The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family-Chapter 345: The Black Departure

Klaus returned to the solitude of the Eastern Tower. The brief interlude in the city was over. The urgent demands of the Ice Palace and the Empire were now his only concern. The transition from relaxed noble to operational asset was instant and efficient.

He moved through his chambers without hesitation. His packing was minimal: a leather-bound folio containing necessary imperial mandates, three potent mana restoratives, and the Ice Sword brooch, locked in a simple, heavy cherry wood box. He carried nothing frivolous; every item was a tool.

His street clothes were shed. He reached for his working gear, a set of high-grade artifacts designed for long-range, high-stress conditions.

First, the shirt. It was black, exceptionally soft, and form-fitting. The material was a synthesized composite favored by high-ranking military officials—flexible enough to assure optimal muscle movement and comfort, even during high-speed combat, yet possessing enough defensive density to deflect lesser magical or blade attacks.

Next, the coat. It was a long piece of tailoring, the color of absolute shadow, reaching down to just above his knees. The coat featured a deep, practical hood and a heavily warded lining. All the clothing he wore—the coat, the shirt, the black trousers, and the reinforced boots—were self-maintaining artifacts. They did not require washing, nor did they accumulate dirt or blood. Their primary function was auto-repair; a stray bullet or a blade's cut would be instantly sealed and woven back into perfect structural integrity by a faint mana current.

He completed his ensemble with the black pants and boots, the boots reinforced with arcane cushioning for silence and stability.

Klaus glanced into the mirror. The image was clean, lethal, and elegant. His stark white hair and cold blue eyes provided the only contrast to the uniform blackness of his attire, an elegant contradiction that underscored his nature. He looked less like a Prince and more like the inevitable consequence of a sudden, brutal force. He was satisfied. The disguise was complete. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

He descended the tower stairs and stepped onto the stone expanse of the private garden. Dudu was already there.

The Night Dragon was immense, a coiled mass of black scales and silent power. Its golden eyes, however, burned with visible, agitated impatience. It was ready to move, its body vibrating with restless energy.

"Aren't you a bit overexcited?" Klaus asked, his voice low. He walked directly to Dudu's head, his movements calm, and rested a hand flat on the smooth, massive scales. He could feel the surging energy of the beast, anxious for the open sky.

He didn't wait for a moment of drama. He shifted his weight, and with a practiced motion, hopped onto Dudu's back, settling into the familiar, natural curve just behind the dragon's neck.

"Let's go," he stated, the command simple, direct, and final.

Dudu needed no further prompting. The dragon's body stretched taut like a drawn bowstring. Its vast, powerful wings snapped open with a sound like tearing fabric, instantly catching and displacing the night air.

The roar that followed was not merely sound; it was an atmospheric pressure wave.

It began as a deep, resonant vibration that moved through the bedrock of the Lionhart Estate, traveling up through the foundations of the ancient structures. It rose in intensity, becoming a raw, unearthly trumpet blast that announced the immediate departure of an apex predator. It was loud enough to be heard across the entire capital, a single, terrifying declaration that cut through the quiet of the night.

The impact was immediate and widespread.

--

Captain Grizzel, commanding the night watch at the main palace gates, felt the roar in his teeth. He immediately ordered his men into a defensive posture. He was a veteran, and while he knew the Dragon was loyal, this level of power was always disorienting.

"No, hold positions!" Grizzel barked, correcting his men who were fumbling with their shield formations. "It is the Night Dragon. Young Master Klaus is on the move. That sound is not a call for help; it's a political signal. It tells the capital—and anyone listening—that the Lionhart power is being deployed. No panic, simply vigilance! Double the sensor wards on the perimeter now!" He wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple. Their Young Master never made things simple, even when leaving.

--

Deep within the stone-lined stables, the roar triggered instant, deafening panic among the valuable warhorses and Imperial mounts. They were fine-blooded animals, but nothing could stand against the primal power of a Draconic scream.

Stablemaster Jannis swore loudly, scrambling to secure the main breeding stallion, which was rearing up violently, its eyes rolling white.

"The Dragon! The Night Dragon!" Jannis yelled, wrestling the powerful beast back into its stall. "Curse Young Master Klaus for his theatrics! This will take an hour to settle them! Get the soothing smoke burners lit! Move! Every horse here is worth more than our monthly wages combined!" The stablehands moved with frenzied speed, attempting to calm the whinnying, terrified chaos.

--

In the massive, central kitchens, several windows rattled loose from their frames, and a dozen crystal goblets sitting on a tray shattered simultaneously from the sheer low-frequency vibration.

"Young Master Klaus's gone! He's gone!" shrieked a kitchen runner, diving under a counter.

Head Cook Miri, a woman who rarely showed fear, was busy inspecting a newly-formed hairline crack running along the stone mantle above the great hearth. She tapped it with a knuckle. "Get the glass sweeping, quickly! And someone tell the quartermaster we need to log this as 'Structural Damage Due to Draconic Departure.' We are not paying for this out of the tip jar!" She shook her head, muttering about the high cost of supporting transcendent geniuses. "A simple letter would suffice, but no. It must be loud."

--

In the far, protected wing of the estate where the younger, non-combat-trained members of the extended Lionhart family slept, the roar was reduced to a terrifying but distant rumble, accompanied by the shaking of the building.

A young girl named Lena, perhaps seven, ran to the window, clutching her stuffed beast. She saw a brief, massive shadow climb with impossible speed against the stars.

"Did you see it? Did you see the Shadow King?" she whispered to her older brother, who was hiding under his blanket.

"No, it was just Dudu," he mumbled, though he peeked out, captivated. "He's not a king. He's just cousin Klaus's pet."

But as they watched the vast, black shape vanish beneath the dark, heavy clouds, they both knew the truth. That shape moving against the midnight sky was the embodiment of the Lionhart power, and it was taking one of their princes away on a grand, terrifying errand.

High above the capital, Dudu's final wing beats were vast, silent strokes, rapidly pushing them out of the lower atmosphere. The Night Dragon was a vanishing silhouette, already moving at a speed that left the sound of its own roar far behind.

Klaus, wrapped in the protective field of his artifact gear, sat steady and unmoving. He looked forward, north, toward the frigid, troubled territory of the Ice Palace. Below them, the glittering city lights were shrinking into a distant diamond dust. The mission had officially begun. The Night Dragon and its rider vanished completely under the dark, silent sky.

-End of Volume 1 -

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A/N: Thanks for taking a moment to read this.(And to the sites that repost my chapters—no hard feelings. I just ask that you keep this note in, too.)

I want to explain something that I've never said clearly before:the long gaps between updates—sometimes weeks, sometimes even months—aren't because I've lost interest in the story.It's because life has been hitting a lot harder than I expected.

Since Webnovel stopped promoting the book, the reader growth basically flatlined. The only people still here are the handful of loyal readers who stuck with me through everything. I appreciate you more than I can express. Truly.

But the reality is that writing each chapter takes hours of focused work, and this story is also part of my income. When the book earns almost nothing for months at a time, I'm forced to shift my energy toward things that can actually keep me afloat. That's why updates sometimes disappear for so long—it's not laziness or lack of passion. It's survival.

Even when I'm away, I'm still thinking about the plot, the characters, the future arcs. I want to finish this story. I promised myself that I would. But when the platform gives the book zero attention and the numbers stay where they are, I have to constantly choose between giving my time to the story or giving my time to something that pays the bills. That's the honest truth.

I'm still here. I'm still writing. But the pace depends heavily on whether I can realistically afford to keep doing it.

If you're still reading and still rooting for the story, one small thing that helps more than you might think is simply leaving a review or comment on the book. It boosts visibility a little, but more importantly, it reminds me that someone out there still cares.

Thank you for staying, for waiting, for even reading this note.I hope your day is gentle.