Reincarnation of the Magicless Pinoy
From zero to Hero
" No Magic?,No Problem!"
Encounter 13: Monster!
The courtyard felt smaller the moment Lance stepped forward. It wasn't his size—he wasn't the tallest man on the battlefield. It was the way he moved. Shoulders squared. Breathing steady. Blade angled just slightly down, ready to rise in a heartbeat. He looked like a man who'd fought too many battles to bother pretending he wasn't scared.
Luke and Vorax watched him like wolves sizing up a bear.
Darius slowly pushed himself to his feet. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He kept seeing the two maids sprawled behind him—faces pale, hair covered in dust, the blood staining their uniforms. He felt sick.
Lance didn't look back, but he spoke anyway. "Darius. Breathe."
It was a quiet order. A simple one. But somehow it reached through the panic fogging Darius's head.
Luke spat to the side. "He's dead the moment you step aside, Father."
Lance finally met his son's eyes. There was no rage there. That almost made it worse.
"Luke," he said softly, "what happened to you?"
Luke's grip on his sword tightened. His jaw clenched. "Don't talk to me like I'm still your child."
Vorax chuckled and rolled his shoulders. "Man, the family drama here is premium. I almost wanna step aside just to watch."
Lance raised his sword, point angled at Vorax first. "You're the one pushing him into this."
Vorax flashed a grin. "Nah. He just needed a little nudge. Kids these days—so much potential, so little courage."
Luke stepped forward, annoyed. "I don't need him to push me," he snapped. "I chose this."
Darius flinched at the venom in his voice. Lance didn't.
"Then you'll answer for it," Lance said.
Luke lunged first.
He dashed in with a horizontal slash, aiming to slice straight across his father's ribs. Lance stepped back half a pace and parried, blade scraping sharply against metal. Before Luke could recover, Lance's elbow snapped forward, slamming into his son's chest and knocking him a step back.
Vorax slipped in from the left, swinging his massive cleaver-like blade down toward Lance's shoulder. Lance pivoted—tight, efficient—and dragged his sword upward in a rising cut that forced Vorax to hop back laughing.
"Oh that was nice!" Vorax barked. "More like that!"
Darius staggered back to avoid debris as the three clashed again. He felt useless. Worse—he felt weak. His hands balled into fists as Lance held off both attackers alone.
Luke ducked under a counterstrike and swept his foot toward Lance's ankle. Lance jumped just enough to avoid it, twisting in the air to block Vorax's cleaver with a two-handed guard. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the tiles under them.
Luke darted around Lance's guard again, aiming for his throat—
—and Lance caught the blade between two fingers of his gauntlet for half a heartbeat, just long enough to redirect it off-line before shoving Luke away with the flat of his sword.
"Your form is sloppy," Lance said, voice steady. "You're fighting like someone trying to prove something."
Luke snarled. "Shut up!"
He charged again, faster, angrier, and Vorax barreled in beside him like a drunken war god enjoying the chaos.
Lance blocked Luke's blade, twisted it aside, then rolled under Vorax's swing. Dust blasted up as the cleaver smashed into the ground where his head had been.
But even Lance couldn't keep this up forever.
Two-on-one was a death sentence for anyone.
Even him.
Darius tried to step in—his foot dragged forward—
but Lance extended one arm without looking.
"Stay behind me."
That single command froze him.
Vorax slammed Lance with a shoulder bash that sent him stumbling. Luke's blade followed, slicing across Lance's armor, leaving a deep gouge but not breaking through. Lance grit his teeth and countered with a sharp kick to Luke's stomach.
Darius felt the tremor building in his chest.
Helplessness. Rage. Raw grief.
It mixed into something sharp.
Something dangerous.
He clenched his jaw, eyes burning.
I won't stand by again.
Vorax lifted his cleaver overhead. "Come on, old man! Let's see you block this too!"
Luke moved in at the same time, ready to thrust the moment Lance committed to defending.
Darius stepped forward, mouth opening—
A boom echoed from the castle interior.
A heavy gate slamming open.
All four turned their heads for a split second.
Boots dragged across stone.
Chains rattled.
Someone was walking free.
And deep beneath the fortress, in the quiet of his cell, Keain lifted his chin as the guards panicked around him.
"That's my cue," he murmured. "Let the stage begin."
Back in the courtyard—
Vorax grinned.
Luke narrowed his eyes.
Lance didn't lower his guard.
Darius swallowed hard, feeling his pulse finally steady.
The real chaos was just beginning.
Darius tightened his grip on his sword. He was done watching. Done holding back. Lance was getting pushed inch by inch, and the two killers in front of him weren't slowing down.
He stepped forward—
—and Lance's arm shot out, blocking his path without even glancing back.
"Not you," Lance said, voice low but firm.
Darius froze. "I can fight. I can—"
"No." Lance pushed him back a full step. "Listen to me."
Luke and Vorax circled like hungry beasts, but they didn't rush in yet. They could see something changing. Something they didn't want to interrupt.
Lance kept his eyes on the two men who were about to try and kill him, but his words were meant only for Darius.
"Your father needs you."
Darius blinked, thrown off. "What?"
"Vermorth." Lance's jaw clenched. "Albrecht won't last long alone. Not this time."
Darius's pulse spiked. "But that means you'll—"
"I'll buy you the time." Lance stepped forward, sword rising again. "Don't argue. You won't save me by staying here."
Vorax laughed. "Oh, I love this. The noble sacrifice.hehehe "vorx said pointing at Lance and Luke just raise a brow." You know his a noble,tch whatever. Ok old man lets Warms my cold, murderous heart shall we."
Luke didn't laugh. He just watched his father with an unreadable expression.
Lance kept talking, voice steady, never wavering.
"Darius, go. Get to the emperor. Support him. Keep him alive. Live another day."
His voice cracked just slightly. "Please, my prince."
The plea hit Darius harder than any blade could.
He wanted to scream. To refuse. To drag Lance with him and run. But Lance's stance said he wasn't moving. And his eyes—hard, determined, and weirdly peaceful—told Darius the truth:
He wasn't planning to survive this.
Darius swallowed the pain rising in his throat. "I… I'll return. I swear it."
"Good." Lance allowed himself the smallest smile. "Make that promise to your empire. Not to me."
Vorax cracked his neck. "Alright, heart-to-heart's over. Let's get bloody, shall we?"
Luke raised his blade. He didn't smile. "Father… don't make me do this."
Lance stepped between them and Darius, a lone shield against a storm.
"You already made your choice," he said softly.
Darius backed away, step by step, forcing himself not to look away from Lance's back even as tears threatened to blur his sight.
Lance didn't turn, didn't say goodbye.
He simply lifted his sword—
—and charged.
"GO!" he barked, voice like a whip.
Darius spun on his heel and sprinted toward the throne hall, every heartbeat pounding one truth deeper:
If he didn't reach Albrecht in time…
both Lance and the emperor would die.
Behind him, steel clashed with explosive force as Lance Arcadia threw himself into a hopeless fight—
—for the sake of a prince he wasn't even sworn to serve.
For the sake of the empire his own son had betrayed.
And for the last chance at survival Darius could offer.
The courtyard shook as Vorax hauled his weapon up from the ground.
It wasn't just a cleaver.
It was a nightmare iron construct—half-club, half-axe, and lined with a cage of serrated spikes welded into a twisting maze. Dried blood clung to the edges. Bits of blackened armor… and bone… were still stuck between the teeth.
He slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing and grinned wide.
"Man, oh man… this is sweet," Vorax said, tilting his head. "Father against son. Betrayal. Drama. You people sure know how to throw a party."
Luke didn't respond. His stare was locked on Lance.
Lance's breaths came shallow, a cut bleeding down his side, but he still held his blade steady. "Luke… I knew you were capable of cruel things," he said, voice wavering between sadness and anger. "But I never thought you'd go this far. Selling out your own kin… your own empire…"
Luke scoffed, stepping closer. "I don't care. You think this empire ever cared about me? You think anyone did?" His voice cracked into something harsher. "Old man, this is for your sake, too."
Lance's eyes softened. "Don't twist this into mercy. You chose power over people. That's a path with no end."
Luke clenched his teeth. "Power means never losing anything again. Power means no one can take what's mine. You of all people should understand that."
Vorax snorted. "Touching. Really touching. But unless we kill him, I'm gonna die of boredom."
He stepped forward, spike-maze weapon dragging against the stone with a horrible metallic scrape. "So how's this gonna be, old man? On your feet or on your knees?"
Lance didn't move. Didn't blink.
"I'll stand," he said quietly.
Luke's jaw tightened. He lifted his blade. "Then stand down. Now."
Lance exhaled slowly. "No."
He raised his sword—just a hair. Enough to show he wasn't surrendering. Enough to tell Luke he was choosing his empire… his emperor… and Darius.
Luke flinched.
Vorax's grin widened. "Well look at that. Daddy's choosing the kingdom over you. Again." He leaned in toward Luke, voice a taunting whisper. "No wonder you're so messed up."
Luke snapped forward, striking at his father with a wild, furious slash.
Lance blocked, barely holding ground.
Vorax moved in right after, swinging the spike maze in a heavy arc meant to crush bone and armor alike. Lance ducked under it, but the weapon scraped across his shoulder, tearing through metal and skin.
Blood sprayed.
Lance staggered back, blade trembling in his grip.
Luke pressed again, quicker and more vicious than before.
"You forced me into this!" Luke shouted, face twisted. "All those years watching you favor others—that two wives pf yours their son, Elin, even Anastasia you didn't even give a glance at mother! —"
Lance winced. "Ana? That maid has nothing to do with—"
"Don't lie to me!" Luke roared.
He lunged for Lance's throat.
Lance turned the blade aside—but barely.
Behind Luke, Vorax was laughing. "This is gold. Pure gold. Come on, Luke! Dig deeper! Let's make this a family memory."
He swung again, spike maze crashing down like a hammer.
Lance tried to move—
He wasn't fast enough this time.
The spikes caught his armor, shredding through leather and steel, driving into his ribs. He gasped, blood dripping from his lips.
Luke froze.
Just for a moment.
A tiny, human flicker of regret crossed his face.
Vorax noticed instantly.
"Oh, don't get soft on me now," Vorax sneered. "You chose this path, kid. Own it."
Luke's hands trembled.
Lance lifted his head despite the wound.
Even bleeding, even shaking—he still met his son's eyes with the same quiet, steady look Luke remembered from childhood.
"You still have time," Lance whispered. "You can stop. You can turn back."
Luke's expression twisted in anger and pain.
"No. I'm not weak anymore."
Vorax slung his spike maze behind him like he was preparing the final swing. "Enough chatter. Let's finish the old man."
Lance steadied his grip.
Blood dripped down his arm.
But his voice—faint as it was—held firm.
"If you're going to strike me down…"
He took a single step forward, blade raised.
"…then do it as a man, Luke. Not as a coward hiding behind another's strength."
Luke's breath hitched.
Vorax laughed.
And the final blow began to fall—
Lance could barely stand now.
Blood ran down his torso in warm streams. His breath shook every time he drew air. But his blade still pointed at his son. Even now… even on dying legs… he faced Luke without flinching.
Vorax paused, almost annoyed. "Still standing? Damn, old man. You've got some spine."
Luke said nothing. His sword trembled in his hand.
Lance looked at him—not with hatred or fear—but with a heartbreak so deep it nearly buckled him more than the wounds did.
"Luke…" he whispered.
Something flickered in Luke's expression—something he crushed instantly.
Vorax lifted his weapon for the finishing swing—
But Lance stepped forward first.
It wasn't a slash. It wasn't an attack. It was a step taken by a father who refused to die running away.
Luke froze.
Vorax pulled back for another swing, but Luke raised a hand sharply. "Wait."
Vorax rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"
"Just a moment," Luke muttered.
Lance lifted his hand toward Luke's face… but stopped short, hovering inches away. Blood dripped from his fingertips.
And his eyes softened.
For a moment, Luke saw not the Duke…
…but his father.
And Lance's world shifted.
He saw Luke as a baby—tiny, pink, crying in the midwife's arms.
He remembered holding him for the first time. His heart felt like it might burst from his chest. A son born with all four elemental aptitudes. A once-in-a-century prodigy.
Everyone said:
"This boy will shake the world."
"A blessed child."
"A genius unlike any other."
Lance had never been prouder.
Then came the quiet whispers behind him.
"This gifted boy is from a maid."
"A concubine's child."
"He cannot be heir."
His family pressured him. His court raised eyebrows. His wives refused to acknowledge the boy. The nobles warned him of rebellion.
So he folded.
He did not name Luke heir.
He told himself it was to protect the boy.
But the truth was simpler.
He was afraid.
He remembered the little boy watching his siblings with longing.
He remembered finding him alone during feasts.
He remembered seeing bruises once—then twice—then many times.
He remembered calling out his older children.
He remembered their empty lies.
His wives' silence.
His own cowardice.
Then—
His children began to die.
One by one.
First a fever…
Then a collapse…
Then a sudden bleeding…
At first he blamed fate.
Then the gods.
Then poison.
Only later—far too late—did he uncover the truth.
Luke was nine.
Nine.
And he had already killed four siblings and two stepmothers.
Lance didn't want to believe it.
He refused to.
He destroyed the evidence.
He fired the investigators.
He convinced himself it was all fabricated.
He told himself his son couldn't be a monster.
And now, with his back against death, he finally realized:
The monster wasn't born.
He helped make one.
Lance whispered, voice shaking, "I'm so sorry, Luke… I failed you. I failed to guide you, to protect you… to love you the way you needed…"
Luke's eyes twitched.
A tiny crack.
Then Lance breathed, "I pray the gods forgive you, my son…"
Luke's face twisted, but not with remorse.
With scorn.
Lance's hand inched closer, trying to touch his cheek—
Luke slapped it away.
Cold. Sharp. Final.
"You're mistaken," Luke said quietly.
Lance blinked. "…What?"
"I'm not Luke."
His voice dropped, taking on an edge Lance had never heard before.
"My real name is…"
Luke lifted his sword.
"…HUNTER SOLOMON."
The blade sank into Lance's chest.
Lance gasped, choking on blood. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees. Luke leaned close, twisting the blade slowly.
"This body? This identity? It was convenient," Hunter whispered beside his ear. "But Luke Arcadia died years ago. All that's left is me."
Lance tried to keep his eyes open… tried to see Luke one last time… but all he saw was a stranger wearing his son's face.
His vision blurred.
His grip loosened.
His sword fell.
Luke—Hunter—pulled his blade free, letting Lance collapse onto the broken stone.
Vorax sighed, stretching his neck. "Finally. Took you long enough."
Hunter looked down at Lance's body.
No sadness.
No hesitation.
No flicker of humanity.
Just cold calculation.
He turned to Vorax. "We're not done here. Vermorth needs us."
Vorax grinned and hoisted his weapon. "Lead on then, boss."
Hunter didn't look back.
Not even once.
And Duke Lance Arcadia, slayer of dragons, protector of the empire, and father of six—
died alone under the moonlight.
Darius pushed through the smoke, one hand pressed to a bleeding cut on his ribs. The battlefield around him felt muffled, like he was underwater—just distant screams, steel scraping, and the crackle of burning tents.
He'd seen death in war before, but something about this moment felt heavier. Wrong.
His heart hammered as he ran, breath cutting in and out of his throat.
He wasn't even sure what he was looking for.
Then he saw it—
Albrecht.
The old knight was swaying on his feet, blood running down his back. His dragon, Aerthrys, was crouched behind him, growling low, injured but alive. And ahead of Albrecht, two figures were locked in a frantic struggle, but Darius couldn't make out who.
He started toward them, calling out, "ALBRECHT! I FOUND YOU—"
Albrecht's head snapped toward him.
His eyes—usually calm—were full of panic.
"DARIUS, RUN!" he roared.
Darius froze.
Something in Albrecht's voice… that wasn't fear.
It was goodbye.
Before Darius could reach him, Albrecht reached inside his coat—not for a weapon, but for something glowing faintly, a sigil carved onto a fragment of stone.
Darius felt his stomach drop.
"No… no, old man, don't you—"
He sprinted toward him.
Too slow.
Albrecht slammed the sigil into the ground, and golden chains erupted outward like living serpents—
Binding Magic. Ancient. Absolute.
The chains snapped toward the two fighting figures and wrapped around them with brutal precision. Metal scraping, bones crunching. The chains yanked them together, pinning them in place.
Darius skid to a halt, staring.
He knew that spell.
He'd only seen it once, years ago.
"Albrecht… that's the forbidden—"
Albrecht didn't look back. He just smiled—a tired, bloody curve of his lips.
"Live, boy."
The air around Albrecht began to distort. Mana spiraled out of him in violent waves—cracking the earth, shaking the air. His armor peeled apart as light poured through the seams of his body.
Darius felt his throat tighten.
"No—FATHER NO!"
He tried to charge forward again, but a massive shadow moved in front of him.
Aerthrys.
The dragon shoved him with her head, hard enough to knock the air out of him.
Then she wrapped her wings around him like a shield.
"MOVE! LET ME GO! I CAN SAVE HIM!" Darius screamed, punching the scales until his knuckles split.
The dragon didn't budge.
She pressed her body tighter around him, trembling.
A heartbeat later—
A blast swallowed the field.
White.
Then red.
Then nothing but a ringing silence.
When the shockwave faded, Darius felt himself being lifted. Aerthrys had thrown him onto her back, ignoring his fists slamming against her scales. She spread her wings—torn, bleeding—and forced them open.
"STOP! AERTHRYS, PLEASE! LET ME—"
She didn't listen.
She launched into the sky, flying away from the explosion site as fast as her battered wings could carry them.
Darius twisted around to look back.
Smoke.
Fire.
And nothing where Albrecht once stood.
His vision blurred.
He knew that spell.
He knew exactly what it cost.
Albrecht had chosen to die—violently—to buy him time.
And Darius finally understood what that desperate look meant.
It wasn't fear.
It was a man praying his sacrifice wouldn't be wasted.
Darius clenched onto the dragon's scales, chest crushing in on itself.
"...You idiot," he whispered, voice cracking.
"You didn't have to do that for me."
But the wind carried his words away, and there was no one left to answer.
To be continue