Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!-Chapter 487: We Can Finally Go Home

His mantle fluttering in the high winds, Asher hovered silently above the fortress, golden eyes gleaming like twin suns behind the helm. Below, chaos reigned. Screams echoed through the ruined walls. Fires crackled. Stone crumbled.

Yet his gaze didn’t wander. It was fixed, unwavering, piercing the layers of stone and smoke to lock on one man: the Count.

Though the buildings obscured much, Asher’s vision transcended walls. A gift born from power far beyond mortal, something Zenas had, the special truth about Ashbourne’s golden eyes. He could see the Count slipping into an underground passage like a rat scurrying from flame.

Icy mist hissed from his right palm, swirling rapidly until it formed a gleaming javelin. One throw, one effortless motion, and this would end.

But just as he tensed his arm, the Count vanished in a flash of soft, unnatural light. He’d escaped through a teleportation channel hidden in the hall.

Asher lowered his arm slowly. The javelin dissolved into mist, falling like frost onto the wind. He hadn’t hesitated because he couldn’t strike. He hesitated... because he chose not to.

With a breathless leap, he shot into the heavens. Clouds parted violently as he soared past them, then slowed, hovering high above the world. Beneath him stretched a vast plain, miles of open land, sun-bathed and waiting.

This was his plan.

Instead of dismantling fortresses one by one, of playing games with lesser lords, he would let them come to him. The Count would run to Reuel. Reuel would call his ally. And Prince Aaron would answer.

Let them gather.

Let the banners rise.

Let the North choose its champion.

Only through one final war would its fate be decided.

For Asher knew the truth:

A divided North would never withstand the horrors to come. The world was already crumbling beneath the weight of the unknown.

And if the Abyss King ruled over an entire race... then he commanded millions. Perhaps tens of millions. An endless swarm born from shadow and hatred.

Asher didn’t know the full extent of it. No one did.

But he knew this: The end was coming.

And if it wasn’t stopped, everything, kingdoms, and even empires would be consumed.

He turned, descending once more. The fortress’ castle loomed beneath him, scorched and broken but still standing. He approached slowly, mantle trailing behind him like the tail of a falling star.

But as his feet neared the earth, the very ground resisted him.

The stone beneath where he was meant to land began to quake, trembling in protest. Fine cracks spiderwebbed across the courtyard tiles. Dust lifted, and a deep hum shivered through the earth, as though the land itself rejected him.

Paladins stood in two silent rows at the castle gates, their golden shields dull and scarred, their spears gripped tightly. Their armor gleamed under the harsh light, broad pauldrons, embossed with emblems, battered from past wars.

They didn’t flinch at his approach, but they felt it.

The air grew dense. The vibrations intensified. And when some glanced down, they saw the stone fracturing beneath him.

Asher narrowed his eyes and sighed, the sound escaping like steam through a vent. With a slow, reluctant motion, he reached up and removed his crown-helm.

The trembling stopped instantly.

He descended, now lightly, gently, landing without a sound.

"Why did he remove his crown?" Kael’Zheran muttered, his gaze sharp as he stood near the broken gateway.

Beside him, Sariel, now reduced to a still-imposing ten feet, rested her longbow across her back.

"He can’t fully control its power," she said, eyes tracking Asher’s every step. "The helm is feeding off his emotions, growing stronger with his fury. It’s a living weapon... and a curse."

She turned toward the Werelion King, her tone steady. "If he had landed while wearing it, the shockwave would have torn through the castle. The courtyard would have collapsed."

Kael’Zheran squinted, eyes narrowing to slits. "So if he ever masters it, truly conquers it—will he be able to suppress that destruction?"

Sariel nodded solemnly. "Exactly. When that day comes... he’ll be more than a king."

With the helm held at his side, Asher stepped into the grand hall of the fortress. His footsteps echoed against the cold stone floor, the vast chamber silent save for the distant crackle of fires and the low groans of a fortress wounded but not yet dead.

His gaze lifted toward the far end, toward the throne.

Behind it, etched into the wall in deep relief, was Reuel’s name carved in thick stone. The lettering, once proud, now crumbled before his eyes.

Pieces flaked away like dead bark, falling silently to the ground. In mere moments, the name was no more than dust.

In its place, new letters slowly emerged, etched in dull golden stone as though summoned by fate itself:

Mig’dal-el.

Asher stood still, staring at it. Then, slowly, a small smile curved his lips.

"It’s been five months," he murmured, eyes drifting shut for a breath. He opened them again, a quiet light in their golden depths. "We can finally go home."

Behind him, armored footsteps paused. Nero stood tall, ever silent, his face hidden behind the dark steel of his helm.

Asher turned to him. "Assemble the men," he said, his voice calm but filled with finality. "We return to Tenaria. The Golden Axe Division will remain and hold the fortress. All generals are to return with us."

Nero gave a deep bow, turned, and departed wordlessly, his white, blood stained cloak trailing behind him.

Asher remained, stepping toward the arched window that overlooked the outer walls. The sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, framing what stood beyond.

There, stationed like titans of war, stood the true giants.

Each one rose nearly forty feet tall, their black and gold armor gleaming like forged obsidian etched with ancient runes. The ground beneath their feet was scarred from their march. Great axes, so massive they dwarfed siege towers, rested slung over their shoulders. For now, they were silent.

They stood still, watching and waiting.

He rested his palm on the windowsill and whispered, "True giants."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢