skills."
Ren leaned over the map, tapping one route with his gloved finger. "This pass here is the safest if you're aiming for stealth. There's a hidden valley through the west slope. Less dragon territory."
Rolien nodded. "Perfect. We leave in a few days."
"Understood, Young Master," Tessa said. "We'll be ready."
Before they stood to leave, Ren added with a smirk, "One request, though."
Rolien tilted his head. "Yeah?"
"That strange dish you cooked last week — the one with the sour kick and strange spices? I want more of that."
"Adobo?" Rolien laughed. "Alright. One last meal before we leave."
Meanwhile at the empire's palace
Training Hall – Side Sink Area
Sophia splashed cold water on her face, letting it drip down her cheeks as she gripped the sides of the sink. Her arms trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from frustration. She wasn't improving fast enough. Not when war was breathing down their necks.
Her reflection stared back at her—damp hair sticking to her skin, eyes tired but sharp.
You're a princess, she reminded herself. You don't get to slow down.
The tap let out a soft drip as she turned it off. That's when she noticed it—voices. Muffled, but right behind the stone wall next to her. Probably the storage room or an office? She paused, tilting her head slightly, curiosity getting the better of her.
"…they've already started moving near the eastern border."
A man's voice—low, clipped, serious.
"Is it confirmed?" another asked, more cautious. "I thought they were just conducting joint training exercises with their western allies—"
"No. We intercepted a scout. The emblem on his armor wasn't from the western tribe. He was from Velkaria."
Velkaria?
Sophia's breath caught. That was their longtime rival—the same empire that nearly razed two provinces to the ground last winter.
"They're not posturing this time. Commander said their troops are training in rotations day and night. And those drills… they're not defensive. They're preparing for siege warfare."
The other voice lowered, uneasy. "You think they'll strike again?"
There was silence. Then—
"…I don't think. I know."
Sophia instinctively backed away from the wall, her heart pounding. She didn't hear the rest. She didn't need to.
Her training was over—
But something far worse was just beginning.
The grand hall of the royal palace buzzed with tension. Rich tapestries hung still despite the hushed voices of nobles and generals locked in heated discussion. Sophia kept to the shadows of a high alcove, just behind one of the marble columns near the upper walkway. She shouldn't be here — but damn it, she needed to know.
"We can't just wait," barked Duke Vellorin, his silver hair bristling like a wolf's mane. "Velkaria's eastern forces have nearly tripled in number. If we don't act first, we'll be overrun!"
"And risk starting a war we may not win?" snapped Marquis Andrell. "This isn't two provinces squabbling over farmland. This is a full-scale conflict. We need alliances. Support. Time."
"Time is the one thing we don't have," a general muttered.
Sophia clenched her fists. Her heart pounded. This wasn't a drill. It wasn't politics. This was war, slowly creeping in like smoke under a locked door.
Suddenly, the doors opened with a gust of air. Her father, Emperor Altharion, strode in, flanked by two high-ranking officials. Everyone quieted instantly.
"We have heard your concerns," the emperor said, voice smooth but sharp. "The council is dismissed for now."
As the nobles began filing out, Sophia stepped forward.
"Father," she called.
He glanced at her. "You shouldn't be here, Sophia."
"I heard what they said," she pushed. "If Velkaria is really preparing for war, we should—"
"This isn't your concern," he cut in, cold but calm. "Focus on your training."
She opened her mouth to argue, but Keain — standing silently nearby — let out a quiet chuckle. His smirk was subtle but unmistakable.
Sophia bit her tongue. Her fists curled tight as she turned away, teeth clenched.
And walk out.
Sophia met Leto and Mira under the shade of the old archway covered in purple ivy, far from the ears of courtiers and spies.
"…He just shut me down. Like I was a child," she muttered, arms crossed, kicking at the gravel path.
Mira sighed. "That's not fair. You have just as much right to be involved. You've been training harder than most of the knights I've seen."
"My father's been acting the same way," Leto said. "He's on edge. The drills at the barracks run until midnight. Officers are moving maps and orders in and out like clockwork."
Mira nodded. "And my mother? She's been sending envoys to our allies under the pretense of trade deals. But I know better. She's rallying support."
Sophia looked between them. "Then it's really happening…"
Leto turned toward her. "Have you told Rolien?"
Her breath caught for a second. "No… I don't know if he even knows. He's at Greybrook. They might be keeping things quiet over there."
Mira leaned in. "Then don't wait. Call him."
Sophia blinked. "Huh?"
"His communicator," Mira said, already pointing at the small crystal-inlaid band strapped to Sophia's wrist. "You three synced those things before the tournament, right? Use it."
Sophia hesitated — then nodded, pressing her fingers to the glyph on the side. The crystal glowed faintly.
"Rolien?" she said softly, heart thudding in her chest. "It's Sophia. Are you there?"
Crown Prince Keain's Chambers – Nightfall
The room was dim, lit only by the cold gleam of moonlight bleeding through the tall window. Keain stood before it, arms crossed behind his back, staring blankly at the capital's distant rooftops.
He hadn't moved for nearly an hour.
Behind him, reports lay scattered across a polished oak desk—letters from scouts, military transcripts, faction updates. Most were half-read.
The only name he cared about now?
Rolien Grey.
Keain's jaw tightened.
> "A magicless son of a Grand Duke…"
He muttered it like a curse. It wasn't that Rolien was some lowborn peasant. No, that would've made it easier to dismiss.
But he wasn't. He was noble. Educated. Polished.
And still—no magic. Not a spark.
Yet he had stood toe-to-toe with knights, mages, even monsters… and won. With nothing but technique and terrifying precision.
The illusion Keain carried all his life—that bloodline determined strength, that magical aptitude proved one's worth—shattered the moment Rolien walked off the battlefield untouched.
His pride hadn't recovered since.
> "How far does he intend to go?" Keain whispered.
A knock pulled him from his thoughts.
One of the spymasters entered, bowing. "Your Highness. We have updates."
Keain turned slightly, but said nothing.
"They're gone, sir. The Asher Hawks. We couldn't find them in their usual outposts."
Keain raised an eyebrow.
The man continued, "They relocated. Set up a new base in Greybrook Dukedom."
"Greybrook…" Keain's voice lowered. "So that's the connection. Tch. Of course."
He walked to the desk, flipping through one of the reports.
The spymaster hesitated. "And… one of our scouts. He managed to trail them, but…"
"But?" Keain asked sharply.
"He was found. Beaten within an inch of his life… by young master Rolien himself."
Keain froze, then slowly let out a breath through his nose.
"Still hands-on, huh?" he muttered.
The spymaster nodded. "Before blacking out, the scout reported seeing them heading west. Toward the Firelands. Possibly nearing Velkaria's outer border."
Keain's gaze narrowed, fingers tapping the desk.
"…He's heading toward Velkaria?"
The spymaster stayed quiet.
Keain looked out the window again, his voice quiet but sharp as steel.
> "What are you up to, magicless boy?"
Meanwhile at Rolien's group.
The ground still trembled from the aftermath of the beast's rampage, but there was no time to waste.
Rolien tightened the straps of his worn gauntlets, his gaze steady as he looked at the small but dependable squad before him.
The Asher Hawks stood at attention. Tessa, their no-nonsense leader, gave a nod. Her voice was calm but firm. "We move in five. Our objective is to scout and locate any remaining beast spawn. If they're regrouping, we need to know first."
Ren twirled a dagger in his fingers, flashing his usual cocky grin. "Been itching to stretch my legs anyway."
Braggs, the broad-shouldered tank of the group, slammed a fist into his shield with a dull clang. "Whatever's left out there, I'm breaking its face."
Solis stayed quiet, adjusting the crystals embedded in his staff. The faint blue light on its edge pulsed with arcane energy. "Try not to get too far ahead again, Ren," he said coolly, not even looking up.
Rolien gave a faint smile. This was his team now—tight-knit, experienced, and unshaken.
"No backup, no large battalion," Tessa confirmed, turning to Rolien. "Just us. You good with that?"
Rolien nodded without hesitation. "I prefer it this way."
"Then let's move."
With that, the five of them vanished into the smoke-filled horizon—just the Asher Hawks and Rolien, heading straight into the unknown.
Meanwhile…
In the shadow of the hills, beneath the rustling cover of sparse trees and dry brush, Luke crouched low behind a ridge. His breath was steady, his cloak dusted in earth. Through the scope of his enchanted monocle, he tracked five silhouettes riding steadily across the plains.
Rolien and the Asher Hawks.
They were moving fast, but not in a rush—more like they knew exactly where they were going. Tessa led from the front, Braggs and Ren flanking either side, with Solis bringing up the rear, ever vigilant. And in the center of their formation, calm and unreadable, was Rolien.
Luke squinted, adjusting his lens slightly. Even from here—almost 300 meters out—he could feel a weird pressure crawling up his spine.
"Damn freak…" he muttered under his breath, slowly easing back a few steps behind a rock outcrop.
He remembered it clearly. A few days ago, Keain's elite scouts had tried to tail Rolien. Two made the mistake of getting too close—within what they thought was a 'safe' range.
Wrong.
They didn't even get a chance to retreat. Rolien's kin sense picked them up the moment they breached a threshold. He took them down alone. No magic. No hesitation. Just brutal precision.
Luke had no plans to repeat that mistake.
"This bastard… is he really human?" he whispered to himself. "Who the hell senses presence this far out?"
He adjusted his footing again, keeping a careful rhythm with the wind. It was the only thing masking his presence. Every time Rolien so much as glanced in his general direction, Luke froze.
But this time, Rolien didn't stop.
He just rode on, eyes fixed forward—toward the jagged horizon where the terrain shifted. Where the grass grew thinner, and the air felt… heavier.
Then Luke saw it.
The border marker. Half-buried in earth and blackened by scorch marks. A faded totem jutting out from cracked stone—Valkarian script engraved deep across its face like a warning more than a welcome.
The Asher Hawks slowed as they approached the line.
Tessa raised her hand. Braggs reached for his axe. Solis whispered an incantation under his breath. Even Ren stopped smiling.
But Rolien…
Rolien just kept riding, unfazed.
Luke's breath caught as he whispered, barely audible, "Don't tell me you're really going to cross…"
Then the wind died.
The silence deepened.
And from the other side of the Valkarian border—
A flare of unnatural heat shimmered.
Something… was already waiting.
[TO BE CONTINUED]