Reincarnation of the Magicless Pinoy.
From zero to Hero
" No Magic,No Problem!"
Encounter 12: Prince Darius
The wind howled across the northern pass, carrying shards of ice like flying knives. Darius planted his spear firmly, toes gripping the frost-hardened ground, and felt the cold bite through his boots. His eyes flicked between the two opponents before him—Luke's blade shimmering with magical energy, Vorax's spiked club humming with raw apostle strength.
Vorax lunged first, swinging his club like a battering ram. Darius sidestepped effortlessly, letting the momentum carry the brute past him. With a precise flick, the spear's butt slammed into Vorax's ribs. CRUNCH. Vorax grunted, stumbling but spinning around with a laugh that echoed across the ridge.
"You gotta be kidding me!" Vorax shouted, voice dripping with amusement. "I've smashed men half your size like flies! And you… you just move like the wind!"
Luke didn't wait. His blade flared, swinging in a vicious diagonal strike toward Darius's exposed side. The prince twisted the spear midair, deflecting the strike, steel clanging against steel. Sparks shot into the air, freezing instantly into tiny shards of ice.
Darius's counterattack was a blur. He pivoted on one foot, spear tip stabbing forward at Luke's chest. Luke jumped back, but not fast enough—Darius's strike cut through his cloak, leaving a deep, jagged tear.
"Careful, Luke," Darius muttered, calm as the ice underfoot. "This isn't a sparring match."
Vorax roared with laughter, muscles coiling like springs. He leaped high, club arcing down like a wrecking ball. Darius ducked, spear stabbing upward to catch the blow mid-swing. The force ricocheted up his arm, sending a shockwave across the ground. Snow erupted into the air, and soldiers behind them shielded their eyes.
"Not bad, kid," Vorax gasped through the impact. "But I like a fight where someone bites back."
Darius didn't flinch. He spun the spear, sweeping low toward Vorax's legs. Vorax leapt, landing gracefully, and swung the club horizontally. Darius jumped backward, landing in a crouch. The sheer force of Vorax's swing shattered the ice beneath his feet.
Luke recovered and tried again, thrusting at Darius from above. The prince caught the blade midair with the spear shaft, muscles straining. With a twisting motion, he shoved Luke off balance. Luke skidded across the frozen ground, sparks and ice spraying from the impact.
Vorax's grin widened, eyes glowing like coals. "Alright… that was fun. Let's make it more interesting." He activated the full extent of his apostle power. Veins of crimson light pulsed along his arms. Every movement radiated strength, and even the snow around him seemed to bend to his will.
Darius braced, aura flaring around him like a storm waiting to break. His grip tightened, spear tip lowering, ready for the next wave.
Vorax lunged again, swinging with brutal arcs, but Darius anticipated each strike. The spear jabbed, blocked, and parried in a flawless rhythm. Crackling energy ripped from Vorax's club, colliding with Darius's spear in showers of sparks. Each strike shook the ground, sending chunks of ice flying like shrapnel.
Luke saw an opening and thrust with a flurry of rapid strikes. Darius pivoted, catching the first, then the second, sending the tip of his spear spinning to intercept the third. Sparks exploded, blindingly bright, and Luke was shoved back once more, skidding across frost and rubble.
Vorax, bleeding slightly but grinning wider than ever, twirled his club theatrically. "Ohhh, you're fast. But let's see if you can keep this up!" He vaulted into the air, spinning like a hurricane. Darius waited, measuring, then jabbed upward. CRUNCH. The spear struck Vorax midair, sending him tumbling into a shattered wall of ice and stone.
Vorax laughed through the pain. "Hah! That tickled! I'm just warming up!"
Darius exhaled slowly, aura compressing like a held storm. He pivoted, spinning his spear with blinding precision. Luke lunged again, desperate, but Darius's strike was faster, slicing a trench into the frozen ground and throwing Luke off balance once more.
"Not bad, heir," Luke spat through the wind. "But you'll have to do better than that!"
Darius's voice was calm, steady. "Then watch carefully."
With that, he charged. Footsteps flashing across the frozen ridge, spear stabbing, spinning, twisting—a deadly blur. Vorax met him head-on, swinging with reckless force, muscles coiling for impact. Sparks, ice, and snow exploded at every contact. The earth itself trembled with their force.
Luke saw the rhythm—Darius's strikes were precise, surgical, almost impossible to read. He tried to intervene, but each attempt was met with a flick of the spear or a sudden, lightning-quick pivot. Darius flowed like water around Vorax's brute force, landing strikes where it hurt most—ribs, shoulders, solar plexus. Vorax doubled over, laughing through the pain, blood staining his lips.
"You enjoying yourself, prince?" Vorax gasped, staggering back. "Because I am!"
Darius didn't answer. He simply advanced, spear tip pointing at Luke's chest. Luke parried, and Darius twisted, flipping him over like a sack of grain. Luke hit the ground hard, ice and stone embedding themselves in his armor.
Vorax charged again, fully apostle-powered, and Darius jabbed backward, hitting him in the ribs. CRACK. Vorax stumbled but laughed. "Damn… fun! Alright, prince… I like you already!"
Darius's aura flared brighter, body coiled like a spring ready to snap. The storm around him—the wind, the snow, the frozen ridge itself—seemed to respond to his intent. Luke and Vorax tensed, realizing they were facing not just skill, but something far more dangerous: a natural predator, precise, unstoppable, and utterly unshaken.
The three circled each other, breath steaming, weapons ready, eyes locked.
"Let's finish this," Darius said quietly.
Vorax cracked his neck, grin widening like a predator. "Finally… I was wondering when the fun would start."
Luke ignited his blade aura once more. Darius exhaled, aura compressing into a deadly point, spear gleaming under the moonlight.
The next strike—the first real clash—would decide who could dominate the battlefield. And all three knew it.
The northern pass held its breath.
The frozen ridge trembled under the pounding of boots and the clash of weapons. Darius moved like a storm incarnate, spear a blur of steel as he danced around Vorax's brutal swings and Luke's relentless thrusts. Every strike carved trenches into the frost, sending shards of ice skittering across the battlefield.
Vorax leapt high, spinning his spiked club with lethal precision. Darius sidestepped, using the momentum to drive the spear upward into Vorax's shoulder. CRACK. The apostle grunted but didn't falter—he laughed, eyes glowing, twisting the spear with his bare strength to fling Darius backward.
Luke saw the opening and lunged forward, blade aiming to pierce Darius's side. But then—something caught his peripheral vision. Behind Darius, a small figure darted through the rubble: a maid he had rescued earlier, her face pale, fear frozen in her eyes as she ran blindly through the battlefield.
Luke's smirk twisted into cruelty. In a heartbeat, his blade flashed. The maid's scream tore through the night—metal slicing through flesh before she could reach cover. Blood splattered across the ice, stark against the moonlight.
Time seemed to slow for Darius. His calm, measured demeanor shattered. He felt every heartbeat, every shred of anger and guilt fuse into a single white-hot inferno. His grip on the spear tightened until the wood creaked. His aura flared violently, snow whipping into a cyclone around him.
Vorax, landing nearby, leaned casually on his club, grinning wide. His voice carried like a whip across the battlefield:
"Little prince… little prince…" He twirled the club lazily, crimson veins pulsing in his arms. "This is war, pal. So don't go gettin' all soft on me."
Darius's eyes burned, the calm prince vanished, replaced by a predator honed for retribution. His next movement was a blur—footwork impossible to track, spear thrusting, spinning, jabbing with inhuman precision. Luke's blade met the first strike, but the force drove him back several meters, snow exploding around him.
Vorax laughed, tilting his head like a twisted entertainer watching the chaos. "Ohhh… you mad now, huh? Good. I like it when my little toys bite back."
Darius whirled, spear sweeping low to high. The arc caught Luke across the chest, spinning him off his feet. He crashed into a shattered column, stone splintering beneath him. Before he could rise, Darius's spear stabbed downward, splitting the frozen ground like a scythe. Luke rolled aside, snow exploding around him, his eyes wide, shock and rage blending in equal measure.
Vorax didn't wait. He charged with the full weight of his apostle form, swinging his club with lethal arcs designed to crush bones. But Darius met him head-on. The spear caught the club mid-swing with a deafening CLANG, sparks flying like molten metal. Darius pivoted, using Vorax's momentum to throw him off balance, then slammed the spear into the apostle's knee. CRACK. Vorax grunted but laughed again, staggering, crimson energy crawling along his arms like fire through ice.
"You think that hurts, prince?" Vorax sneered, voice dripping with mockery. "I've broken men bigger than you for less."
Darius's voice was low, hard, and cold as the steel in his hands: "Then try me."
With a roar, Darius launched forward, spear tip jabbing like a viper, spinning, slicing through the frost and ice. Vorax blocked, swung, stepped back, blocked again. Each movement sent shockwaves ripping across the ridge. Trees snapped, snow erupted, and the ridge trembled under their force.
Luke saw an opening, fury in his eyes. He lunged again, aiming for a clean strike to Darius's side. Darius anticipated—no, felt—the attack. He twisted midair, spear flipping and catching Luke's sword under the blade, yanking it out of his hands with a flick. The momentum slammed Luke against a shattered ice wall.
Darius's ferocity didn't stop there. He pivoted, spear striking Vorax again and again—ribs, shoulder, solar plexus—each strike precise, surgical, designed to incapacitate, not just wound. Vorax stumbled, grunting, laughing through the pain, but even his apostle strength couldn't completely repel the storm that was Darius now.
"You're not… just a prince," Vorax hissed through gritted teeth, crimson aura flaring. "You're a freaking hurricane."
Darius's eyes glinted. "And you're about to get swept away."
He leapt forward, spinning, spear tip aimed at Vorax's heart. Vorax swung the club, trying to catch him midair—but Darius twisted, slipping past the strike, and jabbed the spear deep into his side. Vorax's laughter died for a moment, replaced by a grunt of shock.
Luke recovered beside him, rage burning, but Darius's attention was singular. He twisted, thrust, and forced Luke to the ground, kneeling on his chest, spear pressing against his throat. The prince's storm aura spiraled outward, wind ripping through the battlefield, snow and ice screaming in protest.
Vorax, staggering, wiped blood from his lips, still grinning like a lunatic. "Hah… kid, kid, kid. I gotta admit… you're scary when you're mad. But…" He straightened, cracking his knuckles, voice low and taunting, Negan-style. "But an angry little prince can't stop everything. Not me. Not your little friend here. This? This is war, buddy. You think saving one maid changes that? Hah! Nope. You either play hard… or you die hard."
Darius's eyes flared white-hot. The storm around him compressed into a spear-shaped vortex. Every breath, every heartbeat, every ounce of fury and precision focused on one goal: the two standing before him would regret underestimating the heir of Albrecht.
He stepped forward. And the next few moments—fast, brutal, unstoppable—would decide who would dominate the northern ridge.
The wind howled across the ridge, carrying the scent of blood, frost, and iron. Darius's aura flared violently, snow spinning like knives around him. Every muscle coiled like a spring—controlled, deadly, precise. He pivoted once, and in that single movement, the battlefield became his instrument.
Vorax lunged first, spiked club swinging like a wrecking ball. Darius sidestepped, letting the momentum carry Vorax past him, then pivoted and jabbed the spear into Vorax's side. The impact sent a shockwave through the apostle's torso, twisting him like a ragdoll in midair. Vorax barely landed on one leg, eyes wide but mocking.
"Not bad, kid…" Vorax grinned, blood streaking his jaw. "But this party's just getting started."
Luke moved simultaneously, sword blazing with lethal intent. Darius barely glanced at him—he didn't need to. In a heartbeat, he spun the spear in a fluid motion, sweeping it low and snapping it upward into Luke's jaw with pinpoint precision. The strike lifted Luke off his feet, crashing him into the ice-strewn rubble. A trench split the frozen ground beneath him, a scar of battle marking the ridge.
Vorax roared and charged again, this time spinning, swinging his club in an overhead arc designed to crush Darius's skull. Darius stepped back—no, not just stepped. He pivoted, shifted his weight, and drove the spear upward with the force of a piston, jamming it under Vorax's chin. Vorax grunted violently, staggering back, but his grin never faltered.
"Ohhhhhh… that tickled!" he laughed, voice dark and playful like a predator enjoying the hunt. "Gotta hit harder, little prince."
Darius's eyes narrowed. He didn't need to hit harder. He needed to hit smart. With a fluid motion, he swept the spear low, hooking Vorax's legs, flipping him onto his back. Before the apostle could rise, Darius spun the spear like a wheel, striking ribs, solar plexus, shoulders in a chain of brutal precision. Every strike calculated—deadly, efficient, unrelenting.
Vorax grunted through blood, staggering to his knees. "You… you're a freak. Damn kid… a freakin' monster."
Darius ignored him. His attention snapped to Luke, who had recovered and was coming at him again. Darius's spear pivoted, spinning in a fluid blur, catching Luke's blade, twisting it out of his hands, and slamming him into a broken column. Stone shattered, snow erupted. Luke's head snapped up, eyes wide, shock and rage burning in equal measure.
"You… little brat…" Luke hissed through blood.
"I warned you," Darius said quietly, voice like steel. "This battlefield is mine."
The ground beneath their feet trembled again as Vorax regained his footing, rolling forward like a coiled spring. "Ohhh, you're mad now," he said, cracking his neck like a whip. "Good. I love it when my toys bite back. But anger… anger don't save you from me, little prince."
Vorax charged with a terrifying roar, apostle aura flaring—muscles bulging, crimson veins crawling, swinging his club in a double-handed arc meant to obliterate. Darius didn't flinch. Instead, he pivoted into the strike, letting the club's force pass over him while the spear whipped backward, catching Vorax square in the chest with a bone-shattering impact.
CRACK. The sound echoed across the ridge. Vorax staggered, blood spraying, but the grin returned. "Ahhh… I love kids who fight dirty. Makes me feel alive."
Darius's aura coalesced into a spear of pure storm energy. Snow and frost spun around him like a cyclone, each movement faster, sharper, more precise. He darted forward like lightning—a blur of steel and ice, piercing gaps, striking with calculated brutality. Vorax and Luke tried to react, but Darius was everywhere at once: one moment in front, the next behind, spinning, slamming, hooking, twisting.
Vorax's club caught him across the side, sending him spinning—but Darius's feet never touched the same ground twice. He twisted midair, spear snapping upward, striking Vorax in the shoulder, then the ribs, then solar plexus in a flurry of lightning strikes. Vorax staggered, knees weak, blood spraying with every strike.
Luke tried to intervene again, rushing from the flank—but Darius pivoted, spinning his spear to sweep Luke off his feet. Luke crashed into rubble, stunned, while Darius's spear pivoted back to Vorax, slamming into his side like a piston, dropping him to one knee.
Vorax laughed, staggering to his feet, voice low and mocking, dripping Negan-like menace:
"Ohhhh… you got bite, kid. Gotta admit, you're fun. But come on now—don't get all soft on me. This? This is war. Kill or be killed, princey."
Darius's eyes flared white-hot. The fury ignited by the death of the maid, by the injustice of their cruelty, merged with his perfect control of battlefield instinct. He advanced, spear flashing like lightning in the moonlight. Every strike precise, every movement a lesson in brutal efficiency.
The ridge shook with the clash of titans—not just in strength, but in pure skill and controlled ferocity. Darius didn't just fight. He dominated, turning the once-mocking laughter of his enemies into cries of panic and shock. The little prince had become the storm incarnate.
Darius's spear blurred again, each strike a perfect combination of precision and raw power. He moved like water, unstoppable, punishing every opening Vorax and Luke tried to exploit. But the two weren't just strong—they were cunning. They knew him. They knew his weakness: the instinct to protect the innocent.
A shadow fell behind him—a maid stumbling from the rubble, a trapped figure he had tried to pull to safety. Luke's eyes caught the movement, a wicked grin curling his lips. Without hesitation, he lunged.
The spear missed her entirely—but his blade didn't. The scream echoed across the ridge as the maid fell, lifeless.
Darius froze for a heartbeat, fury igniting in his chest hotter than any blizzard or storm. His eyes turned ice sharp, deadly.
Vorax stepped forward, twirling his club lazily, eyes gleaming like a predator. His grin widened.
"Ahhh… look at that face, little prince," he said, voice slow, venomous, cutting through the chaos. "You help them… and this is what you get. Don't cry. Don't whine. Don't get soft. Heroes don't live long in the real game."
Darius's aura exploded. Every strike now carried the weight of vengeance, every movement a storm of death. Luke swung, Vorax charged—but Darius met them both, relentless, unstoppable, the ground beneath shattering with every impact. Snow and stone flew like hail. Screams and metal clashed.
The fight was no longer just about victory—it was survival, a test of will against monsters who would kill without thought. And still, despite the overwhelming odds, Darius held.
In the shadowed corridors of the imperial prison, far from the frozen pass, a cell door rattled. Chains clinked softly as a figure stirred. The former crown prince, Keain, leaned against the cold stone wall, a thin grin spreading across his face.
"Finally," he muttered, voice low but deadly. "It's about time."
The camera of fate—or fate itself—seemed to pause, the echoes of Darius's battle crashing through the mountains, reaching the ears of a boy who had lost everything… and now, perhaps, had a new game to play.
And then he saw it. The trial of blood, and thats when he saw all of the maids and servants laying on the ground. Lifeless and he look up to the man who's standing behind the corpse. It was Luke Arcadia. With a wide grin in hia face like saying. Look what i do.
"ARCADIA!!!!"
To be continue