SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar



As the evening descended, a sharp wind picked up, rustling the trees with an ominous murmur.

There was a stillness in the air, a dreadful silence that seemed to weigh heavily on the village.

And then, from the depths of the dense woods, came the sounds that turned the blood in Gobtia's veins to ice - the guttural roars of orcs.

"ROAAAAAAARRRRRHHHHHHH!!!"

Orcs were the creatures of nightmares. Bigger, stronger, and notoriously bloodthirsty, they lived in the darkness of the forest.

Most Goblins in the village had never seen Orcs before, and had only heard of them in stories, and Gobtia was no exception.

The more aged goblins had always been wary of the woods and its deadly inhabitants, maintaining a safe distance and a precarious peace.

But tonight, that peace was shattered.

A horde of orcs, their red eyes gleaming menacingly under the moonlight, descended upon the village. The goblins, though smaller and weaker, did not back down.

They rallied around their Village Chief, their spears and shields ready, determination etched on their faces. Gobtia's father stood at the forefront, his eyes burning with resolve, ready to defend his people.

The clash of weapons echoed through the night as the battle began.

Goblins danced around the massive orcs, their small stature giving them the advantage of agility. But the sheer strength and numbers of the orcs were overwhelming.

The goblins fought bravely, their hearts filled with courage, their attacks coordinated and well-planned. Yet, the tide of the battle was against them.

The village blacksmith, a burly goblin named Gobnar, took on an orc head-on, his hammer whirling with a force that belied his size.

He managed to land a few heavy blows, but the orc retaliated with a vicious swipe that sent Gobnar flying.

The scene repeated itself across the battleground, the goblins' bravery was admirable, but their adversaries were just too formidable.

The village was slowly being consumed by chaos and destruction, the orc roars mingling with the cries of fighting goblins.

Amidst the pandemonium, Gobtia found herself paralyzed by fear and dread, her heart pounding in her chest.

Her home was being torn apart, her people hurt, and she felt a growing despair consuming her.

Yet, she knew she had to do something, anything, to help her people, her family.

Swallowing her fear, Gobtia picked up a fallen spear, her grip shaky but determined. She was no warrior, but she was a goblin of the village, and she would fight for her home, for her father, until her last breath.

Gobtia watched as the orcs continued to close in on her, their heavy steps shaking the ground beneath her feet. The smell of their raw, animalistic musk filled her nostrils, fueling her fear. Yet, she couldn't - wouldn't - back down.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, her eyes wide with dread. But she was rooted to the spot, her grip on the spear tightened to the point of pain. The fear was a frigid beast, clawing at her insides and numbing her senses. Yet, somewhere beneath the layers of terror, Gobtia could feel a sliver of defiance, a tiny flame that refused to be snuffed out.

The orc in the front, the biggest one with gnarled tusks and bloodshot eyes, sneered at her, a guttural laugh bubbling up from its throat. The harsh sound echoed through the night, chilling her to the bone. But it only seemed to bolster Gobtia's resolve. She was the daughter of the Village Chief, the hope of her people. She couldn't - wouldn't - let them down.

With a final deep breath, Gobtia stood tall, her shoulders squared, her eyes fixed on the approaching horde. She raised the spear, her knuckles white with the effort, and pointed it towards the orcs. It was a feeble threat, she knew. They could crush her like an insect without breaking a sweat.

But it didn't matter. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was about standing up against the darkness, about protecting her home, her people. It was about not giving up, no matter how impossible the odds seemed.

The orcs were almost upon her, their grotesque faces twisted in cruel anticipation. Yet, Gobtia didn't waver. She was a goblin of the village, the daughter of the Chief, and she would fight until her last breath.

She braced herself for the onslaught, every fibre of her being screaming at her to run, to hide. But she held her ground. If this was to be her end, she would face it with her head held high, her spirit unbroken.

Because that was what it meant to be a goblin of the village, to be the daughter of the Chief.

"Haaaaa!!!"

Just as Gobtia was about to be overrun by the orc horde, a blinding light erupted in the sky, forcing her to squint against its brilliance.

'W-who is... that?!'

A figure, suspended in the air, emerged from the glow, descending like an avenging deity from the ancient tales her father used to narrate.

He was unlike any being she had ever seen.

His skin was light, a stark contrast to the earthy tones of the goblins and orcs. His hair was a dark contrast to the luminosity around him, falling over his forehead in a disheveled yet attractive manner.

The physique was different too, taller and more lean compared to the stout goblins or bulky orcs.

The fabric that adorned him billowed around him as if caught in a constant wind. His attire was strange to Gobtia's eyes, different from the coarse materials of the goblin village or the brutal hide armors of the orcs.

Yet, the figure looked noble, his very presence radiating a sense of calm authority.

Then, the figure spoke, the words a symphony of sounds that was beyond Gobtia's understanding.

Yet, the tone conveyed a sense of power and firm resolve that transcended the barriers of language.

Next, he extended a hand towards the orc horde.

What happened next was beyond Gobtia's comprehension.

~WHUUUUSSSHHHH!~

Light burst forth from his hand, a brilliant beam that incinerated the orc in front of him instantly.

~BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!~

A gasp caught in Gobtia's throat as she watched, awestruck.

'T-this power...!'

This was Sorcery, a power only told in the stories of the ancients.

A power beyond her world!

With a flick of his wrist, the figure conjured constructs of light, their forms varying from sharp spears to heavy hammers, each decimating an orc as they landed.

The figures shifted and danced, leaving trails of resplendent light in their wake, forming a mesmerizing display of power and precision.

One by one, the orcs fell, their triumphant roars replaced with cries of fear and pain.

The Sorcerer moved through them with an air of calm, a dance amidst the chaos, his magic weaving a deadly tapestry of light and power.

The orc horde was decimated in a matter of minutes, their cruel laughter silenced by the spectacle of Sorcery.

The village was saved, not by the courage of its inhabitants but by a stranger from another world.

A Sorcerer, whose power had redefined the meaning of hope for Gobtia and her people.

'W-who is... this being?'

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[A/N]

We can all guess who the Sorcerer is, right? We're switching back to Lewis' perspective now...

Also...

I have a new novel ongoing, and I would really appreciate your support.

The title is "Only I Can See The End"

Please support me by checking it out. Thank you all.

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