Killian, Knight of Veralt, moved along the roads leading to the city, taking in the crisp morning air. His sword—the one Lord Arzan himself had gifted after the beast wave rested securely on his back, a familiar thing he barely noticed anymore.

It was rare for him to forgo morning training, but today, he had chosen to jog the perimeter of the city instead. By now, his subordinates had likely already started speculating about his absence, spinning all sorts of rumors. He had long since stopped caring. He was beyond such trivialities.

But he knew he needed to get away, to have space to think—especially after what Lord Arzan had revealed two weeks ago. No… should he call him Kai now? He wasn’t sure.

The revelation that his lord wasn’t from this era, that he was a man from the future, had been shocking. But in hindsight, it explained everything—his decisions, his knowledge, his unnerving foresight.

Strangely, it hadn’t changed how Killian perceived him. Yes, the deception stung. He had always regarded Lord Arzan as more than just his liege; he was a friend. Learning that the person he thought he knew was someone entirely different was unsettling. But he understood why the secret had been kept.

Regardless, his loyalty remained unchanged. The gravity of that revelation had been difficult to process, but Francis had helped him through it. The old man had ultimately chosen to remain in Lucian’s territory, fixing what needed to be fixed now that it was under their control, with the butler assisting him. Before Killian had departed for Veralt with Lord Arzan and a few others, he and Francis had spoken at length about their lord; everything he’d done to everything who he was. They had both come to the same conclusion—they would serve him to the end.

Not just because Arzan—Kai—had proven himself a just and capable ruler, not just because he had been magnanimous to his people, but because if what he had revealed was true, then a mere beast wave or a fief war was the least of their concerns.

Lost in thought, Killian soon found himself at the city gates. Over the past two weeks, following the war’s end, the gates had been expanded and reinforced. Additional smaller doors had been built into the massive main gate to allow easier passage for pedestrians, while a separate, larger entrance was designated for carriages.

And in front of those gates, a long line of people stretched out—people seeking entry, hoping to start a new life in Veralt.

Refugees were nothing new to Veralt—or even Verdis—but ever since Lord Arzan had taken control of the nobles who had sided with Lucian, the cities under their rule had fallen into disarray. Struggling to keep themselves running, rumors had spread like wildfire that Lord Arzan would seize their food and wealth to feed his own territory. Fearful of starvation and ruin, many had chosen to flee, seeking refuge in Veralt, hoping to assimilate with the victor.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for the influx. Veralt had quickly become the most prosperous city in the Sylvan Enclave, and merchants passing through had made sure tales of its growth reached every corner. It was a sight to see, especially after years of abandonment.

As Killian approached the gate, cutting through the long line of travelers, he caught snippets of conversation from a family sitting in a carriage.

“Why is it taking so long to get in?” a man grumbled.

A woman beside him sighed. “I saw them writing down everyone’s names on a parchment. That’s probably why.”

“Tch. Annoying,” the man muttered. “What’s the point of it anyway? And those creepy golems—they’re unsettling. I hope they don’t attack us.”

Killian passed them by with a slight smile, unfazed by their complaints. Because they wouldn’t be the first or the last to find the queue annoying.

As he neared the front of the line, he looked ahead to where the guards were stationed, recording the names, backgrounds, and purposes of every entrant. Next to them, several drones hovered in the air—silent sentinels.

These weren’t the explosive ones. From what he had heard from Balen, they were still prototypes, a work in progress meant to integrate into Veralt’s security system soon. For now, their only function was to float above the gates, acting as an eerie deterrent to anyone who thought about forcing their way inside.

He moved further down the line without giving a glance behind. He felt the streets beyond the gate hum with the usual bustle of Veralt, but today, there was something different in the air—a quiet anticipation, like the city itself was holding its breath. He could feel it, and even see it in some of the faces. He inhaled sharply and continued his steady pace.

The guards who were flanking the queue acknowledged his presence with a sharp bow. He gave a subtle nod back. He glanced to the side and caught sight of a few mercenaries—no, adventurers now—patrolling alongside the guards. His eyes lingered on Kellen, the red-haired one, and a memory of the beast wave stirred.

The adventurer guild, led by Gorak, had come together quickly. It wasn’t something Killian had expected, the way the guild had settled into the city’s rhythm so seamlessly. But Gorak’s steady hand had made all the difference, his leadership had paved the path.

As Killian stepped forward, the path ahead cleared effortlessly, the guards instinctively making room for him. He was used to it now—the subtle shift in the crowd, the way people gave him space, not out of fear but respect. But as he moved past the gates, the murmur of a voice reached his ears.

“Why are you letting him through? I’ll pay you extra to let me in faster,” a fat merchant in the front grumbled, his voice thick with annoyance.

A guard snapped back. “He’s no mercenary. He’s Knight Killian. Show some respect.”

Killian didn’t pause to hear the merchant’s reply. He had no time for them today. The city was bigger than petty squabbles, and so was he. With his head held high, he continued down the street.

His steps carried him towards the left side of the city, away from the estates and the training grounds. This was the part of Veralt that had been changing rapidly, where Lord Arzan’s plans were taking root. Schools, libraries, projects in the making—buildings that spoke of a future beyond just surviving, and getting the people to be educated.

Around him, others began to move in the same direction, their pace quickening as they neared the educational district. And soon, he found lots of gazes on him.

A child pointed, their eyes wide with wonder. A man tipped his hat with a smile and a brief, respectful nod. A woman called out, “Knight Killian, good to see you! Thank you for everything!”

He returned their nods and smiles, but inside, it felt like too much, too fast. Their eyes were filled with admiration, hope, and unspoken expectation. It was a heavy burden, yet one he wore willingly. After all, he hadn’t fought and bled for nothing. Not for himself, but for them—the city, the people. But he continued his walk.

He slowly neared an open ground, which was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices. He had arrived at his destination.

He walked closer to the center. His boots crunched on the gravel, and the air felt thick with the weight of history that was going to take place today. Towering before him, large square stone pillars erupted from the ground, their surfaces covered in carvings and faded diagrams.

One pillar in particular drew his attention. The scene it depicted was familiar, the final battle of the fief war—the day that had defined so many lives. A brave gunner stood at the heart of the scene, facing down a blood drinker in a desperate, last-ditch fight. The details of the struggle were frozen in time, a single moment where survival meant everything. Beside the image were names, neatly etched into the stone with lines of achievements, detailing the sacrifices of those who had fallen in the war and the beast wave that was before it.

The names weren’t just words on a monument—they were memories, lives lived, and lives lost. Each one represented someone who had given everything for the city. Lord Arzan’s first decree after victory had been to honor them—proper compensation for the families and a memorial to ensure their legacies endured.

As Killian studied the stone, he felt his heart grow heavy; a constant feeling that was in him these past few days. This was why he fought, why he stood by Lord Arzan. No matter who he was, Killian knew that this was a man who believed in justice, in remembering those who had been forgotten by time. And Killian had no doubt that he was serving the right cause.

As his fingers brushed the surface of the pillar, he felt the familiar stir of footsteps approaching. He turned to see Rhea Valen, Lord Arzan’s apprentice, and beside her was Francis’s apprentice, a young man named Siton—a slender boy who helped manage the administration in his absence.

The trio exchanged greetings.

Soon, Killian asked the question that came to his mind. “Where’s Lord Arzan?” His eyes scanned the ground, expecting to see the familiar figure.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it’s taken without the author’s consent. Report it.

Rhea shrugged slightly, a flicker of something in her expression—something between frustration and resignation. “I saw him talking to Amyra during breakfast. He’s probably busy teaching her something.”

Killian caught the subtle sulking in her tone but didn’t mention it. It wasn’t the time. Instead, his gaze shifted to the apprentice who had been quiet until now.

“I think he’ll be here soon,” Siton said. “He’s not the type to miss something like this. Today’s the official founding of the memorial.”

Killian chuckled softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think he’ll miss it, either. But if he’s with Amyra, it’s gonna take some time.”

***

In the magical arts, there were always problems. It was a truth that had echoed throughout history, one that every Mage, from the simplest to the most advanced, had to contend with.

The growth and advancement of magic had always been a matter of breaking through different sets of problems. Some of these challenges had taken centuries to overcome, while others remained stubbornly unsolved despite the tireless efforts of countless generations. Spells, techniques of mana manipulation, and even the mysteries of what lay at the peak of magic—these were problems that tested the limits of imagination and perseverance.

Kai, the Last Magus of the Sorcerer’s Tower, had taken on many such projects in his time. There had been a time when he had poured over ways to surgically alter his veins, striving to improve the flow of mana within him. Another time, he had dedicated himself to experimenting with Mana hearts, trying to amplify the innate affinities of individuals.

All of these projects had ended in failure, though not without yielding a few breakthroughs—insights that had pushed the boundaries of what he understood, but nothing concrete enough to bring lasting results. The experimentation had never brought him the definitive answer he had sought.

Still, those were problems he knew how to approach. Problems he could see through the lens of logic, technique, and incremental advancement. He had an inkling of an idea on how to move forward with them, a framework to follow. But as he looked down at Amyra, lying on the bed before him, her eyes full of hope and trust, he could only try his best to ease the deep frown that tugged his face.

He had checked her before, casually assessing her body’s quality, evaluating her innate talent, which had been off the charts—genius level. But now, as he channeled his mana again, sending it deep into her body, he found himself in uncharted territory.

His mana slid through her veins, gentle but taking everything into detail. He focused, pushing past her organs, feeling the rhythm of her pulse, but that wasn’t enough. This time, his mana dug deeper, searching her bones, her muscles, her mind. Every part of her was under his scrutiny, and with each subtle shift of his power, he delved further into the unknown.

Her mana stirred inside her instinctively, a subtle defense mechanism, trying to push his away, mistaking his probing as a potential threat.

But Kai didn’t pull back. He allowed her mana to fight back against his, a necessary part of the process. It would adjust, react, and settle. He had seen this before.

His focus sharpened, and as he continued his exploration, he pushed further, deeper—into her Mana heart. His senses sharpened as he searched for something specific, something hidden beneath the surface.

What was it? The source of her unique power. There was something in her, something that didn’t belong to the ordinary world of magic, a force that was both familiar and entirely foreign. Every corner of his mind buzzed as he focused, determined to understand it, to unravel the mystery of her extraordinary abilities.

Kai’s mana flowed through Amyra’s body like a slow river, tracing every vein, every fiber, every pulse. But no matter how deeply he probed, nothing stood out. Her organs were perfect—crafted for magic, each one designed to make her a Mage of incredible power, and her mana seemed to pulse with an unnatural, smooth flow. But there was no sign, no anomaly, that could explain why she was so immune to the dead mana.

He focused again, a third time, even deeper, trying to find anything he might have missed. His mind flickered through various theories, but each time, they crumbled beneath his scrutiny. Everything in her body screamed potential—nothing more. There was no secret, no hidden power beyond what any other talented Mage might have.

Finally, with a sigh, he withdrew his mana from her, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t find anything different in your body,” he admitted. “Your mana organs are in excellent condition, but there’s nothing that stands out enough to explain why you’re resistant to dead mana.”

Amyra nodded and simply sat up from the bed, a subtle grace to her movement as though the disappointment didn’t fully reach her heart. “I understand,” she said softly. “I wish I could help… but my clan only knew we had a special constitution. They never tried to find the reason behind it.”

Kai furrowed his brow, studying her. His eyes locked on her goldens. There was something about her calmness that made him press further. “Were there any myths or folktales passed down in your clan? Anything about why you were tasked to stand against dead mana, or how it might be possible?”

Amyra paused, her mind clearly wandering to the memories of her home. “There were bits of stories,” she murmured. “They said that a man gave us this duty, that he helped us settle our home… but there wasn’t much beyond that. More than the past, though, they talked about a future where we would be fighting against the fiends.”

Kai’s lips thinned together as he listened, sensing the sorrow that lined her words. “Did they know when that future would come?”

Amyra’s eyes grew distant. “My clan leader wasn’t as bullish on combat training,” she continued. “We’ve lived in peace for a century, and according to him, the prophecy wasn’t going to come for thousands of years. So the younger generation of Mages, like me, never got the necessary training. If only we had—”

Her words faltered. Kai’s hand gently pressed to her shoulder, grounding her in the moment. His touch was firm, and acted as a silent reminder to focus on the here and now.

“I know it’s painful,” he said; his voice sounded understanding. “And your mind likes to replay every possible scenario, to wish for a different outcome. But we need to stay in the present. Right now, what matters is what we can do.”

She looked at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, yet she gave a slow nod. She understood.

His mind was already spinning with possibilities, but he needed to voice his plan clearly, to give her some sense of direction.

“I believe I’ll be able to run more experiments to see if I can find the anomaly inside you,” he said.

Amyra raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What kind of experiments?”

Kai leaned back slightly, hands resting on his knees as he considered. “Well, there’s the soul inscription you mentioned. If I can get into your astral realm, perhaps I’ll find more. There’s a good chance that I won’t, but I need to try, and I’m curious about the inscription itself. Soul inscriptions like that are extremely rare. I’d be willing to bet that someone in your clan has extraordinary skill in them—enough to be sought after by every Mage in the world.” he paused. “Other than that, we might have to run some physical experiments, too.”

“Do we have to go out for that?”

Kai nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Yes. I want to see how exactly you interact with dead mana. Whether it’s just resistance or something more… That’s important for us to understand the full extent of your abilities. But we won’t be doing it now.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

Kai straightened, letting out a soft sigh as he stood up. “I have somewhere I need to be. The memorial. It’s today, and after that, I have a lot of work ahead of me. The new territories I’ve inherited need attention, and there are also some nobles—troublesome ones—who’ve been causing issues with the maids. I need to have a good talk with them.”

Amyra nodded, understanding the gravity in his tone. “Alright,” she said softly, her eyes briefly meeting his before she lay back down. “I’ll go out in a while.”

Kai understood that she needed space and nodded. “Okay,”

***

A/N – You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also, pre orders for Volume 1 are live.

PS – Book 1 gonna stub in a few days. It won’t affect you all current readers, but I hope you all can support the Amazon launch.

Pre-order Magus Reborn Volume 1 HERE.

Read 15 chapters ahead HERE.

Join the discord server HERE.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep