Reinventing Magic: An Inventor's Tale-Chapter 51: The Accursed Staff

Kael’s breath came in ragged gasps as he lay sprawled on the cold stone floor of his study. His body was still adjusting to the immense surge of power from the Earth Dragon’s mana core, a process that had nearly drained him completely. His limbs felt heavy, his muscles sore, yet beneath the exhaustion, exhilaration pulsed through him. He had succeeded. He now had a total of five mana cores.

Only Alice remained in the room with him. The soft glow of the arcane lamps cast flickering shadows across the walls, the silence between them filled only by the sound of Kael’s labored breathing. He turned his head slightly to look at her.

"Alice," he murmured, still catching his breath, "where’s Keira? I didn’t see her when everyone gathered earlier."

Alice stood beside the study table, her hands clasped behind her back. "Keira decided to rest in her chamber," she said. "She exhausted herself reinforcing the magical barrier that weakened after the siege. The constant attacks compromised its integrity, and she had to keep strengthening it after the battle."

Kael exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I see... she’s hardworking. She deserves the rest."

A comfortable silence followed before Kael shifted, pushing himself up into a seated position. The memory of Victor’s words surfaced in his mind—of how Alice had transformed on the battlefield. He hadn’t seen it himself, but the idea intrigued him. Rising to his feet, he met Alice’s unblinking gray eyes.

"Alice," he said, brushing the dust from his shirt, "show me."

Alice tilted her head slightly. "Show you?"

"Your transformation," Kael clarified, his curiosity evident. "I need to see it for myself."

Alice nodded without hesitation. She closed her eyes briefly and said, "Initiating transformation sequence."

A sharp hiss filled the room as steam burst from her body, her skin momentarily glowing with arcane energy. The process was mesmerizing—Kael’s eyes widened as he watched the fine fabric of her clothes disintegrate into nothing. A jolt of realization struck him, and his face turned crimson. His gaze darted away, but his scientific mind betrayed him, compelling him to sneak another glance.

From beneath Alice’s smooth skin, gleaming metallic plates emerged as if materializing from within her body. The transformation was seamless, like an intricate puzzle falling into place. Runes etched onto her back flared to life, the light flowing through delicate patterns that pulsed with energy. Nestled in the center of her chest, a spirit crystal glowed brightly, casting a warm, ethereal light—reminiscent of an arcane Iron Man.

Kael’s analytical mind raced, absorbing every detail. The way the armor materialized, the way it integrated perfectly with her form—this was beyond anything he had seen before.

His gaze lingered on her exoskeleton. "Alice, can you change the color of your exoskeleton from silver to red and mix it with gold?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Alice considered for a moment before responding. "Yes, I can. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

Kael nodded eagerly. "Please do."

With a subtle shift, the metallic plates began to change hue, transforming from their original silver to a striking red with gold accents. The sight left Kael in awe, his excitement palpable.

"This is incredible," he murmured. "The possibilities are really endless."

Fascinated, he circled her to inspect the runes on her back. His fingers itched to take notes, to study the inscriptions. Then, his eyes caught something peculiar within the rune structures, something that sent a thrill of excitement through him.

"I think... it’s possible," he whispered to himself, his lips curling into a grin.

Alice tilted her head. "Possible?"

Kael’s eyes gleamed with unrestrained curiosity. "I can’t wait to experiment."

---

The following days were a blur of preparation. Kael, alongside his father, Count Edgar Valtieri, and Duke Marcus Marveil, worked tirelessly to finalize their counterattack against Count Gregor. The war was far from over, but with Kael’s strategies, they had the upper hand.

The Duke, an experienced tactician himself, found himself repeatedly impressed. "Not only are you a gifted artificer," he remarked one evening, "but you also possess the mind of a war genius." He chuckled. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve spent your life studying warfare."

Kael simply smiled, knowing that his knowledge was the result of thousands of hours spent devouring Webnovels and strategy games back on Earth.

Meanwhile, in Count Gregor’s domain, a carriage rolled to a stop in front of the grand estate. The sigil of House Gregor was emblazoned on its sides, marking the arrival of none other than Livius Gregor, heir to the Count’s domain.

The doors opened, and Livius stepped out, his dark cloak billowing slightly. His piercing gaze swept over the castle grounds before landing on his waiting father and Corven, one of Gregor’s most trusted advisors.

"Father," Livius greeted with a curt nod. "I’ve arrived."

Count Gregor smiled, though there was an underlying tension in his expression. "Welcome home, my son."

As Livius walked toward them, his sharp instincts sensed something was off. His gaze narrowed. "Something happened while I was away, didn’t it?"

Count Gregor’s expression darkened. "The Valtieri attacked one of our territories," he said, omitting the truth that he had instigated the conflict. "We launched a counterattack... but we suffered a crushing defeat."

Livius halted. His hands clenched into fists. "What?"

Corven stepped forward, his voice solemn. "Tiberius was defeated."

Livius’ expression turned to one of cold fury. "Defeated? Was he killed?"

Corven nodded. "Yes. The Valtieri had someone powerful enough to best him."

The air around Livius crackled with latent mana. His anger was palpable. "Those country bumpkins dared to attack us?" he hissed. "Father, rest assured—we will make them pay."

Count Gregor hid his smirk. Livius’ rage was precisely what he had wanted. A full-blown war was inevitable now.

And soon, the Valtieri would suffer for their defiance.

Later that evening, beneath the towering stone walls of Gregor’s estate, Count Gregor descended into the hidden chamber beneath his keep. The corridor leading to it was lined with ancient relics, each exuding a faint magical aura. The torches along the walls flickered with an eerie blue flame, their light casting long, restless shadows across the chamber’s entrance. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

The chamber itself was vast, a repository of forgotten power. Pedestals of obsidian and marble displayed artifacts of untold history—enchanted rings, cursed amulets, and tomes filled with eldritch knowledge. Yet, Count Gregor ignored them all, his attention fixated on a particular chest at the room’s farthest end.

He strode forward, his heavy boots echoing against the polished stone floor. The chest was locked with an intricate mechanism, its surface etched with containment runes pulsing faintly. Gregor reached into his coat and pulled out an ornate key, its hilt forged from dark iron and encrusted with crimson gemstones. With a click, the lock released, and the air around the chamber grew noticeably colder.

As he lifted the lid, a dense wave of dark energy erupted from within, cascading over him like an unholy tide. The pressure alone made the torches waver. The cursed energy clung to his skin, seeping into his very bones. His breath hitched, but he did not falter.

Inside, nestled within a velvet-lined compartment, lay the Umbral Doomstaff.

The staff was gnarled and blackened as if carved from the very roots of darkness itself. Along its twisted frame, ancient runes glowed with an ominous, pulsing light. At its peak, embedded in a claw-like structure, sat the Tenebris Shard, a jagged crystal swirling with shadowy tendrils of magic.

Gregor’s fingers twitched as he reached out, brushing against the cold, unholy wood. A pulse of malevolent energy surged into him, sending a shiver up his spine. His vision momentarily blurred, and whispers echoed within his mind—maddening, incomprehensible murmurs that clawed at his sanity.

Despite knowing the risks, he grasped the staff firmly. The moment he did, a flood of knowledge poured into his mind, his body trembling under the weight of its power.

Artifact Identified: Umbral Doomstaff

- Instant Spellcasting: The wielder can cast spells instantly, without the need for incantations.

- Mana Amplification: Increases the potency of all magic cast through the staff.

- Dark Vision: Grants the ability to see through the deepest darkness.

Curse Effect: The staff corrodes the wielder’s sanity, inducing berserk fits of uncontrollable rage. Each use brings the wielder closer to irreversible madness. If overused, the wielder will lose all self-control, becoming a vessel of destruction.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Gregor’s lips as he absorbed the information.

"I don’t want to use this staff," he muttered to himself, his grip tightening. "But I can’t afford to lose this war."

His thoughts flickered back to the recent battle—the sight of Keira Bryndis soaring above the battlefield, her Veilbreaker Staff illuminating the night with an overwhelming surge of magic. He had seen the destruction firsthand, the raw power that annihilated his forces in mere moments.

"That girl’s power... her staff," Gregor murmured, his voice laced with envy and greed. "That should have been mine."

His jaw clenched. He had tried countless times to master chantless casting, to command magic as effortlessly as Kael Valtieri and Keira did. Yet no matter how many grimoires he studied, no matter how many rare artifacts he collected, he remained shackled by the limitations of traditional casting.

But now...

Now, he held an artifact that could bridge that gap. A staff that could make him the most fearsome mage in the kingdom. Even if it meant sacrificing his sanity, even if it meant succumbing to madness, he would wield this power.

Gregor exhaled slowly, then turned to face Corven, who had entered the chamber unnoticed. The advisor’s eyes darted nervously between Gregor and the ominous staff.

"My lord..." Corven hesitated, visibly unsettled by the cursed aura that now radiated from Gregor. "You... you’re truly going to use that?"

Gregor’s smirk deepened. "Do you fear me, Corven?"

The advisor swallowed hard, but he did not answer.

Gregor chuckled darkly and twirled the Umbral Doomstaff in his grip. The weight felt perfect, almost as if it had been waiting for him all along. He could already feel its power coursing through his veins, invigorating him.

"The Valtieri think they have won," he said, his voice steady yet filled with an unsettling hunger. "They believe they hold the advantage. But they have no idea what is coming for them."

The torches flickered wildly as the room filled with a suffocating presence, the darkness itself seeming to bend toward him.

"The time for games is over."

With that, Gregor turned and strode toward the exit, the Umbral Doomstaff crackling with dark energy in his grasp.

The war was far from over.

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