Reincarnation Of The Magicless Pinoy
From Zero to Hero: " No Magic? No Problem!"
Encounter 36: Grudges!
The name dropped like a grenade in the silence.
"Long time no see, Captain Black Ripper," Luke said, voice low and almost reverent. "Or should I say… Captain Rowan Curtis Gray?"
Rolien froze mid-step.
The world narrowed to that single sentence.
Twelve years on Earth. Seventeen years in this body that refused to age past sixteen. All of it collapsed into the space between them.
He stood slowly—boots grinding ash and scale. The Tenbatsu no Yari stayed low in his right hand, crimson veins pulsing slow and steady. The air pistol remained up in his left, barrel still warm from the last shots.
Rolien tilted his head. The cracked mask caught torchlight along the fissures.
"Heh," he said, voice rough but steady. "Didn't expect to see you here too. Guess the gods of this world have a bad taste in choosing you."
Luke's grin widened—something feral and old flickering behind it.
"Heh, me neither. I got a bad omen the moment I saw you. But I didn't expect my guts were right about you all along." He laughed—low, jagged, the laugh of someone who'd waited too long for this. "Hahahaha… what a cruel fate. Both of us here! Maybe this is for my revenge! The gods gave me this chance to take back what you stole from me that day, Gray!"
Rolien's shoulders rose once—slow inhale.
"Heh, still stuck with that kind of stupid reasoning. Dude, that's twenty years ago. Get over it. Get a life!" He paused, almost amused. "Well… you already have one. But I'm not the—"
"You FUCKER!!" Luke's shout cracked across the courtyard like thunder. "DON'T YOU DARE CALL THAT STUPID OR PETTY REASON! YOU AND YOUR MEN TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!!! YOU'RE THE ONLY REASON WHY… WHY I ENDED UP LIKE THAT!!"
The violet light in Luke's palms flared—wild, unstable. His breathing came ragged now, eyes glowing brighter, pupils blown wide.
Rolien's grin faded completely.
For a heartbeat the courtyard was silent except for the crackle of dying fires.
Then Luke's mind went somewhere else.
Rain hammered the pavement—cold, relentless, turning the street into a black mirror. Hunter Solomon sprinted through it, boots splashing in puddles, heart slamming against his ribs. Coat soaked through. Hair plastered to his forehead. He didn't care.
"Please," he muttered under his breath, over and over. "Please be safe. Be safe."
Lightning split the sky—white-blue, blinding. Thunder rolled so loud it rattled windows.
He rounded the corner.
His house—small, two-story, porch light still on.
He skidded to a stop.
Through the rain-streaked window he saw movement inside. A figure. Tall. Masked? No—hood up, gun in hand.
Hunter's stomach dropped.
"STOP!" he screamed, voice lost in the storm.
The figure turned.
Lightning flashed again—perfect timing.
The face under the hood was clear for half a second.
Rowan Curtis Gray.
Rolien.
Hunter's world tilted.
He lunged for the door—fingers slipping on the wet knob.
The gunshot cracked inside—sharp, final.
Then another.
Then—
BOOM.
The explosion ripped outward—orange-white fire blooming through the windows, blowing the front door off its hinges. The blast threw Hunter backward—boots leaving the ground, body tumbling across the wet pavement. He hit hard. Rolled. Came up on hands and knees, ears ringing, vision white at the edges.
Pain screamed through his ribs, his arm, his back.
He ignored it.
Crawled.
Dragged himself toward the burning doorway.
Inside—flames. Smoke. Two small bodies crumpled on the living room floor. His wife. His daughter. Still holding each other even in death.
Hunter reached them. Pulled them close. Held them against his chest while the fire roared around him.
He didn't scream.
He just cried—silent, broken sobs swallowed by the rain and the crackle of burning wood.
Back in the courtyard, Luke's eyes refocused.
The violet light in his palms had dimmed to a sullen glow.
He looked at Rolien—really looked.
"You took them from me," he said, voice cracking on the last word. "My wife. My daughter. Everything."
Rolien stared back.
For once he didn't have a joke.
He just stood there—sword low, pistol still up, curse veins in the Jawbreaker pulsing slow and steady.
Then he spoke—quiet, almost gentle.
"I didn't pul-."
Luke's face twisted. interrupted him and say.
"You were there!" he screamed. "You were the one who—"
The air snapped.
A monstrous shadow detached from the smoke behind the broken colonnade.
Vorax erupted forward like a landslide—obsidian axe already raised high, trailing black-purple afterimages. The giant brought it down in a single, earth-shattering arc aimed straight at Rolien's skull.
At the exact same instant, Thane blurred in from the opposite side—silver hair whipping, twin frost blades flashing in crossing cuts: one high for the throat, one low for the kidneys.
Rolien reacted on pure reflex.
He dropped low and twisted—the Tenbatsu no Yari whipping up in a desperate two-handed block. The crimson blade met Vorax's axe with a deafening CLANG that sent shockwaves rolling outward, cracking more stone underfoot. Sparks of curse-energy and violet-black mana exploded in every direction.
Thane's blades sliced through the space Rolien had just occupied—frost trailing in deadly arcs. Rolien rolled sideways, coming up in a crouch, pistol snapping toward Thane while the spear stayed locked against Vorax's overwhelming strength.
Vorax leaned into the bind, helm tilting down at Rolien.
"Enough," the giant rumbled, voice like grinding tectonic plates. "No more fairy tales from you. The duke gets his justice. Clean."
Thane circled fast, blades spinning once before settling into ready stance. Frost crept across the scorched ground where his boots touched.
"You talk when you should be dying, Gray," Thane said, tone flat and cold. "We're not here for your version."
Luke stood frozen mid-breath—violet mana still coiling wildly around his fists, eyes locked on Rolien. The raw, shattering fury in his face had fractured for a split second at Rolien's unfinished words, but now the interruption had slammed the door shut again.
Rolien shoved hard against Vorax's axe, forcing the giant back half a step. He rose slowly, rolling his neck once, mask impassive.
"Appreciate the dramatic timing," he muttered, voice dry despite the tension. "Really sets the mood."
The Tenbatsu no Yari thrummed hotter in his grip, crimson veins flaring brighter as if feeding on the sudden chaos.
Three against one.
Again.
Rolien exhaled sharply through the mask and flicked his wrist—the air pistol spinning once before holstering in a smooth motion. No more words.
Vorax didn't pause.
The giant ripped his axe free and swung in a devastating overhead chop that cratered the stone where Rolien stood a heartbeat earlier. Rolien sidestepped, Tenbatsu no Yari whipping up in a counter-slash that sent sparks screaming off Vorax's pauldron.
Thane flowed in immediately—blades flashing in a merciless chain: high diagonal, low reverse sweep, spinning cross-cut. Frost detonated with every near-miss, black ice blooming across the courtyard floor like spreading veins.
Rolien parried the high strike—crimson edge clashing with frost in a burst of white sparks—then twisted away from the low sweep and ducked the cross-cut. The chill grazed his cheek through the cracked visor. He retaliated with a brutal upward cut toward Thane's midsection; the silver-haired fighter crossed blades to block but was driven back two sliding steps.
Vorax charged again—axe sweeping low in a leg-reaping arc. Rolien vaulted over the blade, landed in a crouch, and lashed out with a spinning slash at Vorax's exposed side. The crimson edge carved a shallow gouge through armor plating; Vorax bellowed and swung a gauntleted fist in retaliation.
The backhand landed like a cannon shot.
Rolien was hurled sideways—body tumbling across scorched stone—crashing through debris and skidding to a halt on one knee. Pain lanced through his ribs, armor smoking.
That was when he sensed it.
A heavy, oppressive thrum building in the air.
Luke.
The duke stood rooted amid the chaos, both hands raised, violet-black mana compressing into a dense, roiling orb above his palms. Light warped around it; shadows bent inward like the sphere was swallowing them whole. The ground under Luke cracked in dark webs. The spell's signature hit Rolien like a physical blow—he knew that weave. Every glyph, every curse-thread, every reinforcement loop—he had designed it himself. Years ago. For Sophia. Locked in the private grimoire he'd never meant for anyone else to see.
Luke had it now.
And he was about to fire.
Rolien surged forward—Tenbatsu no Yari blazing crimson—determined to close the gap and shatter the cast before it could release.
"Luke—!"
Too late.
Luke thrust both hands forward.
The orb erupted into a searing violet-black lance—wide as a doorway, howling with compressed destruction, ripping a molten furrow through the courtyard straight at Rolien.
Rolien planted his feet and raised the sword in a desperate guard—curse veins flaring to their limit—but the force was apocalyptic. The beam slammed into the blade and overwhelmed him.
He was flung backward like a ragdoll—Tenbatsu wrenched from his grip, armor scorched black—tumbling end over end until he crashed against the far wall in a spray of shattered stone. The sword clattered away across the floor.
The lance continued its path, unstoppable, aimed to obliterate him where he lay.
Then—
Two figures flashed into its trajectory.
Marcellus—broad frame still battered, armor dented and scorched from his earlier savage clash with Thane—threw himself forward, gauntlets raised. A radiant golden barrier snapped up, absorbing the initial impact with a thunderous crack.
Arden appeared at his side in the same heartbeat—slender blade drawn, edge shimmering pale azure. He slashed once—precise, surgical—cleaving the lance cleanly in two. The split halves veered violently, detonating against the courtyard walls in twin explosions of violet flame and flying rubble.
The beam guttered and died.
A ringing silence settled, broken only by the hiss of superheated stone and distant crackling fires.
Rolien pushed himself up on shaking arms—vision blurred, ribs on fire—staring at the two newcomers.
His eyes widened behind the cracked visor.
He knew that spell. He had written it. For her.
Marcellus lowered his arms slowly, grimacing as he pressed a hand to his side. Fresh blood seeped through torn bandages—old frost wounds from Thane's blades reopening under the strain of the block.
Arden sheathed his blade with a quiet click, glancing back at Rolien with a faint, crooked smile.
"Mind if these old folks join, eh?" Marcellus rumbled, voice gravelly but firm despite the visible pain.
Rolien stared at the two men standing between him and the dying beam.
For a second he didn't move.
The courtyard was still filled with drifting smoke and burning debris. His ears rang from the explosion, ribs screaming every time he breathed. Yet his eyes were locked on one person.
Arden.
Rolien's brow tightened behind the cracked visor.
"…Uncle?"
Arden glanced over his shoulder, calm as ever, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Hey, kid."
Rolien blinked.
Not surprise that Arden existed. Not confusion about who he was.
But confusion about why he was here.
"I thought you went north with the dwarves," Rolien said, voice rough from the blast.
Arden shrugged lightly as if they were talking in a tavern instead of the middle of a battlefield.
"Changed my mind."
Marcellus let out a tired grunt beside him, still holding his side where fresh blood seeped through the cracked armor.
"That's one way to put it," the old knight muttered.
Across the shattered courtyard, Luke slowly lowered his hands as the remnants of violet-black mana faded from his palms.
Vorax shifted his massive axe onto one shoulder, helmet tilting as he studied the new arrivals.
Thane's silver eyes narrowed slightly when they settled on Arden.
Recognition flashed.
"…Arden Voss."
Arden rolled his neck once.
"Still alive, I see."
Ice spread slowly beneath Thane's boots.
"You disappeared years ago."
Arden gave a faint, amused exhale.
"People say that when you stop attending their funerals."
Luke stepped forward.
His eyes never left Rolien.
The fury inside them burned colder now.
"Good," he said quietly. "More witnesses."
Rolien pushed himself upright, muscles protesting.
He flexed his fingers slowly before his gaze found the Tenbatsu no Yari lying across the broken stone.
Arden noticed.
Without even looking down, he nudged the blade across the floor with the tip of his boot.
The sword slid through ash and rubble until it stopped beside Rolien.
Rolien bent and grabbed it.
The moment his hand closed around the hilt, the crimson veins along the blade pulsed brighter, responding to him.
Vorax chuckled deeply.
"Nice reunion."
The giant slammed the butt of his axe into the ground.
The courtyard trembled.
"Now finish it."
Luke lifted one hand again, violet mana curling around his fingers.
Thane lowered his stance, frost blades crossing in front of him.
Marcellus stepped forward with a grunt, planting himself between Vorax and the others. His golden aura flickered weakly but stubbornly around his gauntlets.
Arden drew his sword again with a quiet metallic whisper and stepped slightly to Rolien's side.
"Try not to get killed before this is over," Arden said calmly.
Rolien let out a dry breath.
"Great advice."
Three lines formed across the broken courtyard.
Vorax moved first.
The ground cracked under his charge.
Thane vanished a heartbeat later, silver hair streaking through the smoke as he rushed straight for Arden.
Luke advanced toward Rolien, violet mana burning around his fists.
Rolien exhaled slowly.
Then the battlefield erupted again.
Vorax's axe came crashing down like a falling tower.
Marcellus met it head-on.
Their clash exploded in a burst of gold and black energy that blasted dust and rubble outward. The impact drove Marcellus half a step into the stone, but he held.
The old knight gritted his teeth.
"You swing like a drunk giant!"
Vorax laughed.
"You block like a dying one!"
The axe ripped free and came again in a sweeping horizontal strike. Marcellus twisted, letting the edge scrape his armor while slamming a heavy gauntlet into Vorax's ribs with a thunderous punch.
Steel screamed nearby.
Thane and Arden collided in a flash of silver and frost.
Thane's twin blades carved six rapid strikes through the air.
Arden moved through them with minimal motion.
One deflection.
Another.
A twist of the wrist to redirect the third.
The fourth grazed his sleeve, instantly freezing the cloth solid before he tore free and thrust straight toward Thane's throat.
Thane slipped aside just in time, frost scattering across the ground.
Across the courtyard—
Rolien and Luke closed the distance.
Luke's fist shot forward first, wrapped in violet mana.
Rolien pivoted aside.
The punch missed him but blasted a crater into the wall behind him.
Rolien countered immediately with a brutal diagonal slash.
Luke leaned back, the crimson blade cutting only air and a strand of his hair.
They separated.
Both breathing hard.
Luke's eyes burned with hatred.
"You still dodge like that."
Rolien rolled his shoulder.
"You still punch like an idiot."
Luke snarled and surged forward again.
Rolien stepped in to meet him.
Steel and violet light collided once more in the burning courtyard while around them the other battles raged—gold against black iron, frost against steel.
Old rivals.
Old grudges.
And now, family had stepped into the fight too.
Meanwhile
The battlefield behind them roared with the sound of clashing steel and exploding magic.
From the edge of the ruined courtyard, Elian Gray forced himself to keep moving.
Each step felt like walking on broken glass.
His armor was cracked in several places, one pauldron half torn away. Blood had dried along the edge of his jaw and neck where a blade had grazed him earlier. His left leg dragged slightly with every step, refusing to obey him properly.
Leto had an arm under his shoulder, supporting most of his weight.
"Easy," Leto muttered. "Don't try to be a hero now."
Elian let out a quiet breath through clenched teeth.
"Bit late for that."
Behind them, Mira knelt beside the unconscious form of Prince Darius. The young prince's armor was scorched black and dented from the earlier fighting, his breathing shallow but steady.
Mira slipped one arm under his back and another beneath his knees, then lifted with a grunt.
The prince wasn't light.
But Mira carried him anyway.
She glanced once over her shoulder.
Through the smoke and burning rubble she could still see flashes of light where the real battle was happening now.
Crimson.
Gold.
Violet.
And frost.
Rolien was still down there.
Along with the monsters trying to kill him.
Her jaw tightened.
Up ahead, the corridor leading away from the courtyard was partially collapsed but still passable. Broken stone and fallen banners littered the ground. Torches flickered weakly against the walls.
Elian slowed.
Then stopped.
Leto noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
Elian turned his head slightly, looking back toward the battlefield they had just left behind.
The sounds of fighting echoed faintly through the ruined halls now.
A distant thunder of power.
For a moment his expression tightened.
Then he spoke.
"I hate to admit it…"
His voice came out hoarse.
"…but we have to go now."
Mira froze for a second.
Leto stared at him like he'd just said something insane.
"What?" Leto said. "Man, they need our help—"
Elian cut him off before he could finish.
"No."
The word was quiet but firm.
Leto frowned.
Elian looked back toward the courtyard one last time.
Smoke drifted through the broken archway. Somewhere beyond it another shockwave rolled through the stone, followed by the distant crash of something massive hitting the ground.
His younger brother was still fighting in there.
Against three monsters.
And yet…
Elian shook his head slowly.
"If we stay," he said, "we're just going to get in their way."
Leto didn't answer right away.
His grip on Elian's armor tightened slightly.
"They've got this," Elian continued quietly. "They can win."
For a moment the hallway was silent except for the distant rumble of battle and Mira's steady breathing as she held the prince.
Leto exhaled through his nose.
"…Damn it."
He looked down the corridor where the surviving soldiers were gathering—knights leaning on spears, mercenaries clutching wounds, a few still trying to drag their injured comrades along.
They were exhausted.
Half of them could barely stand.
If they went back into that fight…
Most of them would die before they even reached the courtyard.
Leto ran a hand through his hair.
"Alright," he muttered.
Then he turned toward the battered group of survivors.
His voice rose, sharp and commanding.
"Listen up!"
Heads turned.
Some of the knights straightened despite their injuries.
Leto pointed down the corridor leading away from the battlefield.
"We're pulling back!" he shouted. "All surviving knights and mercenaries—fall back to the lower gate!"
A murmur rippled through the group.
One mercenary frowned.
"What about the fight?"
Another knight glanced nervously toward the direction of the courtyard where flashes of light still erupted in the distance.
Leto's expression hardened.
"That fight isn't ours anymore."
He jerked his thumb back toward the roaring battlefield.
"They've got it handled."
Mira shifted the unconscious prince in her arms and stepped forward.
"Move," she said firmly to the nearest soldiers. "If the prince dies because we stood here arguing, I swear I'll personally bury every one of you."
That got them moving.
Fast.
The surviving fighters began gathering the wounded and retreating down the corridor, boots scraping over broken stone.
Elian watched them go.
Then he looked back one last time.
Through the shattered archway, a distant explosion of crimson light lit the sky above the courtyard.
Rolien was still fighting.
Elian let out a slow breath.
"Don't die," he murmured under his breath.
Then he turned away.
To be continue