Eldric stood on the balcony, his eyes lifted to the night sky as he slowly sipped from the vial in his hand. The dark liquid inside—hex drops—slid down his throat like warm fire. He hummed in ecstasy. He treated it like wine, but in his opinion, it was far better.

  No wine had ever made him feel like this.

  The moment it entered his body, a familiar warmth spread through his veins. His thoughts sharpened. His muscles felt lighter and way stronger. Every time he drank it, he felt more confident, more complete like he was slowly becoming the man he was meant to be. And beneath it all, his power continued to grow, steady and undeniable.

  That alone would have been enough to put him in a good mood.

  But there was another reason Eldric was smiling.

  Two days ago, the news had reached him.

  Thalric was dead.

  At first, Eldric hadn’t believed it. Thalric being captured made far more sense. A prince was always hard to kill after all. But the truth revealed itself quickly enough. Thalric’s armies had collapsed almost overnight. The forces besieging Eden City had vanished, abandoning their camps under cover of darkness. Even nobles had fled alongside common soldiers.

  That alone told Eldric everything.

  If Thalric had still been alive—even imprisoned—those men would not have run. They would have waited. They would have hoped.

  Instead, they scattered.

  Which meant his brother was truly dead.

  Eldric exhaled softly, another sip of hex drops touching his lips. He had always believed Thalric would die first. Even as children, Thalric had been reckless—loud, impulsive, convinced that strength alone could solve everything. Eldric had once thought he would feel grief when that day came.

  But now?

  There was none.

  There was no sorrow or anger bubbling in his heart, only disappointment. His brother had fallen far too quickly.

  Eldric had wanted him alive longer, wanted him to keep Arzan occupied, to bleed him slowly, to drag the war out. Instead, Thalric had proven himself to be exactly what Eldric had always suspected in the end: a blunt weapon wielded without care.

  Useless.

  Still, Eldric’s gaze narrowed slightly as he stared into the distance.

  Something about Thalric’s death bothered him.

  He knew about the siege of Fort Kaelgrim. He had heard about the explosion—the one that had shaken the land itself, the one people claimed could be heard for miles. Fort Kaelgrim no longer existed.

  When his scouts had returned, the reports they brought were hard to believe.

  The stone walls that had stood for centuries were reduced to melted rubble and blackened craters, as if a dragon had descended from the sky and torn the fort apart in a fit of rage. Even from miles away, the land around it was scarred.

  Eldric considered that a victory in its own way. Whatever had happened there had removed Thalric from the board completely. Rumours were already spreading—wild stories of divine punishment, forbidden spells and everything else—but Eldric didn’t care for rumours.

  He wanted the truth.

  He raised the glass again, taking another slow sip of the hex drops, letting the warmth spread through his body, when he heard footsteps behind him.

  Eldric turned.

  Mage Jasper was approaching, his robes still neat despite the late hour. He had become Eldric’s primary Mage, the one commanding the others in Eden City. Eldric knew well enough that Jasper’s loyalty leaned toward his mother, Regina, but he tolerated the man since he was the strongest Mage he had.

  Jasper stopped a few steps away and bowed.

  Eldric gave a short grunt, allowing him to straighten.

  Up close, Eldric noticed the faint redness in Jasper’s eyes. Another sign that the Mage had been using the hex drops as well.

  Jasper didn’t waste time.

  “The scouts have confirmed what happened at Fort Kaelgrim,” he said. “A few of Thalric’s men survived. Arzan healed them before they ran away. They told us everything.”

  “I was just thinking about it,” Eldric responded calmly. “Tell me. What really happened?”

  Jasper’s jaw tightened.

  “The mana cannons,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “They were a trap from the start. Arzan somehow controlled all of them at once. They exploded together—took down the fort, your brother, and almost everyone inside.”

  For a moment, Eldric didn’t respond, taking each word slowly. Then, his eyes shifted to the mana cannon placed on the terrace nearby, its metal surface catching the faint moonlight.

  Impossible, he thought.

  No matter how many times he had heard of Arzan’s schemes, this crossed into something else entirely.

  Eldric immediately took a step back from the mana cannon, his expression tightening. “That’s a terrible way to die,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” Jasper said quietly. “It is.”

  Eldric locked his eyes on him and ordered without hesitation. “Get rid of everything we have that came from Arzan. Directly or indirectly. Make it a priority.”

  Jasper nodded at once.

  “I never imagined something like this was possible,” Eldric continued. “Arzan played us perfectly.”

  “Yes, I never thought Arzan would have such tricks,” Jasper replied, clearly uneasy even saying the name. “And according to the latest reports, he’s already moving toward Eden City. He intends to end this war by defeating us.”

  Eldric didn’t answer immediately.

  “Duke Kestrelain requests your presence,” Jasper added. “He wants a meeting to discuss how to kill Arzan and dismantle his faction.”

  That was when Eldric froze as a single question echoed in his mind.

  How do I stop him?

  For the first time, Eldric realized something deeply unsettling—he had never truly thought about this before. For years, he had followed his mother’s plans, trusted her schemes and even let her decide what to do about Arzan. He had acted like a king in name, but never in responsibility.

  Now, when the moment demanded an answer, his mind was empty. What should a puppet make of itself when the master is no longer in control? Who should he listen to? Himself?

  Doubts crept up one after another.

  Anxiety crawled up his spine. He lifted the vial again and drank more hex drops, swallowing greedily as the familiar warmth spread through him, steadying his thoughts.

  His army was stronger than before. His Mages were empowered. But he had seen what Arzan could do.

  Against that kind of power, soldiers were nothing more than fodder.

  The more Eldric thought about it, the clearer it became—Eden City was not ready. If Arzan unleashed even a fraction of the power he had shown at Veridia, the wards would collapse in moments.

  And once they fell, everything Eldric ruled would follow.

  Maybe there was only one place in the entire kingdom that could withstand Arzan’s assault for more than a few days—the capital.

  It held the strongest ward ever built, layered and reinforced over generations. If Arzan came with the same power he had shown at Veridia, Eden City would fall. But the capital? It could hold. Weeks, maybe longer. Long enough for someone to find a way to kill him.

  The thought came with a cost.

  That would mean facing his mother.

  Eldric’s fingers tightened slightly around the empty vial as he looked at Jasper. “What has my mother said in her recent letters?”

  Jasper hesitated before answering. “Nothing new, my lord. She demands a proper explanation for your actions. She wants to know what you intend to do, and what became of Selwin.” He paused, then added carefully, “She also insists you return to the capital at once. According to her, you acted against her wishes.”

  Eldric let out a quiet chuckle, though there was bitterness behind it. “That’s exactly why I don’t read those letters.” He turned to Jasper. “Do you believe it? That I went against her?”

  Jasper visibly stiffened, clearly choosing his words. “I am too insignificant to judge my betters, my lord.”

  Eldric laughed softly. “You always know how to survive.” Then the humor faded, replaced by a tired sigh. “She wants me back.”

  “Yes,” Jasper replied. “Very much so.”

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  Eldric looked down at the hex drops still clinging to the glass. Without hesitation, he drained the vial completely. Warmth spread through him, the familiar hum quieting the chaos in his thoughts.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “Then she’ll have me back.”

  Jasper blinked. “My lord?”

  “Have every soldier and conscript who has taken hex drops prepare to move,” Eldric continued calmly. “We leave by dawn. We’re falling back to the capital and preparing for a siege.”

  Jasper’s eyes widened. “But—my lord—that means abandoning Eden City. Duke Kestrelain will never agree to this.”

  Eldric didn't say anything, knowing Jasper would follow his orders and turned back to watch the sky. The whisper in his mind urged him forward, wrapping the decision in certainty. It told him this was the only path. The right one.

  ***

  Princess Amara ducked just in time.

  An arrow sliced through the air where her head had been a heartbeat ago, and she rolled forward without thinking. A wooden sword swept past her back as she came up on one knee. She twisted aside, boots scraping against the dirt, and let out a sharp laugh when the Knight overextended and nearly lost his balance.

  She didn’t waste the opening.

  Mana flowed, familiar and steady. A spell circle formed between her palms.

  It was a second Circle Spell—[Tide Break.]

  A month ago, shaping it would have taken her ten full seconds. Now it snapped into place in three.

  Water burst forward from her hands, slamming into the Knight’s chest. His armor rang like a struck bell as he flew backward and rolled across the ground, coming to a stop in a cloud of dust.

  Two more Knights charged.

  Amara shifted her aim at the last moment and drove the spell into the ground instead. Water spread instantly, soaking the earth and turning it slick. Both men skidded, boots sliding out from under them, and landed hard on their backs with startled curses.

  She was already turning—

  A flash of white light tore across her vision. Her instincts screamed, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but pain still ripped through her arm. Something struck her shoulder, sharp and numbing, and she stumbled, teeth clenched.

  Amara reacted on instinct.

  Water surged out around her in jagged spikes, exploding from the ground in a rough circle. Anyone too close was thrown back, yelps and grunts sounding as bodies hit dirt. But before she could steady herself, another bolt of pain shot up her leg, and she nearly fell.

  She forced herself upright, breathing hard.

  When she finally opened her eyes, the field had changed. Two Knights lay groaning on the ground, blood seeping through their training armor where the spikes had clipped them.

  Only one person still stood.

  Silvren.

  The young Mage smiled at her, calm and pleased, as if this were exactly how the exchange should go. Light gathered in his hands, a spell circle forming with practiced ease.

  Amara straightened despite the ache in her arm and leg. Mana answered her call again, cool and familiar, water swirling between her palms.

  Bright light flashed from Silvren’s hands.

  At the same moment, Princess Amara lashed out with a roaring wave of water, meeting his spell head-on.

  Both spells collided in midair and burst apart in a flash of light and mist. But Amara’s wave did not stop there. It pushed through the fading explosion and slammed into Silvren’s chest, sending him skidding backward across the ground.

  She did not hesitate.

  Amara rushed forward, boots splashing through the water still spreading across the training field. Another spell structure began forming in her hands, the familiar pull of mana gathering at her palms.

  Before she could release it, Silvren raised one hand.

  “I concede,” he said, breathing hard but smiling. “You won, Princess Amara.”

  She froze mid-step. The spell unraveled at once, the gathered mana dispersing into the air like mist. A long breath escaped her as the tension drained from her body, leaving her limbs suddenly heavy.

  Amara reached out, offering her hand. Silvren took it, and she pulled him up to his feet.

  “Are you hurt anywhere?” she asked. “I can heal you.”

  He shook his head. “Just bruises. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. No need to waste your mana.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded again, firmer this time.

  Only then did Amara turn away, moving toward the others scattered across the field. These training sessions had become routine—something she insisted on, day after day. She refused to be unprepared. And because of that, she had spent more time learning healing spells as well.

  Light magic was natural for healing, but water had its own strengths. It soothed, closed wounds, and eased pain as well, if not better. She knelt beside each soldier in turn, laying glowing hands over bruises and cuts, sealing them carefully one by one.

  By the time she finished, her mana felt thin, her breathing slower. Still, she straightened her back and faced the group.

  “You all did well today,” Amara said, her voice steady. “I expect better counters tomorrow.”

  A few groans followed. A few smiles too.

  Silvren laughed softly, rubbing his chest as he got his breath back. “You’ll still beat us, Princess,” he said. “At least until we learn how not to slip every time you flood the ground.”

  Amara smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I could teach you a counter spell for that,” she said. “But that would be giving you an advantage.”

  One of the soldiers snorted. “And giving an enemy an advantage is just asking them to kill you.”

  Amara nodded at once. She had been the one to say those exact words weeks ago, and hearing them repeated back made her chest tighten. The soldiers had learned faster than she expected.

  Another man spoke up while brushing dirt off his armor. “Still, this training will matter once we march toward the capital.”

  A few of them nodded, their expressions turning serious.

  Amara didn’t say anything. The mention of the capital sent a dull weight settling in her stomach.

  She already knew what was happening beyond Veyrin. Reports came every day—cities falling, banners changing, armies surrendering. Thalric was dead. The western region had bent the knee. And now only one obstacle stood between Arzan and the throne.

  Her brother.

  Viscount Redmont had been clear when he delivered the orders. They were to march soon. Surround the capital. Break the wards and end the civil war right then and there.

  The soldiers around her joked and talked as if it were just another campaign, but Amara couldn’t join in. The war had finally reached something personal.

  So, taking an opportunity, she left the rooftop where they trained. No one stopped her as she turned and walked away.

  She moved through the corridors of Veyrin at an unhurried pace, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone. She has spent over a month here now. Long enough for the place to feel familiar, even safe. One of the few regions the war had never touched.

  And soon, she would be leaving it behind to end her own family.

  She could have stayed. No one would have forced her to march. She was a princess, after all.

  But she didn’t want to hide.

  When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and went straight to her desk. A thick book lay open where she had left it—Advanced Applications of Offensive Water Magic.

  Amara sat down and pulled it closer.

  Her fingers brushed the page as she began to read. When they marched on the capital, she couldn’t afford to stand behind others anymore.

  She wouldn’t just be a princess.

  She would also need to be a Mage. If not for herself, then the man who had healed her.

  ***

  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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