Reincarnation Of The Magicless Pinoy
From Zero to Hero
" No Magic No Problem!"
Encounter 23: Back in Action!
The chaos inside the courtyard was reaching a breaking point. The pincer movement by Prince Darius and Sir Marcellus had given the rebels a fighting chance, but the Valkarian Inquisitor was no fool. He had ordered his Heavy Infantry to form a "Wall of Thorns," pinning the exhausted rebel vanguard against the inner keep while the Null-Mana Ballistas on the heights began to pivot.
"They're going to fire!" Ren screamed, pointing upward. "They're aiming for the center!"
"Shields!" Elian roared, shoving Elara and Lady Lirien behind Brag's battered tower shield.
The heavy gears of the ballistas groaned, the massive bolts locked and loaded. The Inquisitor raised his hand, ready to wash the courtyard in blood. But just as he prepared to drop his arm, a thunderous war cry erupted from the eastern flank—a section of the fort the Valkarians thought was secure.
The chaos in the courtyard reached a fever pitch. The Inquisitor's hand was midway through its descent, the signal that would turn the center of the fort into a graveyard. The heavy gears of the Null-Mana Ballistas groaned, their massive, jagged bolts locked onto Lady Lirien and her children.
"First rank... LOOSE!" the Inquisitor screamed.
But the expected thunder of the machines never came. Instead, a series of muffled explosions and the screech of shearing metal echoed from the high battlements. One by one, the massive ballistas jerked violently, their internal clockwork shattering as if struck by invisible hammers.
"What?! Who is tampering with the siege engines?" the Inquisitor roared, spinning around.
High above, a few shadowy figures moved with blinding speed across the rafters of the weapon towers—Arden's elite saboteurs had struck first, jamming the gears with reinforced steel pins.
With the overhead threat neutralized, a thunderous war cry erupted from the eastern flank—a section of the fort the Valkarians thought was secure.
"Forward, sons of Cecerea! Break their line!"
From the shadows of the eastern barracks, fifty men burst into the light. These weren't the ragged rebels from the southern camp; these were seasoned veterans, moving with a disciplined ferocity that spoke of years in the Royal Guard.
At their head was a man whose presence made Lady Lirien's heart stop. Arden Grey, his silver hair flowing in the rain, swung a heavy broadsword that cleaved through the Valkarian flank in a single, desperate surge.
"Move! Don't stop!" Arden's voice boomed over the clatter of steel. He locked eyes with the Grey family across the blood-slicked stones. "We'll handle this! We brought help! Big Sister! Get the children to the gate!"
"Arden?!" Lirien gasped, her voice choked with emotion. "You're alive?"
"Too stubborn to die, Lirien!" Arden roared back, parrying a halberd. "Now move! Darius, cover their exit!"
The arrival of Arden's fifty veterans created a corridor of escape. The Asher Hawks moved with professional speed, carving a path toward the rising portcullis where Darius and Marcellus were holding the line.
But as the rebels began their tactical retreat, the Valkarian Inquisitor snarled. He didn't look at the fleeing army; he looked toward the main gates. He sensed a presence—something cold, mechanical, and entirely devoid of mana—approaching with terrifying speed.
A thick mist of steam and smoke rolled through the shattered front entrance. The Inquisitor jumped down from his balcony, landing in the center of the courtyard, his crimson robes swirling. He was a high-tier battle mage, and he wasn't about to let his "trophies" walk away. He raised his staff, gathering a sphere of volatile, dark energy.
"You think fifty old men can stop the Empire?" the Inquisitor hissed.
Suddenly, a blue streak of light cut through the smoke.
Clang!
The Inquisitor's dark sphere was punched out of existence by a metallic fist. The mage recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. Standing between the fleeing rebels and the Inquisitor was a figure that looked like he had walked out of a nightmare.
He wore a tattered grey cloak, but beneath it, his right arm was a monstrosity of shifting gears, glowing blue vents, and sparking wires. His face was hidden behind a cold, expressionless mechanical mask with glowing blue eyes.
"Who... what are you?" the Inquisitor stammered, his mana-detection failing to register any life force from the stranger.
The masked figure didn't look back at his family. He didn't look at Arden or the Prince. He kept his eyes locked on the Inquisitor.
"Tch," the stranger clicked his tongue, a metallic rasp echoing through the silent courtyard. "You talk too much for a man about to lose his teeth."
Behind him, Elian and Elara stopped in their tracks, staring at the back of the "White Wraith." They didn't recognize the arm, and they didn't recognize the gear... but that specific, annoyed "Tch" sent a shiver of recognition down their spines.
"Wait..." Elian whispered, his sword hand trembling. "That sound..."
The rain hissed against the stones, turning the courtyard into a theater of steam and blood. Arden Grey skidded to a halt beside Rolien, his sword raised, ready to stand back-to-back with his nephew.
"No need," Rolien said, his voice a metallic hum behind the mask. "I'll handle these buffoons. Help the rest, Uncle. Get them out of here."
Arden opened his mouth to argue—to tell him he was facing the elite of the Empire—but the words died in his throat. In that moment, he didn't see a seventeen-year-old boy. He saw a veteran soldier whose presence felt heavier than the mountain itself. Rolien stood there with a terrifying stillness, carrying the weight of six years of isolation and the rage of a fallen house.
Arden nodded solemnly and retreated to cover the gate. "Don't take too long, kid."
Amon didn't wait. With a roar that shook the rain, the juggernaut lunged forward, his obsidian blade whistling through the air in a vertical cleave meant to split Rolien in two.
"OverDriver: 20%," Rolien whispered.
The gears in his Jawbreaker arm shrieked. Instead of dodging, Rolien caught the massive blade with his mechanical palm. The impact created a shockwave that shattered the cobblestones beneath his boots, but Rolien didn't move an inch.
"Impossible!" Amon grunted, straining against the boy's grip. "No one stops my blade with bare hands!"
"It's not bare," Rolien retorted. He twisted his wrist, the mechanical fingers locking onto the obsidian steel. "Punchline: Trigger."
BOOM!
A concentrated burst of kinetic pressure exploded from Rolien's palm. The massive obsidian sword didn't just break; it shattered into a thousand shards. The force sent the Level 50 Juggernaut flying backward, his heavy armor denting inward as he crashed into a stone pillar.
Malphas screamed in rage, his staff erupting in purple flames. "Die, you arrogant brat! Void Spear!"
A jagged bolt of necrotic energy, capable of rotting flesh on contact, shot toward Rolien's heart. Rolien didn't even raise his arm to block. He activated Molecular Sight (Lv. 1). He could see the mana-bonds holding the spell together.
He reached out with his human hand, flicking a small, silver disc—a Mana-Interferer he had built in the Box—into the path of the spear.
The moment the spear touched the disc, the spell unraveled, turning into harmless mist.
"What?! You... you didn't even use magic!" Malphas backed away, his face twisting in terror.
"I told you," Rolien said, stepping through the mist, his boots clanking rhythmically. "Bugs. You rely so much on your 'gifts' that you forgot what it's like to fight someone who earned their power."
Rolien slammed a fresh battery cell into the port of his arm. Steam hissed from the vents as the blue glow turned a violent, angry red.
"Now," Rolien growled. "Let's see how many hits a 'Dragon Slayer' can take before they break."
The rain turned to steam as the heat radiating from Rolien's Jawbreaker arm hit the cold air. Malphas and Amon scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with the realization that they weren't fighting a human—they were fighting a force of nature.
"Amon! Kill him now!" Malphas shrieked, his staff glowing with a sickly violet light.
Amon roared, drawing a secondary massive iron mace. He charged, swinging the heavy weapon with enough force to collapse a building. Rolien didn't even shift his stance.
Rolien's mechanical arm hissed as the pressure seals hissed open. "Punchline: Launch!"
With a sound like a jet engine igniting, the entire forearm of the Jawbreaker detached from Rolien's elbow. Driven by high-pressure steam and kinetic thrusters, the iron fist streaked through the air, trailing a blue exhaust flame.
Amon raised his mace to block, but the Punchline didn't just hit him—it began to circle him at subsonic speeds. The rocket-powered fist battered him from every angle, striking his joints, his ribs, and his helmet in a blur of chrome and fire.
"What is this magic?!" Amon screamed, swinging wildly at the flying limb.
"It's not magic," Rolien said, his voice cold. "It's physics."
With a final, thunderous command, the fist slammed into Amon's chest, the thrusters firing at 100% output. The Juggernaut was lifted off his feet and pinned against the fortress wall, the fist grinding into his armor until it breached the plate. With a sharp click, the arm recalled itself, flying back and docking perfectly onto Rolien's elbow with a satisfying metallic clank.
Malphas, seeing his partner pinned, finished his incantation. "Void Cataclysm!" He slammed his staff down, sending a wave of necrotic rot toward Rolien.
Rolien slammed his mechanical fist into his own open palm. "OverDriver: Kinetic Discharge."
He didn't move toward the spell. He simply punched the air in front of him. The sheer force of the strike compressed the atmosphere, creating a visible ripple in space. This wasn't just a wind gust; it was a solid wall of kinetic energy.
The shockwave didn't just cancel Malphas's spell—it tore through it. The "Void" was shattered by the physical pressure. The ripple hit Malphas, the kinetic impact so precise that it didn't just push him; it "pulled" the static electricity from the damp air around him. Blue bolts of lightning arced from the puddles, crawling up Malphas's robes and locking his muscles in a paralyzing, agonizing spasm.
"I... I can't move!" Malphas wheezed, his body vibrating with the electrical current.
Skill: Impact Pulse – Ghost Strike
Rolien walked forward, the red glow of his arm fading back to a steady, predatory blue. He stopped five feet away from the shivering Inquisitor.
"You said you were Dragon Slayers," Rolien whispered. "But you can't even touch me."
Rolien threw a straight punch. His fist stopped a full foot away from Malphas's face.
"Impact Pulse: Void-Break."
Even though the physical fist didn't connect, the air itself acted as a hammer. A secondary shockwave, invisible and silent, punched through Malphas's head. It was a "Ghost Strike"—the transfer of pure momentum through the medium of the air.
Malphas's head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his head as his brain was rattled by the invisible force. He fell like a puppet with its strings cut, his staff clattering uselessly onto the wet stones.
Rolien stood over the two "Slayers," his arm venting a long, exhausted hiss of white steam. He hadn't broken a sweat.
"Level 50," Rolien muttered, glancing at his status window. "You guys really need to grind more."
He turned his head toward the shadows of the keep, sensing the stares of his siblings and mother who already fled to safety.
"Uncle Arden," Rolien called out, his voice echoing in the now-silent courtyard. "The trash is ready for pickup."
The rain continued to lash down, but the sounds of the massacre had faded into the rhythmic hiss of steam escaping Rolien's armor. The courtyard was a graveyard of Valkarian ambition.
Arden Grey and his twenty veteran soldiers moved through the shadows like reapers, systematically neutralizing the remaining stragglers and securing the perimeter. They worked with a grim efficiency, reclaiming the fortress inch by inch. Arden paused, wiping black rain and blood from his brow, his eyes fixed on the center of the courtyard where his nephew stood.
He hadn't seen the escape, but he knew Lady Lirien, Elian, and Elara were long gone, ushered away by the Asher Hawks and the Prince's men during the height of the chaos. They were safe. Now, there was only the cleanup.
Rolien stood over the crumpled forms of Malphas and Amon. The "Dragon Slayers" looked like broken dolls, their legendary armor cracked and their pride pulverized.
Rolien's Jawbreaker arm gave one final, heavy thud as the internal pistons reset. He reached up and unlatched his mask, the seal hissing as the cold air hit his sweat-drenched face. He looked younger without the mask, but his eyes—hard and piercing—belonged to a man who had seen the end of the world.
"The fort is ours, Rolien," Arden said, walking up to him. He looked at the shattered stone where the Impact Pulse had landed. "I've seen high-tier magic, and I've seen the strength of Grand Dukes... but I've never seen anyone fight like that. Without a single drop of mana."
"Magic is just a shortcut, Uncle," Rolien replied, his voice tired but steady. "Science and mechanics... they don't care about your 'gift' or your bloodline. They just care if the gear turns."
Arden's men began hauling the unconscious Inquisitors toward the dampest cells in the dungeon—the very ones they had intended for the Greys.
"Your mother and siblings are clear," Arden reported, gesturing toward the southern mountain pass. "They're heading for the secondary fallback point. They don't know it's you, Rolien. They think the 'White Wraith' saved them out of some rebel alliance."
Rolien looked toward the mountains, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips. "Good. Let them reach safety first. If I show up now, I'll just bring questions they aren't ready to hear. Besides..." He looked at his mechanical hand, the fingers twitching with residual electricity. "I have a lot of maintenance to do before I face Mom."
Arden chuckled, a rough, warm sound. "You're a hero of the resistance now, kid. The 'Magicless' boy who took down two Dragon Slayers. Word is going to spread. The Empire is going to be looking for a ghost."
"Let them look," Rolien said, his expression hardening as he looked at the Valkarian banners burning in the mud. "They're going to find out that the 'ghost' of House Grey has a very heavy hand."
One of the veteran soldiers ran up, saluting Arden. "Sir! We've secured the armory and the communications room. We found maps, sir. Valkarian troop movements for the entire Southern Sector."
Arden looked at Rolien. "Seems you've given us more than just a fortress today. You've given us the path to take our home back."
Rolien nodded, looking at his Status Window one last time.
LEVEL UP: 61 → 63
New Blueprint Unlocked: Anti-Dragon Artillery "Wyrm-Breaker"
New Skill Unlocked: Synchronized Overclock (Lv. 1)
"This is just the beginning, Uncle," Rolien said, his voice echoing in the hollow courtyard. "We have a kingdom to rebuild. And I still have a debt to settle with Vermorth."