Magus Reborn-Chapter 174. Rat

Over the past week, Kai had replayed the procedure in his mind countless times. He’d gone through every detail, anticipating, planning every possible outcome, but nothing had prepared him for what was happening now.

The fiery pain tore through him, hitting every nerve, every vein, every part of him. The concoction was inside him, coursing through his blood and organs like liquid fire. It wasn’t just moving through his veins, but peeling away the very walls of his organs, burrowing deeper into his body like it was trying to reach the core of him.

The pain became unbearable in a matter of minutes.

He collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud, his body barely responding as he tried to find a breath, the sensation nearly choking him. Every fiber of his being screamed for relief. His mind screamed for him to cast a spell—to call on his magic, to lessen the pain, even if just for a moment. But he forced his hands down to the floor, knowing that interfering now was the last thing he could afford.

This wasn’t like his awakening, where he had to wrestle with his Mana heart, coaxing it to bloom. No, this time, the task was simpler. He had to do nothing. The concoction was doing its work, tapping into his magic, reshaping his body, making it stronger, preparing it for the Enforcers’ power. He didn’t have to force it; he just had to endure.

Mages and Enforcers both wielded mana, but their powers were different. Kai knew that well. To harness both was unnatural, and for that unnatural strength, he had to be prepared to bear pain that no one else could withstand.

The time went by and it felt like every second brought him closer to shattering. His insides seemed to burst apart and then reassemble, only for it to happen again, over and over. His mind conjured vivid, torturous images—hands, invisible but relentless, tearing apart his organs before putting them back together. He knew they weren’t real, but the hallucinations gnawed at him, wearing down his hardened resolve.

The ancient texts had warned him of pain, but they hadn’t mentioned this. This was beyond what he’d expected—beyond what he could have imagined. Yet as he lay there, the floor cold against his body, the thoughts in his mind were clear.

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If there was anyone who could survive this, it was him. He’d shattered every limit in his path in the pursuit of strength, and for more power, he’d do it again. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it tore him apart.

A question slipped through his haze of agony: Was it necessary? Could he survive it?

Truthfully, now, Kai wasn’t sure. The concoction wasn’t guaranteed to work—no one had ever said it was. But that was life. Nothing was guaranteed. It was all a risk. A risk he had to take. He’d come out of the last ordeal alive, when he’d forced his mana circles to expand. He could do it again. He would do it again.

And just as the thought solidified in his mind, he felt it. A trickle down his cheek. At first, he thought it was tears, but the instant he touched his skin, he knew better. His fingers came away slick with something darker than tears. Blood. Thick, dark blood, like it was drawn from a creature of the night.

His breath hitched, but the pain soon swallowed that too. There was no time to think, no time for fear. Only the endless flood of agony and the knowledge that he couldn’t stop now.

It felt as though the liquid waIt started at his eyes—the blood, thick and dark, seeping from his tear ducts. A tingling sensation crept down his arms and legs, and soon he could feel his skin tightening as small pores opened, letting more blood trickle out. It wasn’t just coming from his eyes anymore; it was everywhere. His skin, his limbs, all bleeding as though his body was purging itself. Kai understood what was happening. Every impurity, every weakness, was being forced out. It was a painful process, but he knew it was necessary.

The pain seemed to double, then triple, as the blood continued to pour, but Kai bit down hard on his teeth, determined to outlast it. He was close. He could feel it—the energy inside of him was dimming, the fiery sensation that had raged through him now slowing, becoming more bearable. The blood flowed faster, covering the floor, pooling around him, staining everything.

The room was bathed in darkness and crimson. He hadn’t realized how much blood he had until it covered the entire space. It was as though his body had held an ocean of it.

Just as the pain seemed to reach its peak, the door to the room creaked open. A sliver of light sliced through the darkness.

Claire.

Her worried eyes were the first thing Kai saw, and behind her stood guards, eye wide with shock at the sight of him, but Claire was focused entirely on him.

She moved toward him, her footsteps quick, but Kai barely registered the sound as his body trembled. She said something, her lips moving urgently, but he couldn’t hear her over the pounding in his ears. Blood bubbled up in his throat, and he coughed it out violently, his body jerking from the effort. His hand shot up instinctively, palm facing her as if to reassure her.

“I’m fine,” he wanted to say, but his voice failed him, drowning in blood and pain. He couldn’t even make a sound.

Claire didn’t seem reassured by his gesture. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the blood, her face drawn in concern. Her eyes were wide, searching him for any sign of life, any sign that he was still in control.

Kai wanted to tell her he was okay, but his vision was starting to fade, the world around him spinning.

Everything blurred. The light from the door, Claire’s face, the guards—all of it began to dissolve into a haze, leaving him with only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the beating of his heart, which was growing weaker by the second.

Before he could form another thought, another word, his body gave in. His vision swam, and everything went black. The last thing he saw was Claire, pulling a healing potion from her pouch, her hand trembling as she reached for him.

Then, the darkness swallowed him whole.

***

Roran Brightholm moved through the street, his eyes scanning everything around him. The guards patrolled the streets, their faces stoic, their movements methodical, but none of them seemed to be in a rush. The civilians strolled along the cobblestone paths, chatting casually, as though the war wasn't going to knock on their door soon.

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It was an odd sight—odd, yet familiar. Roran knew the reason behind it.

The battle of Verdis had been won. The city had heard the news just yesterday, and it had spread like wildfire. People had celebrated, their spirits high, their confidence soaring. To them, the war was all but over. They believed victory was already within reach, that it would be a simple march through Veralt to finish the job.

He could almost hear their thoughts, the civilians basking in their fleeting sense of safety. But Roran knew better.

Victory at Verdis was one battle—one that had been easier than expected. The war was far from over, and he knew that in the coming days, things would turn darker. He needed to make sure of it. He needed to ensure that Arzan Kellius—Lord Arzan, the rising Count of Veralt—didn’t live to see the final march of the war.

Roran’s mind flickered with the task he had been given. It was his job to ensure Arzan lost. If Arzan survived the beast wave, Roran’s mission would be to finish the job. But no orders had come yet. He had been keeping his distance, working as a spy for the Archine Tower, gathering any scrap of information he could. But the war—this war—was about to change everything.

His heart tightened with that thought as he moved further through the city, blending into the crowd. There was a tension building in his chest. He could feel it in his bones. Something was coming. Something that would mark a shift in the tides.

Then, he spotted it. A merchant’s carriage—one that he had seen before moving slowly through the bustling streets, while mingling with the crowd. Without hesitation, Roran melted into the crowd, slipping through the gaps between people, moving silently, until he was near the carriage. He quietly slipped into the back of the carriage like a shadow, unnoticed by those around him.

Inside, a man sat, his robes simple, his face nondescript, blending in with the ordinary merchant. Roran shut the curtain behind him and locked eyes with the man, who immediately handed him a sealed envelope.

Roran took the envelope and looked at it with suspicion. "What’s this?" he asked.

The man merely shrugged. “Your final mission. Read through it,” he replied.

Roran's eyebrows furrowed. "Final?" He frowned. "Just brief me about it."

The merchant’s smile faded, a frown replacing it. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Magus Veridia has deemed your work here unsatisfactory. You haven’t provided the information she needs. So, it’s time to end your duty in Veralt. Kill Arzan, and get out of the city.”

Roran’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. “What do you mean I haven’t provided good information?” His hand clenched around the envelope. “I’ve sent everything I could get my hands on. His powers—his strength in the battle. The forces he commands. Their strange power, like of a Mage’s. His bond with beasts—his friendship with them. I sent it all.”

The merchant’s face darkened, his voice now colder. “I don't know what you sent, but she's unsatisfied. She wanted secrets, his inheritance, his long term plans and the way to create those mana cannons. But you couldn’t provide that, could you?”

"I wasn’t in a position to get that kind of information. You can’t just—"

The man held up a hand, silencing him. “She’s given you time. And now, your mission has changed. Kill Arzan. Don’t waste time. This is your final task.”

Roran tightened his grip on the envelope, his words ringing in his ears. He opened his mouth to argue, but the merchant cut him off, his expression hardening. “Not my problem,” he said flatly. “Finish the task, and then get back to Vasper Forest. There’s a map in the envelope, and once Arzan is dead, the war will be over. You can sneak out after that.”

Roran paused, his gaze flicking back to the envelope, then back to the man. “Arzan is powerful. He’s also got too many powerful people around him.” His voice lowered. “I can’t even poison him. The maids taste everything he eats before it reaches him.”

The merchant’s patience snapped, his face contorted with frustration as he leaned in. “There’s a potion inside the envelope that should help you. But don’t just stand there like an idiot. Use your brain. Now get out of here before they start a curfew.”

Reluctantly, Roran nodded, his mind racing with calculations and contingencies as he slipped the envelope into his robes. With one last glance at the merchant, he exited the carriage, the weight of the task pressing down on him.

His pace quickened as he moved through the streets, the city’s streets still lively, unaware of the storm that was about to hit. Roran couldn’t afford to linger, and his mind kept wandering back to the impossible nature of the task.

Arzan wasn’t just a powerful lord—he was an enigma. A force to be reckoned with. Yet, there was no room for hesitation. He had his orders.

Roran made his way towards the estate, passing the workers and the occasional guard. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive, and he quickened his steps as he neared the building. It wasn’t his usual quarters he was headed for. No, today he wasn’t going to his room. He had something more pressing to deal with.

The estate was alive with activity—servants and maids moving up and down the halls in their usual rhythm. Their hushed whispers filled the air, but none of it was useful information. Roran slowed his pace, straining to catch anything that might reveal a weakness, a slip-up in the plan.

But nothing. The whispers were just that—empty sounds. Grimacing, he moved forward, turning left and right as he continued his search. And then, just as he was about to give up and retreat to his usual haunts, he spotted him.

A guard stood nearby, his stance casual, official but the gleam in his eyes told Roran that he had something to say.

As he approached, the guard’s face broke into a grin, and he whispered eagerly, “Big news. You won’t believe it.”

Roran leaned in, his interest piqued. “What is it?”

The guard’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer. “Lord Arzan apparently got unconscious. They say he’s in his room right now, being treated. I heard there was blood all around him in his room.”

Roran’s blood ran cold, his heart skipping a beat. Arzan unconscious? Blood all over the room? He felt the opportunity before him, and also the growing realization that this might be the perfect moment.

He didn’t know the details, but this was the break he had been waiting for.

Roran’s eyes widened in surprise. “What happened?” he asked, his voice tight, betraying his excitement.

The guard shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I wasn’t on duty, but yeah, I heard his situation is pretty terrible.” He looked around nervously, as if aware that even the smallest detail might cost him.

Barely able to hide the smile that crept onto his lips, Roran pressed a small bag of coins into the guard’s palm. “Thanks,” he muttered, then moved swiftly down the corridor.

Immediately, different possibilities came to his mind. The timing was perfect.

This was the best news he could have hoped for. Arzan, the man he had been ordered to eliminate, was in a vulnerable state. Roran’s thoughts churned with possibilities. Why had Arzan gotten into such a condition? The most likely explanation was that he had tried to break through to the next circle of power, perhaps out of desperation over the war. Roran knew that Arzan’s ambition was as large as his power. It made sense that, in his overconfidence, he might have pushed himself too far.

But the exact reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that Arzan was in a weakened state, and that was the opportunity Roran had been waiting for. A wounded lion was easier to kill than a healthy one.

He moved quickly, heading to a quiet corner of the estate, his mind now focused entirely on the task ahead. Roran carefully opened the envelope, ignoring the parchment inside. The information it contained could wait. His eyes were locked on the vial inside—a small glass container, filled with a viscous, black tar-like liquid.

A dark smile spread across his face as he held it up to the light.

***

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