Magus Reborn-Chapter 183. War speech

Killian. Intruder on the rooftop. Prepare the soldiers on the wall. Enemy forces may be moving.

Killian’s pulse pounded in his ears. He felt his heartbeat thrumming against his ribs like war drums as he froze.

Had he imagined it? Because the sooner the voice came, the sooner it went. But—it couldn’t be an imagination. The voice had been clear, almost as if Lord Arzan was right next to him.

He exhaled loudly, his fingers curling into a fist. No time to hesitate. Especially not when intruders managed to move past their tight formation. The warning of incoming enemies made him turn on his heel, his boots grinding against the stone overseeing an inspection.

The men around him—soldiers stationed at their posts—glanced at him with confusion as he stood still, caught in his own thoughts for that brief, dangerous second.

“Knight Killian?”

Killian snapped his gaze to the man, his jaw tight. “Get the troops ready. Now. I want every single soldier on the walls. Protect the mana cannons. Position the golems accordingly. We are going to see the end of the fief war tonight.”

His voice didn’t betray the urgency he felt. The knowledge of the incoming enemies brought a chill to his spine, but spiked his adrenaline almost instantly.

But regardless of his immediate command, a beat of silence followed. Not what he envisioned; the men exchanged uneasy glances.

An older man from the line walked forward. “What do you mean, Knight Killian?”

Killian’s eyebrows knitted together. “I meant exactly what I said!” he looked between confused soldiers. “Lord Arzan just informed me—Lucian’s army is moving. The Watchers should return with confirmation any moment now. We prepare now, or we die unprepared.”

The man stiffened, the weight of Killian’s words sinking in. Killian pressed on. “Send word to every Enforcer still within the city. Have them reinforce the eastern wall. I’ll be heading to the castle. Lord Arzan is probably fighting a blood drinker on the rooftop.”

For the first time, true understanding flickered in their eyes. The front line soldier who asked the question nodded stiffly, turned, and ran, barking orders as he went.

Killian didn’t wait to see the men fall into motion—he trusted them to do their duty. Instead, he moved. Fast. Taking long strides, he sprinted down the battlements and into the city streets, towards the castle. Every soldier he passed received the same command—spread the news, prepare the defense.

“The enemies are incoming!”

The words started spreading almost instantly.

But before he could move closer, his ears rang.

The world shook.

The ground beneath him trembled violently as an explosion ripped through the air. The sky flashed red. Killian skidded to a halt, his breath catching as his head snapped toward the castle.

He saw a large chunk of the grand structure collapse inward, flames licking the edges of it as smoke curled into the night sky.

His stomach dropped.

The streets around him erupted into panic. People screamed, running in every direction. The guards, trained but startled, clutched their weapons tighter.

Killian barely registered them. His gaze was locked onto the two figures—one monstrous and one familiar silhouettes—flying through the smoke.

They were clashing in midair. His fingers twitched at his side, instinctively wishing he could leap into the fray. The sight that was in front of them made him stop dead in his tracks. Whips of wind curled around Lord Arzan’s legs, keeping him in the air. And it was quite the difference from his opponent.

The damned monster was cloaked in a river of writhing crimson. He could smell the blood and iron from yards away. The creature was lashing out at Lord Arzan, sending waves of blood slicing through the sky in bladed crescents, but Lord Arzan dodged every time. The attacks missed him by a hair’s breadth.

Killian’s jaw tightened. He had fought monsters, had cut down men twice his size, but this—this was something else. Every exchange between the two combatants sent shockwaves rippling outwards. The impact shook the very foundation of the city.

Then, for a brief moment, Lord Arzan’s gaze flickered toward him before he veered left.

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Killian understood immediately. The Count was leading the battle away from the heart of the city, minimizing casualties—trusting Killian to do his part.

He turned on his heel, sprinting back toward the walls. If Lord Arzan was handling the blood drinker, that meant Killian had a different battlefield to manage. The city’s defenses, the soldiers, the Enforcers—they needed to be ready.

By the time he reached the fortifications, the troops were already in position. Lines of armored men stood at the ready, gripping their weapons with white-knuckled hands. The mana cannons were being wheeled into place, their arcane cores pulsing with restrained power.

Enforcers stood among them, their presence a steadying force. At the center of it all was Gareth, his sharp gaze scanning the battlefield.

The moment he spotted Killian, he strode forward. “Knight Killian! Duke Lucian’s army is here!”

Killian exhaled sharply. So it begins.

“The blood drinkers seem to have learned of the druidic bonds,” Gareth continued. “They’ve been hunting them down—it slowed our intelligence gathering. But we finally confirmed their movements. They’re advancing.”

“How many?”

“Three thousand with the mercenaries involved. We don’t have exact numbers on the blood drinkers, but at least two to three dozen of them. They won’t be easy opponents.”

No, they wouldn’t be.

He looked over the men, some gripping their weapons too tightly, and others standing straight with their shoulders squared despite the fear curling at the edges of their expressions.

They were outnumbered, and their enemy wasn’t just human.

“Neither are we.” He met Gareth’s eyes. “We need to prove that we aren’t easy opponents either.”

Gareth gave a firm nod, and Killian turned, his eyes sweeping toward the horizon as if willing the army to reveal itself. The wind howled against the stone, carrying the distant sound of marching boots.

A moment passed before Gareth spoke again. “Knight Killian… I saw Lord Arzan fighting something. Will he be okay?”

Killian hesitated, but only for a breath. “Yes, he will be.”

He didn’t need to say more—but he did.

“Lord Arzan is the strongest of us all,” Killian said. “He’ll take down that foul creature for sure.”

His statement reached the ears of the remaining Enforcers; the ones who hadn’t gone to capture castles, and were ordered to stay back with Lord Arzan.

The Enforcers around him visibly steadied, their grips tightening not out of fear but resolve. Lord Arzan wasn’t just their leader—he was their hope.

Then—

A shout came from the watchtower.

“I see movement!”

Every head snapped toward the horizon.

Dust rose in thick, curling waves, swallowing the sky in a murky haze. And through it—an army marched.

Killian’s eyes locked onto the front lines, and his stomach twisted. Duke Lucian rode at the head, his armor glinting beneath the dying light. There were no blood drinkers in sight, but Killian wasn’t naive. They were there. Watching. Waiting. One command, and they’d come rushing like trained hounds.

He inhaled deeply, pressing the weight of his responsibility down into his core. He had done this before. Stood before an army knowing that by dawn, some of these men—his men—would not be standing beside him.

The reality of war was cruel. He knew that. And he couldn’t linger and wallow in regret or the deaths he knew would happen.

Because, he knew one thing, that tonight, it was his battlefield.

Killian tightened his grip on his sword. The leather of the hilt pressed against his palm, grounding him. His responsibility in this battle was greater, but he didn’t let it bow his back. He would lead from the front.

Lord Arzan was locked in his own battle above, fighting a monster that should not exist, leaving the battlefield below in Killian’s hands. And that meant one thing—he could not afford hesitation.

A hundred eyes were on him.

He hadn’t noticed at first, too caught up in his own thoughts, but now he felt it. The expectation. The silent demand for his words. The men needed direction. They needed belief.

So he stepped forward, raising his sword high. And he gave them both.

“Everyone! The battle we have waited for is here.” His voice rang out, steady, unyielding. “This fief war wasn’t started by us, but today—we end it. And we end it in blood.”

A roar erupted from the ranks, boots shifting, weapons raised. Killian let the fire spread before continuing, his voice cutting through the night.

“We don’t face common men alone! We stand against Mages, against monsters—against the blood drinkers, creatures of blood and death.”

A murmur rippled through them, the weight of those words settling in. Fear clawed at the edges of their resolve. He couldn’t allow that.

“But!” Killian’s voice was a blade, slicing through doubt. “Lord Arzan has armed us with weapons that can strike them down! He has given us armor that will not yield, forces that make us more than men!”

He turned, meeting the gaze of his soldiers, each one waiting for his final command.

“Today, we prove that his faith in us is not misplaced. Are you ready? Ready to tear through their lines, to fight for Veralt and Verdis? For your homes? For your families? For your kids who are waiting behind? Are you reading to fight for glory?!”

The walls shook with their roar.

Killian felt the fire burning inside him, feeding on their energy. He turned back toward the horizon, toward the army surging forward in a storm of steel and dust.

His jaw clenched. His grip tightened.

I will win this battle for you, Lord Arzan.

***

Kai soared through the night sky, wind swirling around his legs as he dodged another crimson blade. The sheer force of the attack sliced through the air where he had been a moment before, leaving behind a faint trace of blood-red mist.

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This fight was different.

Since his reincarnation, he had fought his fair share of battles, but none had come close to this. It reminded him of his first life, back when he had battled fiends every week, when every fight had been a dance with death. Back then, he was a Magus, a true force of destruction. Now, he was merely a peak Third Circle Mage.

And for the first time since his return, he wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

Shakran was fast. His control over blood was like an extension of his body, sending out blade after blade in a relentless barrage. Kai’s [Wind shield] flickered to life, blocking the attacks before they could reach him. In return, he trailed his fingers through the air, conjuring flames that shot toward the blood drinker like falling stars.

Shakran sneered. His monstrous face twisted as if mocking the attempt. With a flick of his wrist, a crimson wall rose to meet the fire, dissolving it before it could reach him. And then he retaliated.

The sky became their battlefield as they ascended, each one twisting through the air, searching for an opening. Kai's spells clashed against waves of blood, neither gaining the upper hand.

Then, Shakran chuckled, his voice carrying through the night.

"I thought you were an honorable man," he taunted, launching another barrage of blood spikes. "Why do you run?"

Kai twisted his body, dodging each strike with precision. His expression remained cold as he shot back, “Shut up.”

And then he breathed in.

The air around him shimmered with heat. Mana surged through his veins, igniting his core. With a sharp exhale, a roaring inferno burst from his hand—a [Dragon’s Breath], pure and searing.

The flames chased Shakran, winding through the air like a serpent seeking prey. The blood drinker darted away, weaving through the night in a desperate attempt to outrun the fire. At the last second, he conjured a knight of blood to shield himself, the figure stepping forward to meet the flames.

But Kai wasn’t finished.

Even as the dragon’s breath dissipated, embers remained. They hung in the air for a brief moment before raining down like a fiery storm.

Shakran hissed. He recoiled as the flames licked his flesh, the stench of burning blood filling the air.

"You’ll pay for that," he snarled, his crimson eyes flashing with rage.

Kai ignored him. His gaze was already locked onto the wounds forming on Shakran’s body. They were healing. Slowly, but too fast for his liking.

A Lord’s regeneration.

He clenched his fists. That was going to be a problem.

He exhaled sharply. He couldn't delay this any longer. His fingers twitched as mana surged through his body, weaving together two spell structures. Fire and ice. Two Third Circle spells at once.

It was already pushing his limits, but with the wind spell still active around his legs, this was triple casting. The sheer strain sent needles of pain through his mind, his control faltering for a fraction of a second—

Shakran noticed.

"As if I’d let you throw more spells at me!" he snarled, surging forward.

A massive axe formed in his grip, its blade dark with condensed blood magic. He swung with brutal force, aiming to cleave through Kai before he could complete his spell.

The latter reacted instantly. With a final push, he released his ice spell. A thick mist exploded outward, frost creeping through the air as the temperature plummeted. Shakran’s charge slowed as ice began to crawl up his limbs, his movement sluggish—

But he didn't stop.

With a guttural growl, Shakran forced himself forward, breaking through the freezing mist and swinging the axe down.

Pain erupted as the blade bit into Kai’s shoulder. The force of the impact sent him hurtling toward the ground, blood splattering in the air as he struggled to keep himself upright.

The world spun.

Gritting his teeth, Kai forced his mana into his wind spell, stabilizing himself in midair. The moment his body steadied, he unleashed his second spell, [Astrum Phoenix].

A roaring fire erupted from his outstretched palm—a phoenix of pure flames, its wings spread wide as it dove toward Shakran.

The blood drinker scowled, his frozen hand barely moving as ice crawled up his arm. His axe shattered into crimson shards, dissipating. But before the phoenix could consume him, he snarled and formed another blade of blood, hacking through the fire construct.

It didn’t work.

The moment his attack connected, the phoenix split into two.

Two flaming beasts now surged toward him, their hungry flames flickering in the night.

Shakran’s eyes widened. "What kind of spell—?!"

Before he could finish, the phoenixes slammed into him.

A scream tore from his throat as he raised his hands, summoning a swirling river of blood around himself. The liquid surged upward, swallowing the fire, suffocating the burning creatures in its depths.

Kai didn’t waste the moment.

Panting, he pulled a potion from his belt, tossing it back in one swift motion. The pain dulled, his wound slowly beginning to mend.

His gaze snapped back to Shakran. The blood drinker had managed to douse the flames, his form barely visible through the dissipating mist. His expression was dark, his breathing heavier than before.

But he was still standing.

Kai barely had time to breathe before a furious scream tore through the air.

Shakran launched himself forward, his body a crimson blur as he closed the distance.

Kai didn’t hesitate—his hand shot into his coat, fingers wrapping around a glass vial.

He flung the explosive potion, its contents igniting midair. The resulting blast expanded in a rush of heat and smoke, engulfing Shakran in its fiery embrace.

For a brief moment, Kai felt a flicker of relief.

Then Shakran vanished.

Kai’s eyes widened.

Where—?

A sudden, bone-chilling sensation crawled up his spine.

He whirled around, instincts screaming, just in time to see a crimson sword slicing toward his throat.

An ice shield materialized between them at the last second. The blood blade bit into the frozen wall, cracking its surface, but the defense held. Shakran’s lips curled into a smirk. And then—he disappeared again.

Kai hovered midair, heart hammering in his chest. His mind raced. The sensation was too familiar—like the battle with the necromancer in Vasper Forest, when he had to fight through the thick fog, unable to see his enemy.

But Shakran was no weak necromancer.

He was stronger. Faster. More terrifying. And definitely, had the brains to kill him right then and there.

Kai clenched his jaw, keeping his ice shield up, anticipating the next strike.

It came instantly.

A sudden impact—harder than before—shattered another layer of the shield.

Then another.

And another.

The incoming strike was more ferocious, more forceful than the previous one, breaking through his defenses piece by piece.

He was losing ground.

Kai braced himself as the next blow struck, and this time, Shakran didn’t stop.

The blood blade dissolved mid-strike.

A fist slammed through the ice, shattering it completely, and crashed into Kai’s chest.

He barely had time to react before the force sent him hurtling toward the ground.

His wind magic flared instinctively, slowing his descent—but not enough.

Through the rushing wind, his gaze locked onto a figure waiting below.

A blood knight.

The armored figure raised its sword, perfectly positioned to cut him in half on impact.

Damn it!

With a sharp twist, Kai yanked another explosive potion from his belt and hurled it downward.

The explosion sent him careening off-course, blasting him back toward the ground. The impact rattled his bones, pain lancing through his body. He coughed, blood staining his lips, but forced himself upright.

The wind had softened the fall—but he wasn’t unharmed.

Standing now in the open grasslands, exposed beneath the night sky, he looked around.

Nothing.

No movement. No sign of Shakran.

Only the eerie silence and the voices that came from far, far away.

Where? Where would he strike from next?

The uncertainty gnawed at him. The next hit could be fatal.

Maybe I should— his thoughts came to an end when a manic laughter came.

"You are dead,” an annoying voice followed as another attack came towards him.

***

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