Reborn As Noble

Hesbeirn exhaled softly, eyes narrowing.

"…Rotation formation. Auto-switching gunners. No wasted seconds between volleys…"

He shifted his gaze downward.

Near the rear wall, he noticed something odd.

Strange rune-etched chairs lined the stone, at least a dozen per section. Puppet knights that had stepped back from the firing line now sat in them, completely still. Yet faint pulses of blue mana flickered beneath the chairs' base, connecting to the knights' backs through open conduits.

A recharge system.

No wires. No exposed cores. Just silent, efficient refueling of spent mana, allowing exhausted puppets to recover while their replacements fired without pause.

"…He even solved the fatigue problem," Hesbeirn murmured.

The formation wasn't just defensive. It was sustainable. Meant to outlast wave after wave without giving ground, with puppets cycling through fire, rest, and re-deployment like clockwork.

He looked back toward the incoming dark flames and the sea of glowing turrets and rifles.

And for a moment, a rare, quiet pride touched his voice.

"You've made something terrifying, Javier."

Meanwhile — Human Kingdom War Front

Far from the Armand border, beyond the reach of cannonfire and detection spells, a huge war camp spread across the scorched plains. Tents bearing the crest of the Human Kingdom fluttered in the dry wind, surrounded by rows of blackened banners and hastily built stone barricades.

And at the center of it all, on a platform carved from obsidian rock, sat King Edmund.

A jagged seat, shaped like a throne, carved from rough black stone, pulsed with crimson veins of mana. It grew from the ground like a living thing, a parasite rising from the earth. A faint mist of darkness clung to it like smoke, curling around Edmund as he sat.

His posture was relaxed. One leg crossed over the other, his hand casually resting on the armrest.

The dark aura swirling around him never settled.His eyes burned with a constant flicker of red, and his breathing was slow, deliberate, unnatural, inhuman.

All around the platform, the air trembled.

Dozens of large magic conduits had been set up in concentric circles. Inside those circles, thousands mages stood in tight formation.

Their robes were torn from use and repeated spells.

Their hands glowed with unstable runes.

Their faces were frozen in unblinking focus.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, channeling a single spell.

A long-range dark-element attack.

Wave after wave of fireballs soared into the sky, guided by a distorted trajectory spell that curved them across the land, aimed at the Armand border.

Behind the first line of mages, another line waited.

Three thousand mages in total was resting.

Each line took turns, stepping forward with raised hands, unleashing their magic before stepping back to rest, drink, and recover.

But none of them showed any signs of fatigue.

Not even a little.

Because Edmund's mana flowed through them like a conduit.

He watched from above, arms crossed.

"Keep attacking," he said calmly, his voice amplified through the throne . "You're all lucky."

His lips curled into a cold smile.

"To be able to fire your magic like this… without limit. Without breaking. Without your soul cracking from overuse."

The mages roared in reply.

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Their voices sounded warped, ecstatic, drunk on borrowed power.

Edmund's eyes shifted to the left, where a group of robed figures stood close together.

Veteran summoners.

Edmund addressed them next.

"Be patient, my people… your turn is coming."

He leaned forward slightly, shadows behind him coiling.

"You should be grateful."

His tone was calm but terrifying.

"To summon without pain. To send forth death without your nerves burning. Not because of your strength..."

He smiled darkly.

"But because of mine."

The summoners bowed their heads, kneeling.

"Glory to His Majesty."

The sky above the camp rippled again as another barrage shot out toward the horizon, howling like a swarm of falling stars heading for Armand.

Edmund closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the distant resistance.

Inside Edmund's mind.

Soon.

When the first wall collapses… I will move my main army.

He opened his glowing eyes slowly.

Then turned.

Behind his throne.

A massive formation, stretched as far as the eye could see, lay in perfect silence. Eight hundred thousand elite troops. Not just soldiers. ThiscopycomesfromcontentonM|V|L0EMPYR.

Monsters in human skin.

Each one bore darkened armor laced with cursed inscriptions. Their weapons pulsed with corrupted mana.

And above them…

A division of veteran wyvern units circled lazily in the sky, their massive wings slicing the clouds. Each wyvern rider was clad in black armor reinforced with dark metal plates. No emblem. No kingdom crest. Only the mark of the Celestial.

Hovering just behind the elite air units, The top spellcasters.

Archmages and sorcerers who had long since abandoned morality. Their eyes glowed, and their skin bore ritual brands. They floated effortlessly, channeling spell circles that spiraled and turned without end.

And flanking the formation.

The summoner division.

Each surrounded by massive chained beasts and bound spirits from the Abyss. Some stood atop bone constructs, others beside fiends breathing fog. Dozens of summons hovered, sleeping, just waiting for release.

At the front of it all.

A line of Black Knights astride warhorses.

Not just any knights.

These were high generals, handpicked by Edmund. Their horses snorted plumes of black flame, their armor spiked and infused with decay mana. Every one of them had slain armies. Every one of them loyal only to him.

Edmund stood slowly from his throne.

His cape, stitched from slain mana beasts, flared in the wind as he stepped forward, gazing down at the endless black army.

Soon, Garius…

His smile widened, no longer sane.

When the Armand wall falls…

I will finally take what was denied me for so long.

He muttered, teeth grinding.

"I will crush your whole family…"

He breathed out slowly, voice dark and giddy.

"Whole Armand… will burn…"

"…and Francesca…"

His fingers twitched at the thought.

"She'll belong to me. Only me."

His eyes glowed with lust and madness.

"After that… Veldrac and his filthy demon country. I'll grind them beneath my heel."

"Then Lioness. That proud beast…"

He spat.

"I'll cage him like a mutt."

"And lastly…"

He smiled, lips curling.

"Mylezra. The delicate elven queen…"

He paused.

"I'll paint her kingdom red. Crush her forests, her kin, her bloodline."

"But first…"

He turned back toward the horizon.

"The Armand Region."

He snarled.

"The only threat."

"The only wall I must break."

He screamed suddenly, voice echoing across the entire war camp.

"THE REST ARE WEAKLINGS!!"

"WEAKLINGS!!"

"WEAKLINGSSSS!!"

( End Of Chapter )