The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

Sabrina's crimson eyes studied Klaus with evident satisfaction, misinterpreting his recognition for something far simpler than reality. Her smile carried the pleased expression of teacher whose student had demonstrated proper attention to historical lessons.

"Such excellent education you received," she observed, her voice carrying approval tinged with condescension. "Though I shouldn't be surprised—the Lionhart family has always prided itself on comprehensive historical knowledge. How gratifying to know my legacy remains properly preserved in academic curriculum."

She descended another step on her shadow-staircase, bringing herself closer to the paralyzed assembly below. "Most young nobles these days barely remember the Great Wars beyond sanitized textbook summaries. But you, dear Klaus, clearly understand the significance of encountering figures from continental folklore."

The misconception hung in the air between them like blade suspended over exposed throat. Sabrina Petrova, legendary Blood Witch and terror of five centuries past, believed Klaus knew her name from historical study rather than personal memory. She saw scholarly recognition where devastating remembrance actually existed.

Klaus's lips moved soundlessly, words too quiet for any save himself to hear: "It's you."

The statement carried weight of accumulated lifetimes, recognition that transcended academic knowledge. Within his consciousness, memories continued their relentless surge—fragments of encounters spanning centuries, faces that changed while core essence remained constant, battles fought across multiple incarnations against opponent who had haunted existence after existence.

Alex felt Pride's golden energy shift within him, the entity's presence suddenly focusing with unusual intensity. For the first time since the ceremony started, Pride addressed him directly through their shared consciousness.

Sit this one out, the Arkdieu counseled, its mental voice carrying uncharacteristic caution. Confronting her now will expose more than you're willing to reveal.

The advice struck Alex with frustrating accuracy. Despite recognizing Sabrina as centuries-old Apostle whose power likely exceeded his current capabilities, part of him still wanted confrontation. Pride's enhancement had elevated him beyond human limitation—surely that counted for something against even experienced opponent?

Yet deeper analysis revealed the foolishness of such thinking. If Sabrina Petrova had been an Apostle during the vampire wars five centuries ago, her accumulated power would dwarf his recent transformation. The mathematical progression was undeniable, regardless of personal pride or competitive instinct.

Klaus's crystalline eyes widened as another wave of memories crashed through his consciousness. His free hand moved to his face, covering his eyes as though physical gesture could contain psychological storm raging within his mind.

"How dare they..." he whispered, voice barely audible yet carrying harmonic resonance that seemed to bypass normal hearing entirely.

The statement carried pain that transcended immediate circumstances. Whatever memories were surfacing brought profound anguish—contradictory experiences that painted complex picture of repeated encounters across multiple lifetimes. The struggle was visible in the tension of his shoulders, the slight tremor in his normally steady hands.

Sabrina observed this display with increased interest, though she continued interpreting Klaus's distress as academic overwhelm rather than personal recognition. "Such dramatic reaction to historical revelation," she noted with amusement. "Though I suppose discovering that childhood nightmares walk among you would prove somewhat unsettling."

She paused her descent, standing now only a few steps above the paralyzed assembly. Her position allowed clear view of every frozen face, every expression locked in terror or disbelief at her resurrection from supposed death.

"Since we've moved past introductions," she announced, her voice carrying throughout the vast chamber with supernatural clarity, "I believe a demonstration is in order. Consider this educational presentation regarding capabilities your folklore has... understated."

Throughout the banquet hall, the servers who had remained motionless since her initial appearance began moving with sudden coordination. Their movements were fluid yet unnatural, like marionettes controlled by master puppeteer. They advanced toward the assembled dignitaries with synchronized steps that defied individual will.

Alex watched this development with growing alarm, Pride's golden energy churning within him despite the entity's counsel for restraint. The tactical situation was deteriorating rapidly, yet he remained helpless to intervene due to whatever force held him paralyzed.

The servers reached positions directly in front of various groups throughout the chamber—some approaching the Seven Monarchies' delegations, others positioning themselves near military representatives or noble families. Their expressions remained vacant, yet purposeful intent radiated from their coordinated placement.

"Observe carefully," Sabrina instructed, her voice now carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate with blood itself. "This represents merely introductory application of techniques refined over five centuries of practice."

As she spoke, complex circular patterns began manifesting in the air before each positioned server. The designs appeared drawn in crimson light, intricate geometric formations that pulsed with internal rhythm matching human heartbeat. The symbols were beautiful and terrible simultaneously, mathematical precision married to predatory intent.

Alex recognized the formations as magical constructs of extraordinary complexity, yet their specific purpose remained unclear until effects began manifesting. The servers' skin took on reddish hue as blood vessels beneath surface became increasingly visible, dark lines spreading like infection through their flesh.

"Blood magic," someone managed to whisper despite paralysis—perhaps one of the magical lineage representatives whose training allowed recognition of forbidden techniques.

The servers' blood vessels continued expanding, becoming grotesquely prominent beneath skin that now appeared translucent. Their expressions remained vacant despite physical transformation, suggesting complete mental domination rather than conscious participation in whatever was occurring.

"Such excellent observation," Sabrina praised the unidentified speaker. "Though 'blood magic' represents crude classification for techniques that transcend conventional magical categories. This demonstration combines methods your ancestors never encountered during their quaint little wars."

The implications struck Alex with devastating force. Not merely traditional blood magic or vampiric ability, but something evolved beyond what the Previous Seven Monarchs had fought. Sabrina Petrova had developed capabilities that exceeded historical precedent entirely.

The servers' transformation reached critical threshold as blood vessels swelled to impossible proportions. Their bodies trembled with internal pressure that threatened catastrophic release, crimson light from the magical circles intensifying with each passing second.

"My first gift to this gathering," Sabrina announced with evident pleasure, "a lesson in updated methodology. Observe how traditional capabilities can be... enhanced... through proper cultivation."

She raised her hand, crimson energy gathering around her fingers like liquid fire. The power radiating from her gesture carried intensity that made conventional magic seem like child's parlor tricks in comparison.

"Blood Explosion."

The command triggered simultaneous detonation as every transformed server erupted in coordinated blast of supernatural force. Their bodies became epicenters of crimson energy that expanded outward with deadly intent, waves of blood-infused power racing toward paralyzed targets throughout the chamber.

The explosions carried force that transcended mere physical destruction. This was annihilation designed to tear through protective barriers, overwhelm defensive enchantments, and eliminate resistance before effective response could be mounted. The technique represented warfare evolved beyond conventional understanding—supernatural terrorism elevated to art form.

Yet as the explosive waves spread outward, approaching the assembled dignitaries with lethal certainty, something unprecedented occurred.

Klaus stepped forward, his hand extended toward the advancing destruction. The temperature plummeted instantly to levels that froze breath in lungs, turned moisture in air to crystalline mist. Around him, reality itself seemed to slow as though time had become thick substance through which movement required tremendous effort.

The blood explosions hung suspended in mid-air, crimson energy frozen like sculptures carved from liquid fire. Fragments of destroyed bodies remained motionless at impossible angles, defying gravity through sheer force of Klaus's will. The waves of destructive force that had been racing toward paralyzed targets now existed as static displays—death interrupted at moment of impact.

The visual effect was both breathtaking and terrifying. Klaus stood at the center of frozen destruction, his crystalline eyes reflecting the crimson light of suspended explosions, his white hair shifting in currents that touched nothing else in the chamber. He appeared less like a human being and more like a fundamental force of nature given temporary form.

He had stopped time itself—or perhaps bent reality to his will, until time became a negotiable concept rather than an immutable law.