Magus Reborn-213. Blessings

Kai sat on one of the stone benches that had somehow remained intact amid the ruins of the corrupted border town. Black vines crept up its sides, and a faint oily sheen was there over the cobbles nearby. The weavers might have been slain, but the corruption hasn't left.

Killian stood in front of him, looking straight without giving away any sort of emotion. That man was hard to read if someone just met him, but Kai was now used to it. And his current silence explained one thing—things hadn’t gone terribly wrong.

Still, he waited for him to talk.

“No casualties. Five injured—nothing life-threatening. Most of them got hurt while backing away from the weavers.” Killian continued, “Though, Lord Arzan, one of them is showing early signs of corruption. He’s panicked.”

“One from Viscount Redmont’s forces?”

Killian nodded.

“I’ll handle it. I can still purify him, I believe” Kai exhaled. “If only the other Mages would have taken time to learn it, but it's not an easy spell and they should focus more on offensive spells right now either way. We’re lucky the corruption spreads slowly—if it were any faster, he’d already be lost.”

“I’ll let Knight Cais know,” Killian replied, then glanced around.

All around them, their forces rested. Some leaned against walls, others sat cross-legged on the ground. In the left corner, Kai saw a few shared quiet laughter while gnawing on strips of dried jerky. Despite the lingering stench of rot and the strange stillness in the air, morale was high. Kai could feel it too—an almost fragile relief hanging in the dusk light. They needed this.

“How long do we stay?” Killian asked.

Kai glanced up at the sky. The sun was already sinking low.

“Two hours,” Kai said. “Then we move.”

“Through the night?”

“Yes,” Kai said without hesitation. “We can’t afford to stay in one place too long. The armours are holding for now, but even lightwood can only take so much damage. We’re on a timer.”

Killian didn’t argue. He never did when the logic was sound.

“Get Gareth to add a Mage to his scouting party,” Kai added. “Someone who can cast directional spells—light markers, and wind ones, anything that can help show the path if visibility drops.”

“I’ll see to it,” Killian said, and turned to leave.

As Killian turned to go, Kai called out, “And also—tell the men not to eat too much. We need to conserve rations. There won’t be any food sources around here and we are here for days. Maybe weeks.”

Killian gave a short nod and strode off, already shouting quiet orders to the nearest Enforcers.

Left alone, Kai leaned back slightly and looked up at the sky. The stars were beginning to appear like small, twinkling dots between drifting clouds. On any other night, it might’ve been a beautiful sight—peaceful even.

But not here.

Not with the air still thick with dead mana that it almost suffocated his lungs. He could feel it clinging to his robes, seeping into the ground, dulling his senses. The taint was everywhere. His wind spells had helped clear most of it from the immediate area, but keeping them active drained him. It felt like a constant tug-of-war between his will and the surrounding rot. But he was recovering damn fast. His body had long since adjusted to purifying mana before absorbing it, and now it became a habit more than a technique he practised.

The others hadn’t reached that point yet. Most of the Mages and Enforcers still struggled with the concept, which was why Kai had drilled it into them before they even entered the region. They’d survive, but only if they listened.

Five minutes passed like that.

Kai stood with a sigh and began walking toward the campfires near the northern edge of the ruins—where Knight Cais had set up his men. He didn’t need to look for long. The knight was already headed his way, armor shifting softly with each step.

“Count Arzan,” Cais greeted with a bow of his head. “Knight Killian said you might be able to help one of my men.”

“I’m here for that,” Kai replied. “Where is he?”

“This way,” Cais said, turning on his heel and leading him through the camp.

They passed rows of resting soldiers on this end, some tending to gear, others sleeping with blades close to hand. At the very edge of the camp, isolated from the others, a lone figure lay on a cloth bedroll surrounded by a shallow circle of salt and ash. A religious ward that Kai knew was more for show than actual effect.

The man was young—barely older than twenty. Dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. His armor had been stripped away, and he trembled under a thin blanket, drenched in sweat. Dark patches were already formed in his skin. His eyes darted from face to face like a cornered mouse.

A Cleric knelt beside him, chanting softly while channeling a golden light through his hands towards the man’s leg. But it was clear the blessing wasn’t working. The corruption wasn’t just on the surface—it was inside, and probably eating away all the remaining mana. The black patches only grew.

Kai studied the man for a moment and realised how his eyes were screaming with a different kind of agony. Hopelessness. His tears were proof that he knew he would die soon.

As Kai approached, the Cleric beside the corrupted soldier noticed him and rose to his feet respectfully, stepping aside to make room.

“Did the healing work?” Kai asked, already glancing at the soldier’s pale face.

The Cleric shook his head. “No… my divine healing isn't lessening it. The corruption's too deep. I’d need a higher blessing—something directly bestowed by the grace of the goddess.”

Kai clicked his tongue lightly. “I doubt even that would help. Healing blessings aren’t meant for this.” He looked at the Cleric. “They're for mending wounds, restoring life. Not cleansing tainted mana. Even blessings that cure disease might only slow the spread, but it’d be a temporary fix at best.”

The Cleric’s face fell. He looked toward the soldier, then back at Kai. “Then... should we put him to rest? Before he turns into something dangerous?”

At that, the soldier jerked violently, eyes going wide with fear. His breath came out in fast, shallow gasps as if reaching for any help. If they hadn’t been stuck in the middle of a dead mana wasteland, the man might’ve tried to run already.

“No,” Kai said firmly, stepping closer. “I can heal him.”

The Cleric blinked, startled. “You can… heal him?”

Kai nodded. “It might take a while. But yes, I can. I assumed Bishop Maurice would have informed you about that by now.”

The Cleric opened his mouth, paused, then scratched the back of his neck. “He did… I forgot.”

Kai didn’t respond to that. He didn’t need to. It was obvious the bishop either hadn’t fully believed in his ability, or more likely, the church forces themselves hadn’t. Still, he didn’t blame them. Most wouldn’t accept a noble-Mage claiming to be able to purify corruption until they saw it themselves.

Well, now they would.

A little demonstration might do more than words ever could—especially if he wanted to keep the church on his side for what was to come.

He turned his attention to the soldier and knelt beside him. The man's eyes flicked toward him in desperation, as if silently pleading for salvation.

Kai didn’t speak.

He lifted the blanket covering the soldier’s legs and narrowed his eyes.

The corruption had spread farther than expected. A dark, vein-like pattern ran up the man’s thigh, pulsating faintly with a sickly green glow beneath the skin. It was accelerating—and Kai didn’t even need to guess why.

It’s the wasteland, he thought. Dead mana all around him. It’s feeding the corruption like fuel to fire.

But it wasn’t beyond saving. Not yet.

As Kai studied the corruption spreading across the soldier’s leg, Knight Cais stepped forward.

“Can you heal it, Count Arzan?”

Kai didn’t look up. His fingers had already begun tracing the spell structure in the air, threads of refined mana swirling around his palm. “Yes. Stay still,” he added, directing the words to the trembling soldier. “This won’t hurt… much.”

The young man nodded quickly, lips pale, muscles twitching under Kai’s touch.

Kai’s magic sank into the skin without another warning, straightening out the taint slowly, piece by piece. He was careful—any sudden disruption could make the corruption lash out, spreading deeper. Every strand of dead mana had to be pulled out or cleansed without letting even a wisp escape into the rest of the body.

Fortunately, the corruption hadn’t reached any major organs. That was lucky. If it had crept toward the Mana heart, this would’ve been far more difficult—and painful. He kept going yet couldn’t avoid the little tremors of the soldier.

The man had to stay calm for this to work quickly and efficiently, so Kai spoke. “How did this happen? Your armor’s practically caved in. Not easy to do that.”

The soldier’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “C-Count Arzan,” he stammered. “I—I got ganged up on. A dozen weavers jumped me. Nearly tore me apart. The armor… broke during that. Knight Cais pulled me out… and a Cleric healed what he could. But by then, I think… the corruption had already set in.”

Kai nodded as he guided a final thread deeper into the infected tissue. “You’re lucky he did. And it’s alright—we brought spare armour for situations like this. But be more careful next time. If they had gone for your chest, you’d be dead or worse.”

The soldier managed a weak smile, his body relaxing just a little under the calm in Kai’s voice.

Bit by bit, the blackened veins receded. The foul color faded as purified mana replaced it, and the flesh began to return to its natural hue—clean, healthy, and not-so… pale. The rot purged itself in slow trails of smoke-like residue, vanishing into the air.

It took time. But finally, it was done.

“You’re healed now,” he said. “But for the next three days, I’ll be checking on you regularly. That’s just a precaution.”

Knight Cais, who had been watching with silent intensity, stepped closer and crouched down, inspecting the man’s leg.

“Is he… truly healed?” he asked, skepticism still lingering in his voice.

“See for yourself.”

Cais ran his fingers gently over the now-clean skin, feeling the smooth surface where blackened corruption had once been. No swelling. No heat. No pain. The breath he released was almost a laugh, though it came out tight with disbelief.

Meanwhile, the Cleric, who had remained silent through the entire process, stared at the healed leg with wide eyes. His lips parted, but no words came. He looked at Kai like he’d just watched a miracle walk into camp.

And in a way, he had.

“How did you do that, Count Arzan?” the Cleric finally asked, voice hushed with disbelief.

Kai turned to him, brushing his fingers clean of lingering threads of mana. “By identifying the dead mana’s location… and purging it,” he replied plainly. “During the early stages of corruption, the pockets of tainted mana haven’t fully latched on to the body’s vital systems. That makes them easier to eliminate.”

He paused, glancing at the now-stable soldier being helped to his feet by Cais’s men.

“But once the corruption spreads too far—once it reaches a major organ or the heart—it becomes almost impossible. Healing at that point risks killing the host. That’s beyond me.”

The Cleric nodded slowly, but the look in his eyes said he still didn’t quite believe it. Not fully. Still, the proof lay before him: flesh that should’ve rotted was whole again. Mana that should’ve cursed had been cleansed. And Kai knew—whether the priest believed or not, others would take notice.

Bishop Maurice will know soon enough, Kai thought, watching Cais lead the soldier away to rest.

The Cleric followed, likely off to report to the bishop. That was fine. In fact, that was exactly what Kai wanted.

Let the church hear of it.

Their “blessings,” as they so proudly called them, were rigid. Inflexible. Rudimentary until one reached the upper ranks of their hierarchy. And those upper echelons—well, they preferred swift executions over uncertain cures. Kill the corrupted before they turn, rather than risk trying to save them.

But now? Now they had seen something different.

They’ll come, Kai thought. When this is over, when I walk into the capital for the Assembly, there’ll be church delegates waiting. Curious. Maybe even desperate. And when they ask for my methods… I’ll be the one holding the cards.

The fire had dimmed in the camp. Most of the soldiers were preparing for another rough march. Kai found himself alone again, wind brushing his coat as he turned his gaze toward the horizon.

Tomorrow, they would continue their journey. Southward. Toward the heart of Vanderfall. Toward the center of the rot. If the reports were right, that was where the treant waited. But before that, he wondered just how many weavers would try to get to them.

***

Apparently, a lot of weavers did try to block their path.

After a brief rest, the march resumed. The peace they had on for long didn’t last.

Throughout the night, more than a few groups of weavers emerged from the shadows—skittering across rooftops, rising from broken ground, crawling from corrupted ruins.

But none of them reached the marching force.

Not a single one.

Kai had already anticipated it.

A barrier of wind—invisible to the eye but thick with concentrated mana—surrounded the group. It drained him constantly, gnawing at his reserves like a leech. But it was worth it. He would rather carry that weight than lose a soldier to an ambush they couldn’t even see coming.

Even with Mages casting light orbs to illuminate the path, the weavers were sly things. They could easily blend.

It got better as the first rays of dawn broke across the desolate land. Light drove the worst of the weavers back into hiding, and with daylight on their side, the group was able to move with more confidence and tighter coordination and better preparation if anything came by.

The soldiers walked in a close-knit formation. The supply caravan rolled between the center lines, guarded on all sides like a moving fortress. No casualties. No injuries.

And Kai could feel it—their morale was rising.

With each hour, they pushed farther into the heart of Vanderfall, and with every successful defense, the weight of dread lifted from the shoulders of his men. They believed they could win this.

To keep spirits from wearing down, they paused for thirty-minute breaks every three hours. It gave the soldiers time to rest, drink water, patch gear, and share brief moments of conversation that didn’t involve bloodshed or shadows.

During those breaks, Kai didn’t keep to himself.

He walked among the crowd, exchanging words with the Enforcers, barbarians, Mages, scouts, and even the Clerics. It wasn’t out of politeness. He wanted to know them. Understand them. Learn who he was trusting his back to—and who would stand with him when things got worse.

More than the others, he paid close attention to the church faction.

So far, he’d had little time to understand the types of blessings they carried or what they could truly do in battle. He wanted to change that.

Thankfully, the Paladins and Clerics weren’t shy about their abilities. In fact, they seemed eager—almost proud—to talk about them. Each miracle they demonstrated, each invocation they described, was framed as a gift from the goddess Lumaris bestowed in exchange for unwavering faith.

Kai had expected some limitations from the church’s so-called blessings, but even so, he found himself mildly disappointed.

Most of the Clerics only had two blessings to speak of—[Healing] and [Stabilization]. A handful had a [Protection] Blessing that formed a small shield around them, but its range and durability left much to be desired. Maybe two or three among them had a [Cure Disease] blessing, which Kai mentally flagged as potentially useful given the nature of the corruption they were dealing with.

Still, there was no flexibility. No adaptability. Every blessing felt… static.

The Paladins fared slightly better. Most wielded a basic [Sword Aura] blessing that coated their weapons in radiant energy, and nearly all of them possessed a [Reinforcement] blessing that strengthened their bodies. A few even had an expanded version of the Clerics’ shield blessing, capable of defending a group rather than just themselves.

Kai had seen glimpses of these blessings in combat before, but it was good to have confirmation—especially when it came to forming future tactics. Even so, none of it was truly surprising.

What did surprise him, however, were the blessings of Bishop Maurice.

He hadn’t asked the man directly before—not because he wasn't curious, but because he’d assumed the usual. After all, a bishop of the church… it made sense to believe his abilities leaned more toward healing, support, and spiritual guidance.

So when Kai finally asked, he hadn’t expected Maurice’s sheepish answer. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

The bishop cleared his throat, glanced around like he was worried someone would overhear, and then began listing them.

A chain spell that summoned arcane bindings, which then detonated in bursts of explosions. A spear barrage that launched projectiles made of light—swords, spears, even halberds—toward enemies like a divine storm. A third that allowed him to briefly reflect incoming attacks like a mirror of divine mana.

Combat blessings. All of them.

Kai had blinked. “You didn’t use any of those in the border town,” he said, not quite hiding the suspicion in his voice.

The bishop had merely smiled weakly and mumbled something about “preserving strength” and “maintaining command.”

But Kai knew the truth.

The man had hidden behind his Paladins' shields, waiting for danger to get close before striking from a safe position—and only when it was convenient. He had let others bleed while he watched, all while possessing enough destructive power to have turned the tide faster.

Kai’s expression had remained calm.

Outwardly, at least.

But inside, his decision was immediate.

Next battle, you're not hiding, he thought, eyes narrowing as the bishop walked away. You’re going on the frontlines with the Enforcers. Let’s see how your blessings hold up when you don’t have a wall of knights in front of you.

The Goddess may have blessed Bishop Maurice, but Kai was about to bless him with clarity—the kind that came from firsthand experience with death just a few feet away.

But none of that came for a while.

For two days, the expedition moved steadily through Vanderfall, avoiding major settlements and steering clear of areas too thick with corruption. The occasional group of weavers they did encounter was easily dispatched—either by a well-placed spell or the swift coordination between Kai’s Enforcers and the Paladins. There were no serious injuries. No sudden ambushes. Just long hours of travel across dead plains, broken hills, and silent roads that hadn’t seen life in a long time.

But on the evening of the second day, as they crested a low, wooded hill, something changed.

It began with sound.

Barely there, distant—yet strange enough to make the entire marching column slow to a stop. It wasn’t the chittering of weavers or the low groans of fiends. No clicking mandibles. No bestial howls. Just... a continuous, unfamiliar noise, echoing from beyond the slope ahead.

Kai raised a hand, signaling for silence. The entire force stalled.

There was something about it—almost... too deliberate to be a natural sound, and far too erratic to belong to the corrupted beasts they’d been fighting. As Kai strained to place it, a flicker of understanding brushed the edge of his thoughts.

Could it be—

“Lord Arzan!” Gareth’s voice cut through the tension, and Kai turned sharply.

Kai’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

“Please, just come with me,” Gareth said, not slowing. “You need to see it for yourself. It’s close.”

Without another word, Kai broke into a jog beside him, moving swiftly through the thinning trees and brush. They climbed a short rise, feet crunching on dry roots and cracked earth, until the foliage finally broke.

Gareth stopped at the edge of a rocky outcrop, gesturing downward.

Kai stepped forward—and what he saw nearly made his heart stop.

***

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