Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Just then, deep beneath the lake’s frigid surface, Asher’s body began to writhe. His limbs strained against the chains that bound him, muscles bulging and veins throbbing as he fought with everything he had.

His face flushed crimson, the blood surging to his head as precious air slipped from his lungs in a stream of silver bubbles that floated toward the surface and burst soundlessly into the frozen air.

Still, I’ron stood on the shore, his gaze steady, impassive. He watched as the struggle continued, watched as Asher’s strength waned and his movements slowed. Minutes bled into hours, the sun’s position shifting ever so slightly as time marched on.

Asher’s body stilled, his heart finally faltering, the last beat fading into silence. The crimson of his face dulled, his flesh taking on the pale hue of death.

Yet I’ron did not move. He continued to stare, waiting, watching as the young lord’s life force ebbed, dwindling until only the faintest spark remained. Concern flickered, at last, in the Old One’s golden eyes.

Frost took a sharp breath, his voice edged with alarm. “His mana is bleeding into the surroundings. If we wait any longer, we will lose him. His soul will slip beyond our reach.”

I’ron tensed, ready to step into the water, but before he could, the stillness was shattered.

Badum.

A dull, heavy beat rumbled through the depths.

Badum.

It echoed again, deeper, stronger, resonating through the lakebed like the heartbeat of the world itself.

Badum.

It wasn’t Asher’s human heart that stirred, it was something greater. His second heart. The heart born of the King Body. A heart whose purpose was not to pump blood, but to flood his form with mana, mana that charged his blood cells, fortified his bones, nourished his flesh, and empowered his every fiber.

With each throb, the water around him rippled, as if the lake itself responded to this primal rhythm.

The dull beat grew louder, firmer, until, at last, his human heart answered the call, stirring to life, joining the chorus, driving blood through his veins once more.

Asher’s chest rose, his lungs drawing in water that should have killed him, but instead, the mana coursing through his body burned it away, converting it to life-giving energy.

A brilliant smile split I’ron’s face, fierce and proud. “Do you see, Frost? The more I push him, the more the King Body awakens, claiming what is its right. He is transforming, shaped by death, tempered by pain. This is the making of a true King.”

….

In the grand meeting hall of the Citadel, a structure so vast it rivaled a city in size, the crowning jewel of Intis and the only Citadel House Intis possessed in Eden, Reuel lounged on his throne.

The hall’s arched ceilings allowed a great stream of sunlight, and the banners of Intis draped the walls like silent sentinels.

The Citadel was a marvel, built centuries ago by the first king of Intis, a legacy of ambition and power that still echoed through its stone. It was a stronghold from which a lord could summon 30,000 troops at will, a city-fortress that had never once fallen.

Reuel held a goblet of crimson wine in his right hand, the liquid glinting in the sunlight. His long black hair spilled over his shoulders and down his back like a silken cloak, and a cocky smile played across his lips.

Nephis, fierce and fiery, sat upon his right lap, her eyes sharp, watching him with a possessiveness that brooked no rivals. Sylvia, softer in demeanor but no less dangerous in ambition, leaned against his left side, her cheek resting on his broad chest. She plucked the goblet from his fingers and raised it to his mouth, her smile coy as she offered him the drink.

Below the dais, kneeling upon the marble floor, was the Shield of Intis, a titled knight famed throughout the kingdom and beyond for his unbreakable defense, a man said to have stood against the charge of a thousand elite heavy cavalry and emerged alive.

Reuel’s voice rang out, smooth but commanding. “How was the search?”

The Shield of Intis lowered his head further. “My lord, we found nothing but a crater of immense size. The land itself was scorched and shattered. No bodies, no signs of life. The only tracks that led away belonged to Prince Aaron Nethaneel.”

Reuel tilted his head, that cocky smile widening. “So the Mad Duke is finally dead. Good. They say his wife is the most beautiful woman to ever grace this world. A face like an angel, a form sculpted by God himself. The bards sing of her beauty as though she were a muse come to life.”

Nephis bristled at the words, jealousy flashing in her eyes, but before she could speak, Reuel’s hand brushed her hair, and he said softly, “Worry not, Nephis. She will be a concubine under your command. You’ll have nothing to fear.”

Nephis’ heart calmed at that, but the illusion shattered as the Shield spoke again, his tone respectful but grave.

“My lord, I mean no disrespect, but House Ashbourne… their strength is not to be taken lightly. Their army is 350,000 strong. What would be silver rank in other armies is gold in theirs. Their forces are unmatched in discipline and power. Even without the Mad Duke, House Ashbourne is no easy prey.”

A heavy silence settled over the hall. The weight of those words, of that truth, crushed the fleeting fantasies of easy conquest.

Reuel’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as he considered this, the wine suddenly bitter upon his tongue.

The bitter truth struck Reuel like a slap to the face. Despite all their power, despite their vast armies and fortresses, they had still chosen to strike at Asher in his weakest moment like cowards hiding behind opportunity rather than standing tall in true battle.

Victory, hollow as it now felt, had been snatched not through strength, but through cunning and timing.

For a long moment, silence hung over the hall, broken only by the faint rustle of armour.

But then, at the peak of his frustration, Reuel suddenly chuckled, a low, dark sound that echoed off the marble pillars. His eyes gleamed with ruthless calculation.

“He is their backbone,” Reuel said, his voice carrying through the hall. “And without him, they will falter. Besides, House Ashbourne already has no shortage of enemies waiting for them to stumble.”

He rose from his throne, his black hair falling about his shoulders, and his gaze hardened. “Spread word across Tenaria. Let it be known that Prince Aaron has slain the so-called Mad Duke, a man corrupted by the Abyss Force, a monster who butchered millions in Everard, who eradicated House Mormont’s noble bloodlines. A mass murderer. A madman. A threat to our race itself. Tell the bards, the criers, the poets, let the entire continent sing of how Prince Aaron and his vassal, King Reuel Zaur, have performed a heroic deed, expelling a great evil from our land.”

He narrowed his eyes further. “And make certain no one forgets that he was corrupted by the Abyss Force. That is the key.”

The Shield of Intis bowed low, his expression respectful. “As you command, my lord.” Without another word, he rose and strode from the hall, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as he went to set Reuel’s orders into motion.

Reuel turned then to Sylvia, who still reclined against him, watching with an unreadable expression. “This should please your brother,” he said, his voice softening slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Sylvia’s eyes glittered, and she nodded, her smile as delicate as a blade’s edge. “It will, my king.”

And so they remained, basking in the warmth of their claimed victory, confident in their manipulation of the world’s tale.

But far, far away, miles upon miles beyond the reach of men, beneath the icy depths of a secluded lake, Asher sat chained and broken, his body numb, his heart drumming like a war drum in the silence of the deep. Each beat was defiance. Each throb a vow.

While Reuel and his court celebrated, Asher’s resolve only hardened in the cold darkness, his will sharpening like tempered steel beneath the weight of water, ice, and chains.

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