Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy!
From zero to hero! " No magic?, No problem!"
Encounter 19 : The Draven's Spine Malady
Vermorth's POV
The heavy oak doors to his study creaked open, and a knight in white-and-gold armor stepped inside, bowing low before speaking.
"My lord, a report from our patrols near the Dragon's Jaw Mountain. A small band of mercenaries has been spotted hunting something in the region. Their leader… matches a description you might find interesting."
Vermorth, seated behind his wide desk cluttered with maps and sealed letters, looked up slowly. "Go on."
The knight unfolded a slip of parchment, eyes scanning it before reading aloud. "Tall, lean build, black hair, dark eyes… clad in partial armor and moving with the precision of a trained killer. Uses unorthodox tactics, not native to Velkaria."
The Grand Duke's brow furrowed. His grip on the armrest tightened. "Black hair… precise movements… Tell me, was there mention of a name?"
The knight shook his head. "No, my lord. He went by an alias. The locals couldn't agree on it. But…" He hesitated, then added, "One of the descriptions—the way he moved—reminded me of the man you spoke of. The one you've been searching for."
Vermorth leaned back in his chair, a slow breath leaving his chest. Rowan… The Black Wraith.
The name brought with it the smell of pine and blood from that night months ago in the Cerean Empire—enemy soil. The memory was sharp, vivid.
They had been ambushed while traveling under disguise. Two Alpha Dier Wolves, their red eyes gleaming in the dark, circling with predatory hunger. Vermorth had fought many beasts in his lifetime, but these were monsters bred for killing. Even with his mastery of Kigen and magic aura, holding them back alone would have been costly… perhaps fatal.
Then, from the treeline, Rowan had appeared. No hesitation. No fear. His blade moved like it had been part of him since birth—each swing measured, each step precise. He wove through the wolves' lunges with elegance that belied the sheer brute force behind his strikes. One moment, he was a ghost slipping past snapping jaws; the next, he was an executioner cleaving through muscle and bone.
Vermorth had been certain he was watching a veteran swordmaster… yet the man couldn't have been older than his own son.
By the time the wolves lay dead, the ground beneath them slick with blood, Vermorth's son had been safe in Rowan's arms. He remembered the young man simply nodding, as if saving a Grand Duke and heir of Velkaria had been nothing more than an everyday errand.
Since then, Vermorth had vowed—no, sworn—that if fate ever brought Rowan across his path again, he would give the boy the reward he deserved… and offer him something far greater.
Such a blade belongs in Velkaria, he thought. If the empire can breed warriors like him, then we need him more than they do.
His gaze shifted to the knight. "Send word to the patrol. Have them observe, not engage. I want confirmation. If it's him…" He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting in something between respect and hunger. "Bring him to me—alive, unharmed."
As the knight bowed and left, Vermorth's eyes lingered on the map sprawled across his desk, his gaze tracing the jagged lines of the Dragon's Jaw Mountains.
Rowan… whether you come willingly or not, our paths will cross again.
The room smelled faintly of oiled leather and strong tea. Maps covered the far wall, red-marked with pins and strings, while a fire crackled in the hearth.
Vermorth stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning a fresh report in his hand.
"Scouts spotted some mercenaries near the Dragon's Jaw Mountain…" he murmured. "Interesting."
He turned to a knight. "Investigate. Quietly. I want names before the sun sets."
The knight bowed and left without a sound.
As the door closed, Vermorth's shoulders eased—only for a voice to purr behind him.
"You silly fox, what is it this time? Got some good news for me?"
Vermorth didn't even turn at first. "Klaus… You have the irritating habit of appearing where you're not welcome."
From behind, the sound of a cup being poured. Klaus helped himself to the teapot on Vermorth's desk, steam rising as he sat casually in the chair like it was his own home. "Ugh… nothing much, old friend. Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Heh, of course I'm not," Vermorth replied flatly. "Every time you show up, you've got something to bargain. Or sell me."
"Vern, don't be like that," Klaus said, grinning over the rim of his tea cup. "We're friends, remember? And besides—" he picked up a cookie from the tray and bit into it, "—I'm a merchant. That is my job."
Vermorth scoffed, finally turning slightly toward him. "Alright then. What do you want?"
"Well, nothing for myself… but someone I know does."
Vermorth's gaze narrowed. "Then who is it? Tell them I'm busy. I don't have time for a meet-and-greet. They can come back another day."
Klaus leaned back, spinning the tea cup lazily in his fingers. "What if I told you… the one you've been searching for is the one asking for the audience?"
That made Vermorth's head snap toward him, eyes sharp as a drawn blade. "What did you just say?"
Klaus's grin turned downright wolfish. "Hahaha—got you." He coughed, then lowered his voice with mock seriousness. "The one who wants to meet you is… Rowan. The Black Wraith."
The name hit like a spark to dry tinder. Vermorth's eyes widened, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face. "…You're certain?"
"As certain as a fox with a fresh hen in his mouth." Klaus smirked, leaning forward. "Vern… he's in Velkaria."
Vermorth didn't answer right away. His eyes locked on Klaus, but his mind was already far from the study.
Rowan… the Black Wraith.
The image rose unbidden—snow swirling through the burning forest, the night lit by the clash of steel and magic. Two Alpha Dier Wolves, their claws like scythes, had him cornered. And then… that young man appeared, cutting through the chaos with a precision and elegance Vermorth had only seen in the most disciplined of swordsmen. Every strike was measured, yet devastating, a seamless blend of brute strength and a control over aura that could rival even the veterans of the Kigen order.
He'd saved Vermorth's life that night. More importantly, he'd saved his son.
His jaw tightened. His boy had been sick even then—frail, the spark in his eyes dimming. That journey into the Cerean Empire had been desperate, chasing a rumor of a cure. But it had ended in failure. No miracle herb. No ancient remedy. Just another dead end.
And now…
Vermorth's gaze dropped for the briefest moment. If the Black Wraith truly is here… perhaps he can go where I could not. Perhaps he can find the cure.
He wouldn't tell Klaus that—not yet. The fox didn't need more leverage than he already had.
But there was another reason, one that twined with his private hope.
The place where that cure lay hidden… was also rumored to be tied to the Mother of All Flames. If Rowan was truly as capable as he remembered, he might be the only one strong enough to reach it alive.
Vermorth set down the report still in his hand, the parchment curling in the warmth of the fire.
"When can you bring him to me?" he asked at last, voice low but edged with intent.
Klaus's smile deepened. "I thought you'd never ask."
Klaus left Vermorth's estate with that fox-like grin plastered on his face, the kind that made people want to either strangle him or pay him. Probably both. The deal was done—now came the fun part.
The tavern was noisy as always when he stepped in, the smell of roasted meat and cheap ale mingling with the sharp bite of cold air that followed him inside. He spotted Rowan's crew easily—they always drew eyes whether they wanted to or not.
"Evening, trouble magnets," Klaus called out, striding to their table like he owned the place.
Ren narrowed his eyes instantly. "What do you want, fox?"
Klaus held up both hands innocently. "Good news, my spiky friend. My client is ready to have an audience with you."
Rowan's brow furrowed. "Client? Who and why?"
"Well," Klaus said, dragging out the word as he pulled up a chair uninvited, "while you were doing me that tiny favor, I was working my tail off to secure you a meeting. Someone who can tell you exactly where to find what you're looking for."
Ren slammed a palm on the table. "You—you little snake! You told us you knew where it was! And now you're just passing us to some guy?!" He half-stood, fist drawn back, but Brag calmly hooked two fingers in the back of his shirt collar and lifted him an inch off the floor like a misbehaving child.
Rowan, fighting the urge to chuckle at the sight, fixed his gaze on Klaus. "Who?"
Klaus's grin sharpened. "Oh, I think you'll like this one."
"Quit stalling, fox," Pete muttered.
"Alright, alright," Klaus leaned in, his voice dropping so only their table could hear. "Grand Duke Vermorth."
Silence slammed into the group like a hammer.
Even Tessa's usual composure cracked. "…One of the Four Pillars."
"The very same," Klaus said, clearly enjoying their shock. "And before you ask—yes, he's agreed to see you. And yes, he owes me. So maybe you could stand to be a little nicer to ol' Klaus, hm?"
Rowan's jaw tightened. Grand Duke Vermorth… that was no ordinary name. That was one of the strongest dragon slayers alive—on par with Edric Grey, Anastasia, and the legendary Kairo Dragonroad himself. If this meeting was real, then whatever came next would change everything.
Back at Grand duke Vermorth pov
As he stands near his window.
The memory was vivid—Rowan's blade flashing in precise arcs, weaving through fang and claw like a dancer. The weight behind each strike could break stone, yet his movements carried a grace most veterans never achieved, even with decades of mastering Kigen and magic aura. Vermorth himself, a seasoned swordsman who had slain dragons, had felt the pull of respect.
That night, Rowan hadn't just saved his life—he'd saved his son's. Vermorth had vowed then that he would repay the debt, no matter how long it took.
But this time… repayment wasn't his only motive.
His gaze shifted to the side table, where a small silver frame held a picture of his boy. The boy's face was pale, his smile faint. The illness was winning. Vermorth had scoured the world for a cure—visited healers, scholars, alchemists. Nothing worked.
There was only one place left to try.
And that place… was the same one rumored to hide the Mother of All Flames. A place where few returned from alive.
Rowan was strong enough to enter it. Strong enough to survive. And if Vermorth could gain his cooperation, perhaps he could achieve both goals: repay his debt, and save his son.
His eyes hardened. "Rowan… when we meet again, I'll give you the truth. And then I'll see if you're willing to walk into hell for me."
[POV: Rowan]
The carriage wheels rattled over the frozen cobblestones, the creak of the axles the only sound in the tense air. Outside the windows, Vermorth's city stretched in proud stone arches and towering keeps, each banner snapping in the winter wind with the crest of the dragon-slayer's order.
Inside, the Asher Hawks sat packed together on the benches. Klaus lounged near the front, grinning like a fox who'd just raided the henhouse.
Pete shifted for the tenth time. "Man, I can't decide if I'm excited or about to throw up."
"You're gonna throw up," Ren said flatly.
Pete shot him a glare. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ren."
Tessa, sitting across from them, smirked. "Honestly, it's not just Pete. We're about to meet Grand Duke Vermorth. That's not exactly a 'grab a drink and shake hands' kind of guy. He's one of the Four Pillars."
Solis nodded, brushing some frost from his cloak. "First Grand Duke Edric Grey, Grand Duke Vermorth, Grand Duchess Anastasia, and…" He paused, then added, "Grand Duke Arclight Dragonroad, the strongest among them."
Pete let out a low whistle. "Dragonroad… That name just screams 'I can punch a dragon in the face.'"
Ren snorted. "Or scream until it dies."
Rowan kept quiet, staring at the passing scenery, though he could feel the mixture of nerves and curiosity swirling in the group. Klaus's smug humming wasn't helping.
"You all are acting like you're going to face a firing squad," Klaus said, sipping from a silver flask. "Relax. Vermorth's a reasonable man. And he owes me, so technically… you're welcome."
Ren crossed his arms. "Yeah, because that always works out for us."
Tessa's gaze flicked to Rowan. "You've been quiet. You nervous?"
Rowan finally looked at them, his tone even. "Nervous? No. But we can't afford to slip. This is still enemy territory. One wrong word, and we're not guests—we're prisoners."
The carriage hit a bump, jolting everyone slightly. Klaus grinned. "Prisoners? Please. If things go bad, I'll just talk us out of it."
Pete muttered, "More like talk us into a worse mess…"
Rowan didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the massive fortress ahead, its black iron gates opening slowly like the jaws of some great beast. Beyond them, the banners of Vermorth's house rippled in the cold wind, and guards in dragon-scale armor watched their approach with sharp eyes.
Whether this meeting brought them closer to the Mother of All Flames—or closer to their deaths—would depend entirely on how it played out inside those walls.
The iron gates clanged shut behind them with a finality that made Pete flinch. Inside the courtyard, the air smelled faintly of ash and cold steel. Lines of soldiers in dark dragon-scale armor stood rigid at attention, their halberds gleaming under the torchlight.
"This place…" Ren muttered under his breath, "…feels like it eats cowards for breakfast."
Tessa gave him a side glance. "Good thing you're not a coward."
Ren scoffed, but his grip tightened on his sword hilt.
Klaus walked ahead like he owned the place, tossing a jaunty wave at a pair of grim-faced guards. They didn't wave back.
They were led through high stone corridors hung with banners—deep crimson, embroidered with the silver crest of a dragon with its wings spread wide. The footsteps of their escort echoed against the vaulted ceilings. Each step forward felt heavier, as if the weight of the place itself pressed down on them.
When the massive double doors of the audience chamber swung open, a wave of warm air hit them, carrying the scent of burning cedar.
At the far end, sitting in a throne carved from black dragon bone, was Grand Duke Vermorth.
He was exactly as the rumors described—broad-shouldered, with streaks of silver in his dark hair, and eyes like molten amber that seemed to strip away every lie before you could speak it. A heavy fur cloak draped over his shoulders, and one gloved hand rested on the hilt of a massive greatsword leaned casually against the throne.
At first, Vermorth's gaze was sharp and measuring, but then… it shifted. His eyes landed on Rolien—really landed on him—and the hard line of his mouth eased. For a moment, the battle-hardened Grand Duke looked almost human. Recognition sparked in his gaze, followed by something warmer.
The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.
Klaus stopped several paces from the throne and bowed with exaggerated flourish. "Your Grace. I bring guests who may be of great interest to you."
Vermorth didn't answer Klaus. His eyes stayed on Rolien as he spoke. "So… you finally came."
That single sentence made Pete's brows shoot up. Ren glanced between them, confused.
Rowan kept his expression neutral, but inside, gears were turning fast.
Vermorth straightened, the faint smile still on his face. "It's good to see you again, Black Wraith."
Vermorth rose from his throne, the fur cloak shifting over his shoulders as he descended the steps. His boots thudded against the stone, each step measured, steady, deliberate.
"I never forget a face," he said, stopping just short of Rowan. "Especially not one I owe my life to."
Pete's mouth dropped open. "Wait—what?"
Vermorth's gaze didn't leave Rowan. "Months ago, in the forests near the Cerean border… two alpha dire wolves came for me and my son. Fast. Coordinated. Even a trained warband would've fallen to them in minutes."
His voice dropped lower, like he was replaying the moment in his mind. "But then you appeared—out of nowhere. Precision in every strike. Strength that matched my own Kigen flow. Moving through the fight like you'd rehearsed it a thousand times, yet it was raw instinct. You didn't hesitate to take blows meant for me… or my boy."
Rowan stayed quiet, the memory flashing in his own mind—the snap of wolf jaws, the taste of iron in the air, the fear in a child's eyes.
Vermorth's tone softened, but only slightly. "I swore that day I'd repay the debt. I just didn't expect the Black Wraith to show up in Velkaria… under the guise of a mercenary."
Ren muttered under his breath, "Guess the disguise wasn't as good as we thought."
Tessa elbowed him, but even she was watching Vermorth with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Vermorth finally tore his eyes from Rowan and glanced at the rest of the Asher Hawks. "You've got a strong crew. I saw the drake fight. That wasn't luck. That was discipline."
Klaus smirked. "Told you they weren't just any mercenaries."
Vermorth's jaw tightened briefly. "You're here for the Mother of All Flames, aren't you?"
Rowan met his gaze evenly. "…We are."
"Good," Vermorth said. "Because I have a reason to want you to find it, too." His expression darkened, just for a heartbeat. "My son still suffers from an illness no healer can touch. There's a place—dangerous beyond measure—where a cure may exist. The same place where your flame sleeps."
Ren straightened. "And where's that?"
Vermorth's lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile. "We'll talk… after I'm certain I can trust you to survive it."
Pete scratched the back of his head, leaning forward like he was trying to peek past Vermorth's imposing frame.Pete leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So… what's wrong with the boy, if you don't mind me asking?"
Vermorth's jaw tightened, but he answered without hesitation. "It's called Draven's Spine Malady. It starts with clumsy steps, then the legs weaken. Over time the arms lose their strength too. Balance becomes nearly impossible, speech slows… and eventually, the heart fails. Few make it past their twenties. My son is twelve."
Rowan's eyes narrowed. The words painted a picture he knew all too well. Almost without thinking, he murmured under his breath, "Friedreich's ataxia…"
Vermorth's head snapped toward him. "What did you just say? You know this illness?"
Rowan shook his head slowly. "Not by that name… but I've seen something very similar before. Back when I was in Afghanistan, I mean at a remote village at my town." His gaze drifted for a second, remembering the dust, the heat, and the frail boy he'd met there. "If I can see him, I might be able to tell how far along it is."
"You can treat it?" Vermorth's voice had a sharp edge of hope.
"I'm not saying that yet," Rowan replied carefully. "Let me see him first. Then we'll know if there's still time."
Vermorth studied him for a long moment before nodding once. "You'll see him. But earn that right first."
Ren exhaled like the air had been sucked out of the room. "So… survive the hellhole you're sending us into, then maybe save a life. Easy."
Pete smirked. "Sure, why not? We're already knee-deep in other people's problems."
Solis folded his arms. "It's not every day we get ordered around by one of the four strongest dragon slayers alive."
"Yeah," Tessa added with a crooked grin. "Nothing like working for a living legend to remind you you're just a squishy mortal."
Rowan barely heard them. His mind was already split in two—half on the dangerous path Vermorth had laid before them, and half on the image of a boy whose time was running out.
The room Vermorth led them to was quiet, the air heavy with the faint scent of herbs. Sunlight spilled in from the tall windows, casting pale gold across the boy lying on the bed. He was thin—too thin—his legs covered with a blanket, his breathing slow but even.
"This is Lucien," Vermorth said softly, his usual commanding tone dimmed. "My son."
Rowan stepped forward, pulling a chair close. "May I?"
Vermorth nodded.
Rowan's hands moved with the calm precision of someone who had done this before. He checked the boy's pulse, the reflexes in his legs, the coordination of his fingers. Lucien tried to grip his hand, but there was a faint tremor and weakness in the movement. Rowan asked him to sit up, then to stand with help. The boy swayed almost instantly.
Vermorth watched silently, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the bedframe.
Rowan crouched, studying the way Lucien's ankles turned inward, the slight curvature in his spine, the muscle loss in his calves. Every detail matched what he remembered—down to the faint irregularity in the heartbeat he felt through the boy's thin wrist.
He finally leaned back, a slow exhale escaping him. The pieces were all there. It was the same.
And there was still time.
The room was quiet except for the slow tick of a clock on the far wall. Rowan's hands moved carefully over Lucien's frail form—checking pulse, reflexes, and the subtle muscle atrophy in his legs. Every sign lined up exactly with what he'd seen before, back on Earth… back in Afghanistan.
As his fingers lingered on the boy's wrist, a familiar chime rang in his head.
> [System Notification]
New Quest Unlocked – Cure of the Dragon's Heir
Objective: Diagnose and cure the illness afflicting Lucien Vermorth.
Reward:
– 5,000 XP
– Unique Title: Healer of the Fallen Line
– Bonus Blueprint: Formula for complete cure – [Earth-Origin Compound] (Blueprint automatically added to inventory)
Special Note: One key ingredient, Everburning Emberroot, can only be found in the Mother of All Flames' domain.
Time Limit: 14 days
Failure Penalty: Permanent loss of a unique skill.
Rowan's lips curved into a sharp smile, eyes glinting with a mix of relief and determination.
"Bingo… I knew you'd be useful this time, System," he muttered under his breath.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He glanced up at Vermorth.
"We can save him."
To be continued..