Rubert’s breath hitched as he stood in the throng of people gathered outside the castle of House Kellius. Almost every adult in the city had come, and their faces were filled with tension and seriousness as they awaited the announcement. One of war.

For days, whispers had circulated through the streets, markets, and taverns, painting a grim picture. The people weren’t fools. They had pieced together what was coming—it only needed to be spoken aloud.

The signs were everywhere: mercenaries roamed freely, their presence unquestioned, while city guards patrolled with a frequency that suggested something was not right. Yet, even with all they suspected, Rubert knew the truth was far worse.

Beneath the surface of their speculations were a darkness that they wouldn’t be able to swallow. And Arzan Kellius, once celebrated as a hero for defeating the beast wave, was now accused of horrific deeds.

Rumors spread that he had allied with dark creatures and ordered the destruction of an entire village under Baron Idrin’s protection, all because of a small land dispute. However, Rubert knew these stories were false—a complete distortion of the truth. But what could he do? No one would believe him. No one would listen.

In the past few months, he had come to understand a harsh reality: he was powerless, just a bystander, unable to influence what was happening. He had no voice, and the one he had; he had to use it to command servants that were under someone else’s disposal.

It was devastating to say the least.

He silently watched what was unfolding before him, keeping his hands clenched together in front of him.

The whispers turned to a ripple through the crowd as motion appeared atop the castle wall.

Lucian stepped out, flanked by four guards.

The tall, imposing figures stood at the four sides. They all wore darkened steel armoy with House Kellius’ crest of a mighty rayan eagle. Their faces were hidden behind visors that had intimidating patterns, and their hands rested on the hilts of their swords. As always, they were poised for action, and their stance showed complete loyalty.

Lucian walked forward, his black and red robes flowing with each step, the silver embroidery shining in the sunlight. His dark, glossy hair caught the light, adding to his striking appearance. His tall frame looked even taller from behind, his shoulders straight and confident.

He raised his hand, and the murmurs from the crowd died down instantly. When he spoke, he used an amplified spell for his voice to echo through the square.

“Citizens of Veyrin,” he said. “You’ve heard of the events from the past week. My brother, Arzan Kellius, has fallen from grace. He has joined dark forces and burned an entire village under Baron Idrin’s protection—all over a petty land dispute.”

Gasps swept through the crowd. Lucian’s face grew stern. “Are the lives of common people so meaningless that they can be taken for such trivial reasons? Tell me! I think not. Through these acts, Arzan has shown his true nature to all of Lancephil—a madman and a tyrant who must be stopped.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, then smiled faintly as the crowd’s unease grew. “I know many of you still think of him as a hero, the one who fought the beast wave. I once believed in him too. I prayed to Goddess Lumaris for his strength so that he could serve our nation. But now I see the truth: his strength, the beast wave—it was all a deception, a scheme to seize power. And now, his true nature is clear for all to see. He is evil, inside and out, as I am sure you’ve realized.”

Lucian’s voice grew stronger, full of certainty. “I will not stand by while he slaughters innocents.”

Rubert’s heart raced as Lucian’s words rang in the air. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked back and forth between the people that had known this moment would come. He had tried to stop the young lord, begging him to reconsider. But Lucian was resolute, unwavering, and further argument would have cost Rubert his life.

Now, standing among the crowd outside the castle, he felt it’d have been better if he wasn’t alive to see this inhuman manipulation.

“And so, I will march,” Lucian announced, his amplified voice booming across the square, “leading the noble houses of the Sylvan Enclave—those who refuse to allow evil to rise in our lands. Together, we will bring my brother to trial and deliver justice to Baron Idrin and the countless souls he has destroyed. Will you join me?”

At first, only a few voices from the crowd called out, “Yes!” But soon, Rubert noticed servants from the castle, hidden among the citizens, raising their voices with enthusiasm. Their cries of support grew louder and louder, pushing aside any hesitation and whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Before long, the square echoed with chants of approval, as Lucian’s call for justice took hold.

Rubert’s chest tightened. He knew better than to believe Lucian’s righteous facade. Every word of that speech was crafted to deceive, painting Arzan as a villain to justify the coming bloodshed. Yet, to the gullible commoners, the lies didn’t matter. Sometimes, the appearance of righteousness was enough.

But Rubert understood what this meant for the people—especially the ordinary citizens swept up in this illusion. A fief war was never swift, and even if Arzan were outnumbered, his resilience against the beast wave proved he wouldn’t go down easily. The conflict would drag on, leaving destruction in its wake. And all these people who were willing to support Lucian? Forced conscription. Anyone capable of holding a weapon would be dragged to the battlefield. Even boys barely old enough to be called men would be sent to fight, their lives sacrificed as pawns for nobles who cared nothing for them.

Rubert frowned, his gaze sweeping the crowd one last time before he turned to leave. He needed to get away, to clear his mind. He knew it was futile—how could anyone dissociate from something this vast, this inevitable? But he had to try.

As he pushed through the throng, a hand gripped his shoulder.

Rubert froze, a voice cutting through the noise. “It’s so unfair, isn’t it? That the crowd doesn’t even know who the real evil is.”

Rubert turned, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the man addressing him. He was of average height but carried himself with a confidence that belied his modest frame. His brown hair was unkempt, curling in uneven tufts and marking him as a foreigner. His clothes were simple, yet they seemed deliberately chosen to avoid attention.

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Rubert looked down to take any hints of who this man was.

“What do you know?” Rubert asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Enough,” the man replied, his tone light but laced with meaning. “For one, it wasn’t Count Arzan who killed those villagers. The whole thing is a setup—a ploy to spark a fief war. But then, when have humans at the top ever been able to sit still without dragging the rest of us into their petty power games?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “The common people will bleed while they argue over who gets to wear the bigger crown.”

Rubert’s hands clenched at his sides. Something about the man’s presence felt off. It wasn’t just his words, sharp and accurate as they were. It was the way he spoke to Rubert, as though he already knew him—as though they had met before.

“I feel like you share my sentiment,” he added, his smirk softening into a knowing expression.

Rubert hesitated but eventually gave a slow nod. There was a weight in his chest, a nagging certainty that he knew far more than he let on. And that, somehow, this man was far more dangerous than he appeared. Should he even be talking to him? He didn’t know.

“How do you know all this?” he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention.

The stranger’s smirk didn’t waver. “I have my sources,” he replied cryptically. He turned his gaze toward the crowd, his expression momentarily softening as he watched the citizens chanting Lucian’s name, unaware of the storm brewing over their heads. “Wouldn’t it be great if all of them could survive what’s coming?”

Rubert exhaled sharply, glancing at the sea of faces. “Of course it would,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “But that’s not in my hands. It’s in the hands of Duke Kellius, and no one—not me, not anyone—can talk him out of this.”

“Actually, it might be in your hands.”

Rubert stiffened, turning to face the man fully. “What are you talking about?”

The man shrugged, gesturing casually to the castle looming above them. “Not stopping the war—that’s already begun, and nothing can change that now. But there’s something you can do to shorten it. A short war means fewer lives lost, and things can return to normal sooner.”

“How can I do that? I’m powerless.”

The man met his gaze. “I’ll explain it to you and no, you aren’t as powerless as you think,” he said, his voice lowering as the noise of the crowd swelled around them. He extended a hand. “But first, let me introduce myself properly. My name is Ansel, and I lead a group called the Watchers.”

***

Footsteps echoed in the silent corridor as Amyra approached her destination. The steady rhythm of her steps contrasted with the muffled shouts of guards training outside. Usually, their drills carried a disciplined cadence, but today, there was an undeniable fervor in the air, a tension that made her pause briefly by a window to glance outside.

She didn’t need to ask why—the entire castle was abuzz with it.

Word had spread like wildfire: Duke Lucian Kellius, the brother of Lord Arzan, had declared a fief war, seeking to wrest Veralt and Verdis from his sibling’s control. Amyra didn’t know the finer details, only snippets overheard from the maids’ gossip. But even those fragments painted Lucian as a villainous figure, a man willing to stoop to any low for power. One of those bad people who just wanted to push and push until there’s nothing left but himself.

Still, Amyra shrugged those thoughts aside. She had faith in Lord Arzan. He was strong—she had seen it firsthand—and she believed he would rise to meet this challenge, as he always did. Yet, as she continued walking, her worry wasn’t about the war or the chaos it would bring.

Her concern lay in the conversation she was about to have.

Since Lord Arzan’s return, he had been preoccupied with war preparations, strategizing late into the night with Francis and Killian. Their paths hadn’t crossed, but she knew it was only a matter of time. He would ask her the question she had managed to dodge before.

But would she try to avoid it again?

Amyra hated revisiting her past, hated dredging up the memories she had buried deep. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t keep running from them, especially not from people who had shown her nothing but kindness and trust. They’d helped her, made her a part of who they were, and if she had to move forward, she knew that she had to face her past.

There was no one way one could hope for the future, all the while carrying dirty baggage; they should drop it somewhere—and maybe, this was her chance.

Her hands tightened into fists as she reached her destination, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment had come. Without hesitating further, she raised her hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

A familiar voice called out from the other side of the door. Amyra hesitated for a heartbeat before pushing it open, stepping into the room.

Lord Arzan and Killian were bent over a large map spread across a table, deep in discussion. Both looked up as she entered. Arzan’s expression softened, a smile forming on his face as he straightened.

“It’s good to see you, Amyra,” he said warmly, gesturing to a chair nearby. “Please, sit.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment, assessing. “You look better. I’m glad you were able to wake up. I’ve been worried.”

Amyra lowered her head slightly, a pang of guilt threading through her chest. “I’m sorry to have worried you.” she felt her eyes tearing up.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lord Arzan waved her words away. “Whatever you did that day on the battlefield saved countless lives. If anything, it’s me who should be thanking you.”

She glanced up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice, but then his tone shifted, more thoughtful now.

“That being said,” he continued, “I have to admit—what I heard about that day, about what you did, isn’t something I’ve ever seen or even heard of before. At first, I thought it might have been some specialized spell, something particularly effective against creatures infused with dead mana. But to annihilate so many of them at once…” He shook his head. “That’s not something that can be done at your level, and I’m sure you know that.”

Amyra’s throat tightened, but she nodded slowly. “Yes… I’m aware.”

Arzan leaned back slightly, his expression still kind, but now tinged with curiosity. “Then, if you’re able, I’d like to understand. What happened that day? And more importantly… you, Amyra. I would like to know about you.”

She stiffened at the question, and he quickly raised a hand in reassurance. “Of course, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t press. I’d never hold it against you. But with the times ahead, any information—even something small—might help us. Anything you can share could be a boon.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the noise of activity beyond the walls. Amyra’s fingers clenched in her lap as she wrestled with the decision.

Finally, she nodded. “I don’t mind talking about it. I’ve been preparing myself to tell you since I walked here.” She hesitated, her voice quiet but firm as she continued. “But… I need your word. Both of you. Swear to me that what I share will not leave this room.”

Arzan’s eyes locked with hers, his expression solemn. “You have my word, Amyra. Whatever you say here will stay between us.”

Killian, standing tall and silent beside the map, inclined his head. “I swear it as well.”

Amyra let out a slow, measured breath, the weight of their assurances steadying her nerves.

Silence stretched between them as she gathered her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, tinged with a reluctance borne of painful memories.

“If I need to explain what I did back then,” she began, “then I have to tell you about my clan.” She paused, the words lodging in her throat for a moment before she forced them out.

“It 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.

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