The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

Chapter 113: Nightmare

Klaus gently caressed Dudu’s head, feeling the dragon’s warmth against his fingers. The soft rise and fall of the creature’s breath soothed him. With his hand resting on the small dragon, Klaus allowed his eyes to close. The exhaustion that had been lingering at the edges of his mind finally overtook him, pulling him into a deep, inevitable slumber.

The descent into sleep was sudden, like falling into an abyss. His mind spiraled downward, a suffocating weight pressing on him as the world around him faded. The comforting warmth of Dudu and the bed beneath him vanished, replaced by a chilling darkness.

Suddenly, he was no longer in his room.

A cold wind whipped across Klaus’s face, carrying with it the stench of death. He stood on a barren field, the earth beneath him soaked in blood. His boots squelched with each step, and when he looked down, the ground was littered with bodies—men, women, and even children, all twisted in grotesque forms, their limbs mangled, their faces frozen in expressions of pure terror. Klaus’s heart pounded violently in his chest, the urge to vomit rising in his throat, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. His body was frozen, held in place as if by an unseen force.

Before him, a woman crawled toward him, her face streaked with tears and dirt. Her clothes were torn, barely covering her trembling body. She sobbed, her voice cracking with desperation.

"Please," she begged, her hands reaching out to grasp at his feet. "Please… spare me. You’ve killed everyone. I—I’m all that’s left. Please…"

Her words cut through the thick, oppressive air like a blade, and Klaus felt his stomach turn at the sight of her—so broken, so utterly defeated. Her tears fell onto the blood-soaked ground, mixing with the crimson pool around them. Klaus wanted to say something, to offer her some form of comfort or mercy, but he couldn’t. His mouth moved, but the words that came out weren’t his own.

"Why should I spare you?" the voice that emerged was cold, foreign—nothing like his usual tone. It wasn’t Klaus speaking, though it came from his lips. His body had become a puppet, controlled by something far darker, something that relished in the carnage around them.

He looked down at his hands, and his heart froze in his chest. His fingers were coated in thick, dark blood. It dripped down his wrists, staining his arms. The sight of it filled him with horror. *This isn’t me,* he screamed internally, but there was no escape, no waking up. The nightmare had locked him in its grasp.

The woman continued to plead, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. "I don’t want to die… Please, I beg of you… just let me live… I’ll do anything—anything!"

Klaus’s hand twitched involuntarily, moving on its own accord. Without thought or hesitation, he raised it, his fingers poised as though to snap. His mind screamed in protest, but the voice—*that voice*—spoke again, low and chilling.

"Enough."

He snapped his fingers.

*Pup.*

The sound echoed through the blood-soaked field. The woman’s head exploded in a gruesome burst, her blood spraying across the ground. Her body crumpled like a ragdoll, lifeless, joining the others at Klaus’s feet. He felt his stomach twist, the bile rising again, but he still couldn’t move. He was trapped, an unwilling witness to the massacre.

Suddenly, Klaus’s eyes flew open, and he gasped, choking on his breath as though he had been underwater for too long. His chest heaved, his body drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the shadows stretching ominously around him, but he could feel the comforting weight of Dudu’s small paw resting on his chest.

"Ahh…" Klaus groaned, clutching at his chest as he tried to steady his breathing. His lungs burned as though they had been starved of air, and his heart raced wildly, refusing to slow down.

Dudu’s golden eyes were wide with concern, his small head tilted to the side. The dragon pressed closer to Klaus, sensing his distress. There was a troubled look in the creature’s eyes, as if it had felt the terror that Klaus had experienced in the dream.

Klaus reached out to touch Dudu, his hand trembling violently. The dream—no, the nightmare—had shaken him to his core. It felt too vivid, too real. Every detail of it lingered in his mind like a fresh wound. The blood, the bodies, the woman’s pleas—it all felt like a memory rather than a figment of his subconscious.

"That... that wasn’t just a dream," he whispered hoarsely to himself. His voice trembled, betraying the fear gnawing at him. "It felt... like something I’ve forgotten. A memory."

The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. What kind of person could do something like that? Could he have done something like that? His hand clenched into a fist, trying to steady the shaking. His mind was a storm of thoughts, none of them offering comfort.

He glanced down at Dudu, who was still watching him carefully. The dragon’s presence was grounding, a small beacon of warmth and loyalty amidst the horror he had just witnessed. Klaus stroked Dudu’s head, his fingers still trembling slightly. The dream had left an imprint, one that wouldn’t be easily shaken off.

What was that? Klaus thought, staring blankly into the shadows. He had been through nightmares before, especially with the kind of life he led, but nothing like this. This was something deeper. And darker.

***

Far away, within the grandiose halls of the Lionhart family estate, a different tension brewed.

The throne room, adorned with golden fixtures and grand tapestries depicting the family’s many victories, was silent but for the slow, measured breaths of the man seated atop a lion-shaped throne. His presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break, and the man kneeling before him, Rick, could feel the oppressive weight of Roman Lionhart’s gaze.

"What’s troubling you?" Roman asked, his voice cold and controlled, though there was a distinct edge of curiosity in it.

Rick, still on one knee, hesitated before responding. He knew what he was about to reveal could cause an uproar. "It’s about the young master, Klaus…" he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the news.

Roman’s blue eyes sharpened. "What about him?"

"He... he’s formed a contract," Rick said, pausing for a moment. "With a Black Dragon."

The words hung in the air, and Roman’s expression shifted, a look of genuine surprise flashing across his features before they settled back into their usual calm. "A Black Dragon?" he repeated, his voice quiet but dangerous.

Rick nodded slowly. "Yes. The egg he picked in the crypt... it wasn’t a griffon. It was a dragon egg. A very rare one at that."

Roman leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of the throne, his face a mixture of intrigue and concern. "And what was Klaus’s reaction when he found out?"

Rick took a deep breath. "He seemed... unbothered. When I warned him about the potential consequences, he brushed me off. It’s possible that his recent advancement to Swordmaster has inflated his ego—"

"He’s what?" Roman interrupted, his voice sharp and commanding.

Rick froze, realizing his mistake. "I was going to mention it in the monthly report, my lord."

Roman’s cold, calculating demeanor cracked, and for the first time in a long while, he laughed—a deep, thunderous sound that echoed through the grand hall like a storm rolling in. Enjoy more content from empire

"My grandson, the youngest Swordmaster in the history of the continent!" Roman’s voice boomed, his face lighting up with a proud grin. "This is cause for celebration. Yes, this is excellent news!"

Rick watched as Roman’s laughter subsided, though the gleam of pride never left his eyes. The tension that had filled the room lifted, but only slightly. Rick knew that they weren’t finished.

"But my lord, about the dragon…" Rick pressed cautiously.

Roman’s expression hardened again, though his smile remained. "What about it?"

"If word gets out about Klaus contracting a Black Dragon, there will be... consequences. He’ll be in grave danger. Many will come after him," Rick warned.

Roman’s eyes flashed with a cold, ominous blue light. The room itself seemed to drop several degrees, the air turning frigid. "And who in this continent dares to lay a hand on one of my descendants?" Roman’s voice was soft, but it carried a weight that could crush mountains.

"If anyone so much as looks in his direction with ill intent…" Roman’s smile faded, replaced with a deadly seriousness. "I will erase them. Their families. Their entire kingdoms. No one will touch Klaus."

The room remained deathly cold as Roman’s words hung in the air, a promise of devastation to anyone foolish enough to cross him.