Reincarnation of the magicless!
From zero to hero!
"No magic?, No problem?"
Chapter 21: The smell of a Ghost!
Interlude:The Boy Who Changed the Flow of Water
In the far north, where the winds ran cold and the valleys stayed green through magic and ingenuity, the people of the Greybrook Dukedom lived quieter lives than most. But every home, every street corner, every cobbled bathhouse or lantern-lit café still whispered the same name.
"Young Lord Rolien..."
He hadn't been seen in nearly a year. Not since he'd taken that secret mission from the King. And though his father, the Grand Duke Edric, kept a composed exterior—those closest to the estate knew the old man hadn't touched a chessboard or eaten Rolien's favorite hazelnut bread since.
"Remember when he fixed the water tower?" Old Meris, the wellkeeper, grunted as he scrubbed the stone base. "Used to break every winter. Now it even sings when it pumps."
"You mean that loud whistling?" her apprentice joked.
"Bah! You'll understand when you're sixty and not dragging buckets from a frozen well."
The village square clock struck noon—dong, dong—a clear, harmonious chime that echoed across Greybrook. It was the kind of precision only found in capital cities. Or, if you were lucky, near a certain young duke's workshop.
Rolien had built it when he was ten.
They said it was inspired by a "Big Ben" from a world he barely remembered. He had called it "funny-looking" and "inefficient," but still charming.
"You think he'll ever come back?" asked Marla, a soap vendor, as she arranged rows of lavender and mint bars on a polished wooden shelf.
A little girl nearby sniffed a blue bottle labeled Shampoo and squealed in delight. "It smells like clouds!"
Marla smiled faintly. "He said that's what it was for. 'Making people feel human again.' Even if they were covered in pig muck."
The public bathhouse, another of his strange projects, now stood proudly by the riverbank—complete with pressurized pipes, tiled floors, and hot water on demand. Even the nobles in the nearby baronies had taken notice.
But Greybrook never boasted.
They were proud in the way that mattered.
Rolien wasn't just their young master. He was the boy who'd carried a firewood bundle bigger than his head at eight years old, refusing help. The one who slipped from sword practice to test a soap formula in a copper bathtub. The one who once set fire to the Duke's study trying to replicate a "rice cooker."
He was strange. Curious. Restless.
But he was theirs.
Now, with every passing week, the people left flowers near the gate of the manor. Some brought notes. Others brought inventions of their own—tiny gadgets, music boxes, glass tubes and gears—hoping he'd return and see them. Approve them. Smile, maybe.
In the dusk, a boy no older than Rolien when he left sat by the fountain he once repaired. He held a stick and a sketchbook, mimicking blueprints he barely understood.
And when the wind passed, carrying a faint chime from the tower clock, the boy whispered:
"We miss you, Lord Rolien."
Back to present...
The mist inside the ruin pulsed like a living thing—breathing, expanding.
And then it took form.
A shape, black as scorched bone and fluid as smoke, began coalescing in front of them. No face. No name. Just the weight of something not meant for this world.
Tessa raised her glaive. "What in the hell…"
Rowan—Rolien—didn't move. His Spirit Core was humming like it wanted to crack. Sweat slid down his temple.
The thing stared straight at him.
"You..." it whispered, the voice a chorus of grinding stone. "You carry it. The scent. Not the same. But close. Twisted. Worn."
Rolien tensed. "What do you mean?"
The creature leaned forward slightly, its outline warping reality.
"You smell like the one who opened the wound. Who whispered the words. Who tore the gate."
A pause.
"But you are not him."
The party stood frozen. Even Solis had nothing to say.
"I don't know who you're talking about," Rolien muttered, voice low. But part of him—the soldier he once was—already guessed. The scent the creature sensed wasn't just from this world. It was from Earth. From the blood-stained shadows of a life left behind.
"You wear his scent like an echo. His shadow clings to your fate."
The creature's voice dropped to a hiss.
"Did you come to finish what he started? Or are you another puppet in a dying world's game?"
A pulse of cold slammed into them. Tessa staggered.
"Rowan—!"
Rolien didn't answer.
His eyes narrowed. Thoughts sharpened.
Who summoned this thing?
It couldn't be Groteus. That was four years ago. He'd been at Greybrook. He knew the destruction, the aftermath, the lives lost. This thing—whatever it was—wasn't in the records. Not in the grimoires. Not even in the forbidden texts.
Which meant it was new.
Or hidden.
Or both.
Rolien slowly drew his blade, angling it toward the creature.
"Whatever you are," he said, voice low, "you're not going to leave this place."
The monster didn't flinch. Instead, it laughed—not aloud, but directly into their thoughts. A wet, echoing noise like bones rattling in oil.
"I've already left. Long ago. I walk in your cracks. Your histories. I just wanted to see... what the other one left behind."
It began to fade, its body dissipating into the mist.
And as it vanished, it whispered a final thought into Rolien's mind.
"Tell him... his scent still lingers."
Then silence.
Rolien knelt beside the strange device nestled between two collapsed support stones. Dust had half-covered it, but the compact rectangular shape and wiring were familiar—too familiar.
He carefully peeled away the dirt with his dagger's tip.
It looked like C4. Just like the ones he used back on Earth—only it glowed. Mana pulsed faintly across etched veins on the clay-like material, and a core crystal sat embedded in its center like a beating heart.
[System Notification]
Mana Cluster C4 (x4) detected.
Would you like to take it into your inventory?
[Yes] [No]
He blinked.
"…Still works," he muttered under his breath and mentally selected [Yes].
The moment he did, the devices vanished with a soft glimmer of light.
His inventory—now fused with his spirit core—absorbed them seamlessly. Then, another notification appeared, floating before his eyes in faint blue.
[System Notification]
Analyze acquired items?
Mana Cluster C4 (x4)
Estimated yield: Catastrophic (Cave collapse guaranteed)
Begin dismantle and analysis?
[Yes] [No]
Rolien selected [Yes] without hesitation.
Inside his spirit-core-bound item space, the System's spectral arms reached out—dismantling one of the mana bombs piece by piece in a contained simulation. He watched briefly as the process rendered complex graphs, materials used, and triggering mechanisms.
Same structure as his prototype…
But more refined. Someone improved on it… out here?
His jaw tightened.
Tessa's voice snapped him back. "You okay?"
Rolien glanced up, the faint traces of light from the System fading.
"Yeah. Just thinking." He stood. "Someone didn't just try to collapse this tunnel. They used a design I know."
Tessa narrowed her eyes. "You said it was something you'd build. Are you an inventor too?"
Rolien paused. For a heartbeat, he weighed whether to lie.
"…Something like that."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Meanwhile, Braggs grunted as he helped clear the last bit of rubble blocking the next path.
"Then whoever did this didn't want adventurers getting further in," he said.
"Or didn't want something getting out," Rolien added, darkly.
They pressed forward, deeper into the tomb. With each step, unease pooled heavier in Rolien's gut. The analysis still ran quietly in the background of his System—breaking down the bomb's design, but one fact already rang clear:
Someone like him was here.
And they weren't here to explore.
They were here to bury.
He turned to the others.
"Whoever set this up, they might still be close. So from now on, follow my lead. Don't touch anything unless I say so. And if I tell you to run… you run."
Braggs gave a nod, no questions asked.
Tessa crossed her arms but didn't argue. Her eyes were still locked on Rolien.
Who the hell are you really?
But for now, they followed. The air ahead was colder now—like something was waiting.
The air grew stale as they passed the last of the carved archways. Their torchlight flickered against the stone walls—damp, cracked, and now etched with unfamiliar symbols… no, not etched. Burned.
Tessa stepped cautiously beside Rolien, eyes scanning every surface. Braggs held his hammer tight, knuckles white.
Then they saw it.
A grotesque heap of flesh lay collapsed at the center of the chamber. It was fused to the stone floor—like something tried to become part of it. Bones jutted out at odd angles, eyes half-formed and scattered across the surface like bubbles. Patches of skin pulsed, still faintly alive.
Tessa covered her mouth.
Braggs stepped back, his voice dry. "What the hell is that?"
Rolien didn't answer immediately. His brows furrowed as he crouched near it—but kept his distance.
Some parts looked humanoid. Others were… not.
Splayed limbs, some too long, some with claws. Runes seared into what might've once been a chest cavity. Something had been summoned here—or created. Maybe both.
"Tch… this is bad," Rolien muttered, clicking his tongue.
The sight stirred memories from Earth. Black site experiments. Illegal chimera programs. But this—this was worse. This had intent behind it. Ritualistic. Purposeful.
"We're leaving," he said, rising quickly. "Now."
But just as he turned, a click echoed behind them.
"Wait—don't—!"
Too late.
One of the younger adventurers in their group—Kiel—had reached toward a strange silver sigil embedded in the wall. He pulled his hand back, but the damage was done.
WHIRRRRRRRRRK—THOOM!
The ground groaned. Stone scraped violently against stone. The chamber began to shake violently.
Ancient gears beneath them screamed to life.
Dust fell in clouds from above. A low, thunderous rumble echoed deeper into the ruins.
"FUCK! Everyone, run!" Rolien shouted again as the ceiling cracked overhead.
Slabs of stone thundered to the floor behind them. Dust and shards rained down. The ancient tomb groaned like it was alive—and dying.
The party sprinted down the glowing corridor, feet slamming against the uneven ground. The air grew thick, vibrating with a strange pressure as if the entire ruin rejected their presence.
Kiel stumbled, coughing from the dust. Braggs yanked him up by the collar, practically throwing the boy forward.
"Don't stop! Keep going!" Tessa called out, blade drawn, though useless against the earth trying to kill them.
Rolien led them with a sharp, calculated pace. His eyes were wide—but not from fear. He was processing, analyzing, calculating.
This place was designed to collapse if tampered with. A failsafe. That flesh heap was no accident.
He glanced at his HUD. The System flickered briefly, then locked in a path ahead. "Optimal route calculated. Collapse imminent in 3 minutes."
"Three minutes! Stick close and don't fucking touch anything!" he barked, leaping over a broken stone.
They reached a narrow causeway. It was already cracking down the middle.
"I'll go first. Step exactly where I step," Rolien instructed.
The others hesitated only for a second before following. One by one they crossed—some slipping, one nearly falling—but they made it.
Just as Braggs jumped across, the causeway gave out completely behind him, dropping into black nothingness.
"SHIT—go go go!" Braggs shouted.
They pushed through another passage. Heat licked at their skin. Pipes—old and rusted—ran along the upper walls, some leaking faint blue steam.
These aren't dwarven… these are hybrid tech. Someone's been modifying the structure.
Rolien's heart pounded—not from the run, but from realization.
This whole ruin was repurposed. Someone turned this place into a ritual site. Then tried to hide it.
Ahead, light appeared—faint daylight streaming through a broken arch.
"There! EXIT!"
Tessa reached it first and waved the others through. One by one, they burst into the open—out into the valley again. The cave behind them let out a thunderous boom as another section collapsed.
But Rolien was the last.
He turned one last time to look back, the vibrating air now deafening.
Who did this?
And that's when he saw it.
Just for a moment—on the far wall, as the dust cleared—another sigil. A faint, modern mark. Not from this world.
His eyes narrowed. That same bitter thought echoed in his head.
"Someone like me is here…"
The clamor of the guildhall didn't die down even after the team's dramatic entrance. Mud-streaked boots, soot-stained cloaks, and wide eyes drew attention the moment they stepped in.
Tessa slammed a blood-smeared satchel on the counter.
"We're filing a report. Emergency-class."
The receptionist—a sharp-eared elven clerk named Mira—looked up, eyes narrowing behind her round glasses.
"Team Argon? You weren't scheduled for another two days."
"We found something," Rolien cut in, voice low and serious. "Something bad."
Mira's expression sobered fast. She motioned to the back room.
"Private chamber. Now."
—
Guild Backroom – Briefing Table
Maps lay spread out. Crystal lamps flickered overhead. The team sat, tense and silent, as Rolien explained.
"We infiltrated the tomb east of the old ruin site. Was supposed to be dormant. But the entire place was a front."
He reached into his pouch and tapped a button in the air. The System blinked—a soft chime—as a blurry scan of the twisted flesh construct projected above the table.
"Found this. A composite of multiple creatures. Unnatural. Looks like a summoning attempt or some kind of failed fusion. It wasn't alive—but it was recent."
Mira grimaced. "And then the collapse?"
"Triggered by a pressure plate. Mechanism was built into the foundation. We got lucky." He didn't mention how close it had been. "Someone wanted that place buried."
Tessa added, arms crossed, "And the deeper rooms weren't built by dwarves. The walls were reinforced with hybrid materials. The pipes? Too modern. It was retrofitted by someone who knows how to blend magical and… mechanical systems."
Braggs tossed in, "Found bombs too. Rigged. I nearly pissed myself."
Mira's hands clenched into fists on the table. "Did you recover any of it?"
Rolien nodded. "Safely extracted one. Mana cluster C4. Shape and material—it's modeled after a plastic explosive. Something not from this world."
That made Mira flinch.
"That's impossible. There's no one here who—"
"There is," Rolien said, voice steady. "Or was. Whoever set those, knew what they were doing."
"And you're saying this thing—this flesh mound—was being summoned?"
"I'm saying it wasn't alone." He leaned forward. "Someone's been tampering with ancient sites. Someone with knowledge that doesn't belong here. They're either summoning, experimenting, or both. And they're covering their tracks."
Silence hung in the room.
Then Mira stood, calm but visibly rattled. "I'll notify the regional guildmaster. You've done more than enough. Get some rest. We'll send a cleanup team to secure the ruins… if there's anything left."
Rolien nodded, though his mind was still racing.
That bomb… the sigil…
As the team rose to leave, Tessa glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
"…You said 'I would've done it like this.'"
Rolien paused. He didn't answer right away.
"Old habit. Used to make stuff like that… for fun," he said vaguely.
Tessa didn't believe him. But she didn't press it—yet.
As they left the guildhall and stepped into the cool night, Rolien looked up at the stars, the distant moonlight catching his silver hair.
"If someone like me is already here… then this world's in more danger than I thought."
To be continued...