Previously at Reincarnation of the Magicless pinoy
The arena shook under the sheer presence of two legends. The air itself felt heavy, crackling with mana that bent light and warped shadows.
Edric stood tall, his blade now shattered—half of its edge lying somewhere amidst the rubble. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip, glinting crimson under the pale moonlight. Across from him, the two slayers who struck him were gasping, their armor cracked and their breathing uneven. Yet their eyes lit up with triumph.
"He's wounded…!" one of them hissed, trying to steady his trembling sword.
"Looks like the Curse Dragon Killer isn't invincible after all," the other mocked, though his voice wavered.
Edric's shoulders shook—not in pain, but laughter.
"Hah... For so long, I can't imagine small fries like you making me bleed." His voice deepened, laced with dark amusement. "Be honored. You're the first in decades."
The air stilled.
Then his gaze sharpened. "In return…"
He raised his hand, palm open.
"Allow me to get a bit serious."
Dark energy rippled from beneath his feet. The earth cracked as black sigils burned through the ground like molten veins. A chilling wind howled across the field as Edric's aura surged—an ancient, terrifying pressure that made even seasoned warriors feel like insects before a dragon.
From the void behind him, crimson smoke coiled upward, twisting and solidifying into a blade—black steel laced with glowing red veins, pulsing like a heartbeat. The hilt was shaped like a dragon's skull, fangs locked around a blood-red gem.
"The Curse Fang," one of the slayers whispered, eyes wide in dread.
The air ignited the moment Edric grasped it.
"That's right," Edric said with a grim smile. "Forged from the bones and fangs of the dragon I killed with my bare hands. The Curse Dragon itself."
Before anyone could blink, Edric vanished.
Clang! Clang! CRACK!
In the next instant, the first slayer's blade shattered, sending him flying back with a shockwave that tore the ground apart. Edric appeared behind him mid-air, twisting his wrist and cutting a perfect arc that split the air like thunder.
"GRAAAH!" the second slayer roared, appearing from above, his blade blazing with mana. He brought it down, releasing a beam of pure destruction.
Edric pivoted on his heel, dragging the Curse Fang in a full-circle slash. The impact exploded, throwing flames and debris in every direction. Sparks rained as two legendary blades met—and Edric's cursed blade devoured the mana within the strike.
"What… the hell kind of sword is that!?" the slayer gasped, backing away.
"One that doesn't just cut…" Edric said, eyes glowing crimson, "It feeds."
He lunged forward, movements so precise they felt inhuman—every swing smooth yet heavy, like a dragon's breath condensed into a blade's edge. Sparks flared, blades clashed, and every impact left a crater beneath them.
Then—a new presence arrived.
A flash of silver light descended from the sky, splitting the storm clouds apart. When the light dimmed, a tall man in a black and gold coat stood on the far edge of the field. His silver hair glimmered faintly in the light, and his golden eyes reflected calm dominance.
"...It's been a long time, Edric."
Edric froze mid-step, expression hardening.
"Vermorth," he said quietly, his tone carrying both respect and hostility.
One of the Seven. Like him. A Dragon Slayer of the old age.
The other slayers stumbled back in disbelief. "T-That's… Grand Duke Vermorth…!"
The newcomer's smile was faint but sharp. "So you're still playing with cursed blades. Some things never change."
Edric smirked, resting the Curse Fang on his shoulder. "And you still walk like you own the damn sky."
The wind between them roared—mana clashing invisibly as the ground cracked from sheer tension.
Then—both vanished.
The explosion that followed was blinding.
BOOOOOOM!
Shockwaves ripped through the battlefield, uprooting trees and sending soldiers tumbling. Sparks and light streaked across the sky as two of humanity's strongest clashed—each strike heavy enough to split mountains.
Sword met sword. Dragon-slayer against dragon-slayer.
Every move was a story. Every clash was a legend.
Encounter 6: Farger vs Father
The sound of the two legends' clash still echoed in the distance — like thunder rolling across the battlefield.
Sparks lit the far horizon where Edric and Vermorth's swords met again and again. Even from here, the shockwaves distorted the air, bending light itself.
Elian wiped the sweat from his brow, his sword glinting under the fractured sky. Beside him, Sophia's breathing was steady, her eyes locked forward — calm, but her mana pulsing faintly beneath her skin like golden fire.
The ground in front of them cracked open, and from the haze stepped a tall figure in black armor, face hidden behind a smooth, silver mask. His aura was thick and suffocating — calm yet predatory.
Sophia took a step forward, her voice sharp. "So you're the one behind this mess?"
The masked man tilted his head slightly. "Behind? No… I'm simply cleaning up the chaos your kind left behind."
Elian's grip tightened on his sword. That voice — calm, but dripping with arrogance. He knew it too well.
He smirked, shaking his head. "You really think that mask hides anything, Luke Arcadia?"
The masked man stopped. His hand hovered over the mask, but he didn't remove it yet.
Elian's grin widened, his tone mocking. "Come on, Luke. You don't need to hide that stupid face of yours."
For a moment, silence — then a low, amused chuckle escaped behind the mask.
Luke slowly raised his hand and pulled the mask off, revealing that same smug grin Elian remembered.
"So you knew," Luke said, almost laughing.
"Yeah," Elian shrugged, lowering his sword slightly. "News has wings, for god's sake."
Luke's smile stretched wider, that old cruel confidence flashing in his eyes. "Hahaha. You really do have that sharp tongue of your younger brother."
Elian's grin hardened, a glint of pride in his gaze. "Guess it runs in the family. Too bad you never had one worth learning from."
That hit deep. Luke's expression shifted — the humor fading into cold fury. His aura flared, blue-black mana swirling around him like smoke.
Sophia stepped forward, her golden aura igniting in answer. "If you're done talking," she said, her voice calm but lethal, "let's end this, Arcadia."
Luke's grin returned, vicious and hungry. "Gladly, Princess."
The ground exploded beneath them as all three moved — their blades meeting in a blinding flash that tore through the air. Elian's strikes were precise, fueled by anger and memory, while Sophia's movements wove light into arcs that clashed against Luke's dark energy.
The air trembled with heat and pressure. Two legends clashed — Edric, the Cursed Dragon Killer, and Vermorth, one of the Original Seven Dragon Slayers.
Their swords howled like beasts every time they met, each strike bending the ground and carving lines of light through the battlefield.
Edric's blade moved with precise, almost effortless control. He was calm, his expression unreadable — every swing deliberate, measured, lethal. Vermorth countered with a sweeping might, his sword glowing in runic gold, his strikes heavy enough to break mountains.
Their power tore the clouds apart. Dust and wind whirled violently, wrapping around them like a storm of blades.
"Still as sharp as ever," Vermorth grunted, blocking Edric's downward slash that cracked the stone beneath his feet.
"You've gotten slower," Edric replied coldly, pushing forward, forcing Vermorth to take a step back.
Then, in the middle of the chaos, Vermorth noticed something strange — a subtle shift in Edric's stance. His left foot turned slightly, his wrist lowered by a few degrees. The movement was small, almost unnoticeable, but to a veteran like Vermorth, it was clear as day.
That stance… that feint…
Edric vanished for a heartbeat — no mana, no sound, only a blur of motion — and reappeared behind Vermorth, sword sweeping upward in a graceful yet deadly arc.
Vermorth barely caught it in time. Sparks burst between them, the impact throwing both men backward.
"That technique…" Vermorth whispered, narrowing his eyes. "That was Saber Feint, wasn't it?"
Edric paused, exhaling through his nose — not answering, but the faint smirk at the corner of his mouth told Vermorth everything.
"So," Vermorth said slowly, his tone shifting, "the rumors were true. The Black Wraith... the mercenary who saved my son... was your boy."
For a second, even the roaring wind seemed to quiet down.
Edric raised his blade again, resting it on his shoulder. "Rolien… he has a habit of picking fights he shouldn't."
Vermorth chuckled, a faint warmth in his eyes. "He saved my son's life. Twice. First from that cursed sickness… and later from an assassin's blade. I owed the Black Wraith my blood — but I never knew he carried your name."
Lightning flashed between them again — the silence shattered by their blades clashing once more. This time, their movements had a strange rhythm — a mutual respect hidden behind every strike.
Edric weaved through Vermorth's heavy swings, flowing like water, feinting with Rolien's technique, slipping through impossible angles.
Vermorth, grinning like a warrior reborn, met him head-on.
Their swords collided again and again, creating a blinding storm of sparks. The ground beneath them cracked and split like glass. Each movement was a conversation — Edric's calm precision against Vermorth's brute mastery, both testing the other's limits.
Finally, they clashed in a deadlock, both blades pressing against each other.
"Seems your son inherited your stubbornness," Vermorth said through gritted teeth.
"He inherited his mother's heart," Edric replied softly, pushing him back.
The words struck deeper than any sword.
They broke apart, circling once more — two dragons in human form, moving with grace that belied their power.
The air grew still again, heavy with the promise of another storm.
Vermorth smirked, gripping his sword tighter. "Then let's see, Edric. If the father of the Black Wraith can still dance with dragons."
Edric's eyes glowed faintly crimson, his aura rippling like heat from a forge. "Come then, old friend. Let's find out who's still worthy of the title—Dragon Slayer."
Their next clash would decide more than strength. It was a duel between past and present — between the fathers of legends yet to come.
Steel clashed again — sparks bursting with every swing.
Elian lunged in first, his sword tracing a fast arc, but Luke met it effortlessly, his wrist twisting with inhuman precision. The next second, a burst of blue fire erupted from Luke's free hand, forcing Sophia to leap aside.
"Damn it, Elian! Watch your swing!" Sophia shouted, her tone sharp but not angry — just desperate to regain rhythm.
"You're the one shooting spells like fireworks!" Elian shot back, ducking under a slash that would've taken his head.
Luke laughed, his movements a perfect blend of grace and brutality. His blade blurred, parrying Elian's strikes while his off-hand summoned bursts of mana, each one exploding with concussive force.
He didn't fight like a swordsman or a mage — he fought like both at once, every move layered and unpredictable.
Sophia raised her hand, chanting fast, golden runes forming in the air behind her. Bolts of radiant energy shot forward — but Luke spun, his sword slicing through them as if they were paper, sending shards of light scattering like broken glass.
"You call this teamwork?" Luke sneered, sidestepping Elian's thrust. His blade flashed, grazing Elian's cheek. "Pathetic. No wonder your brother had to fight alone."
Elian's eyes narrowed, his grin sharp even as blood trickled down his face. "Careful, Luke. You're talking about a man who doesn't need magic to kick your arrogant ass."
Luke's expression shifted — mockery flickering for just a second.
"Ah, yes…" he said, feigning thought. "The Magicless. The infamous little freak who thought he could stand with mages. Tell me, did he cry when the others left him behind?"
That did it.
Elian's aura flared, his sword glowing faintly white from pure mana pressure. "Yeah," he said with a smirk, "a 'Magicless' who kicked your ass twice. You remember that, don't you?"
Luke's smile faltered.
Before he could reply, Elian dashed forward, faster than before — his movements wild but full of fury. Sophia caught the rhythm and raised her staff, layering her brother with enhancement spells — speed, reflex, and force.
Elian's blade met Luke's again, this time heavier. The shockwave split the ground beneath them. Luke blocked the first, dodged the second — but the third came from behind as Sophia's spell detonated mid-air, bursting into a concussive blast of light.
Luke spun, his coat whipping in the air, and thrust his hand out — a dark shield forming just in time to block Sophia's strike.
"You're improving," he muttered, tone almost impressed. "But not enough."
He stomped the ground — black mana erupting like a geyser, forcing both siblings back.
Sophia landed hard, coughing from the smoke. "Elian!"
"I'm good!" he yelled, rolling to his feet and glaring through the haze. "He's fast—"
Before he could finish, Luke appeared in front of him, their blades crossing with a metallic scream.
"You've got his eyes," Luke whispered, pressing forward. "Your brother's. That same look — stubborn, reckless… doomed."
Elian gritted his teeth, sparks flying as their swords locked. "And you've got the same face as always — the kind that begs to be punched."
He twisted, broke the lock, and swung upward — Sophia's magic circle ignited behind him, firing a massive lance of light that barely missed Luke's head.
Luke backflipped away, his smirk returning as he landed lightly on a shattered pillar. "Cute trick."
He raised his blade, pointing it toward them. "Let's see how long you can last before your teamwork collapses completely."
Sophia steadied her breathing, glowing sigils circling her hands. Elian wiped the blood from his mouth and raised his sword again.
Both of them knew it — Luke Arcadia wasn't fighting seriously yet.
And still, he was winning.
But Elian just grinned. "Then come on, 'Hero.' Let's see if you can handle two Greys when we actually stop holding back."
Luke landed lightly on the broken marble floor, his coat fluttering in the wind. The faint smirk on his face never faded, but his eyes narrowed — sharp, calculating.
Across from him, Elian rolled his shoulder, tightening his grip on his sword, while Sophia stood a few meters behind, her staff glowing with layered enchantments. They locked eyes for a brief second — no words, just a quiet understanding.
This time, they moved in sync.
Elian charged first, his footwork sharper and more grounded. His swings weren't random anymore — they were measured, forcing Luke to parry instead of toy with him. Sophia followed the rhythm, weaving spells through the openings Elian created — bursts of light, short-range fire sigils, and kinetic pulses that altered the battlefield like invisible traps.
Luke deflected a strike to his right, only for a gust of enchanted wind to twist the momentum against him. He countered by snapping his fingers, creating a flash barrier — but Sophia anticipated it, channeling her mana through the ground.
The earth beneath Luke's feet erupted.
"Tch—!" He jumped back, just as Elian's blade sliced through the space he'd been standing in.
"Got you," Elian hissed, driving his knee into Luke's gut mid-air before slashing downward.
The impact thundered across the plaza. Luke hit the ground hard, skidding back with a low grunt — his smirk gone now.
He looked up at them slowly. "...Not bad."
Sophia's hair fluttered in the mana wind, her eyes glowing faintly gold. "You think we'd fall behind while you were out playing hero?"
Elian twirled his blade, grinning. "That's for all the crap you said about Rolien."
For the first time, Luke didn't respond. His gaze dropped, shadowed by his hair — and then he chuckled, quietly. It wasn't the same mocking laugh. It was darker.
"Fine," he said, voice low. "Then I'll stop holding back too."
The air changed.
A crimson pulse flared from his body, bending light around him. His sword hummed, veins of black mana crawling up the blade like living cracks. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the wind howled in reverse, drawn toward him.
"Elian—" Sophia whispered, taking a step back. "That's… not human mana."
"No," Luke said softly, lifting his face. His eyes were glowing red now — veins faintly visible beneath his skin. "It's not."
He blurred forward.
Elian barely saw the movement before Luke's knee drove into his ribs, followed by a backhand slash that sent him spinning. Sophia shouted his name, but Luke was already in front of her — too close. She raised her staff, but Luke's blade stopped an inch from her throat, his breath steady.
"You two did well," he said. "But you're playing a different game."
Sophia's jaw tightened — she could feel the overwhelming pressure radiating from him. His mana wasn't just dense; it was twisted, like something ancient had touched it.
Elian stumbled back to his feet, coughing blood, eyes blazing. "That power… it's not yours, Luke. What the hell did you do?"
Luke smiled faintly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's just say… I learned from someone far worse than your father."
Elian froze, eyes widening. "...You didn't."
Luke tilted his head. "You think only Grey bloodlines make deals with monsters?"
He vanished again, reappearing behind Elian — their blades clashing in a burst of sparks. Elian grunted, feeling the sheer force behind the strike. Sophia raised her staff, conjuring a dome of light around her brother, blocking Luke's follow-up swing. The impact cracked the barrier like glass.
"Stay back, Sophia!" Elian shouted, breaking the barrier himself and countering with a feint — Rolien's saber feint, the move he'd seen his brother use countless times in training.
Luke's eyes widened slightly — too late. Elian twisted mid-swing and drove the flat of his blade against Luke's side, launching him across the courtyard.
"Ha… got you that time." Elian smirked, though his breathing was heavy.
Luke stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his coat. For the first time, he looked serious — no grin, no mockery. Just cold focus.
"Yeah," he muttered, "that's definitely a Grey move."
He lifted his sword and pointed it at Elian again. "But tell me something… if you've mastered his tricks — where the hell is he now?"
Elian's expression darkened. Sophia's spell faltered for a split second.
Luke's grin returned, sharp and cruel. "That's what I thought."
The air erupted again — his mana flaring like wildfire.
Elian and Sophia braced themselves.
The real fight was only beginning.
To be continue...