Reincarnation of the magicless Pinoy!
From zero to hero " No magic?, No problem!"
Chapter 23: forest Howls!
The fire crackled softly in the quiet of the forest clearing. The night's air was cool, crisp, and oddly calm after the earlier ambush. Tessa and the others were gathered around the campfire, sharing a quiet meal, but Rowan sat a short distance away, resting against a tree, half-shrouded in shadow.
He hadn't said much, as usual. Just cleaned his blade with that signature motion—pressing the flat against the back of his bracer-clad forearm, leaving no blood behind. Efficient. Unbothered. Silent.
Luke—Duke Arcadia's eldest son—watched from across the flames. Elbow on his knee, chin resting against his hand, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He sipped from his flask, eyes never leaving Rowan.
"You alright?" Tessa asked Luke, noticing his gaze.
"Hmm? Yeah," Luke replied with a thin smile. "Just… impressed, I guess. You weren't exaggerating about him."
Tessa smiled faintly. "Rowan's like that. Quiet, a little scary—but he's got a good heart. Saved our asses more times than I can count."
Luke chuckled. "A quiet knight, huh?"
She nodded. "Only been an adventurer two months. But it's like he's done this for years."
Luke's smile faltered for just a second. He turned back to the fire.
Two months? He clenched the flask tighter.
His thoughts swirled.
That sword wipe... That stance... No hesitation. It's too polished. Too damn familiar.
"Rowan Black," Luke murmured under his breath. "Black Wraith…"
That name itched at his memory like a phantom limb.
---
Later that night, as the others settled down, Luke approached Rowan alone.
"Hey," he said casually, hands in his pockets. Rowan looked up from where he was polishing his sword again. His eyes met Luke's—but only for a second.
"Hmm," Rowan replied with a grunt.
"I've been thinking," Luke continued. "You ever thought of… settling down in one place?"
Rowan arched an eyebrow.
Luke smiled. "I mean—Arcadia could use someone like you. We're always looking for good men. Loyal ones. Strong. The kind who can protect something."
Rowan's gaze flicked to him again. Then returned to the firelight dancing on his blade.
"I'll think about it," he said quietly.
Luke nodded. "Good. We'll talk again when we reach the capital."
He turned, taking a few steps away, but his voice floated back softly.
"You remind me of someone, you know. Someone I used to know a long time ago."
Rowan didn't respond.
Luke walked away with a calm smile on his face.
But in his mind, one thought echoed like a gunshot:
"Black Wraith or Rowan… Who the hell are you really?" He whispered taking a glance to Rolien.
The wheels of the noble's carriage creaked over the gravel path, its lacquered body reflecting slivers of sunlight through the trees. Around it rode a tight formation—Tessa's party forming a wide protective arc, while Rowan trailed slightly behind the group, ever watchful and silent.
The capital of the empire was still three days out. The terrain had shifted—rolling hills, denser forests, and fewer signs of civilization. There was a strange weight in the air. Not quite danger, but not peace either.
Luke, riding beside the carriage on a dark horse, stole frequent glances toward the back of the group. Rowan was still there. Not chatting, not complaining, just riding with that stillness that disturbed him more than he'd admit.
"He's not normal," Luke murmured to himself.
"Who isn't?" Tessa rode up beside him.
Luke straightened. "Your quiet swordsman."
Tessa snorted. "You're still hung up on him?"
"Just curious. That's all."
"He's just... like that. Doesn't talk about himself much. Doesn't drink. Doesn't even celebrate after a successful quest." She tilted her head. "But in the fight, I've never seen someone move like he does. There's this... grace. He's like a shadow."
Luke smirked, though his eyes were thoughtful. "A shadow with a name from the past."
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he said quickly.
They rode in silence for a while longer. Then Rowan suddenly raised his hand—fist closed.
The party stopped.
"Hold!" he said, voice low.
From up ahead, there was a faint echo. Hoofbeats. Too many for a merchant's caravan. Not the regular beat of patrols.
Rowan slid down from his horse, already loosening his sword.
"Formation," he called. No hesitation. No nerves.
Tessa's group followed the command without question. Even Luke stayed quiet, watching carefully.
From the trees ahead, a group emerged—bandits, but not the usual scattered rabble. Their armor matched. Their weapons were sharp. Their eyes? Focused.
"This ain't a random ambush," Tessa muttered. "Someone hired them."
The leader pointed toward the carriage. "Hand over the noble. No one else has to die."
Luke stepped forward, casually cracking his neck. "You boys are brave, I'll give you that."
Rowan walked to the front, unsheathing his sword with one smooth motion.
He didn't say anything. He just walked forward. Slowly.
The bandits hesitated. One even took a step back.
And then—Rowan vanished.
A blink.
A flash of steel.
Two more lunged, blades swinging wide. Rowan ducked under the first, grabbed the attacker's wrist, twisted, and used the man's own momentum to bury his dagger into the second's gut.
His movements were too fast, too sharp.
But something else—
As he cut through a third man, a faint shimmer pulsed from his blade. Not blue, not the soft glow of mana. It was subtler. Like heat waves through air. Spirit energy.
Rowan's eyes glinted. He flicked his fingers subtly—like tapping an invisible rune.
A slash came from behind.
He didn't turn.
The moment the blade was about to strike, his cloak rippled—and a faint pulse burst from his body.
Fshhh!
The attacker froze mid-strike, as if crushed by invisible weight, before Rowan spun and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's throat.
Tessa saw the motion and narrowed her eyes. "Was that... mana?"
"No," Luke said before he could stop himself.
One of the stronger enemies—a dual blade user—charged forward with surprising speed. He wasn't bluffing. This one had trained. A former knight maybe.
Their swords clashed.
The enemy feinted, flipped, came at him with a cross slash.
Rowan's footwork shifted—fluid, almost unnatural. He slid around the strike, tapped his heel, and a faint ring of energy burst under his foot.
The man's balance shattered. Rowan used the opening.
One precise thrust.
Right between the ribs.
The man staggered back, gurgling, eyes wide.
Dozens of attackers surged from the trees—bandits, mercenaries, even a few rogue knights-for-hire. This wasn't a random ambush. This was planned. Coordinated. An elite hit squad.
Their target wasn't the noble. It was the escort.
Tessa cursed and shouted for formation, shielding the noble's carriage. Arrows rained. Blades clashed. But all eyes eventually turned to one figure.
Rowan—no, the Black Wraith—moved like a storm.
A massive warrior with a warhammer charged, roaring. Rowan ducked the first swing, the ground cracking behind him from the impact. He dashed low, slipped past the giant's flank, and slashed upward. The strike didn't aim to kill—it severed tendons, dropped the brute to one knee.
Before the hammer could rise again, Rowan spun and buried his sword deep into the man's chest. He yanked it free in a clean motion—no wasted movement, no emotion on his face.
Two more rushed him. One had twin daggers; the other, a greatsword.
Rowan sidestepped the dagger-user's lunge and grabbed his wrist, twisting until bones cracked. He tossed him into the path of the greatsword's downswing—schhrakk!—the impact split the body in half.
The swordsman blinked—too late.
Rowan was already there.
A quick thrust to the throat. Blood gurgled. The man fell.
Then came the real test.
Four enemies this time—one from the front, another from the left, two flanking behind.
Rowan breathed.
Time seemed to slow. His eyes flicked—calculating angles, motion, wind.
He took the sword from the man in front—disarmed him with one hand—and used the blade to parry the left attacker. His elbow cracked the man's jaw as he turned.
The disarmed one tried to retreat, but Rowan kicked him hard, sending him stumbling into a tree.
The attackers from behind came in with a pincer slash.
Rowan flipped the stolen blade, held it reverse-grip, and jammed it behind him—metal met metal. Sparks flew.
He ducked.
And then, with one clean upward arc of his own sword—schhlkk!—two heads dropped to the forest floor.
Gasps echoed across the field.
Even the enemies froze, hesitating. They saw it now—this wasn't a swordsman. This was a wraith in human skin.
And he was just getting started.
One of the rogue knights—a magic user—cast a flame bind around Rowan's legs.
A flash of red light. Enchanted mana chains.
Rowan's gaze didn't change.
A faint pulse shimmered from within his chest—no glow, no aura.
Just pressure.
The chains shattered.
The magic knight stepped back. "What...?"
Rowan blurred. He moved faster than their eyes could track. His sword flicked out—twice, maybe three times.
The knight's staff clattered to the ground. He stood for a second too long—before collapsing in pieces.
Tessa looked over from her own duel, eyes wide. Even she hadn't seen that strike. "He's... faster."
Luke, gripping his blade, said nothing.
But he was watching. Closely.
The way Rowan moved… the way he dodged and struck without flare or excess…
It wasn't mana-based.
No bursts. No casting delay. No aura flicker.
It was something else. Something older.
Then what was it?!
Only the clang of steel, the heavy breathing of the wounded, and the final groans of the dying echoed through the trees.
That's when the two stepped forward.
Unlike the rest, these weren't just hired swords or mercenaries. They moved with precision—measured, confident. One was tall, lean, and draped in red robes lined with rune-stitching. The other, bulkier, wore half-plate armor with twin axes resting at his sides.
"Target confirmed," the robed one said, voice sharp and calm. "Black Wraith."
"Finally," the axe-wielder cracked his neck. "Something fun."
Tessa cursed. "Those two… not normal. Everyone, back—!"
But Rowan was already moving.
He rushed the axe-wielder first, keeping it close, using the trees to narrow the field. The man smiled and met him head-on—Rowan's sword scraped against an axe handle. The other axe came in fast.
CLANG!
Rowan blocked with his forearm guard, sparks flying. He twisted his body mid-motion, rolled under a swing, and came up with a slash that bit into the man's thigh.
But no stagger.
Just laughter.
"You're quick! I like it!"
From the side, the robed man raised his hand, fingers dancing. Fire and wind entwined into a spiraling lance of flame. He threw it—timed perfectly with the axe-wielder's next strike.
It should've been impossible to dodge.
But Rowan didn't try to.
He stepped into the axe swing, taking the momentum, letting it slide off his armor's edge, and used it to pivot around.
The lance of fire hit the axe-man's back—he roared in pain, stumbling forward.
Rowan used the chance. Two fast cuts. One arm gone. A finishing blow through the neck.
Down.
He turned—too late.
The robed one was already casting again, faster now. Three sigils glowed—ice, earth, flame.
Rowan flicked his wrist. His blade rang with a faint pulse—not mana, but something else. Something older.
He vanished.
No teleportation. Just pure speed.
The mage's spell exploded behind him—but Rowan was already at his throat.
One slash—horizontal, surgical.
The mage didn't fall right away. He blinked… then dropped without a sound.
Tessa and the others stood stunned. Even hardened adventurers like them couldn't keep up.
But it wasn't over.
A single slow clap echoed from the edge of the battlefield.
Rowan turned—and saw him.
A tall swordsman in black, face hidden beneath a tattered hood. He held no blade yet—but the way he moved… Rowan's breath slowed.
"You're the Black Wraith?" the man asked, stepping forward.
Rowan didn't answer. Just dropped into stance.
The swordsman smiled.
"Good. I've been waiting to test this against someone like you."
From beneath his cloak, he drew a black nodachi—longer than standard, with a jagged edge, radiating a strange aura.
He moved.
FAST.
Rowan barely blocked the first strike. The force pushed him back a step—then another. The second strike grazed his side, a shallow cut, but enough to sting.
This guy was different.
Not magic. Not brute strength.
Technique.
Rowan exhaled and focused.
The spirit particles in the air hummed.
His footwork changed—more refined, like a forgotten dance.
They clashed.
Steel met steel in a flurry. Trees splintered. Rocks cracked. The others couldn't even follow—only flashes of motion and gusts of air reaching them from the dueling ground.
The swordsman grinned as he fought. "You're hiding something. You don't fight like the rest of them."
Rowan said nothing—but his sword moved faster.
He began timing his spirit-based enhancement to mimic brief mana bursts. Just enough to pass as skilled swordsmanship, not unnatural talent.
But the swordsman noticed. He laughed. "No mana... what are you, really?"
Rowan's expression didn't change—but his eyes narrowed.
He faked a high slash, then ducked low, dragging his blade upward. A feint—then a shift. He twisted mid-swing, brought the blade in reverse, and drove it through the man's gut.
The swordsman gasped. But even then, he smiled.
"Well done... Black Wraith..."
He collapsed.
The wind returned to the forest. The tension snapped.
Rowan stood, breathing steady. His blade dripped red.
He pressed it once against the back of his forearm. One clean motion.
Wiped.
Behind him, Luke had seen everything.
But what stuck in his head wasn't just the spirit-like speed, the precision, the uncanny instincts.
It was the way Rowan cleaned his sword.
The same way he had once seen done long ago—by someone impossible.
His voice was quiet, shaken:
"Who… are you really, Black Wraith?"
> You have defeated [Elite Boss: Veiled Blade – Lv. 41]
Bonus EXP awarded for solo defeat
Hidden Technique Activation Bonus: Spirit Vein Efficiency +3%
LEVEL UP!
> Current Level: 27 → 28
Swordsmanship: Level 9 → Level 10 (Mastery Achieved!)
Bonus Gained: New Spirit Skill Unlocked – Phantom Edge (Level 1)
Description: Your blade sings with precision. Temporarily sharpen the edge with spirit particles, doubling cutting power and granting a moment of perfect timing. Can chain into other spirit-based skills.
---
[Spirit Arts Status Updated]
Body Enhancement (Lv. 2)
Detection (Lv. 1)
Quick Slash (Lv. 1)
Dash (Lv. 1)
Item box (Lv. 2) 70/70
Appraisal (Lv. 2)
Hammer Strike (Lv. 1) (Linked to Martial Arts – Beginner Lv. 2)
↳ A grounded strike. Step forward with coiled spirit energy, unleashing a devastating forward punch. Effective against armored or heavier enemies.
NEW: Phantom Edge (Lv. 1)
---
[LOOT ACQUIRED]
> • 3x Mid-Tier Spirit Crystals
• Reinforced Brigandine Armor (+10 Defense, minor Spirit resistance)
• 240 Gold
• Unmarked Katana (Broken but Restorable – Soul-linked Material Detected)
• Rare Drop – Skill Rune: Taunting Cry (Lv. 1)
↳ Shout that forces enemies in range to target you. Limited use for non-warrior classes.
↳ Warning: This rune reacts strangely with your spirit energy...
---
Rowan looked down at the rune crystal in his palm, its dull red glow pulsing faintly. It wasn't a flashy item—not like a weapon or enchanted armor—but something about it tugged at him. Not just curiosity—familiarity.
He slid it into his pouch. Maybe he'd test it later. Maybe not.
Tessa glanced his way from across the clearing. "You good?"
"Yeah," he muttered, checking the bindings on his blade.
Luke, still processing everything he'd seen, offered a short smile. "You know… it'd be good to have someone like you officially in our house. What do you say? Join House Arcadia—not just a guest. A knight."
Rowan paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly—but not from suspicion. From something deeper.
"…I'll think about it."
The sun was dipping past the treetops, casting long shadows across the trail as the wagon wheels bumped over loose stones. Tessa's party was chatting idly with the noble inside the carriage, while Rowan walked slightly ahead, his senses half-tuned to the surroundings—and half on the rune tucked in his belt pouch.
That Taunting Cry skill… it kept tugging at him.
Later that evening, when they made camp in a quiet forest glade, Rowan excused himself to scout the perimeter—though the truth was, he wanted space. Alone.
He crouched beneath an overhanging pine, moonlight threading between the branches. Pulling out the rune, he held it in his palm. The red glow was faint, but it pulsed like a heartbeat. It wasn't meant for spirit users—but maybe…
He pressed it to his chest.
A searing heat lanced through him—not pain exactly, but pressure. His breath hitched as the rune dissolved into golden vapor and vanished. A system chime rang faintly in his mind:
---
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
> You have acquired: Taunting Cry (Lv. 1)
Warning: This skill is designed for Mana-Class Warriors.
Compatibility Adjusted: Spirit-Class Variant Created.
New Skill Variant Unlocked: Ghost Echo – Taunting Cry (Lv. 1)
Description: An instinctual war cry laced with spirit energy. Targets within range will feel an unnatural pull toward you—panic, aggression, fear, or rage depending on their nature. Cooldown increased due to unstable spirit compatibility.
Note: May interfere with stealth-based tactics. Use with caution.
---
Rowan exhaled, slowly flexing his hands.
He hadn't shouted. Not with his mouth. But something had echoed—he could feel it. A low, tremoring pulse that rolled from his chest outward like a ripple through still water. The animals nearby stirred. Somewhere in the forest, a nightbird shrieked and flew off.
He stood still for a long time.
"Ghost Echo… huh." His voice was quiet. "That's... ironic."
He returned to camp, silent as ever. No one noticed the shift in his energy—not even Tessa. But Luke, watching from across the fire, squinted slightly, as if a memory had tapped him on the shoulder and vanished before he could grasp it.
The forest air was quiet, too quiet.
Not long after Rowan returned to camp, the horses began to stir restlessly. Their snorts cut through the night like warning shots. Then the birds fell silent.
Snap.
A branch broke.
Rowan's hand was already on his sword.
From the darkness beyond the treeline, glowing red eyes emerged. Dozens of them.
Garg-hounds. Vicious, mutated wolf-beasts with reinforced bone plating, sharp enough to shrug off standard blades. Fast. Coordinated. Hungry.
They came crashing from all directions.
"Form a perimeter!" Tessa yelled, her axe swinging to life. Her party scrambled to their positions.
But Rowan didn't move toward the group. He stepped forward instead.
A system chime rang out, clear and urgent:
---
[SYSTEM MISSION: EMERGENCY QUEST - NIGHT PACK]
> Objective: Survive and Eliminate the Garg-Hound Alpha leading the mutated pack (Threat Level: B).
Bonus: Prevent any civilian or ally casualties.
Time Limit: Until dawn.
Rewards (upon success):
• +3 Stat Points
• New Skill Unlock (Spirit Tier): Moon Veil Step (Lv. 1)
• Rare Drop Guaranteed
Failure Penalty: Death / Quest Lockout / -2 Spirit Affinity
---
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "A B-rank monster pack this far south?"
He didn't have time to think deeper. One hound lunged—he parried with the flat of his blade and spun, pressing the sword's spine across his forearm to clean the blood in one motion before ducking low.
Another leapt from the left—Rowan caught the momentum and redirected it, using the creature's weight to throw it against a tree trunk. Bones cracked. The beast whimpered.
Two larger hounds burst out—Alphas? No, just elite variants.
Rowan dashed forward using Dash (Lv.1), movement a blur. He slashed one cleanly across the jaw—Quick Slash (Lv.1) triggered—and followed with a Hammer Strike, stepping in, shoulder dropping, and smashing his fist like a piston into the beast's gut. It crumpled into a heap.
The second elite snarled and bit down toward him. Rowan grabbed the hilt of the dead beast's embedded fang blade, ripped it out, parried with it, then twisted and sliced upward—a clean beheading.
More growls.
Then it emerged.
The Garg-Hound Alpha—massive, armored like a damn rhino with spines of red bone and eyes like molten gold. It howled, a terrible cry that rattled the branches. The others surged toward it.
Rowan stood between it and the camp. He pressed his sword across his forearm again. Clean. Calm.
Then he took a step.
And vanished.
The Garg-Hound Alpha's massive body collapsed, cleaved from neck to navel. Rowan stood in its shadow, breathing evenly, his blade glinting with spirit particles that quickly faded into the night air. His stance relaxed, just slightly—but his eyes were already scanning.
System Notification!
Mission: "Clear the Threatened Path to the Capital" – COMPLETE
EXP gained: 5,000
Current Level: 29
Spirit core level: 3 level progress 46%
[Swordsmanship has reached Mastery Level 10]
New Spirit Skill Unlocked: Void Draw (Lv. 1) – Draw your blade in a flash, releasing a spirit-based slash invisible to most mana users. Extremely difficult to detect or parry.
New Passive Boost: All sword-based spirit techniques' efficiency increased by 15%
Loot Obtained:
Beast Fang x12
Garg Alpha Core (Rare)
High-Grade Spirit Shard
[Skill Rune: "Taunting Cry" Lv.1]
Would you like to absorb the rune? [Yes / No]
Rowan selected Yes—and the rune dissolved in a bright blue light, searing itself into his spirit core like a brand. Another window appeared, briefly.
"Analyzing Rune Pathway..."
Taunting Cry acquired. Cooldown: 60 seconds. Increases aggro by 300% in a 20-meter radius for 6 seconds.
Spirit core level 3 46%-47
But before Rowan could dismiss the screen, a low rumble made the ground quake beneath them. The trees groaned. The wind shifted.
Then they all heard it.
A howl—not from the dying monsters, not from the woods, not from anything known.
Deep. Echoing. Cold.
It rolled across the forest like a tidal wave.
Every beast in the area went silent.
Even the dying ones stopped moving... as if submitting.
Rowan's eyes narrowed.
"…tch ... That's not a monster."
His system blinked again.
Emergency System Alert
A powerful presence has taken notice of your Spirit Core.
WARNING: Unidentified Entity Approaching
"Prepare accordingly…"
The screen glitched for a split second before fading.
Rowan stood still as the wind blew through the trees again, colder this time.
Behind him, Tessa swallowed.
"…Rowan…? What the hell was that?"
Rowan didn't answer.
He slowly raised his sword and whispered,
"…Something old just woke up."
[TO BE CONTINUED]