Reincarnation of the Magicless pinoy
From Zero to hero
" No Magic? ,No Problem!"
Encounter 11: When the Sky Split
Snow swept across the northern pass, cutting sideways through torchlight as Cecearan soldiers braced themselves behind shield walls. The Northern Legion stretched across the ridge in disciplined rows—armor silver under the moon, spears steady, eyes sharp.
At their head stood Prince Darius, the newly declared heir of the Empire.
Tall. Young. Steeled not by privilege but by the burden suddenly thrust upon him after Keain's disgrace.
His breath fogged the air as he watched the far treeline tremble.
"Hold your ground," he said quietly.
The commanders around him swallowed hard and obeyed.
The ground rumbled.
A presence pressed against the wind—heavy, suffocating.
Every soldier felt it like a hand around the throat.
Then three figures emerged from the frozen woods.
Vermorth the Red Reaver walked in front, armor scarred by the ancient battles that made him a legend. His cloak snapped behind him like the wing of a slain dragon.
Only one man alive had ever killed the White Frozer Monarch besides Emperor Albrecht. Vermorth was the slayer of the Fire Abyss Serpent — another of the seven true dragons that once terrorized the world.
Behind him came Vorax, towering and twisted with Apostle power. Muscles hardened like stone, eyes glowing with feral hunger.
And on the far right, walking with a swagger that didn't match the tension around him—
Luke Arcadia, the traitor's son.
Luke spotted Darius instantly and smirked.
"Look at that," Luke muttered. "The new heir himself. Shame your brother's rotting in a cell."
Darius didn't rise to the bait. His grip tightened around his spear.
Vorax cracked his neck, staring hungrily at Darius. "So this is the boy we get to break?"
"Careful," Luke said lightly. "He's still royalty."
Vorax grinned. "Royal meat tastes the same."
Darius exhaled, steady and sharp.
"Step forward," he told his men quietly. "We hold this line."
The ridge trembled again—
But this time, the pressure came from behind the Cecearan formation.
A second force approached.
Every soldier straightened as a white cloak moved through their ranks.
Emperor Albrecht stepped to the front, armor gleaming like frozen starlight. The White Dragon Killer. The man who had slain the Frost Monarch Azure forty years ago.
Two dragon slayers.
Facing each other again—not as allies of their era, but leaders of warring nations.
Vermorth's lips curled in something between amusement and respect.
"Albrecht," he called out, voice rolling like thunder. "Didn't think you'd greet me yourself."
Albrecht's voice carried across the battlefield, calm and cold.
"Only fitting," he said. "A dragon slayer should meet another."
"And your heir?" Vermorth nodded toward Darius. "Replacing the boy in chains?"
Darius felt a pulse in his chest but didn't look away.
"He stands where the Empire needs him," Albrecht answered.
Luke leaned toward Vorax and muttered, "Hear that? The new heir's about to bleed for daddy's approval."
Vorax chuckled.
Darius stepped forward, spear tip lowering toward Luke and Vorax.
"You came here for war. You'll find it."
Luke smirked wider.
"Oh, I've been waiting for this, Your Highness."
Vermorth drew his blade slowly, letting its weight scrape the air.
"Albrecht," he said, pointing the sword toward him, "shall we settle which dragon slayer stands taller?"
Albrecht lifted Azure's Fang—the blade forged from the Frost Monarch's spine—its edge chilling the wind around it.
"Gladly."
The battlefield held its breath.
Two eras.
Two legends.
Two heirs to worlds built on the bones of dragons.
The sky cracked with thunder as Albrecht and Vermorth stepped toward each other, the air pulling tight like the world didn't want these two in the same place.
One in white.
One in crimson.
Both carrying the weight of extinct monsters they once felled.
Snow hissed between them as Vermorth grinned, resting his blade against his shoulder.
"Let's see if the White Dragon Killer still has claws."
Albrecht didn't answer.
He moved.
The emperor vanished—
A blur of white steel slicing across the frozen pass.
Vermorth barely tilted his head before the blade roared past his cheek, severing several strands of his hair.
Then the shockwave hit.
The entire treeline behind Vermorth exploded, trunks snapping like toothpicks as ice dust bloomed outward.
Vermorth's grin widened.
"Fast. Still fast."
He stepped into Albrecht's blind spot with the same casual ease of someone stretching their limbs—then swung his massive blade straight down.
The earth cratered, a ring of stone and snow blasting outward as the emperor leaped back. Shards of rock pinwheeled across the field, slamming into shields and armor.
Darius steadied his men.
"Hold! Don't move forward!"
Luke and Vorax watched from the flank, smirking as the shockwaves rolled past them.
But all eyes were on the two titans.
Albrecht attacked first.
He lunged low, pivoting under a brutal slash, and his knee smashed into Vermorth's ribs—
a blow strong enough to cave a lesser man's side in.
Vermorth's breath hitched—
then he laughed through his teeth.
"Still hits like a damn frost wyrm!"
He slammed his elbow down toward Albrecht's skull.
The emperor caught it. One hand.
The ground beneath his feet cracked from the force.
Albrecht twisted, seized Vermorth's arm, and flipped him over his shoulder—
a clean, perfect throw—
But Vermorth twisted midair and buried his blade into the ground to stop himself.
Stone shattered.
A trench carved open beneath him.
He kicked off the ruined earth, hurtling forward like a cannonball.
Steel met steel.
Their blades collided and the impact sent a blistering shockwave ripping across the ridge—snow vaporized, armor rattled, even Darius stumbled back a step.
Vermorth pressed the attack.
He swung in wide, crushing arcs, each swing heavy enough to tear apart castle gates.
Each strike screamed, ripping the air apart with sheer force.
Albrecht dodged narrowly—
a sidestep here, a pivot there—
until Vermorth's sword carved a vertical slash that nearly grazed his chest.
Albrecht countered.
His blade flashed upward, sharp and cold, slicing across Vermorth's shoulder. Frost burned into the wound, spreading crack-like trails across the crimson armor.
Vermorth hissed and spat a breath, steam rising from the frostbite.
"So you're using Azure's Fang at full power."
Albrecht didn't answer.
He rushed forward—
The emperor unleashed a blizzard-born technique.
A spiraling arc of frigid mana blasted from his sword, carving a crescent of ice through the air.
The temperature dropped instantly—breath turning to frost, armor frosting over, snow crystallizing midfall.
Vermorth planted his feet, wound his blade back like a batter facing a pitch—
And he cut the blizzard in half.
The two frozen halves exploded outward like shattering glass.
Then Vermorth roared and dashed in.
Close quarters erupted.
Punches. Kicks. Elbows.
Steel sliding past throats.
Boots cracking into ribs.
Every movement precise, lethal—no wasted motion.
Vermorth ducked a sideways slash, stepped in, and delivered a brutal palm strike to Albrecht's chest—
The emperor flew back, smashing through a boulder that vaporized on impact.
Darius shouted, "Your Majesty!"
But Albrecht climbed from the debris, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
"You've gotten slower," Vermorth taunted.
"Or maybe I've gotten stronger."
Albrecht exhaled once.
Cold fog rolled from his lips.
"No," he said. "You've gotten careless."
He sprinted—
A streak of white light, so fast even Luke swore under his breath.
Albrecht slammed his palm into Vermorth's sternum and unleashed a focused burst of frost mana—
Vermorth's armor flash-froze.
Then the emperor slashed upward—
A crystalline arc sliced open Vermorth's chestplate, ice spreading in jagged lines.
Vermorth coughed blood.
For the first time, his grin faltered.
"You bastard…"
He shattered the ice with a flex of mana, shards flying like daggers.
Then he punched Albrecht square in the jaw—
a punch powerful enough to flatten a beastman warlord.
The emperor stumbled back, blood spraying from his lip.
They stared at each other.
Both bleeding.
Both breathing hard.
Both smiling now.
"This," Vermorth growled, "is how kings should fight."
"No," Albrecht replied quietly. "This is how monsters die."
They charged at the same time.
The world held its breath—
And when they met, the entire northern ridge erupted in white and crimson light, lighting the sky like a dying star.
Albrecht's roar cracked the battlefield.
The emperor's mana flared again—so heavy it made the flags around the capital spire rip clean off their poles. The ground vibrated as if something enormous beneath the earth was waking.
Vermorth felt it, that familiar razor-edge killing intent from decades ago.
He tightened his grip on his halberd, boots digging into the shattered stone.
Albrecht raised his hand to the sky.
"Aerthrys."
The world went white.
A beam of light shot down like a pillar dropped from heaven. Wind screamed outward, flattening debris and sending the fighting soldiers tumbling like scraps of cloth. The light twisted into shape—scales forming like plates of polished moonstone, long wings unfurling with a metallic sheen.
A massive dragon stood tall above the ruins.
Aerthrys, the Pale Sovereign.
A roar tore out of its throat, deep enough to rattle bones. Its wings stirred the air into whirlwinds, dust blasting off rooftops.
Vermorth spat to the side.
"Of course you brought that damn lizard."
Albrecht climbed onto the dragon's neck with the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.
"Don't whine, Vermorth. You're the one who taught me never to hold back."
Then Aerthrys launched forward.
THE AERIAL CLASH
Aerthrys swooped low, claws flashing like scythes. Vermorth dug his heel into the ground and launched upward with raw physical force—stone exploded under his feet.
Albrecht swung his greatsword down from Aerthrys' back.
Steel met steel mid-air—
CLANG!
The shockwave cracked windows three districts away.
Vermorth flipped backward, sliding across a rooftop, tearing shingles away. Albrecht steered Aerthrys upward, circling like a hawk hunting its kill. The dragon's tail whipped out, shattering the rooftop Vermorth stood on, burying him under splintered beams.
A moment of stillness.
Then—
Vermorth burst from the rubble, eyes burning.
Mana surged around him like a storm of black dust.
He hurled his halberd like a missile.
Aerthrys swerved, but too late—
The halberd grazed the dragon's scales, sending a cascade of silver fragments scattering like sparks.
Albrecht growled, gripping Aerthrys' reins.
"You still throw like a bastard."
Vermorth dashed along the falling debris, grabbed his halberd mid-air, and launched himself up at them.
CLOSE-QUARTERS MAYHEM
He clashed with Albrecht again on the dragon's neck, each blow ringing out like thunder:
Albrecht: overhead swing—
Vermorth steps inside, shoulder checks him, blade ricochets off the dragon's scales.
Vermorth slashes—
Albrecht catches it on the flat of his sword, twists, kicks Vermorth off his footing.
They're trading hits so fast the sparks look like fireworks.
Aerthrys dives suddenly, forcing Vermorth to drop and cling to its wing edge. Wind howls around him. He climbs along the membrane, boots piercing through it, anchoring himself as he charges up the wing like a man running on a cliff.
Albrecht turns, eyes widening.
He swings—
Vermorth deflects with his halberd shaft, steps in, and headbutts him square in the nose.
Albrecht snarls, bleeding.
"You damn ogre."
Aerthrys rolls sideways, trying to fling Vermorth off, but Vermorth leaps, grabbing one of the dragon's horns. He twists it sharply.
The dragon screeches, spiraling downward.
"Let go of him, Aerthrys!" Albrecht commands, yanking the reins.
They crash into the ground like a meteor, dust erupting in a colossal plume. Buildings flatten. Soldiers are thrown through the air from the shockwave.
Vermorth staggers up from the crater, coughing dust.
Aerthrys rises too, shaking the rubble off its wings.
Albrecht stands atop its head, eyes sharp, breath steady.
"You're slower than before," Vermorth taunts.
"And you're still loud."
Albrecht points his blade forward.
"Aerthrys. Don't hold back."
The dragon's throat glows—
A furnace lighting from deep within.
Vermorth grits his teeth, halberd spinning in his grip.
A blast of white-silver dragonfire floods the battlefield.
The white-silver torrent roared outward, swallowing the battlefield in blinding heat. Stone melted. The air itself seemed to ripple like boiling water.
But Vermorth didn't run.
He tightened his grip on his halberd, muscles coiling. His breath steadied, eyes narrowing as if he were staring at something far behind the flames.
Then he moved.
A single stomp cracked the earth, launching him forward straight into the dragonfire.
Heat slammed against him like a wall, peeling layers off the ground. His coat caught fire. His skin blistered instantly.
But Vermorth kept pushing through, teeth gritted, halberd held low like a sprinter's starting position.
"Come on…!"
He swung upward.
A cleave so sharp it split the flames apart.
The dragonfire peeled away—carved into two massive streams spiraling around him.
Vermorth moved through the gap he had created, smoke rolling off his burned clothes.
Albrecht's eyes widened on Aerthrys' head.
"He cut through it… again?"
Vermorth emerged from the collapsing firestorm like a demon stepping out of a furnace, halberd dragging sparks across the scorched ground.
"Your dragon's breath still stinks."
ALBRECHT ANSWERS WITH FORBIDDEN TECHNIQUES
Albrecht exhaled slowly.
"Fine. No more restraints."
He placed his palm on Aerthrys' neck.
Silver runes crawled across the emperor's arm, pulsing with light.
The temperature of the air dropped in an instant—so cold that frost climbed shattered stones.
Vermorth frowned.
"You're tapping the Imperial Core? That art kills its user."
"No."
Albrecht's voice deepened, almost echoing.
"It kills the weak."
He raised his sword.
Sovereign Art: Imperial Mandate – Sever the False King
A vertical slash dropped like judgment from the heavens.
The ground tore open in a perfectly straight line, the cut extending for kilometers. Buildings along its trajectory simply fell apart as if sliced by an invisible blade.
Vermorth barely jumped aside, but the shockwave still scraped his arm open, blood spraying.
Albrecht wasn't done.
He spread his arms, and Aerthrys' wings snapped open, releasing a pressure wave so heavy nearby soldiers were crushed flat against the earth.
"Sovereign Art…" Albrecht whispered.
The runes on Aerthrys lit up in response.
AERTHRYS ENHANCEMENT – WHITE SOVEREIGN ASCENSION
The dragon's entire body glowed—scales sharpening, horns lengthening, wings stretching like bladed sails.
Its roar shook the sky.
Aerthrys dove.
Vermorth steadied himself.
THE THREE-WAY IMPACT
The dragon hit first—its wing acting like a massive cleaver.
Vermorth blocked with the shaft of his halberd, but the force hurled him across the plaza, bouncing him through two ruined columns.
Before he could breathe, Albrecht was already there, appearing in front of him like a mirage, sword raised.
CLANG!
Vermorth intercepted the strike by instinct alone.
Another slash.
Another block.
Another.
Another.
Albrecht's speed had doubled—no, tripled. Their weapons blurred like streaks of light, each clash producing a violent shockwave.
Vermorth saw an opening—
He swung.
Albrecht ducked under it and drove a knee into Vermorth's ribs.
The sound was like a tree snapping.
Vermorth coughed blood, but forcibly exhaled and headbutted Albrecht again, this time breaking the emperor's nose clean sideways.
Albrecht staggered back—
Aerthrys' tail came whipping at the same moment.
Vermorth rolled under it, but the tail still grazed his side, tearing flesh and sending a spray of blood across the rubble.
He didn't fall.
He planted one foot and roared back at them, raising his halberd overhead.
"Come at me properly!"
THE FINAL TRIANGLE COLLISION
Aerthrys inhaled—
Albrecht prepared another Mandate—
Vermorth charged—
The three forces converged.
Dragonfire.
Sovereign Art.
Halberd strike.
The collision was instant and world-shaking.
A massive dome of pressure erupted outward, flattening the nearby massacre fields and snapping the old palace walls. Clouds above were blown apart in a circular hole.
Everything drowned in white light.
The shockwaves of Albrecht and Vermorth's distant clash rolled across the city like thunder when Darius planted the heel of his spear into the cracked cobblestones and exhaled once.
From the smoke, Luke emerged first.
And beside him—whistling like he was out for a stroll—came Vorax.
He twirled his spiked club over his shoulder, grin wide, eyes dancing with cruel amusement.
"Well, well, well… look at that. The golden boy himself."
Luke ignored him and spoke quietly.
"Vorax. Stay sharp. Darius isn't like the other princes."
Vorax let out an exaggerated gasp.
"Oh nooo. The big scary prince." He leaned close to Luke with a mocking whisper. "You think I don't know who I'm looking at, buddy? This is the guy who can go toe-to-toe with daddy dearest."
Vorax smirked at Darius. "Cute."
Luke's tone sharpened.
"I'm serious. At the Magisterium? No one beat him. Not the professors. Not the nobles."
He clicked his tongue.
"Except Rolien."
Darius said nothing. His gaze was steady, calm.
Vorax laughed, hands raised.
"Ah, yes! The little magicless dude who keeps making your eye twitch. Love that kid already."
Darius lowered his stance.
"You two chose the wrong battlefield," he said quietly. "Walk away, and I'll give you a clean death."
Vorax put a hand to his chest.
"Oh my. A clean death? For me? That's adorable."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a playful growl.
"But I like mine dirty."
Luke lifted his sword.
"Enough. Let's end him."
Darius vanished.
One blink—he was in front of Luke.
His spear thrust for Luke's throat with surgical precision. Luke barely parried.
CLANG!
The vibration shot up Luke's arm. "Tch—heavy!"
Darius spun, sweeping the spear low.
Vorax hopped back with a laugh.
"Woah! That would've taken my legs off! And I like my legs!"
The spear carved a trench deep into the ground.
Vorax whistled.
"That's some nasty footwork you got there, princey."
Vorax charged, boots pounding the ground.
His apostle aura flared—crimson veins snaking across his arms, muscles tightening.
His club swung like a wrecking ball.
Darius stepped half a foot to the side—calm, almost lazy—and slammed the end of his spear into Vorax's ribs.
CRACK.
Vorax froze mid-swing, eyes wide.
Then he doubled over, coughing.
"Oh-ho-ho—okay. That one hurt. Nice shot. Really nice shot."
Darius didn't stop.
Chest—snap!
Shoulder—slam!
Solar plexus—thud!
Three jabs. Precise. Brutal.
Vorax stumbled back, laughing through blood.
"Ohhh I felt that in my spine. Damn, prince—you're fun."
Luke once again tried a clean kill, blade swinging for Darius' back.
Darius blocked without turning.
Vorax whistled.
"He didn't even look at you, Luke. That's rough, buddy."
Darius twisted the spear, flipping Luke over like a sack of grain.
Luke hit the ground hard.
Vorax clapped like he was watching a street circus.
"Ten outta ten! Do it again!"
Darius slammed his spear downward.
A shockwave cratered the earth.
Vorax grinned wider.
"Holy hell! You're like a blender with legs!"
VORAX JUMPS IN AGAIN
He leapt from the rubble, now fully in apostle mode.
"Round two, sweetheart!"
He swung his club—
Darius jabbed backward, without looking.
WHAM.
Vorax flew into a wall, bricks burying him.
A cough. Then:
"—I'm good!"
He dug himself out, wheezing.
"Just rearranging my bones!"
Darius lifted his spear again.
His aura compressed around him like a storm being held together by sheer will.
Luke pushed himself up, glaring.
"You always were a monster, Darius. Untouchable. Perfect."
He spit blood. "Even back then, no one could defeat you."
Darius glanced at him.
"Except Rolien."
Luke's jaw tightened.
Vorax snickered. "Ooooh, hit him right in the pride."
Darius pointed his spear at them.
"Stand. Let's finish this."
Vorax cracked his neck.
"Oh hell yes. Now we're talking."
Luke ignited his sword aura.
Vorax forced his apostle form to full strength.
Darius steadied his breathing.
All three prepared to clash—
power rising, pressure crushing the air around them.
"The next hit would decide who breaks first."
To be continue.