Reincarnation of the Magicless Pinoy
From Zero to Hero
" No Magic? No Problem!"
Encounter 10: steel amd shadows
The group stiffened as the ripple spread across the water. Ren crouched low, blade drawn, eyes narrowing at the opposite bank.
Brag shifted his stance, shielding Elin automatically. Pete pushed in beside Solis, book half-open, ready to fire off anything that might stall an attack. Mira clung to Leto's sleeve, heart thudding. Elara stood frozen, staring across the river with a mix of dread and faint hope.
A lantern glow flickered through the trees on the opposite side.
Ren tensed. "We've got incoming. Several. Moving together."
"Hunters?" Brag whispered.
"No," Ren said after a moment. His eyes softened with something like disbelief. "Their steps are too soft. Not trained killers. More… scattered. Children among them."
Tessa moved up beside him, scanning the dim figures crossing toward the riverbank. "Everyone stay behind me. No spells yet. Let's see who they are."
Leaves rustled on the far side as a tall figure stepped into the open, holding a lantern high. Her silhouette was unmistakable—graceful posture, long hair trailing in the wind, and a cloak bearing the grey stag emblem stitched across the shoulders.
Elara gasped. Her hand shot up to her mouth. "Mother…?"
The woman lifted the lantern higher. Her voice wavered across the river.
"Elara? Elin? Is that you?"
Everything stopped.
Elara stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a root. "Mother!"
Tessa caught her shoulder gently. "Hold on. Let her come to us."
More figures emerged behind the woman—worn, soot-covered villagers; elderly folk leaning on makeshift canes; mothers holding terrified children; even a few estate workers still in tattered servant uniforms. Nearly fifty people. Survivors who must have fled the fires and chaos.
The Grand Duchess—Lady Arwen Grey—stepped into the shallow water and crossed, lifting her skirts. The moment she reached their side, Elara broke free from Tessa's hand and ran into her.
Arwen gathered her tightly, lantern clattering to the ground. "My sweet girl… you're safe… Thank the heavens…" Her voice cracked, trembling with days of fear she had no time to process.
Brag lowered Elin carefully to the ground. Arwen's eyes widened at the sight. "Elin—!"
"He's alive," Solis said quickly, kneeling beside the unconscious boy. "Wounded, but stable. We're doing what we can."
Arwen dropped beside her son, brushing his hair back with shaking fingers. "My brave boy… Elian, can you hear me?"
Elin exhaled painfully, eyes half-open. "Mother… you escaped…"
Tessa stepped back, letting them have their moment. But she kept her eyes on the shadows behind the survivors. "Who's leading the rear?"
Arwen answered without looking up. "No one. We lost the knights who stayed to cover our escape. We've been running blind since the estate fell… I feared you all were gone."
Ren scanned the survivors. "You crossed half the forest with all these people and no escort?"
Arwen nodded, exhaustion flickering across her face. "The Grey house must protect its own. Even if the Grand Duke is gone… I still carry that duty."
Elara grabbed her mother's hand. "What about Rolien? Did he make it out? Did anyone see him?"
Arwen hesitated.
That silence hit harder than any blade.
Tessa stepped in before Elara unraveled again. "We'll search for him. But first, these people need somewhere safe."
Ren jerked his thumb upriver. "There's a ravine north-west. Hard to find unless you know what you're looking for. Good hiding spot."
Arwen squeezed Elin's hand, steadying herself. "Lead the way. We will follow."
The survivors slowly gathered behind them, tired eyes watching Tessa's group with a mix of hope and desperation.
Pete closed his book and rubbed his forehead. "Looks like we're escorting an entire village now."
Brag lifted Elin again with a grunt. "Wouldn't be the first time we carried the world on our backs."
Mira tugged Leto's sleeve gently, whispering, "At least… we're not alone now."
Elara glanced at the crowd, then at her mother, then at her wounded brother. Her voice came out barely above a breath.
"We'll find him. Rolien's alive. I know it."
Tessa took point once more, eyes scanning the dark path ahead.
"Then we move," she said. "Everyone stay close. Quiet. And pray the hunters don't pick up our trail."
Beside her, Ren listened to the wind, jaw tight.
Because he knew the truth:
The hunters were close.
And the night wasn't over yet.
The group moved cautiously through the thick undergrowth, shadows stretching long across the narrow ravine path. Every snapped twig and rustling leaf made them flinch; the forest seemed alive with unseen eyes.
Elara kept glancing back at the villagers, then at her mother, and then at her wounded brother. Her worry was sharp, but it carried a fragile hope. "He… he has to be alive, right?"
Arwen's hand gripped her daughter's shoulder, her voice trembling but firm. "We have to believe he is, Elara. Rolien is clever, resourceful… he survived worse than this. That's why we keep moving."
Elian groaned from Brag's arms, pain flaring with every jostle. "Alive… he has to be. He couldn't just vanish. He wouldn't leave us behind willingly." His gaze, despite exhaustion, burned with determination.
Tessa, scanning the forest ahead, spoke with measured urgency. "We know he's missing. We also know he's capable. The question now is finding him before Vermorth's forces do. He's smart, but if he's alive… he's out there somewhere, watching, waiting."
Ren's eyes flicked across the shadows, jaw tight. "We can hope all we want, but hope won't protect him. We move carefully, stay alert, and get these people somewhere safe first. Then we regroup and plan how to reach him."
Mira's grip on Leto's sleeve tightened. "If he's out there… alone… he must be fighting too, isn't he?"
Brag lowered his burden slightly, exhaling heavily. "He's a Grey. He fights until he can't. That's all the hope we need right now. We just make sure we survive to meet him again."
Elara's fists clenched, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't care what it takes. I'll find him. We all will. And we'll bring him home."
Arwen nodded, tears glimmering in her eyes. "We move forward. Every step we take, we carry him with us in our hearts. That's how we keep him alive until we see him again."
The forest stretched ahead, silent yet thick with threat. Every shadow, every whisper of the wind reminded them of what was at stake. Rolien Grey was out there somewhere, and they would not stop until he was safe.
Tessa led the way, eyes sharp, voice steady. "Stay close. Stay quiet. And don't let the fear overtake you. He's alive. We just have to find him."
Hope and determination pressed on them like armor. The night was far from over, but they would survive. And they would find him.
The group finally found a small, sheltered cave tucked into the ravine wall, hidden behind thick undergrowth. Its entrance was narrow, but inside it widened into a cool, dry chamber. Shadows flickered against the walls from the small fire Ren helped Brag build. Smoke rose slowly, escaping through the crack at the top, leaving them mostly concealed from any prying eyes.
Arwen lowered herself onto a flat rock, still gripping Elara's hand. "We can rest… for a little while," she said softly, though her eyes never left the darkened entrance. "Even if it's just a moment."
Elara knelt beside her mother, glancing around at the weary group. "I can't stop thinking about Rolien… what if he's fighting alone out there?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she swallowed the fear, keeping it from overwhelming her.
Brag adjusted Elin carefully across his lap, murmuring softly to him. "You just rest, little man. We've got this. All of us. You're not alone."
Mira and Leto huddled close together in a corner, whispering quietly about every trap and hazard they had passed that day. "He has to be alive," Mira murmured, her voice trembling. "I know he is. Rolien… he always finds a way."
Solis sat cross-legged, book in hand, but his eyes weren't reading—they were scanning the shadows outside the cave, waiting for any sign of danger. "We need to be ready to move at the first sign of pursuit," he reminded them. "Vermorth won't give up easily."
Ren crouched near the cave mouth, bow resting across his knees. His gaze flicked constantly to the forest beyond. "He's out there," he muttered. "Rolien. And if Vermorth or Vorax are anywhere nearby… we're not safe even for a moment."
Tessa knelt by the small fire, checking each of the villagers for injuries and rationing what little food and water they had managed to carry. Her face was calm, almost serene, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her concern. "We can rest, but only lightly," she said. "One false move, one noise… and we're sitting ducks. Keep your wits about you."
Elara's hand lingered on the fire's warmth. She whispered to herself, though loud enough for only her mother to hear, "Rolien… I hope you're alive. I hope you know we're still fighting to come back for you."
Arwen's fingers brushed over her daughter's. "He is," she said firmly. "He has to be. Grey blood doesn't run from danger. And neither do we."
Hours passed in uneasy silence. The fire sputtered, sending shadows dancing across the cave walls. Every snapping twig outside made them flinch, every howl of distant beasts made their hearts skip. Yet despite the fear, a thread of hope bound them together.
Brag muttered softly while tending to Elin, "If Rolien's out there… he's probably laughing at how worried we all are, knowing he's still alive and kicking."
Elara couldn't help a small, bitter smile. "I hope so," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. "I hope he's out there… waiting for us."
As the night deepened, the forest outside remained restless, whispering of danger and uncertainty. But inside the cave, for a few fleeting hours, the Grey survivors held onto the fragile hope that Rolien Grey—the youngest son of the fallen house, the magicless inventor, the stubborn heart of their family—was still out there, alive, and waiting for them.
The Imperial Throne Room was a cavern of stone and steel, illuminated by the pale glow of enchanted torches. Emperor Albrecht sat at the head of the long obsidian table, his hands steepled, eyes sharp beneath the hood of his white and silver mantle. Around him, generals, knights, and advisors moved like pieces on a battlefield chessboard, preparing reports, giving orders, checking troop formations.
Albrecht's mind was far from the motions of bureaucracy. His gaze traced the northern horizon as if he could see past mountains and forests, past rivers and valleys, straight to the Greyhold ruins and beyond—to Vermorth, Vorax, and the surviving Dragon Slayers moving toward his borders.
"Your Majesty," a captain of the royal scouts said, kneeling, "our forward units have confirmed movements in the northern forest. Cavalry reports match the descriptions of the invaders: three Dragon Slayers. A significant force follows them, though scattered. Their speed is exceptional—likely reconnaissance units scouting ahead of the main army."
Albrecht's white-knuckled grip tightened on the armrest of his throne. "Vermorth," he muttered under his breath. "After all these years… and now he comes for me."
"Dragon Slayer Vermorth?" one of the younger knights asked, awe and fear lacing his voice. "He… he was one of the seven, wasn't he? The same who defeated the True Dragons?"
Albrecht's jaw tightened. "The same. And now, with the Grey Duke gone, only four of those fools remain. Vermorth's eyes are on me. He knows what I did in my youth, how I slew the White Frozer Monarch, Azure. They call me the White Dragon Killer. And now… he wants what remains of my power."
The room was silent for a moment, the weight of history pressing down on every man and woman present. Then Albrecht rose, his cloak brushing the floor, the silver embroidery catching the torchlight. He moved toward the massive war map laid across the table, tracing the northern borders with a steady finger.
"Prepare the legions," he said, voice calm but carrying the authority of absolute command. "I want the northern passes reinforced. Archers on the cliffs, siege engines positioned where they can hold the enemy long enough for the cavalry to intercept. Every fortress must hold, every village must contribute. And the royal guard…"
The captain nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Elite regiments will be dispatched immediately. Reinforcements from the southern duketomes are on standby."
Albrecht's pale eyes flicked to a silver statuette on the table—a miniature dragon carved from obsidian and inlaid with sapphire eyes. He brushed a finger across it. "Those fools who think the Grey Duchy's fall is a victory… they've no idea what they've triggered. I've studied Vermorth for decades. I know his mind, his style. He strikes with precision, not rash fury. And he will expect me to respond predictably."
A general spoke up hesitantly. "Your Majesty… should we engage directly? Or… bait them into the open?"
Albrecht turned sharply, his voice cutting like ice. "No half-measures. Vermorth will test our strength. Vorax, the other Dragon Slayers, they will probe every weakness. We will not give them an inch. Every soldier, every piece of siege equipment, every magical ward will be positioned to anticipate their moves. And if they think they can take my head, they will discover that even the White Dragon Killer is still deadly."
He stepped back, hands clasped behind his back, gaze sweeping over the room. "This is the second phase of the invasion. The Dragon Slayers come, seeking power, seeking revenge, and I will ensure that the Empire survives them all. Greyhold's fall was a warning… now they will see the cost of defying the Empire."
The generals and knights bowed sharply, the air thick with tension, determination, and fear. Orders echoed through the hall, messengers rushed to the stables, the armory, the barracks. Steel clanged against steel as weapons were checked, banners unfurled, and men and women donned their armor.
Albrecht returned to the window overlooking the northern expanse. Snow had begun to fall lightly, swirling in the winds of the approaching storm. The fire of the Empire would meet the fury of the Dragon Slayers soon enough.
And when it did, only the sharpest, strongest, and most cunning would survive.
The morning mist clung to the ramparts of the northern fortresses, the air sharp and biting. Thousands of soldiers—infantry, cavalry, archers, and mages—stood in tight formation across the snowy plains, their armor glinting dully beneath the gray light. The banners of the Cecearan Empire fluttered in the cold wind, each bearing the silver dragon sigil that had ruled these lands for centuries.
Emperor Albrecht strode to the front of the assembly, white cloak flowing behind him, his silver hair catching the pale sun. He climbed onto a raised platform, the obsidian steps scraping against stone, and gazed out at the sea of faces—young recruits trembling beside hardened veterans, the weight of fear and anticipation heavy in their eyes.
He raised his hand, and the murmurs fell silent. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
"Today," Albrecht began, voice calm but carrying across the ranks like a hammer striking steel, "we stand at the edge of war. Across the northern horizon, three Dragon Slayers approach. Vermorth, Vorax, and others—the champions of a past age, the ones who slew the true dragons of our world. They are strong. Terrifyingly so. But they are not invincible."
He paused, letting the words sink in. Soldiers shifted uneasily, gripping their weapons tighter.
"I know what you feel," he continued, eyes scanning the crowd. "I know the fear, the doubt. Greyhold has fallen. Our brothers and sisters in that duchy are gone. The northern villages have burned. And yes… the enemy has shown their power. But hear me clearly: the fall of one fortress does not mean the fall of the Empire. Not while I stand here. Not while you stand beside me."
A cheer rose from a cluster of knights, hesitant at first, then spreading like wildfire across the ranks. Albrecht's gaze did not waver.
"We are not here to avenge the dead. We are here to protect the living. Every step you take, every swing of your sword, every spell you cast, every arrow you loosed—will carry the weight of our people, our history, and our future. The Empire does not break. The Empire does not yield. The Empire survives because of men and women like you. Brave, loyal, unyielding!"
The soldiers straightened, fists clenched, their fear transforming into resolve. Some whispered prayers, some tightened their gauntlets, but all felt the tide of courage rising inside them.
"Look around you," Albrecht said, lifting his arms high. "See your comrades. Every face you see is someone who will stand with you, someone who will fight beside you, someone who will die beside you if need be. We do not falter. We do not flee. And we do not fail."
He stepped forward, voice lowering to a determined roar that carried across the plains. "The Dragon Slayers come for our Empire, for our land, for the throne that has protected this world for centuries. Let them come. Let them see what it means to challenge the Cecearan Empire. Let them feel the strength of our resolve!"
The soldiers erupted, voices uniting into a deafening roar. Steel rang against steel, banners snapped in the wind, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath the thousands of marching feet.
Albrecht raised his sword, white and silver light catching the blade. "Forward, my soldiers! For the Empire! For our people! For the future!"
The army surged forward, a river of steel and determination, racing toward the northern passes. The mountains beyond loomed darkly, shadowed by storm clouds. Somewhere far ahead, Vermorth's forces waited, poised and silent, watching, calculating.
Albrecht turned his gaze north, eyes narrowing. In his heart, he knew the coming clash would decide more than territory—it would decide the fate of generations.
And as the first clash of steel and magic echoed faintly from the horizon, a chill ran down his spine.
The Dragon Slayers were coming.
And the world was about to witness the beginning of a war no one could have imagined.
To be continue