Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Kaelor's massive frame remained still as stone, his breath a low, rumbling growl that echoed across the crater. His sharp eyes slowly dropped to the weapon lodged in the ground before him.

A spear of ice.

Yet, this was no fragile creation of frost or snow. The spear glistened in the faint sunlight, its surface clear as crystal, but with a solidity that defied its nature.

Its shaft was smooth, flawless, the length of it perfectly straight as if forged by a master blacksmith.

The spearhead was barbed and cruel, shaped for piercing and tearing, glinting with a pale, cold light that seemed to sap the warmth from the very air.

Frost crept outward from where it had struck, veins of ice spreading like cracks across the ground beneath Kaelor's hooves.

The cold bit deep, and for the first time, the great minotaur king felt the sting of true injury, not just to his body, but to his pride.

He reached out, massive fingers wrapping around the spear, the cold biting into his palm. He wrenched it from the earth, ice and stone snapping free with a sharp crack.

Kaelor lifted the spear to his face, studying it, the severed edge of his horn bleeding freely down his cheek. His eyes narrowed, the fire of challenge rekindled in their depths.

"This…" his deep voice rumbled like a coming storm, "…is a weapon for cowards."

The sea of minotaurs remained silent, thousands of eyes watching their king, waiting for his command.

"Maybe, but I wanted your attention."

The voice was sonorous, deep as a war drum. It made the very air vibrate, and every minotaur, beast of war though they were, turned their heads toward the source.

There, at the top of the jagged stones that formed the crater's rim, stood a lone figure. Thirty meters above the arena below, his silhouette was framed by the rising sun, his white hair and long coat stirring in the morning breeze like a banner of defiance.

Strapped to his back, a massive weapon gleamed in the light, a promise of battle yet to come.

Without hesitation, he bent his knees and leaped, his form soaring into the sky. For a brief, breathtaking moment, his body blocked out the sun, casting a long shadow across the crater, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to what was about to unfold.

Then he plunged earthward like a falling star.

The impact split the ground beneath his feet, spreading web-like cracks across the crater floor, and sent a tremor through the bones of all who watched. Dust billowed. The earth seemed to groan under the weight of what had arrived.

As the dust settled, the man stood upright, his coat falling from his shoulders. With deliberate slowness, he unclasped it and tossed it aside. What was revealed made even Kaelor's ancient eyes narrow with interest.

Before the eyes of the minotaur king and his assembled horde, Asher grew. His body expanded, his form towering as he stepped into his King State, a figure of awe at ten feet two inches tall. His long snow-white hair cascaded down his broad, sculpted chest and rippling back. Veins like cords of steel coiled along his bulging arms, and when he flexed ever so slightly, the very air rippled.

The raw, unrestrained force radiating from him was like a storm barely held in check. His face was a mask of solemnity, carved from stone, devoid of arrogance or mirth, only unshakable resolve.

With each slow, measured step he took toward Kaelor, his mana surged. It built and built until, at its peak, blue-white and gray flames burst from his right eye, curling upward.

The flames weren't fire in the mortal sense, they were mana made visible, the pure, terrifying essence of a man whose power had transcended the ordinary.

Kaelor rumbled low in his throat, a growl that shook the air.

"Human..."

Thousands of minotaurs, hardened by generations of war, gripped their weapons tighter. Their fear of this titan turned swiftly to rage, a desperate fury at the audacity of this lone man who dared challenge their king. Kaelor's guards, monstrous beings in their own right, flogged their massive whips against the ground, raising dust and tension alike, waiting only for their king's command.

But before Kaelor could speak, Asher's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"Lord Kaelor, let this be a battle between you and I—lord against lord, king against king."

With that, Asher drew his mighty claymore from his back and drove it into the earth at his side. The sword, nearly six feet in length with a blade as broad as a grown man's palm, gleamed despite its humble origin. It was not forged from steel or enchanted metal, but hewn from Whitewood, the ancient wood of a tree that had stood for three thousand years, its existence stretching back to the age of the Godblood race.

Sharpened by the hands of I'ron himself, the blade's edges were so keen it could cleave giant boulders in twain, leaving their sundered surfaces smooth as polished glass.

Though to an untrained eye it might seem laughable, a wooden blade against a king of monsters, its weight was terrible, its purpose clear.

Asher's eyes locked with Kaelor's, unflinching.

"Shall we fight with weapons, or not?"

Kaelor's lips curled into a grin, revealing fangs like carved ivory. Without a word, he seized Asher's discarded ice spear, hefted it with one hand, and hurled it back with such force it shattered the sound barrier—BOOM—a thunderclap of power.

The spear was upon Asher in an instant, faster than thought. He tilted his head slightly, and the spear flashed past, so close that the wind of its passage drew a fine red line across his cheek. A single bead of blood welled and slid down his face, stark and vivid against his pale skin.

Asher wiped it away with one finger, his gaze never leaving Kaelor's.

As the blood trickled down his cheek, glinting like a ruby against his pale skin, Asher did not so much as blink. His eyes, glowing faintly beneath the billowing blue-white and gray flames from his right eye, locked onto Kaelor's with unwavering focus.

He reached up with one finger and wiped the blood, studying it for a heartbeat, then flicked it aside as though it were of no consequence.

The crater fell into a heavy, deathly silence. Even the minotaurs, bristling with fury moments before, hesitated, intimidated by this human who stood so calmly before their king, whose mere presence seemed to command reverence.

Kaelor's lips curled into a grin, baring fangs as thick as a man's fingers. His deep voice rumbled, amusement laced with challenge.

"Very well, human lord. We fight with no weapons. No steel. No wood. Only pure might."

Without waiting another breath, Kaelor slammed the butt of the challenger's axe into the ground, leaving it upright like a monument of war. His thick fingers cracked as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his massive frame tensing like a coiled spring.