Shakran’s eyes raked over the darkened marks marring the barely conscious man sprawled on the floor. The grey discolouration was spreading, slowly creeping across his body. He could feel the oppressive, ugly aura overtaking the man’s usual human essence.
Their gazes met. The man’s sclera was bloodshot, but Shakran knew it wasn’t just that—blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, where tears should have been.
Even so, the man looked up. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to muster the strength, to channel every last shred of his energy into glaring at Shakran, yet he did.
Shakran didn’t flinch. His piercing stare remained unwavering.
The man’s glare faltered, his fear giving way to desperation. His eyebrows knit together as he began to plead, tears mingling with the blood streaming down his face.
The man knew—death was coming for him. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, knowing that every second ticked closer to his final breath.
Shakran knelt down beside him, a slow, sinister smile curling on his lips, exposing his sharp fangs. He coughed lightly and spat saliva next to the man’s face.
“I don’t know whether to call you lucky or unlucky,” Shakran mused, his voice dripping with mockery. “Your body’s far more resistant to the plague, sure, but it’s just dragging out your death—making it all the more painful. Let me tell you a little secret, you're going to die either way. But I think you already know it.”
Leaning closer, Shakran inhaled deeply, the metallic scent of the man’s blood filling his senses. “Despite how I look,” he continued, his voice almost conversational, “I don’t particularly enjoy torture. But… you gave me this.” He gestured to his palm, displaying a dried cut left by the man’s [Tornado Lances], a third-circle wind spell. Though the blood had clotted, the scar still throbbed.
“I had to return the favor,” Shakran added with a smirk.
The man tried to sneer but failed miserably. His lips quivered as he attempted to form words, but nothing came out. The sight amused Shakran. He tilted his head, studying the pathetic figure before him.
“F-f-filthy blood drinker,” the man finally rasped.
Shakran’s smile widened. “Filthy blood drinker, you say? Oh no, I’d only be filthy if I drank your blood. But I haven’t. Look at you—you spineless fool. Those marks all over your body? Dead mana will devour you soon enough. And you… you’re the filthy one here.”
The man’s lifeless gaze briefly sparked with offence. He lifted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes in anger, his mouth moving as if to retort.
But before another sound escaped his lips, Shakran flipped the dagger in his hand and slit the man’s throat in one swift motion. The blade glided through effortlessly, blood spurting from the man’s mouth and throat in equal measure.
His head lolled back, lifeless at last.
Shakran rose slowly, muttering under his breath.
He hated being called that—not the words themselves, but the intent behind them. Filthy blood drinker. The way they spat it, dripping with fear and contempt, as if it defined him. As if it diminished him. He clenched his fists briefly before exhaling. They were fools, all of them. Humans clinging to their fragile morality and brittle pride.
“I am far superior than these human Mages,” he said aloud, as if to reaffirm it. “They just haven’t accepted it yet.”
His gaze drifted across the ruins of the once-thriving farming city. This had been one of the larger settlements in Vandefall, a hub of grain and trade that fed the kingdom. Now, it was a silent wasteland. Corpses littered the streets—knights in gleaming armor now dulled with blood and grime, Mages who had failed to cast their last desperate spell, villagers clutching loved ones in frozen despair. Even children, their tiny forms sprawled in the dirt.
It was the plague’s work, the masterpiece Shakran had unleashed. Slow, creeping, unstoppable. Vandefall had sent their best to combat it: holy men from the church, Mages armed with purification spells, and legions of soldiers. They had all fallen, either to the plague itself or to Shakran’s blood drinkers.
The man at his feet was one of their champions—a third-circle Mage. He had been formidable, killing several of Shakran’s followers with the precision of his wind spells. But in the end, he was just another corpse among the many. Shakran glanced at the scar on his palm again and smirked.
His eyes turned to the horizon, scanning the desolate landscape. The city, or what was left of it, had nothing more to offer him. It was time to move on, to bring his plague to the next unsuspecting settlement. But just as he turned to leave, movement caught his attention.
Three figures glided through the sky, their blackened wings spread wide, veins pulsing with the telltale signs of dead mana. Blood drinkers. They moved swiftly, their forms cutting through the twilight, before diving toward the ground. They landed near the city gates and approached him.
The three knelt before him, heads bowed low.
“Report,” Shakran commanded.
Shakran’s sharp grin widened as one of the blood drinkers stepped forward, his wings folding neatly behind him.
“Lord Shakran, three cities and countless villages have already fallen to us. We’re ready to move westward and breach the borders of Lancephil. As we expected, the Vandefall royal family remains clueless, and the king’s support is crumbling by the day.”
Shakran chuckled, his fangs glinting in the fading light. “Of course it is. That’s what he gets for rejecting our offer. Arrogance always comes at a price.” His tone turned icy as he issued his next command. “Have Duke Zoran prepare to lead the coup. The time is right to uproot what’s left of this kingdom. But more importantly, we must move toward Lancephil. There’s a matter Mistress Regina has tasked me with handling personally.”
The blood drinker raised his head slightly. Shakran saw the curiosity behind those masked faces. “Are we to unleash the plague on Lancephil as well, my lord?”
“Yes,” Shakran confirmed, his voice low but brimming with menace. “But the task Mistress Regina entrusted me with is… different. It involves someone who has foolishly managed to get on her nerves. I will take a small group to handle it myself. You, however, will remain here and ensure the plague spreads unchecked. It must become a calamity greater than the Crimson Plague that wiped out three kingdoms a century ago… You get me? I trust you understand the weight of this responsibility.”
The blood drinker bowed deeply. “I understand, my lord.” Without another word, he rose and took to the skies to carry out the orders with the other two lowly servants.
Shakran lingered, his gaze returning to the lifeless body of the Mage at his feet. For a moment, he simply stared, as if the corpse could hear his musings.
“Arzan,” Shakran said softly, the name rolling off his tongue. It was a foreign name to him. “I’ve only heard whispers of you, but I’m hoping you’ll put up a better fight than this one.” He nudged the dead Mage with his boot, almost amused. “Though in the end, your fate will be the same—a body without a head.”
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His smile widened, his bloodied fangs gleaming in the dim light as he turned away, the ruins of the city behind him and the promise of more devastation ahead.
***
The carriage was still—too still, just like he wanted. Kai sat cross-legged on the padded bench, his hands resting on his knees as he focused inward.
He inhaled and exhaled slowly.
For weeks now, Kai had been painstakingly working to heal his damaged Mana heart. The backlash from his previous overextension could have been severe, threatening to shatter his ability to channel mana altogether. He’d gotten lucky—it could have killed him outright—but the path to recovery hadn’t been easy.
If not for his knowledge of mana surgeries, the techniques to repair magical pathways and hearts, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not even a little. If things had gone the way he feared, he would have wished for death over the torment of staying alive.
Now, after countless days of grueling focus and patchwork repairs, he was at the final stage. The last fragment of his Mana heart needed careful correction, and if he knew anything at all, that’d be the fact that it needed his entire focus.
Kai steadied his breathing further, diving deep into his core. The fractured edges of his Mana heart gleamed faintly in his mind’s eye, tiny cracks spidering along its once-seamless surface. He visualized his mana as threads of light, weaving them carefully around the damage. Slowly, painstakingly, he aligned the jagged pieces, reinforcing the heart’s structure with meticulous precision.
Minutes stretched into an hour as he worked, his mind sharp despite the mental strain. Each fragment slid into place, the cracks fusing into a smooth, whole surface. Every time he completed placing one fragment carefully, his entire body shuddered. It took him everything to do so, but he pushed himself further and further.
And when he completed the final connection, a gentle pulse reverberated through his body—a sign that his Mana heart was finally whole again.
Kai opened his eyes and let out a slow breath, a genuine smile filled with fatigue spreading across his face. For the first time in weeks, he felt complete. His mana flowed freely, unrestrained and balanced, as if a dam had been lifted.
Finally, he thought, flexing his fingers and feeling the hum of energy coursing through him. I can begin working on the next circle. The thought of advancing filled him with anticipation.
The upcoming battles demanded more strength, and before getting his Enforcer status, he would have to rely heavily on his Mage abilities. But now, with his Mana heart restored, he was ready to push forward.
A sharp knock on the carriage door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head toward the sound, his brow arching slightly.
“Come in,” he said.
The door creaked open slightly, and Claire peeked her head inside. Her brown hair shimmered faintly in the campfire light. She looked at him with a polite expression that was tinged with a bit of urgency.
“Lord Arzan, Ragnar and Brugnar are here and they want to talk to you.”
Kai nodded, setting his feet back on the floor and brushing off his robes. “Alright.”
Through the slightly open door, he caught a glimpse of the camp they had set up for the night. The flicker of campfires illuminated the tents, and the rest of the area was quite busy with activity. After a full day of traveling, they were close—dangerously close—to the barbarian territory.
Due to that, he had already expected both the barbarians to come meet him.
“Have them come in,” he instructed Claire.
She nodded and stepped back to relay the message.
A minute later, the door to the carriage opened wider, and Ragnar and Brugnar stepped inside. Their large, imposing frames seemed to fill the small space as they sat down opposite Kai, shaking the carriage in the process. Both men dipped their heads in a slight bow before glancing at one another, a silent exchange passing between them.
It was Ragnar who spoke first. “Lord Arzan.”
“Yes, what is it?”
He inched forward on the seat and clutched his hands in front of him. Why is he looking all nervous? Kai couldn’t tell. But he was about to find out.
“We’re nearing the Lombard tribe’s territory. We’d like permission to move ahead from here. We understand you wouldn’t want anyone to know of your... association with us.”
Kai leaned back slightly. He nodded. “I understand. You’ve fought valiantly in the battle, and your efforts won’t be forgotten. Rest assured, I’ll extend my generosity to your tribe when the time comes.”
Hearing this, Ragnar’s features softened slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck while hesitating for a moment before speaking again. “If that’s the case, my lord... may I request something of you?”
Kai’s gaze didn’t waver as he responded, “Speak.”
Ragnar bowed again, this time deeply. His head touched his knees and he kept it there while talking, “I wanted to apologize for my earlier conduct. For what I did... raiding your tents when we first crossed paths. I forgot the code of the valiant Lombards and became nothing more than a cheap bandit.” He straightened, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
“For weeks now, since the beast wave, I’ve thought long and hard about my actions. If I continue on that path, I’ll be no better than the raiders and mercenaries who sully our name. That’s not who I want to be—not who I should be. I seek your forgiveness and your guidance, my lord.”
Kai’s gaze lingered on Ragnar, weighing the sincerity in his words. The man’s transformation wasn’t surprising; many warriors found clarity after witnessing the devastation of a beast wave and the barbarian was young. Still, it was rare for someone like Ragnar to admit fault, let alone seek absolution.
Therefore, he nodded slowly, not expecting such a heartfelt apology from someone like Ragnar. He studied the man for some more time.
Ragnar had matured, and if his father had sent him on this journey with the hope of fostering that growth, then it seemed the effort had paid off.
“I understand why you had to turn to banditry,” Kai said after a pause. “You were chased out of your homes, stripped of your lands, and left with no other path. Survival does not leave much room for honor.”
Ragnar lowered his head, his voice steady but heavy. “Yes, I was weak. We all were. That’s why I need to ask something of you—something that I’ve thought long and hard about. Lord Arzan, please... allow me to take you as my master. I want to be like Knight Killian and the others who follow your command. This is my most earnest request.”
Kai raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden plea. His gaze flicked to Brugnar, who stood beside Ragnar without any sign of surprise. They must have discussed this beforehand.
Turning his attention back to Ragnar, Kai spoke with measured clarity.
“You need to understand something,” Kai said. “You’re not a Mage or a Blessed one as your people call them. I can’t take you as an apprentice, not in the way you’re imagining. As for becoming an Enforcer... not everyone has the aptitude. It takes more than willpower; there’s only a slim chance you’d even have the potential.”
Ragnar hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides, before speaking with gritted teeth as if something was holding him back. “Even if there’s only a slim chance, I’m ready to do whatever it takes. Anything.”
Kai shook his head immediately and sighed. “Don’t say words like that lightly, Ragnar. They carry weight, especially when spoken by someone like you—the son of your tribe’s leader. Your actions ripple further than you might realize.”
Kai observed Ragnar closely, his mind already turning over the implications of the conversation. Originally, he had planned to move slowly in bringing the Lombards into his fold, respecting their independence and their established way of life. The barbarians had their own system, one that could not be easily dismantled or controlled. But Ragnar’s words, his earnest request to follow Kai as a master, sparked something in his mind—a potential opportunity that could bring the entire Lombard tribe under his influence faster than he had expected.
The idea formed quickly, and Kai made a decision. He couldn’t just walk into their territory and force his will upon them. No, this required more subtlety, more finesse. Ragnar’s plea was the opening he needed, but it would require careful execution.
Kai’s lips curled into a slight smile as he looked at the two men before him.
“The path to becoming an Enforcer is a secret I’ve guarded carefully. It’s not something I can simply hand over, especially not when it’s one of my trump cards. So, Ragnar, you’ll have to understand that this isn’t something I can just give to you.”
Ragnar’s expression faltered at those words, disappointment flickering in his eyes, but Kai wasn’t finished.
“However,” Kai continued, leaning forward slightly, “there might be a way to make this happen. But for that, I would need to speak with your father, not you. I don’t think you hold the power to make such a decision on your own.”
Ragnar’s face shifted, confusion and uncertainty clouding his features, but he remained silent. Brugnar, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. His voice was deep with a hint of curiosity in his tone.
“So, are you saying you’ll follow us to our tribe and speak to our chieftain, Yafgar?”
Kai shook his head. “No, I won’t just speak to him,” he replied, “I will challenge him to a duel.”
***
A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon.