Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Meanwhile, the celebration continued in full swing. Lords and ladies, merchants and mystics, commoners and nobles—all gathered beneath the grandeur of Nineveh’s glittering halls. At the heart of it stood Asher, beaming with pride as he introduced his twin children to the world. The names—Merlin and Atreides—stirred whispers among the guests, both names rare and steeped in a mystique that seemed to suit the rising family.

Many of the lords had already stepped forward, bearing lavish gifts: ivory rattles from the high plains, star-carved gemstones from the Sacred Flame, silk woven with moonlight luster from Silvermoon.

Afterward, they joined their peers in the great hall, where entertainers danced to flutes and drums, and rich laughter mingled with the clink of goblets. It was an evening not just of merriment, but of veiled politics, quiet alliances, and subtle rivalries.

Outside, night had fully taken hold. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and for reasons none could explain, the moons refused to rise.

The sky was an endless curtain of black, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Yet the city of Nineveh remained awake and alive. Through tall windows, one could glimpse the glow of countless braziers lighting the streets, spilling firelight onto stone roads and bustling with citizens who refused to let darkness steal the joy of the night.

Taverns overflowed with patrons, laughter and song spilling into the alleyways. Inns welcomed travelers who had come from distant lands. And restaurants served aromatic dishes late into the night. Not all who had come to Nineveh were here for the celebration alone. Many had come to behold the wonder of this city—an architectural jewel nestled between in the clouds—and to secure good seats for tomorrow’s grand contest at the colosseum.

The whispers had already begun. Rumors moved like wind among the crowds. Titled Knights, champions of their noble houses, would take to the arena not merely to entertain, but to make a statement.

Everyone knew this was a display of strength, a subtle war masked as sport. In the realm of politics, a Titled Knight’s might reflected the steel and soul of the lord they served.

Yet while the night roared outside, within one of the castle’s quieter chambers, a more intimate scene unfolded. Behind a soft, translucent curtain of lace, the twin heirs slept soundly, their tiny forms tucked beneath cloud-soft quilts atop silken mattresses. The flicker of a wall-mounted lantern painted gentle shadows across their cheeks.

Sapphira stood watch, her silhouette a still figure in the candlelight. She stared at her children with the quiet intensity of a mother’s love.

“They finally drifted off,” said Mia gently, bowing low. The priestess’s white robe glimmered faintly with the runes of her order. “You should rest, My Lady.”

Sapphira’s brows furrowed. “I could have sworn… their temperatures dropped. Just briefly, no more than five seconds, but it felt… unnatural.”

Mia followed her gaze to the cribs. The twins—Merlin and Atreides—looked peaceful, their chests rising and falling in the cadence of infant slumber.

“They seem well, but a mother’s instincts should never be dismissed. I will stay by their side until morning. You have my word.”

Sapphira lingered for a moment longer, eyes flicking between her children and the priestess. Then, with a final nod, she stepped quietly from the room.

She walked down a long corridor of marble and flame-lit sconces until she reached her private chamber. The room was grand and hushed, wrapped in the soft silence only found in the deepest hours of night.

Three chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling painted with the image of the north’s map, their shadows catching the light of dozens of candelabras resting on polished stone columns.

At the center, beneath velvet drapes and fur-lined throws, sat a vast king-sized bed. And opposite it, toward the other end of the room, behind an ornate desk of carved wood, sat a white-haired man—her husband—fast asleep in a chair, one hand still holding a scroll, the other limp in his lap.

He had promised to wait for her before going to bed.

Sapphira’s stern expression melted into tenderness. Her lips curled into a smile as she beheld him—his posture awkward, his brow slightly furrowed even in sleep, his breath steady and quiet.

There was something endearingly boyish about the way he slept there, stubbornly trying to keep his word.

She didn’t speak, didn’t wake him. Instead, she simply watched—one weary heart soothed by the presence of another.

….

Outside, beneath a sky swallowed by shadow, two figures walked across the open field. One was slender, composed; the other broader, his steps steady. It was Lucas and Mary.

The wind tugged at their cloaks as they made their way across the grass, now kissed silver by the braziers lining the distant castle walls.

“Your brother…” Lucas said with a soft chuckle, breaking the silence. “The man I saw today looked nothing like the warlord I’ve come to know.”

Mary glanced sideways at him, her expression unreadable as her eyes drifted to the endless dark. “You’ve seen Sirius, haven’t you?” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

Lucas nodded. “That wolf… It’s terrifying. But I didn’t see it at the ceremony. I thought Ashbourne pet beasts were always present for occasions like this?”

“They are,” Mary replied, her gaze lifting toward the jagged silhouettes of the Ash Mountains in the distance. Even cloaked in night, the peaks loomed with a presence all their own—like silent watchers. “But Sirius doesn’t like to leave those mountains anymore.”

She pointed subtly toward them. “He resides there. Not just because of his size, but because of what he is. Sirius isn’t a tame beast. He’s a wolf driven by memory—by vengeance. Every breath he takes is steeped in the will to tear apart those who have wronged him. He doesn’t understand mercy. He only understands pain. And with his strength… that makes him dangerous beyond belief.”

She turned to Lucas, her voice cooling into something solemn. “Asher is the only chain strong enough to bind him. The only one who can reach into that madness and bring calm. That’s why people don’t fear Sirius—they revere him. Because they know the chain exists.”

Mary paused, her eyes reflecting the firelight, sharp as glass.

“That’s what Lady Sapphira is to Asher. She is his chain. Not one forged by force or fear, but one he chose—willingly. She draws out his pain and replaces it with purpose. With peace.”

Her voice dipped into something near a whisper. “If, for any reason… that chain were ever broken…”

Lucas stopped. A chill ran through him. He stared at her.

“A monster will step forth,” he said softly, the weight of the words sinking deep.

Mary didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The silence between them said enough.

In the distance, the mountains stood still. The man they spoke of in the embrace of a beauty.

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