The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family-Chapter 222: First Blood

The Imperial Market Square teemed with life as dusk settled over the capital. Merchants closed their stalls after a profitable day, families gathered for evening meals at open-air restaurants, and street performers entertained lingering crowds. In the central pavilion, a troupe of musicians played traditional Rikxian melodies that floated through the cooling air.

None noticed the thin man in simple attire who took a seat at the fountain's edge. His unremarkable face held a blank expression as he stared at nothing in particular, his body unnaturally still. When the bell tower struck the second hour of evening, his eyes briefly focused, as if remembering something important.

Then he simply... came apart.

No sound preceded the explosion—only a brilliant crimson burst that converted his body into pure energy, expanding outward in a perfect sphere. Those nearest him had no time to scream before they too were consumed, their bodies providing additional fuel for the rapidly growing conflagration.

Throughout the market square, eleven other figures simultaneously erupted in identical bursts of crimson energy. The carefully timed detonations created an overlapping pattern of destruction that left no avenue of escape. In less than ten seconds, the bustling heart of the imperial capital became a raging inferno.

As panic erupted, hundreds of hooded figures emerged from side streets and alleyways, moving with coordinated precision. Their faces bore matching ritual scars—the Mark of Icarus visible on their foreheads as they approached the chaos.

"Destruction brings salvation!" they chanted in perfect unison, raising ceremonial daggers.

The first imperial guards to respond found themselves overwhelmed by cultists who moved with unexpected speed and skill. Blood painted the cobblestones as the Icarus faithful brought death with methodical efficiency.

Brother Mortus observed from the rooftop of a nearby building, his scarred face impassive as he monitored the unfolding carnage. Behind him, thirteen cultists knelt in a circle around a black crystal pillar—one of the Synchronization Artifacts linking operations across the empire.

"The first wave has initiated successfully," reported an acolyte at his side. "Simultaneous detonations confirmed at all twenty-four target locations."

Mortus nodded, his gaze tracking the movements of imperial forces responding to the attack. "And the secondary vessels?"

"Activating in sequence as planned," the acolyte confirmed. "The next wave begins in three minutes."

Below, imperial citizens fled in terror as more explosions erupted throughout the capital. These were not the precisely timed detonations of the initial attack, but rather a cascade of individual civilians spontaneously converting to living bombs—unwitting carriers of the Seeds of Icarus now activating one after another.

"Éclair's Second Division is deploying from the western barracks," the acolyte noted, consulting a crystalline device that tracked troop movements. "White Lion forces are mobilizing from the northern quarter."

"As anticipated," Mortus replied. "They follow standard response protocols." He turned from the edge of the rooftop. "Deploy the third wave. Target infrastructure and bottleneck points."

Throughout the city, more hooded figures emerged from hiding places—some from sewers, others from behind false walls in buildings that had been prepared years in advance. They moved with single-minded purpose toward bridges, guard towers, and key intersections.

* * *

In the Lionhart Estate's command center, Roman received the reports with cold composure, his expression betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Around him, communications officers worked frantically to compile information from across the capital and beyond.

"Simultaneous attacks reported in twenty-three provincial locations," a senior officer reported. "The capital itself has been hit hardest—multiple explosions, hundreds of casualties already."

"The pattern?" Roman asked, studying the tactical display where red markers proliferated across the empire's map.

"Civilian population centers first, followed by coordinated ground assaults against responding forces." The officer's voice remained professional despite the horror reflected in his eyes. "The attackers bear matching ritual scarifications consistent with cult activity."

"The Icarus cult," Melo stated from his position beside Roman. The white-masked enforcer's golden eyes narrowed slightly. "They have been dormant for nearly a century."

Roman nodded once, processing this information with the efficiency of a leader accustomed to crisis. "Deployment status?"

"All seven Elite Divisions are mobilizing," the officer reported. "Éclair and White Lion are already engaging hostiles in the capital. The remaining divisions are responding to provincial attacks."

"The patterns suggest a coordinated effort to divide our forces," Melo observed, studying the tactical display. "Each attack is precisely calibrated to require a specific response strength."

Roman's eyes narrowed. Something about this felt wrong—the sudden reemergence of a cult thought nearly eradicated, the perfect synchronization across vast distances, the scale of sacrifice evident in the attacks.

"Communications from provincial commanders?" he asked.

"Fragmented, Emperor. Something is interfering with standard energy-based communications."

A chill passed through Roman that had nothing to do with his ice affinity. A coordinated attack of this magnitude would require years of planning, thousands of cultists willing to die, and resources beyond what intelligence suggested the Icarus cult possessed.

"This is a distraction," he stated suddenly, turning to Melo. "The true target lies elsewhere."

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Before he could elaborate, the door to the command center burst open. Raphael entered, his normally composed features tight with urgency.

"Father, the researchers report energy fluctuations around the Frost Chamber," he announced without preamble. "The scheduled procedure is being affected by some external influence."

Roman's gaze met Melo's, understanding passing between them without words. "Secure the Frost Chamber," he ordered. "Triple the guard rotation. No one enters or leaves without direct authorization."

As Melo departed with preternatural speed, Roman turned back to the tactical display, his mind calculating possibilities with ruthless efficiency. If the Icarus cult had somehow learned about Klaus's condition—about what had happened at Northwatch...

"Maintain coordination with all responding divisions," he instructed the senior officer. "But alert the estate's defensive command. We may face an imminent security breach."

* * *

Sister Myrith led her extraction team through ancient tunnels that predated the imperial capital itself. The narrow passages wound beneath the foundations of the Lionhart Estate, following paths known only to the most senior members of the Icarus cult.

"Synchronization confirmed," reported an adept behind her, monitoring a crystal similar to those used throughout the operation. "All diversionary attacks are proceeding according to plan. Imperial forces are fully committed to response."

Myrith nodded, her scarred face illuminated by the soft amber glow of their specialized lanterns. The thirteen members of her team moved in perfect silence, their bodies modified through rituals that had killed dozens of less worthy candidates.

"We approach the first security perimeter," she announced softly. "Prepare the initial nullification sequence."

Two adepts stepped forward, placing small crystalline devices against the tunnel wall. The crystals pulsed briefly, then seemed to melt into the stone itself.

"The sensor array above will register only ambient energy fluctuations," one adept confirmed. "We remain undetected."

Myrith consulted a detailed schematic etched into a scroll of human skin. "Three hundred paces to the access point beneath the eastern wing. From there, we can reach the Frost Chamber through maintenance passages."

The extraction team continued their advance, unaware that above them, the estate's defenses were already being reinforced. Their intelligence had been precise, their timing perfect, their preparation meticulous.

Yet somewhere in the complex calculations that had governed the operation's planning, one variable remained unaccounted for—a White Lion-trained warrior who had witnessed Klaus's transformation at Northwatch, who had carried his unconscious body across miles of ash-covered wasteland, who had spent a year maintaining vigil at his side.

Alexandra Lionhart sat alone in her chambers, methodically checking the specialized equipment she had prepared. Her sword lay across her lap, its edge honed to perfection. Unlike the chaos outside that had called away most of the estate's defenders, her focus remained singular and unwavering.

Something was coming for Klaus. And she would be ready when it arrived.