Magus Reborn

170. Girl of the White Woods

Kai's gaze rested on Amyra as she sat across from him. Since the day they met, she had been a puzzle—an enigma wrapped in beauty and mystery. His mind often drifted to her, picking apart the pieces of what little he knew.

Her appearance alone was enough to spark curiosity. She wasn't just beautiful in the way most would describe it—there was something otherworldly about her, something that seemed to transcend human standards. Her inhumanly perfect features, the soft glow of her skin, and those piercing eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of wisdom.

And yet, her appearance was only the beginning.

From the moment they entered the necromancer's lair, Amyra had stood apart. Dead mana, a force that corrupted all life, had no effect on her. Where others struggled, she was untouched by its decay.

And then there was her genius-level aptitude for magic. One he had never seen before in anyone else.

He thought back to the battlefield, to the accounts of her unleashing her powers.

Dozens of dead mana fiends had been obliterated, their wretched forms wiped out in an instant. It had all been swallowed by a bright golden light. It wasn't a spell he'd heard of, nor one that seemed possible for a Mage of her supposed level.

At every step of knowing her, his curiosity deepened.

Who was she? Was she the daughter of a Magus, perhaps even one of a Grand Magus? Or maybe a hybrid—a rare mix of human Mage and elf blood? Or was she something else entirely?

The questions buzzed in his mind, tantalizingly close to an answer that always seemed just out of reach. Part of him suspected that the truth was already there, lurking in the edges of his thoughts, but he refused to reach for it. Not yet. He needed proof, something tangible to connect the dots.

Now, as Amyra began to speak, he felt his chest tighten, a sense of anticipation mingling with tension. Whatever she was about to say, it would change everything. But outwardly, he kept his expression calm, listening intently.

Amyra's soft voice came. "I grew up in a place far from here," she began. "A place with no name. We just called it home."

Kai leaned forward slightly, his curiosity mounting.

"It was in the heart of a forest," she continued, "a vast stretch of tall, white woods that seemed to go on forever. That was where my clan lived, where we built our sanctuary. It was our home for two generations." She paused, her eyes distant, as if seeing the woods again in her mind. But what came out of her mouth next surprised Kai. "In my clan, everyone had access to magic."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn't hide his surprise. A clan where everyone was a Mage? That was unheard of. Even among the famous Mage lineages, not everyone possessed the gift. There were always exceptions. And yet, here she was, claiming her entire clan had magic.

He held his tongue, knowing there would be time for questions later.

Amyra's voice softened. "I wasn't the daughter of the chief, nor was my family anything special. In the clan, we were simple Mages, living and waiting for our purpose to reveal itself."

Killian, who had been silent until now, frowned slightly. "Your purpose?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Amyra nodded at Killian's question, but the movement was slow and deliberate, as though her mind was piecing together the right words. After a moment's pause, she spoke again.

"In my clan," she began, her voice softer now, "there was a long-standing prophecy. It was said that we had been gifted magic to prepare us for a time when the world would fall into darkness, a time when fiends would rise and threaten to consume everything. The story was passed down through generations, told every year during our gatherings."

Without a beat, Kai and Killian listened intently, their faces impassive, but Kai's mind was racing. A prophecy tied to an entire clan of Mages? The implications were enormous, and the tone of Amyra's voice hinted at tragedy.

She exhaled deeply, her golden eyes lost in memory. "But where we lived—surrounded by towering white trees, shielded by nature's grace—we saw no fiends. There were beasts, yes, but they were nothing unusual. There were no signs of dead mana or darkness, so I always assumed it was just that: a story. A fairy tale meant to remind us of the importance of our gifts, to stand against these creatures.

"I believed that… until reality slammed the truth in front of me. One day, without warning, fiends attacked our village."

Her words hung in the air, and Kai tensed. When he looked to his side, he saw that Killian's expression had darkened as well, but they both stayed silent, giving her space to continue.

"There were hundreds of them," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The weakest of them were Grade 3 and the strongest were of Grade 7. Their strength, their savagery—it was unlike anything we had ever encountered. My clan fought with everything they had. Every Mage, every spell, every ounce of magic… and yet, it wasn't enough. The fiends razed our village to the ground."

Kai's jaw tightened. The weight of her words pressed down on him, but he didn't interrupt.

Amyra's gaze fell to her hands, her fingers trembling slightly. "While my clan fought for survival, my uncle followed my mother's command. He took me to the edge of the forest. He was one of the few who had ventured beyond our sanctuary before, so he knew the way. I didn't want to leave, but he forced me to go. He told me someone needed to live—someone who could carry on the clan's magic, someone who hadn't yet gone through their awakening."

Her voice cracked slightly, and she turned to look out the window. The tears in her eyes shimmered in the soft light, but she didn't let them fall.

"I ran," she said quietly. "I ran because I had no choice. I wanted to go back, to fight alongside my family, my clan. But I had no spells. I was powerless. And my uncle's last words to me were to keep running. So I did."

Kai and Killian exchanged a glance, their expressions solemn. Neither spoke, knowing Amyra needed this moment.

"I ran until I reached the human cities," she continued, her voice steadier now. "I tried to blend in, but it was hard. I was just a child, with no food, no strength, and no idea how to survive. I lived on the streets for a year, clinging to the hope that someone from my clan would come looking for me. That maybe the attack hadn't killed them all."

Her voice faltered, and she shook her head slightly. "But that hope died with each passing day. And eventually, I decided to keep moving. To run not just from the fiends, but from my own thoughts, my own memories."

She paused, her hands trembling once more. "What I hadn't realized was how cruel the world could be. On the road, I was kidnapped by a slave trader."

Killian stiffened at her words, and Kai's expression hardened, but Amyra pressed on.

"He put me in a cage like an animal," she said. Kai noticed her tightened jaw and squared shoulders. "He taught me how to serve, how to be the perfect product to sell. He wouldn't let anyone buy me unless they could pay his price. To him, I was precious property because of how I looked."

Her hands curled into fists, but she forced herself to continue. "For what felt like an eternity, I stayed with him, waiting for the day he would finally sell me. But that day never came."

Amyra lifted her gaze, her golden eyes meeting Kai's. "One day, the necromancer found him. The trader tried to bargain with him, but he refused to sell me. So the necromancer killed him and took me instead."

As Amyra's words trailed off, everything else fell into silence. She had shared the most painful parts of herself, the years of torment, the hopelessness, and the strength it took just to keep moving forward. Kai stood still, his heart heavy, his mind struggling to process everything she had said.

So, he did what he could. He stood up and hugged her.

***

At that moment, Amyra's tears began to fall, unnoticed by her at first. The painful memories came back crushing down on her. No matter how she tried to explain it, there weren't enough words to suffice how cruel it was. It was all too consuming—soul shattering. Soon, she felt the warmth of an embrace wrap around her.

Lord Arzan had moved to her side, his arms surrounding her in a gesture of comfort. She froze for a moment, surprised by the sudden closeness, before the floodgates of her emotions opened fully. She didn't pull away—she didn't know if she could. Instead, she let herself fall into his arms, finally allowing herself to feel the kindness and care she had long been denied.

His voice was a gentle murmur against the top of her head as he held her tight. "Thank you for telling me everything. I know it was hard for you."

The words were soft, sincere, and something about them made Amyra realize how much she needed them. She had tried to hold it all in for so long, and now it was as though the weight of her past had been partially lifted, shared with someone who didn't judge her for abandoning her clan.

Her hand went to her face, trying to swipe away the tears that had started falling. She hadn't even realized how much she was crying until his arms were still around her, offering her silent support. Her shoulders shook for a moment more before she took a deep breath and finally managed to pull herself together.

Lord Arzan didn't immediately release her. He kept holding her for a while, as if giving her the space to recover, to gather herself again. Eventually, she pulled back, wiping her eyes and looking up at him.

Her face was still flushed from the tears, but she met his gaze with a quiet resolve.

"You have questions, right?" she asked, her voice still trembling slightly, though she was trying to regain her composure.

He nodded, his expression gentle but curious. "Yes, I have a lot of them," he admitted. "But I won't overwhelm you with them. I just want to ask one thing for now."

Amyra straightened slightly, her brow furrowing, bracing herself for another question that might bring up old pain. She had already said so much, but she owed him this answer—he had been there, after all, saving her life and giving her a new place to call home. She could tell he had been waiting for this question.

"I just want to know," he continued softly, "Why didn't dead mana affect you?"

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Amyra took a deep breath, her thoughts going back to the forest, the spells her clan had placed on her soul, the years of confusion about her own identity. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking.

"It's because my whole clan is like that," she explained quietly. "I don't know why. It's not something we ever understood completely. But dead mana has never affected us. It's as if we were born with a natural resistance to it. That's why our purpose was always to stand against the threat of dead mana when it would finally arrive. Despite that, we fell against its overwhelming power when the fiends arrived. Even with our resistance, no one in my clan was strong enough to take on a Grade 7 fiend."

Her voice faltered slightly as the memories of her clan and their purpose washed over her again.

"The spell I used during the beast wave…" she paused, looking at Killian with a slight sadness in her eyes. "It wasn't a spell in the truest sense. It was something my clan inscribed on my soul long before I even understood what it was meant to be. It was a safeguard, designed in case of a fiend attack. A way to survive, to fight back when no other option remained."

She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as her gaze shifted to the ground. "All of us in the clan have something similar. A spell, a mark, an inscription on our souls that connects us to our purpose."

***

Kal blinked in stunned silence, his mind racing to process everything Amyra had shared. His thoughts whirled, trying to connect the dots between what he had suspected and what he now knew for certain. A Mage who could withstand dead mana—this was unprecedented, a phenomenon that had eluded research for centuries.

He had seen the proof of her resistance in the beast wave and when he had retrieved her from the necromancer, but hearing it directly from Amyra put everything into an entirely different perspective.

He knew the theories, the years of research that had been undertaken, all the failed experiments and the countless lives lost in attempts to study dead mana and its effects.

Mages had tried to infuse themselves with it, but those who succeeded were corrupted, twisted into something no longer human. They became weavers, horrific creatures that thrived on the very thing that destroyed so many others. The research had gone nowhere, stunted by the dangers, by the dead mana itself, and by the sacrifices made in its pursuit.

But now, standing in front of him, was someone who was living proof that it was possible to survive it. Amyra was a paradox, a mystery. How did it work? What made her different from all the others? And more importantly, could they replicate it? Could they somehow find a way to protect others, to harness this anomaly, and perhaps even use it to their advantage without giving away their humanity?

His mind buzzed with questions, each one more pressing than the last. His thoughts flickered to the elders' warnings, to what Elder V'aleirith had said about his destiny as the Fatebreaker. The words echoed in his mind, that he'd change many lives as the Fatebreaker.

Amyra was proof of that. If he hadn't made the decisions he did, if he hadn't become Lord Arzan, she would have died—perhaps the last person alive who could resist the corruption of dead mana.

The weight of that thought pressed down on him. He had been blind to the significance of his actions, to the magnitude of what had been set into motion. But now, everything was different.

With Amyra alive, they had a chance.

Kal looked down at Amyra, a complex mix of gratitude and urgency in his gaze. He wanted to know more, to understand the full extent of her connection to the resistance against dead mana, to uncover the secrets of her clan and the mysteries of her body. But time wasn't on his side. There was a war brewing in his territory, a war that required his full attention. Every second spent here was a second closer to the chaos he had to manage. His territory, his people, needed him now more than ever.

"Thank you for telling me everything," he said softly, his voice sincere. "I know it was difficult, but you've given me so much to think about. You can rest now. I want to talk more about this, but right now, something else demands my attention."

Amyra nodded, her shoulders tense as if the trouble of her past and the revelation she had just shared had drained the strength from her. She was quiet for a long moment before looking up at him again.

"With your brother?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "He's attacking my lands, trying to take over it. It's... complicated. And there's no time to waste." He hesitated, his gaze softening. "But that's not something for you to worry about right now."

Amyra's brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly. "Can I help? Like last time?"

Kal's heart twisted at the thought of putting her back into harm's way. He knew she had already proven herself in the beast wave, but this was different. This wasn't just about surviving; it was about protecting something none of them could afford to lose.

"No, I'm sorry," he said firmly, though his voice softened with regret. "You're too precious to be anywhere near a war. You'll stay here, and I'll assign an Enforcer to guard you."

Amyra opened her mouth as if to protest, but Kai raised a hand to gently silence her. He took a step closer, looking at her.

"Please understand," he continued, his voice serious but gentle, "your ability... it could change everything for for the world. I can't risk losing you. I need you to stay here, safe."

"As for the war," he added, "this time, I'm not as worried as I was during the beast wave. We've prepared well. We have the forces, the strategies, and the resources to handle this. It's not like before. There's no doubt we are going to win this."

***

Drennan, one of the guards on duty stood tall on the walls of Verdis, his boots steady on the stone battlements as he gazed out over the vast expanse of the grasslands.

The winds whispered across the plains, rustling the tall grasses. Above him, the stars dotted the sky in a blanket of dots, the moon casting its silvery light over the land. It was late, but the city below was far from asleep.

Even in the dead of night, half the city was awake, and the streets were alive with movement. Guards patrolled the walls, merchants hurried through alleys, and citizens lingered in the open spaces, their conversations coming in hushed whispers.

Everyone was scared. News of the fief war had spread quickly, and tensions were high. Duke Lucian Kellius against his own brother, Lord Arzan, Count of Verdis. The rumors had spread like wildfire, each one more absurd than the last, but the guard didn't let himself get caught up in them.

He had seen the lord in person—how he stormed Verdis with his knights, how he had spared the enemy guards who had surrendered. The image of the man had been that of a god, a warrior leading his blessed followers with honor.

Since then, under his leadership, the city had flourished. New construction projects, infrastructure improvements, and a sense of purpose in the air had filled the people with a reverence for their lord that hadn't been there before. Whispers might float through the streets, but the guard knew one thing for sure: those rumors weren't going to shake the truth of what he had witnessed firsthand.

As he turned to check the perimeter once more, his gaze swept over the city's streets below. Guards were moving about, some pausing to exchange quick words while others made their rounds.

The sound of a yawn broke his thoughts, and he glanced to his left where Torric, a young guard who had only been stationed in Verdis for a few months, stretched his arms lazily. Your journey continues with My Virtual Library Empire

"Ugh, I'm so sleepy," Torric muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I have to do this till morning? This is brutal."

Drennan shot him a sharp look, his gaze flicking toward the horizon where the dark shapes of distant mountains loomed. "You should keep your eyes open," he said. "We don't know when the attack will come."

Torric chuckled, slinging his spear over his shoulder as he leaned back against the wall. "Do you really think it'll start so soon?" He waved a hand dismissively. "I believe any noble would be dumb to start a war with these bad boys here," he said, gesturing proudly toward the newly installed mana cannons.

Drennan followed Torric's gesture with a raised eyebrow, his gaze settling on the gleaming mana cannons positioned strategically on the walls. They were a formidable sight—massive, arcane weapons designed to tear through any enemy forces that dared approach. And the hum of magic that radiated from them was a reassuring reminder of the power that Verdis now held.

"Yeah," Drennan muttered, though his tone held a certain edge. "But we're not just waiting on them to do all the work. We'll have to be ready for anything."

Torric nodded, though the skepticism still lingered in his eyes. "I suppose. But still, it's not every day you see something like this. Count Arzan's got the city well defended."

He didn't respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. The stillness of the night was deceptive. The war, the tension—it was all an undercurrent, something that hadn't fully surfaced yet but was coming closer, like the storm before the rain.

The guard glanced at the mana cannons once more, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. He and Torric had both heard of their power—everyone in the city had.

They had even witnessed a demonstration a few weeks ago when a small group of bandits had attempted to raid the outskirts of Verdis.

The cannons had obliterated the attackers within moments, their mana-infused bolts ripping through flesh and stone alike. It had been a display of raw power, one that cemented Lord Arzan's reputation as a ruler who would not be easily threatened. The sheer magnitude of the weapon was enough to instill a sense of confidence in even the most hardened soldier.

Yet, as Torric yawned and began to relax, the older guard's mind remained sharp. The war wasn't won yet. He needed to be vigilant, not lulled into a false sense of security by the impressive defenses around them.

"Even then, we need to—" Drennan began, but his words trailed off as his eyes caught something in the distance, something small but significant in the dark expanse of the night sky.

A shadow flitted against the backdrop of stars, a silhouette that seemed too deliberate to be natural.

He squinted, trying to focus, to make out the shape more clearly. Was it a bird? A trick of the light? It was too high up, too fast.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Torric asked, noticing his sudden stillness. "What are you looking at?"

"It's nothing," Drennan muttered, shaking his head quickly. "I just saw something in the sky. Do you think we should inform the captain?"

Before Torric could reply, a sudden flash of movement caught his attention—so fast it was nearly a blur. It was too quick for the eye to track, and before he could even react, Torric dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering across the stone walls as his eyes widened in horror. Torric's stomach had been ripped open, a hole so deep and gaping that the scent of iron immediately filled the air.

"Shit!" Drennan shouted, fumbling for his sword, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for the healing potion, tearing open the vial with shaking hands as he scrambled to his fallen comrade. With desperation in his voice, he muttered, "Hold on, hold on, just hold on..."

But before he could apply the potion, a chilling sense of danger crawled up his spine. He froze, eyes widening as something moved atop the wall, silhouetted against the dark sky. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as a low, unsettling sound reverberated from the creature. There, perched with terrifying grace, was something he would never forget.

It was a creature out of nightmare, its form sleek and sinewy, humanoid yet distorted, like something caught halfway between life and death. Its pale skin was nearly translucent, veins black and pulsing beneath, and its eyes—those bloody red eyes—gleamed with an unnatural hunger, a cold malevolence that seemed to pierce through the darkness. It sat perched on the stone wall like a predator waiting to strike, claws curled into the stone beneath it, as if ready to leap at any moment.

Drennan's breath caught in his throat. He had been informed about these creatures once the news of the war had broken out—nightmarish beasts capable of incredible speed and strength, able to drain a person's life force with their fangs.

The Bloodrinkers were as elusive as they were deadly, and he had never expected to meet one like this.

Fuck… fuck… fuck!

Just as the guard opened his mouth to shout, warning the city, something flashed through the air—a glint of red that reflected the moonlight. Before he could react, a barrage of blood knives—sleek and sharp as arrows—came for him, cutting through the air.

Instinctively, he rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the blades as they tore into the stone wall behind him. His heart raced in his chest as he grabbed the healing potion once more, yanking the cork off and tossing it toward his fallen comrade. The liquid splashed across the wound, but he barely had time to hope it would work before another flash of movement split the air.

The attack wasn't aimed at him. It wasn't aimed at Torric either.

It was aimed at the mana cannons.

A moment later, the sound of a deafening explosion shook the air. The force of it rattled the walls, sending chunks of stone crumbling down as the powerful weapons were blasted apart, their mana-saturated cores erupting in a fiery display of destruction.

Drennan felt the blast's shockwave ripple through him, knocking him back, but he clung to the ledge, his heart racing as he turned to see what the fuck just happened.

The Bloodrinker was still on top of the wall, its eyes flashing with cruel delight as the last of the mana cannons were silenced. And as the dust settled, the guard's chest tightened in realization.

"We're under attack."

His shout rang through the night, cutting through the panic that had begun to spread. "Enemies! Enemies are here!" he called, his voice hoarse as he struggled to his feet.

Just like that, the battle of Verdis started.

***

A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too.

PS - I have seen comments becoming less in the last three chapters. Is there a reason behind it? Or it's just people trying to stock chapters before reading. If it's something in the story, I would love to know what it is.