Reincarnation of the Magicless Pinoy
From zero to hero
" No Magic? No problem!"
Encounter 17: Rumors?
Southern Border — Nightfall
The forest stayed quiet for only a day.
Then it happened again.
And again.
Three villages in a week.
No bodies from the villagers.
Only dead soldiers — cut down clean, fast, almost surgical.
No one saw the attacker clearly, only flashes:
A blur of pale cloth.
A blade that moved like it erased sound.
Footprints that always disappeared before sunrise.
At first, the stories were dismissed as panic.
Peasants exaggerating.
Commoners letting fear twist their memories.
But by the fourth village, people started naming the phantom.
"The White Wraith saved us…"
"No—no—some say he isn't white. More like… faint silver?"
"Wraiths don't walk in daylight!"
"That thing does!"
An old drunk even cracked a joke in the middle of the tavern:
"Maybe he's the brother of that fabled adventurer, Black Wraith! Hah! A family of color-themed ghosts—maybe next we get a Blue Wraith too!"
The room burst into laughter.
But behind every laugh, there was a nervous glance at the windows.
Because humor or not…
More patrols were dying.
And no one could explain how.
Rumors Spread — Greyhold (Now Under Duke Luke Arcadia)
Reports reached the territory's capital faster than expected.
Luke brushed them off at first.
"Peasants invent heroes when they're scared," he muttered as he sorted through logistics, not even looking up. "Next they'll say dragons make bread in the mountains."
But then the next folder was placed in front of him.
He opened it.
Inside were sketches of the dead.
The angles of their cuts.
The precision.
The path the attacker took.
Luke's smirk faded.
"…So it's not a rumor."
Vorax leaned back in the chair across the table, spinning his spiked mace lazily. "Told you. Someone's having fun out there. Real fun." His tone carried that taunting, hungry edge — the same amused cruelty he showed every time chaos was involved.
Luke tapped the report again, expression tightening.
"This isn't random slaughter. Whoever this is… he's intentionally hitting our weak points. And he's covering his tracks too well."
He stood up.
"Prepare a courier."
Vorax raised an eyebrow. "Running to daddy Emperor already?"
Luke shot him a cold, sharp look. "If someone's killing my men and undermining our rule, Keain needs not to know these kind of trivial matters."
Vorax only chuckled.
"Sure sure. Dont Let the big boss know the boogeyman is real."
Southern Border — Another Village, Another Night
The moon was high when the screams broke out.
Vorax's men had surrounded the village, drunk on authority, dragging two women into the dirt as the others begged them to stop. No one expected help. No one expected justice. This was how life worked now.
Until the wind shifted.
Until the torches flickered.
Until something dropped from the rooftops—silent, fast—and the first soldier's head rolled before the others even turned.
They never stood a chance.
A flash of silver steel.
A shadow slipping between bodies.
A quiet grunt, a short breath, the soft impact of boots on grass.
Three seconds.
Four men dead.
Five seconds.
Seven men dead.
The women blinked, still frozen, as the masked figure stepped past them. He didn't look at them, didn't speak—just walked toward the last screaming soldier.
Another clean cut.
Another body hitting the dirt.
And then…
He paused.
Just for a moment.
Just enough for the two women to see how he moved the blade.
A practiced sweep, slow and controlled, wiping the blood across his forearm cloth in a single smooth arc—
the same calm, precise motion used by a certain wandering swordsman years ago.
The one people whispered about but never saw.
The one who vanished six years ago.
But the figure didn't let them think too long.
He vanished into the night.
No name.
No symbol.
No trace.
Just that one familiar habit…
And silence.
Rumors Multiply
By sunrise, the survivors had already run to the nearest settlements.
"Someone killed the soldiers—every single one!"
"He moved like smoke!"
"He saved the girls—didn't take anything, didn't even talk."
"He cleaned his blade afterward. Real clean. Like he'd done it a thousand times."
That detail passed from mouth to mouth.
Then someone in a crowded tavern said it:
"Huh… didn't the White Wraith clean his sword like that too? Maybe that's why they call him white—cleans the blade before the blood dries!"
Laughter.
Nervous laughter.
Because nobody really believed a phantom existed…
Until the next report came.
And the next.
And the next.
Within ten days, eight villages had been saved.
Seven patrols wiped.
Zero survivors from the enemy side.
Some people prayed for the phantom.
Some feared him.
But everyone agreed on one thing:
A ghost was moving in the South.
Greyhold Capital — Luke Arcadia's Office
Luke slammed the newest report onto the table hard enough to shake the ink pot.
"Another one?" he snapped.
The trembling scout nodded. "Y-yes, sire. Same style. All killed before reinforcements arrived. Villagers untouched."
Vorax grinned like the chaos amused him. "Our little ghost is getting bolder. Fun, isn't it?"
Luke ignored him, pacing tightly.
"This is becoming a problem. A real one. Someone out there isn't just killing soldiers—he's building hope. He's creating a symbol."
He tore open the next folder.
Inside were rough drawings made by children from a rescued village.
A man with a faint cloak.
A blade held low.
A shadow behind him like wings.
Under it, a scribble in childish handwriting:
WHITE WRAITH
THE QUIET BLADE
Luke's jaw tightened.
"Send a messenger to Emperor Keain," he said flatly. "This isn't superstition. This is sabotage. Someone is pushing back."
Vorax chuckled again. "Or some brat with a grudge."
Luke shot him a sharp look.
"That is not 'some brat.' Whoever this is… moves like a trained assassin. Or worse."
He tapped the report.
"And he's getting closer."
The Letter Reaches the Capital
Emperor Keain sat in his newly claimed throne when the messenger knelt before him.
"A letter, Your Majesty. Urgent—from Grand Duke Luke Arcadia."
Keain opened it and read quickly, his eyes narrowing with each line.
A rebel phantom.
Impossible speed.
Precision cuts.
A spreading legend.
By the time he reached the last sentence, his grip had tightened enough to crumple the parchment slightly.
He leaned back in the throne, the shadows of the palace stretching behind him.
"So… a ghost challenges my rule."
A slow smile crossed his face.
"Good. Let him keep running."
He folded the letter.
"I'll enjoy watching him die."
Earlier — Greyhold's Underground Hideout
Boots thundered across the forest floor.
Valkarian scouts fanned out, torches flickering as they surrounded the entrance of an old cave.
"Break it open!" their captain barked.
Steel rang, stone cracked, dust spilled—
And then… disappointment.
The cave was empty.
Bedrolls gone.
Crates gone.
No tracks.
Not even ashes from a campfire.
One soldier kicked a loose pebble in frustration. It echoed far too long for a normal cave.
"Sir…?" he asked nervously. "What is this place…?"
The captain stared at the deep, branching holes inside the rock.
"It's not a cave," he muttered.
"It's a bunker."
Inside the Hidden Passage
Hours earlier, Darius and the others had moved as fast as they could through a narrow, torch-lit tunnel. The walls were unnaturally smooth, reinforced with strange metal plates.
Darius ran his fingers along one.
"This wasn't carved by miners."
Elian shook his head. "No. We found markings… tiny gears and runes. Rolien made this."
Darius blinked. "You mean… this whole passage? He built it?"
"Not just this one," Elara said behind them. "Three more. All leading to different safe zones. He planned ahead before the empire even fell."
Her voice trembled at the end, but she hid it behind a smile Darius didn't notice.
Marcellus lifted a stone hatch. "Move. We have another twenty minutes before the Valkarians check the area."
They slipped through the final gate, sealing it behind them.
By the time the enemy entered the cave, the rebels were already miles away.
Now — Southern Homestead Village
Night again.
A burning torch crashed against a house wall as Valkarian soldiers stormed the village, dragging families from their homes. Children screamed, mothers begged—until a sharp whistle cut through the chaos.
Then came the impact.
A blur crashed into the first squad, sending armored bodies skidding across the dirt. The villagers stared in disbelief as Prince Darius dropped to the ground, sword raised, eyes burning.
"Everyone!" he shouted. "Follow the grey cloaks! Move!"
Rebel scouts ushered villagers toward the treeline. More soldiers tried to intercept—
—but Elian's blade cut through them in a clean arc.
Sir Marcellus held the rear, heavy greatsword sweeping like a wall of steel, each swing knocking enemies off their feet.
Within minutes, the rebels had broken the siege.
They gathered the villagers together, calming them, passing water skins and blankets.
"You're safe now," Darius said gently.
A little girl clung to his sleeve.
"Are you… the prince?"
He hesitated.
Marcellus answered for him.
"He is."
Hope flickered in the refugees' eyes.
But hope died just as fast.
A slow clap echoed from the treeline.
clap
clap
clap
"Aw. Touching."
Vorax stepped out of the shadows, barbed bat slung over his shoulder, grin sharp as broken glass.
"Look at that," he said with a lazy swagger. "The lost little prince actually lives."
Behind him, a unit of Valkarian elites fanned out.
Elian swore under his breath.
Marcellus held out an arm, shielding the villagers.
Vorax tilted his head, voice dripping mock amusement.
"Three against all of us? Bad math, boys."
Darius stepped forward, blade lowering to his side.
"We're not here to run."
Vorax's grin widened.
"Good."
He tapped the barbed club against the ground, eyes gleaming with a sick thrill.
"Because I've been dying to see why everyone's whispering the prince's name again."
He leaned forward a little.
"And if you'll break like the rest."
The Battle Begins — Vorax vs Darius, Marcellus, and Elian
Darius pushed the villagers behind them without breaking eye contact.
"Elian. Marcellus."
They nodded.
Then—
Vorax swung.
A shockwave tore through the soil, dust blasting outward like a bomb. Darius ducked under the first swing, sparks erupting as Elian deflected the follow-up strike.
Marcellus charged in with his greatsword, smashing down—
Vorax blocked with one arm, laughing.
"Is this it? Is this the big comeback of your empire?"
He shoved Marcellus away like he weighed nothing.
Darius lunged, blade flashing toward Vorax's ribs—
CLANG!
Vorax twisted, catching the strike with the barbed bat, spikes scraping across Darius' steel.
Elian flanked left, slashing for Vorax's leg—
—but Vorax kicked him square in the chest, sending him tumbling through a stack of crates.
"You little pests," Vorax chuckled. "Let's make this fun."
He twirled the spiked bat lazily, like a predator playing with its prey.
Darius tightened his grip.
Marcellus rose beside him, breathing heavy.
Elian staggered back into position.
Three against one.
And still… Vorax looked bored.
Vorax cracked his neck again, annoyed now rather than entertained.
"You three are starting to bore me."
He lunged.
Darius barely raised his blade before Vorax's swing crashed into it. The force launched him backward, metal groaning, bones rattling. Elian intercepted, daggers flashing in tight arcs, cutting shallow lines across Vorax's forearm—but Vorax didn't even flinch.
Marcellus charged in with the broken remains of his greatsword, using it like a massive cleaver. He slammed it into Vorax's ribs—
—this time Vorax grunted.
Not much.
But enough.
"That one actually stung," Vorax growled.
He slammed his elbow into Marcellus's gut, knocking the knight breathless, then swatted him aside like debris.
Darius took the opening to stab forward, landing a clean thrust between Vorax's ribs. The blade sank in halfway.
Vorax's eyes widened for a moment.
Then his grin returned.
"Oh… that's good."
He grabbed Darius by the throat.
Elian saw it. "DARIUS!"
He sprinted in, but Vorax turned and kicked him away like a sack of flour.
Darius clawed at Vorax's grip. The world went blurry.
"Breaking you personally," Vorax said, tightening his fingers, "will be my new hobby."
Marcellus forced himself up, roaring as he swung the broken greatsword at Vorax's neck.
Vorax turned, releasing Darius just long enough to catch the blade with his other hand. Blood streamed from his palm, but he didn't care.
"Persistent old man."
He squeezed—
—CRACK.
The broken blade finally snapped in half.
Marcellus fell to one knee, staring at the shards in shock.
Vorax raised his bat high, ready to crush him—
A click sounded.
Elian pulled something from his belt.
A steel orb with tiny vents.
A design none of them had seen before Rolien vanished.
"Cover your eyes!" Elian shouted.
Vorax frowned. "What's that—"
FLASH.
A violent burst of white light swallowed the field.
Soldiers screamed.
Vorax staggered, roaring in frustration as his vision burned white.
"Elian, move!" Darius coughed out.
He grabbed Marcellus's arm while Elian grabbed Darius in return. Half-blind but moving on instinct, they sprinted toward the treeline.
Behind them, Vorax howled.
"You RUNNING AWAY!?"
Another roar.
Branches cracked.
Boots thundered behind them.
But the flash did its job.
Vorax stumbled into a tree, smashing through it, still blind and furious.
"COME BACK HERE, YOU COWARDS!"
Darius didn't stop running until the forest swallowed them whole.
Elian tossed another flash device over his shoulder, detonating it a second later to buy more distance.
Marcellus panted hard. "That… thing… saved us."
"Yeah," Elian muttered. "Rolien's prototype. He made it for close-combat escapes. Never thought I'd actually use it."
Darius forced himself upright, leaning on both of them.
"He might have just saved our lives again," he said quietly.
They pushed deeper into the forest as Vorax's furious roars echoed behind them but grew farther and farther away.
By the time the three reached the hidden passage Rolien left behind, their bodies were shaking, their lungs burning, and their hearts pounding with the realization—
They survived.
Barely.
Elian slumped against the tunnel wall.
"That's the last flash device," he muttered. "I used the final one."
Darius nodded. "One was enough."
He clenched his fists.
"We'll face him again… when we're strong enough."
Outside, Vorax's shout tore across the night.
"LITTLE PRINCE! I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU!"
Darius closed his eyes for a moment.
Then whispered:
"Next time… neither am I big guy!."
To be continue