Oath of the King-Chapter 9: Born to be a Mage – Part 2

The sky was clear that day. Birds sang outside the window, and the sun bathed the village in a golden light. It was a day of celebration, a day of joy, because a child was born.

Martha Horvath cradled her newborn in her arms, exhaustion and happiness mixing in her tear-streaked face. Her hands trembled as she brushed the boy's soft cheek.

"He's beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Beside her, a man with sharp features and deep, knowing eyes knelt by the bedside. His hands, rough from labor, trembled as he reached out and touched his son's tiny fingers. A small smile formed on his lips.

"I will call you Leonhard Horvath," Martha said, her voice full of warmth.

The child was strong, healthy, his little chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

Outside, the villagers rejoiced with them. The streets buzzed with life. Friends and neighbors brought gifts—woven blankets, fresh bread, wooden toys. The air smelled of roasted meat, fresh soil, and morning dew. It was a beautiful day.

But happiness never lasts.

Leonhard was only five when the whispers started.

At first, they were hushed murmurs, fleeting glances, uncomfortable silences whenever his father passed by. It confused him. His father, Qiddras, was a kind man. He worked hard. He loved his family.

But the villagers looked at him differently now.

And then, one night, Qiddras disappeared.

It happened suddenly. No goodbyes. No explanations. One day, he was home, tucking Leonhard into bed, his voice a soothing lullaby in the dark. The next morning, he was gone.

The rumors spread like wildfire.

"He was a heretic."

"He used magic."

"He was unnatural."

Some said he fled before the village could deal with him. Others claimed something worse—something darker—had taken him.

Leonhard didn't understand. He was only a child. All he knew was that his father was gone, and no one cared.

His mother, once surrounded by friends, now found herself alone. People avoided their home. Children were forbidden from playing with him. Shopkeepers raised their prices when Martha tried to buy food.

Leonhard felt it too. The stares. The whispers. The way the other kids flinched when he got too close, like he carried some kind of sickness.

But worst of all were the teachers.

He was a bright child. He learned fast, quicker than the others. But every time he asked something the others couldn't answer, every time he understood something too well, the teachers would pause. Their eyes would narrow.

And then they would move on, pretending he wasn't there.

Like he was invisible.

Like he didn't exist.

By the time he was ten, Leonhard had learned something very important.

No one wanted him here.

Two years passed.

The night was cold, the sky black and heavy with clouds.

Leonhard sat outside, staring at the fire his mother had built. It crackled softly, sending faint embers into the air.

Martha was inside, preparing what little food they had left. It had been another hard day.

Another day of being ignored. Another day of being alone.

Then the screaming started.

It was distant at first, barely above the wind. But then it grew louder. Closer.

Leonhard turned, heart pounding.

The village was on fire.

Shadows moved between the flames—men on horseback, their bodies wrapped in rags and metal. Their swords glinted in the firelight.

Bandits.

Leonhard heard shouts, saw people running. Women dragged from their homes, their cries piercing the night.

The sound of steel clashing.

A man's voice, begging. Then—silence.

Leonhard ran inside.

"Mom!" His voice shook. "Mom, we have to go—"

The door burst open.

A man stood in the doorway, his teeth yellow, his clothes filthy. His eyes landed on Martha.

Leonhard froze.

She screamed.

The bandit grabbed her wrist, yanking her forward. She struggled, nails clawing at his face, his arms, his chest.

He laughed.

Leonhard moved before he could think.

He grabbed a knife from the table and swung.

The blade barely scratched the man's arm.

The bandit turned, his face twisting in rage.

Leonhard felt the slap before he saw it. His body crashed into the wall. His vision blurred.

Martha's screams grew louder.

More men entered.

Laughter. The sound of fabric tearing.

Something inside Leonhard snapped.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

The air changed.

The warmth of the fire shifted—twisting, bending.

He felt it deep in his bones.

A second heartbeat. A pulsing force buried beneath his skin.

It wanted to be free.

The bandits didn't notice.

Not until the flames roared.

The fire leapt from the hearth, crawling up the walls, licking the wooden beams like a starving beast. It coiled around Leonhard, but it didn't burn him.

The bandits stepped back.

"What the hell—?"

Leonhard's breath came in ragged gasps. His hands trembled.

Then he raised them.

The fire obeyed.

A roaring inferno exploded from his fingertips, engulfing the nearest bandit. His screams filled the house as his skin blackened, his flesh melting from his bones.

The others shouted, scrambling back, but Leonhard was already moving.

The floor cracked beneath them.

Vines erupted from the ground, thick and gnarled, snaking through the air like living whips.

One bandit tried to run.

A vine wrapped around his ankle and pulled.

His scream was cut short as the ground swallowed him whole.

Another reached for his sword.

Leonhard clenched his fist.

The vine around the man's leg tightened. Bones snapped like dry twigs.

The bandit fell, shrieking in agony.

Leonhard didn't stop.

The vines coiled around his arms, his legs, squeezing. Blood sprayed across the walls.

The last bandit turned to run.

Leonhard's eyes glowed.

Fire shot forward, slamming into the man's back.

He collapsed, thrashing, his skin peeling away in layers. His screams were high-pitched, inhuman.

Leonhard watched.

He didn't blink.

Didn't move.

The fire burned. The vines twisted. The bodies lay still.

A moment passed.

Then another.

Silence.

Leonhard exhaled.

The fire died. The vines crumbled to dust.

His mother lay curled in the corner, her eyes wide with terror.

She wasn't looking at the corpses.

She was looking at him.

Leonhard took a step forward.

She flinched.

A lump formed in his throat.

She was afraid of him.

He looked at his hands.

They were covered in blood.

The realization hit him like a hammer.

He had done this.

The whispers had been right all along.

He was unnatural.

He was a monster.

Leonhard staggered back, his heart pounding.

Then he ran.

He didn't know where.

He didn't care.

All he knew was that he could never go back.

And deep inside, something whispered:

You've been here before.

This is only the beginning.