Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Kelvin was the first to move.

He dropped to one knee with a thud that echoed like a drumbeat of loyalty, his head bowed low. A heartbeat later, Count Alec followed, then Claude, then one after another, the entire court knelt in unison, their voices rising together like a single trumpet blast:

“Welcome back, Your Grace!”

The cry shook the hall with its sheer conviction.

Asher, undeterred by the reverence, floated calmly forward until he reached the dais. The throne loomed behind Sapphira like a crown waiting to be claimed.

He descended, his armored boots never touching the floor. With deliberate grace, he removed his black crown-helm and stepped before her.

Then, in a move so gentle it silenced the room, he raised his hand and cupped her face.

The dark steel of his armor disengaged with a quiet hiss, each piece detaching and vanishing into mist, until only the man beneath remained. No longer just the duke or the warlord, but the one husband knew. The one who had vanished for five endless months.

His golden eyes, once fierce, now held only warmth.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, thumb brushing her cheek. “I’m alive.”

Sapphira’s eyes welled, her lips trembling. She tried to speak, but the words caught. When she finally did, her voice was a thread of silk.

“You don’t know how to come early, do you?”

A soft laugh escaped himl. “I promise,” he said, “not to go missing again.”

She raised an eyebrow gently, her voice still faint. “And how do you intend on keeping that word?”

He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her flawless temple. “I will do my all,” he murmured, fingers slipping through the familiar strands of her green-and-white hair. “I swear it.”

He paused, as though collecting strength before asking, “How are Merlin and Atreides?”

Sapphira smiled, despite the wet shimmer in her eyes. “Well. Though I know they would feel even better to see their father.”

A weight lifted from Asher’s chest, and for the first time in months, his smile reached his soul. He turned at last to face the grand hall once more, his people, still bowed, still silent, waiting for his word.

“Rise,” he commanded.

And they did.

As he turned and sat upon the throne of Ashbourne, his throne, the hall seemed to breathe again.

“Lord Commander Alec?”

Alec stepped forward without hesitation, the silver trim of his cloak catching the light. He dropped one knee to the marble floor, bowing his head with military precision.

“How fares the Great Dividing Wall?” Asher asked.

“None of our enemies have crossed it, Your Grace,” Alec replied, his voice firm.

Asher gave a satisfied nod. “Good.”

His golden eyes swept across the chamber, his presence still settling like a mantle over the gathered nobles. “Is there any pressing matter I should be aware of?”

“There is!”

All heads turned, some with alarm, others with curiosity as Mia stepped forward, her voice clear and unwavering. She paused after several strides, her hands clenched at her sides.

Asher’s attention shifted to her, expression unreadable.

Taking a deep breath, she began, “First, the land is deteriorating. The soil is sick, harvests have begun to fail. Famine approaches. Only the mana vein fields remain fertile.” She paused, then forced herself to say the rest. “Worse still, Cyrenia prepares to march. They claim they will dispose of your heirs… and take your wife as a prize.”

A stunned silence swept the hall like a wave crashing against stone.

None had expected Mia to speak so bluntly, not in his presence.

But Asher’s expression didn’t twist in anger. His voice remained calm, measured. “Have General Eritrea and her Stormbreakers stationed at Paradise. She and Lord Commander Adam will hold the line should Cyrenia advance.”

Murmurs filled the hall again, not of shock at Cyrenia’s threat this time, but of surprise at Asher’s restraint. Many had expected fury. War drums. Not quiet strategy.

Then, slowly, Asher began to speak with a louder and deeper tone.

“Many of you do not understand the nature of the threat that stands before us.” His gaze passed over each of them. “There is a land called Eden. Few of you have seen it, fewer still understand it.”

He stepped forward, each word now weightier than the last.

“It is a land rich with unbroken energy. Its ore veins yield metals stronger than any Elden ore we prize. Herbs grow there that could change the face of medicine, armaments, and magic forever. Imagine a land where our strongest armour is brittle, and our most powerful enchantments… irrelevant.”

He paused, letting the hall absorb the weight of that truth.

“That is Cyrenia. A nation that has tapped into the Eden ores. A nation whose soldiers might wear armour forged of alloy stronger than anything we can currently craft. A nation whose weapons will not break, even against our best.”

Asher’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“We are not prepared for that war. Not yet.”

Then he straightened, his presence towering once more.

“But they will not reach us quickly. It will take them months, long, grueling months to march upon us. And in that time, the leaders of the United North Alliance must die.”

Gasps rippled through the hall like thunder.

“You mean His Highness Aaron Nethaneel?” Kelvin asked, shocked. “The imperial bloodline?”

“And… King Reuel?” Aquila blinked, disbelief in her voice.

Asher turned to them both, gaze unwavering. “Killing them will not instantly make their lands ours. But it will break the spine of the alliance. The moment they fall, unity shatters.”

He looked out across the room. “I will face Aaron, Reuel, and Count Rimmon on the Great Plains of Dura in Eden.”

Claude’s voice cracked, “Their army is great, Your Grace.”

Asher’s golden eyes gleamed.

“I have sixty thousand Sacred-ranked beastmen.” He paused, eyes settling on Katarina. “I only need the Bladebreakers’ thirty thousand… to win this war.”

“I will make sure General Lambert and the cavalry arrives in Nineveh in a fortnight. They are on an expedition in the depths of Ashkelon’s underground expanse, Your Grace.”

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