Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Sapphira’s eyes widened in stunned silence, her pupils trembling like leaves in an autumn gust.

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as Aquila’s calm demeanor seemed to underscore the magnitude of the revelation.

“Fever, bone ache, and bluish veins on the wings,” Aquila recited, her voice a gentle breeze that belied the turmoil brewing within Sapphira.

For a fleeting moment, Sapphira’s gaze locked onto her wings, as if searching for the telltale signs that would confirm the impossible. Her mind reeled, thoughts careening wildly like a storm-tossed sea.

Pregnant.

With Asher’s child.

The realization seeped into her consciousness like a slow-moving tide, bringing with it a maelstrom of emotions.

In stark contrast, Mia’s face lit up like a sunrise, her eyes sparkling with unbridled excitement. She grasped Aquila’s sleeves, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you certain? Absolutely certain?” Aquila’s expression remained impassive, her tone unwavering.

“Of course. The signs are unmistakable. Especially given her unique talent, which makes her impervious to illness.”

Mia’s grip tightened, her enthusiasm infectious. “This is wonderful news! His Lordship must be informed immediately. We’ve been hoping for an heir, and now…” Her words trailed off, lost in the promise of a future filled with possibility.

As the two women reacted with differing degrees of fervor, Sapphira’s thoughts swirled in quiet contemplation.

The weight of her pregnancy settled upon her like a mantle, bringing with it a sense of trepidation and wonder.

What did this mean for her future, for her relationships, and for the life growing within her?

Should we tell him?” Sapphira’s voice barely rose above a whisper, fragile and uncertain, yet it pulled the attention of the other two women like a thread unraveling silk.

“We must. Without delay,” Mia answered with unwavering resolve, her eyes hard as flint. There was no hesitation in her tone, only the firm cadence of duty.

Aquila’s gaze softened, and she turned to Sapphira, speaking with the gentleness of someone who knew what was coming. “He will find out soon enough. The lifespan of your kind may outlast any human’s by centuries, but time shows no mercy to life growing within. Five months, no more… and you will bear his child.”

Sapphira pressed her lips together, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers trembled slightly as they found their way to her abdomen. “We should summon Baroness Katarina,” she murmured. “And commune with her for a vision. I must know… I need to be certain it is a son. His firstborn must be male.”

Aquila gave a solemn nod. “I shall send word immediately. She will come, no doubt—perhaps even rush here the moment the message reaches her ears.” A knowing smile touched her lips.

Sapphira managed a small smile in return, but her heart was far from ease. Her mind was filled only with the image of Asher. His smile. His furrowed brow when deep in thought. The warmth of his voice when it spoke only to her.

How would he take the news?

Would he rejoice—or recoil?

Would the weight of fatherhood crush him—or elevate him?

But even as their private world teetered on the edge of revelation, beyond the walls of the manor, a storm of marvel and disbelief was brewing.

High above the city of Paradise, guards stood frozen atop the ramparts, their eyes wide with disbelief. One dropped his halberd with a metallic clatter. Another fell to his knees.

Soaring through the clouds was a vessel no man among them had seen in their lifetime—a ship, impossibly airborne, carving its path through the sky like a god’s chariot.

Upon its deck were scores—no, hundreds—of armed figures, their ears long and tapered, their backs graced with iridescent wings that shimmered like fractured rainbows.

Fairies.

Aquila caught a glint of movement from the corner of her eye and turned sharply toward the window. There, descending from the heavens, were winged beings—elegant, luminous, and breathtakingly alien.

She moved toward the window slowly, as if approaching a waking dream. “Are those… people?” she asked, almost in awe, the words tumbling from her mouth like a forgotten prayer.

Sapphira stepped beside her, violet eyes wide, and tilted her head as light from the open sky framed the fair folk in golden brilliance. Their wings refracted sunlight into cascading hues, filling the sky with unnatural beauty. Her heart fluttered.

Her people.

Her dream.

The flame that had always burned deep within her—the yearning to find others like her, to no longer feel like the only melody of her kind in a world of foreign chords—was coming true before her eyes.

Below, the streets of Paradise fell into stunned silence. Thousands watched from windows and doorways, their mouths parted in disbelief. All eyes turned upward toward the golden-haired fairy at the helm of the airborne host, whose mere presence seemed to command awe.

“A city… that floats?” Alexander whispered to himself, brows knitting together. The miracle unfolding before him should have filled him with wonder, but all he felt was bitter disdain.

This—this marvel—should never have belonged to humankind, he thought. Had it been the fairies who claimed the skies, they would have built cities from moonglass and monuments that stretched like poetry into the clouds. This flying island… this miracle… would have been a paradise worthy of its name.

He clicked his tongue, disgusted. Humans, always grasping for power they didn’t understand.

Then, a sound—deep, heavy, like thunder rolling across stone. A voice. No, a roar.

He turned—and froze.

Marching toward the gathering were a hundred men… or what he first mistook for men.

Giants.

Towering, broad-shouldered colossi, each encased in heavy plate so thick it shone like molten steel in the sun. Some stood eight feet tall, others nine—and leading them, a monstrous figure who dwarfed even his kin, standing ten feet high, with warhammers slung on his back like toy clubs and a crossbow as large as a ballista in hand.

Alexander’s blood turned cold. These weren’t knights. They were walking fortresses. Monstrosities clad in Saint-ranked armour from head to toe—each one radiating power.

How…?

How could a human lord afford this?

Even a kingdom couldn’t summon such might!

Their discipline was unnerving. Not a single footstep out of place. No disorder in their formation. Like iron forged into purpose, they advanced.

The air trembled as the lead giant spoke again, his voice like a mountain breaking. “Fairy, it would do you well to descend.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command, a growl of thunder barely restrained.

Alexander flinched, forced to lower his gaze. The giant’s tone left no room for pride. His presence shattered it.

And from that towering figure came a single thought, clear as iron:

He loathed the look in Alexander’s eyes. That highborn arrogance. That lofty gaze.

He would crush it.

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