Reincarnation of the magicless pinoy.
From zero to Hero. " No Magic?, No Problem!"
Encounter 1: Brother!
The morning mist hung thick over the mountains as Roan and Vermorth stepped out from the ancient vault. The heavy doors sealed behind them with a dull, metallic groan, their echoes fading into the cold air.
In Roan's hand, the molten orichalcum—now cooled into a faintly golden shard—pulsed softly, its rhythm matching the steady thrum of his spirit core. It wasn't mana that resonated with it, but something deeper—his will made manifest.
Vermorth's sharp eyes studied him in silence. The Grand Duke of the Northern Dominion, known for crushing rebellions with an iron hand, wasn't easily impressed. Yet the boy before him—the nameless mercenary called Roan, whispered across borders as the Black Wraith—was unlike anyone he'd ever met.
"That ore devours life and flame alike," Vermorth said at last. "Yet it listens to you. How?"
Roan looked down at the glowing metal, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "It's not about control," he said. "You just have to listen."
The duke barked a short laugh. "Listen, he says. As if that's something you can teach."
They made their way up the slope toward Vermorth's fortress—black spires rising like jagged spears against the sky. The banners of the crowned wolf flapped hard in the wind. Soldiers stiffened at the sight of the pair, but Vermorth waved them at ease.
"Lower your weapons," the duke ordered. "Show respect. This man saved my son's life."
The guards bowed their heads, murmuring thanks to the mercenary who cured the heir's mana sickness—an affliction that had killed nobles and knights alike.
Roan shifted awkwardly under the attention. "They don't owe me anything."
"They do," Vermorth countered. "You did what even our high mages couldn't. My son breathes because of you."
"I didn't do it for gratitude," Roan replied quietly.
The duke smirked. "Of course not. That's why you're different." He folded his arms. "Tell me, Black Wraith… you really plan on leaving so soon? I could use a man like you in my ranks."
Roan gave a faint, polite smile. "I'm not good at taking orders. And I've got… other places to be."
Vermorth's eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak like a man with unfinished business."
Roan shrugged. "Maybe I am."
They reached the front courtyard where a black carriage waited, its armor gleaming faintly in the dawn light. The horses stamped and snorted, restless in the cold.
"So," Vermorth said, his tone softening, "the Black Wraith walks alone again. Seems like a waste. You could have comfort, purpose, protection here."
Roan glanced back at him, a trace of a grin touching his lips. "Comfort dulls the edge. I'd rather stay sharp."
That earned another low chuckle from the duke. "Heh. You sound just like I did before I learned the cost of sharpness." He extended his hand. "Still, I owe you a debt. You saved my bloodline. Remember this—if the world turns against you, the house of Vermorth will not."
Roan hesitated for a moment, then took his hand. His grip was firm, unshaken. "I'll remember, Your Grace."
As Roan climbed into the carriage, Vermorth called out, "One last thing, Wraith."
Roan looked over his shoulder.
"If fate ever grows heavy on you," Vermorth said with a faint smile, "you'll find sanctuary here. Whether you wear that mask or not."
Roan's smirk deepened, just a flicker. "Appreciate it."
The carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching against gravel as mist swallowed the road ahead.
Vermorth stood there long after it vanished, his cloak fluttering in the wind. His steward approached hesitantly. "Your Grace, shall we send a scout to follow him? We still don't know who that man truly is."
The duke's expression darkened slightly, but not from anger. "No. Let him go."
"But—"
Vermorth's voice cut him off. "He's no ordinary sellsword. I've seen men with power, but his isn't power. It's… something older." His eyes shifted toward the sealed vault in the cliffs. "The orichalcum responded to him like it was recognizing its maker."
The steward frowned. "Then who—or what—is he?"
The Grand Duke turned away, cloak sweeping behind him. "A ghost," he murmured. "A black wraith walking between worlds."
The mountain wind bit against their faces as the Asher Hawks rode through the narrow pass. Their cloaks snapped behind them, boots kicking up dust as they pushed forward at full speed.
They had left Grand Duke Vermorth's territory before dawn, silent and determined. The message from Princess Sophia still echoed in Rowan's head—her voice tight with worry.
Elian is wounded… He's being treated at the Elroy Dukedom. Please… hurry.
Rowan's jaw tightened. His brother was many things—reckless, proud—but weak wasn't one of them. For Elian to be down meant something had gone terribly wrong.
Tessa, the Asher Hawks' leader, urged her horse closer beside his. "You've been quiet since we left," she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "Bad news from home?"
Rowan nodded slightly. "My brother's been injured in the front lines. We're heading to him."
Ren, the group's scout, looked over his shoulder. "That's the one stationed near the border, right? Between Elroy and the Empire's edge?"
"Yeah," Rowan replied. "That's the one."
Bragg grunted, shifting his heavy shield on his back. "Then we'd better hope the road's clear. Those ridges near Elroy have been crawling with beasts lately."
"Beasts?" Pete asked from behind, his tone uneasy. "You mean the corrupted ones again?"
"Probably," Solis muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his staff. "The kind that act like they're being driven by something."
Rowan didn't respond. His hand brushed against the pouch at his belt—the one holding the molten orichalcum, now cooled into a faintly glowing lump. He could still feel it hum faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He didn't tell anyone what it was. To them, he was just Roan, a mercenary with a sharp sword and a knack for surviving. None of them knew who he really was—or the strange energy that flowed in him, something older and deeper than mana.
The road wound downward into a dense forest. Shadows stretched between the trees, and the air grew thicker. Ren raised a hand suddenly. "Hold up."
Everyone stopped.
He crouched, fingers brushing over the dirt. "Tracks," he said quietly. "Fresh ones. Not human. Heavy… too heavy."
Rowan dismounted, scanning the treeline. His senses prickled—a faint vibration in the air, subtle but unmistakable. Something was watching them.
"Spread out," Tessa ordered, voice low. "Bragg, cover the rear. Pete, get ready to patch anyone who gets mauled."
The undergrowth rustled. Then, a guttural snarl rolled through the air.
From the shadows burst a massive, black-furred creature—its body twisted, eyes glowing a faint red. The ground shook as it landed, claws gouging deep into the soil.
"On me!" Tessa shouted, drawing her twin blades.
Bragg slammed his shield into the ground, blocking the first swipe that came crashing down. The impact rattled through his arms. "Damn thing hits like a carriage!"
Solis lifted his staff, muttering an incantation under his breath as faint runes lit along its length—basic spells, enough to stun or distract, nothing more. A flare of light burst beside the beast's eye, blinding it momentarily.
Rowan moved.
He slipped past Bragg's guard, drawing his blade in one clean motion. His movements were precise, economical—every step controlled. As he swung, the orichalcum in his pouch pulsed faintly, almost responding to his intent.
The sword met flesh with a heavy crack. A clean, brutal cut along the monster's shoulder. The creature roared, staggering, blood spraying across the dirt.
Ren darted behind it, daggers flashing as he struck its hind legs. "Tessa! It's slowed!"
"Good! Bragg, hold it—Rowan, now!"
Rowan didn't hesitate. He leaped forward, landing just as the beast tried to twist around. His sword flashed once, a sharp gleam of steel—and the next second, the monster's head hit the ground with a thud.
Silence.
The group stayed tense for a few heartbeats before Ren finally exhaled. "Hell, Roan… remind me not to piss you off."
Bragg chuckled, lowering his shield. "You sure you're not half demon yourself?"
Rowan gave a small, tired smile. "No demons. Just experience."
Tessa stepped beside him, looking at the corpse. "That wasn't a wild one. Its veins are black—someone's been experimenting again."
Solis crouched to examine it, his brow furrowing. "Corruption magic. Old traces. Whoever did this… it's not from our side of the border."
Rowan's expression hardened. The enemy's meddling again… even here.
He turned toward the east, where the horizon was slowly brightening. "We can't stop. Elian's waiting—and if these things are moving this far west, then something's pushing them."
Tessa nodded. "Agreed. Mount up. We'll ride until sundown."
As they moved on, the forest fell silent again. Only the faint hum from Rowan's pouch lingered—steady, patient, alive.
The orichalcum pulsed once, faintly.
Almost like it recognized what lay ahead.
Two days.
That's how long they rode without rest.
Dust clung to their boots, and their cloaks were heavy with the smell of sweat and horse. The sun had burned away their strength by day, and the cold bit into their bones by night — but none of them complained. Not when the urgency in Rowan's eyes kept them moving.
The night hung heavy over the ruined dukedom.
Two days of near-constant travel had worn them thin, but Rolien and the Ashen Hawks pressed on without rest. When they finally reached the outskirts of Elroy territory, what greeted them wasn't a city—it was a graveyard.
The air reeked of blood and burnt wood. Buildings lay half-collapsed, their once-proud banners torn and blackened. Broken weapons littered the streets, mingling with the pale, lifeless bodies of knights and townsfolk alike.
Tessa covered her mouth. "By the gods…"
Bragg's voice was low, almost trembling. "This… this isn't a siege. It's a slaughter."
Rolien stepped forward silently, his expression hard but unreadable. The faint glow of spirit energy flickered in his eyes as he scanned the surroundings. "Mana beasts," he muttered. "Big ones. And not wild—they were sent here."
They moved through the ruins cautiously until the clatter of armor drew their attention. From the smoke, a familiar figure emerged—scarred, weary, but still carrying the sharp authority of a veteran knight.
"Sir Marcellus!" Rolien called out.
The old knight turned, relief flashing in his tired eyes. "Rowan! You made it." He strode forward, clasping Rolien's shoulder with a gauntleted hand. "Thank the heavens. The dukedom… it fell three days ago. The beasts tore through everything. Duke Elroy… he didn't survive the siege."
Tessa lowered her head. "And the survivors?"
Marcellus exhaled heavily. "Scattered. Most of the soldiers are either dead or tending to the wounded. We managed to save a few nobles and the royal envoy, but—" he hesitated, glancing at Rolien. "Your brother, Elian… he's alive, but barely. An assassin struck last night. It was meant for Prince Jun and Princess Sophia. Elian intercepted the blow."
Rolien's jaw tightened. "Where is he?"
"In the western wing of what's left of the manor. The healers are doing what they can, but he hasn't woken up."
The group exchanged grim looks. Rolien didn't waste another second. "Take me to him," he said firmly.
Marcellus nodded and led them through the wreckage—past collapsed towers and shattered courtyards where torchlight flickered over blood-soaked stones. As they walked, the sound of distant weeping and crackling fires filled the air.
Rolien clenched his fists, his thoughts running cold and sharp. Assassins… beasts… someone planned this. And whoever they are, they're not finished yet.
When they reached the manor gates, guards saluted Marcellus, their faces pale and hollow. Inside, the scent of herbs and iron filled the halls. Healers moved quietly, whispering prayers under their breath.
And in the center of a dimly lit room, lying pale and still on a blood-stained bed—was Elian.
Rolien stood beside his brother's bed, staring down at Elian's pale, motionless face. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of crackling torches and the shallow breathing of the wounded.
"Damn it…" he whispered, his voice low but trembling with frustration. "You really went this far to protect them, huh?"
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "System, open item box."
A faint blue shimmer appeared before him, revealing a list of items floating within the holographic display only he could see. He scrolled through it quickly until his eyes locked on one particular vial—golden liquid swirling with faint light.
"The All-Cure Potion," he murmured, pulling it out. The bottle glimmered faintly in his hand like a drop of sunlight.
"Pete," Rolien called.
The young healer blinked, stepping closer. "Y–Yes, boss?"
"Administer this to Elian. All of it."
Pete looked at the potion, his eyes widening. "Is… is this what I think it is? This thing's priceless—"
"Just do it," Rolien cut in sharply, but his tone softened a little after. "That's my brother."
Pete nodded quickly and began working. He uncorked the vial and carefully poured the potion into Elian's mouth. The golden liquid shimmered as it touched his lips, dissolving instantly. Within seconds, a faint glow wrapped around Elian's body. The bruises began to fade, the color slowly returning to his skin.
Tessa, Ren, and Bragg watched silently, the tension in the air easing just a bit.
Rolien exhaled and turned to Marcellus. "Where are Prince Jun and Princess Sophia?"
Marcellus straightened. "Still in the inner chambers, under guard. I'll have them called at once." He gestured to a nearby maid. "Go. Tell them Rol—" he stopped himself, remembering the alias. "Tell them Rowan wishes to see them."
The maid hurried off down the corridor.
Rolien turned back toward his brother—then froze.
A sharp chime echoed in his head.
[DING!]
A translucent window suddenly flashed before his eyes:
WARNING!
Interdimensional Rift Detected.
Someone is summoning you.
Would you like to accept or not?
Choices:
✅ Yes
✅ Yes
Rolien's pupils shrank. "What the—?!"
"Rowan?" Tessa frowned, noticing his sudden stiffness.
Rolien's voice rose slightly, filled with disbelief. "What kind of stupid options are these?! Wait—No! I'm not—"
But before he could even finish his protest, the air around him twisted violently. The torches flickered, their flames bending toward him. The temperature dropped, and a surge of pressure filled the room.
"Boss?!" Pete shouted, stumbling back.
In a blink, Rolien's body was enveloped by a spiraling vortex of light—like reality itself was folding in on him.
"Roa!!!" Tessa screamed.
And then—he was gone.
The rift snapped shut with a sound like cracking glass, leaving behind only silence and the faint shimmer of mana residue in the air.
When Princess Sophia and Prince Jun burst into the room moments later, panting from their rush, the only thing they found was chaos—Elian breathing steadily again on the bed, the Ashen Hawks frozen in shock, and an empty space where Rolien had just been standing.
Marcellus's voice broke the silence. "He… vanished?"
Pete swallowed hard, still staring at the fading light. "I—I saw it. He didn't teleport. Something… summoned him."
Sophia's hands trembled as she took a step forward. Her eyes went wide, her heart pounding in her chest. "Rolien…" she whispered.
To be continue