The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

Chapter 368: The Light Bringer

The battlefield had transformed into a canvas of blinding brilliance. Where shadows had once clawed at the edges of the Stark militia's formation, there was now only pure, unadulterated radiance. Klaus stood at the center of the devastation, his white hair floating weightlessly in the updraft created by his own power. He did not look like a swordsman anymore. He looked like a conduit for something far greater, a vessel overflowing with power that refused to be contained.

The air smelled of ozone and purified ash. Every time Klaus swung Greed, the black sword trailed ribbons of golden light that severed the Hollows not just physically but spiritually. The creatures did not just fall. They unraveled. Their dark forms dissipated into harmless motes of dust, cleansed by the attribute that was their natural antithesis.

Erion Stark watched from the command ridge, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his own weapon. He had seen powerful warriors before. He had seen Swordkings level mountains. But this was different. This was not just power. This was authority over the elements themselves.

'He is filtering the natural mana,' Erion realized, his eyes narrowing as he watched the ambient energy bend toward Klaus. 'He is not using his own core. He is pulling the light attribute from the air itself.'

The realization hit Erion like a physical blow. To manipulate natural mana required a level of control that defied conventional magic theory. It was a technique lost to the ages, yet here was Klaus Lionhart, wielding it as casually as breathing.

Erion turned to his troops, his voice booming over the din of battle. He needed to capitalize on this. He needed every advantage they could scrape together.

"All units listen to me!" Erion shouted, his voice amplified by mana. "Those who have affinity to the light element, get to the front! For every Hollow you erase, I will grant you your yearly salary as a reward! I do not care if you are a private or a captain! If you can wield the light, you are on the front line!"

The promise hung in the air, heavy and irresistible. A year's salary for a single kill. It was a fortune. It was the kind of reward that could buy an estate, secure a family's future for generations.

The reaction was immediate, yet devastatingly sparse.

From the ranks of ten thousand Stark soldiers, only fifteen swordsmen stepped forward. They moved with hesitation, their faces pale as they looked at the surging tide of darkness. Behind them, only eight mages raised their staves. Their robes fluttered in the wind, their faces etched with the strain of maintaining their light barriers.

Twenty-three soldiers. Against an army of shadows that seemed to stretch to the horizon.

Erion's face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He slammed his fist against the stone railing of the ridge, cracking the stone beneath his gauntlet.

"Fuck!" Erion screamed, the sound raw with frustration. "Just them? They will barely be of any help! We are outnumbered a thousand to one!"

He looked down at the battlefield. The fifteen swordsmen and eight mages were holding a small perimeter around Klaus, but they were being pushed back. Every time they struck down a Hollow, two more seemed to take its place. The light affinity was effective, but there simply were not enough of them to stem the tide.

Klaus, however, did not seem to notice the odds. He stood amidst the chaos, his eyes closed for a brief moment. When he opened them, they were glowing with a soft, golden hue. He could feel the natural mana in the atmosphere. It was everywhere. It was in the wind, in the ground, in the very breath of the soldiers fighting beside him.

'Light is not just an element,' Klaus thought, his mind working with the precision of a surgeon. 'It is a frequency. And I can tune everything to match it.'

He raised his hand, palm open toward the sky. The clouds above began to swirl, drawn into a vortex directly above the battlefield. The morning sky darkened as the clouds thickened, blocking out the sun. But instead of bringing darkness, the clouds began to glow from within.

"Fall," Klaus whispered.

From the swirling vortex, swords began to rain down. They were not made of steel. They were forged from condensed photons, blades of pure hard light that screamed as they descended. Thousands of them. They pierced the Hollow ranks with surgical precision, each blade exploding on impact in a burst of purifying energy.

The battlefield lit up like midday. The screams of the Hollows were drowned out by the thunderous impact of the light swords.

Klaus did not stop there. He swept his hand across the horizon. A tornado of light formed on the left flank, spinning with such velocity that it shredded any Hollow caught in its path. The vortex pulled the shadows in, grinding them into nothingness before spitting out purified air.

He was not just fighting. He was conducting a symphony of destruction.

The Stark soldiers watched in awe. They had heard the rumors. They had heard about the boy who shattered the Mythril Crystal. Some privy Elites had even heard about the Apostle of Gluttony. But seeing him like this, wielding the light of the sun itself, made them believe.

But then, the ground beneath them trembled.

The cracks in the earth, the fissures from which the Hollows poured, began to widen. Black smoke billowed out, thicker and more viscous than before. From every shadow cast by the falling light swords, a new Hollow emerged.

Klaus clicked his tongue in frustration. He had erased a thousand of them. But the number of enemies had not decreased. It had doubled.

'They are using the shadows,' Klaus realized, his eyes narrowing. 'Every light I create casts a shadow. And they are using those shadows to spawn more.'

It was a vicious cycle. The more he fought, the more enemies he created. The Harbinger Star above pulsed with a sickly rhythm, feeding the rift with energy that defied logic.

Klaus lowered his hand. The rain of light swords ceased. The tornado dissipated. The battlefield fell into a momentary lull, the only sound the heavy breathing of the twenty-three light-affinity soldiers who were now surrounded on all sides.

Erion saw it too. He gripped his sword tighter, ready to throw himself into the fray. He knew this was the end. They had held the line for an hour. But against an enemy that multiplied with every strike, endurance was not enough.

Klaus looked at the Stark militia. They were terrified. They were exhausted. But they were still standing. They had not run. They had not broken.

'They need not just power,' Klaus thought. 'They need a conduit.'

He turned to the soldiers, his voice cutting through the tension with absolute clarity.

"Hey, you bunch," Klaus shouted, his voice carrying an authority that made even Erion straighten his back. "Raise your swords!"

The command was unexpected. The soldiers hesitated. They looked at Erion, then back at Klaus.

"Do it!" Erion roared, seizing the opportunity. "Raise your swords! All of you!"

Slowly, hesitantly, the ten thousand soldiers raised their weapons. Steel blades caught the dim light of the Harbinger Star. They were ordinary swords. Forged from common steel. They had no enchantments. No affinity.

Klaus raised his right hand. He did not summon a spell. He did not chant a mantra. He simply opened his connection to the natural mana around them. He reached out with his consciousness and touched the mana clinging to every single blade on the battlefield.

'Light attribute,' Klaus commanded the mana. 'Infuse.'

It happened in an instant. A ripple of gold spread from Klaus's hand, moving faster than the eye could follow. It washed over the battlefield, touching every raised sword.

The steel blades began to hum. Then, they began to glow.

The dull grey metal was overwritten with veins of golden light. The light spread from the hilt to the tip, until every single soldier in the Stark militia was holding a blade of pure radiance. The darkness around them recoiled. The shadows retreated, unable to exist in the presence of so much concentrated light.

The fifteen light-affinity swordsmen stared at their weapons in disbelief. Their blades were glowing brighter than ever before, amplified by Klaus's mana.

The eight mages felt their staves hum with renewed energy. Their mana reserves, nearly depleted, were suddenly overflowing.

Klaus lowered his hand. The connection was established. He was not just fighting alone anymore. He had turned the entire army into a weapon.

"Advance," Klaus said softly.

The word was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the minds of every soldier. They stepped forward, their glowing swords illuminating the path ahead. The Hollows shrieked, their forms smoking as they approached the wall of light.

Erion watched from the ridge, his mouth slightly open. He had led armies for decades. He had seen miracles. But this was not a miracle. This was dominance.

Klaus stood at the front of the line, Greed resting on his shoulder. The black sword was dark no longer. It pulsed with the same golden light as the soldiers' blades.

The battle was not over. The Hollows were still coming. But for the first time since the cracks opened, the Stark militia was not defending. They were hunting.

Klaus took a step forward, and the army moved with him. A tide of light against a sea of shadows. The Harbinger Star pulsed above, but for the first time, its light was drowned out by the glow of ten thousand swords.