Reborn As Noble

The air was filled with violence.

Screams echoed through the stone corridors of the last dwarven strongholds. Smoke and flames laced with mana soared into the sky, turning it orange and red. Shouts of desperate, panicked orders sounded against walls that were collapsing.

“Commander!! Aaarrghhh!!”

A bright blue magic burst down from above, breaking through the outer barrier and exploding inside the central barracks. The explosion sent rubble flying, shattering stone like fragile clay.

Above, wyverns circled, their wings slicing through the clouds. Each one carried two riders: one to control and direct, the other casting spell after spell from above. Fire, wind, and ice bolts rained down like judgment from the skies.

“Fall back!! Everyone fall back to the inner defenses!!”

The dwarven commander shouted, his voice hoarse—barely loud enough to be heard over the explosions.

“ARRGH—!”

A bolt of lightning struck the observation tower, destroying it in a flash of blinding light. Bodies fell. The tower collapsed like a snapped branch.

“Commander—!”

Another dwarf tried to reach him but was pushed back by the shockwave from a secondary explosion.

“Retreat!! RETREAT TO THE CAPITAL!!” the commander roared, waving his bloody axe in the air. “This is the last line of defense—move out!!”

The fortress trembled. Walls cracked and shattered.

“WHERE IS OUR GIANT EAGLE UNIT!?” a panicked voice shouted from the east wall. “Why haven’t they launched yet!?”

Another shockwave hit.

BOOOM!

The west wing was consumed in a blaze of purple fire. Arcs of mana shattered through the remaining defenses, making shields useless.

“Lea—Leader! They’ve all fallen—arghhh!!”

A final explosion struck.

The soldier’s cry was cut off as he was thrown across the courtyard, landing in a heap of broken armor and scorched earth.

Chaos.

Defeat.

Despair.

The two great dwarven strongholds—long symbols of unwavering power—were now little more than smoldering ruins, under attack by the aerial magic corps of the Human Kingdom.

And above the smoke-filled sky, the wyverns flew… calm, relentless, unstoppable.

Far from the front lines, King Edmund stood with his arms crossed behind his back. The wind blew his cloak, but his gaze stayed steady—cold and calculating—as thousands of wyverns darkened the sky like a storm of black wings.

Explosions sparkled like dying stars across the valley. Walls crumbled, towers shattered, and faint screams carried on the wind.

And then—

A voice.

A voice echoing from the depths of Edmund’s mind.

“YES!! Those two are falling! Burn them down!! Crush them flat!! Edmund!! Take Gumarak—GET GUMARAK! AND WE CONSUME HIS CELESTIAL!!”

The voice rasped with hunger. Malicious. Insatiable.

“We’ll grow stronger again… YES… Let me taste it—his power… his soul…”

Edmund’s lips curled into a sinister smirk.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

His eyes glowed faintly—dark veins pulsed along the edges of his temples. “I can’t wait to feast on another Celestial.”

He turned sharply, locking his eyes on a man kneeling beside him.

“Gilmon,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” General Gilmon immediately snapped to attention, his armor clinking.

Edmund’s gaze was sharp. “Where is the rest of our wyvern force?”

Gilmon grinned, his eyes darker than usual. The dark miasma surrounding the king had grown stronger.

“They’re coming soon, Your Majesty.”

“Soon, they will arrive—and the last of the dwarven strongholds will fall.”

Edmund chuckled darkly, his silhouette casting a long shadow over the balcony.

“Good. Let them despair.”

The sky roared with thunder.

King Edmund’s laughter erupted—not just from his throat, but from something darker. Something monstrous.

“AHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He roared, his arms spread wide, reveling in the chaos below.

“I CAN’T WAIT TO DEVOUR GUMARAK!!”

His voice echoed like a demon’s chant across the cliffs.

“AND AFTER I’VE TAKEN HIM—GURDAN’S NEXT! YES!! THAT FAT LITTLE HALFLING RUNT!! I’LL CRUSH HIM INTO DUST!!”

His eyes shone with void-like madness, and the celestial within him howled with twisted joy.

Behind him, his generals joined in the laugh.

Then his commanders.

Then the advisors.

Soon, the entire camp was laughing—mad, rabid laughter.

“AAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

They no longer knew fear.

No hesitation.

They were soaked in his miasma—the black fog of corrupted divinity that had seeped into their flesh, their minds, even their souls.

What once were human hearts…

Now only beat for blood, war, and slaughter.

Knights who had fought for honor now screamed for carnage.

Mages once devoted to the arcane now hurled destruction with glee.

Even the holy clerics—the last pillars of light—had fallen silent, their eyes hollow.

The camp reeked of darkness.

No prayers.

No mercy.

Only the unstoppable march of a kingdom corrupted from within.

And far above, circling like vultures ready to strike…

The wyverns shrieked, hungry for the last dwarven capital.

“Gilmon!!”

Edmund’s voice thundered like a divine curse, his eyes glowing with a cruel, malevolent gleam.

“Yes, Your Majesty!!?”

General Gilmon stood at attention, sweat trickling down his temple.

“Prepare our troops,” Edmund commanded, stepping forward until his shadow covered the entire war table.

“Split the legions into two—half continue the assault on the dwarves. Break those last two strongholds until they’re reduced to rubble!!”

He turned, pointing to the blackened map—two iron pins marked the dwarven bastions, now trembling beneath falling wyvern fire.

“And the other half?” Gilmon asked eagerly.

Edmund’s smirk widened like a blade.

“Get them ready to crush the halflings.”

Gasping rippled through the nearby officers.

“But—”

“They’re pretending to be our allies,” Edmund snapped. “But they want Gumarak too! Those rats are just waiting for us to fall. So we strike first! Once the dwarves are gone, those pathetic halflings will feel our wrath!”

He slammed his gauntlet on the table, splintering the wood.

“They have no sky forces. No wyverns. Not even proper anti-air magic.”

“We have air superiority. We are gods compared to them.”

Gilmon bowed low, dark mist swirling around his shoulders.

“As you command. We will divide the legions immediately. They won’t know what hit them.”

“Good,” Edmund whispered, his voice barely human anymore.

His celestial inner voice chuckled deep within.

“Gumarak first… then Gurdan… and then the world.”

“Ahh…” Edmund exhaled deeply, his eyes half-lidded as the thunderous roars of wyverns echoed through the darkened skies like a divine chorus of destruction.

“The sound of my main 3,500 wyvern unit… aum… magnificent.”

The miasma surrounding him grew thicker, almost pulsing with his excitement.

Gilmon, bowing low beside the war table, spoke with pride.

“Yes, Your Majesty. With the 1,500 already deployed to the dwarven front, our total wyvern force now numbers… 5,000.”

Edmund’s lips curled into a wild grin.

“Yesss… That’s what I want! That’s what I’ve earned!!”

He raised his arms to the sky, his corrupted aura radiating out in waves.

“Let the skies know the name of the true king! No one can stop me now—not dwarves, not halflings, not even fate itself!”

( End Of Chapter )

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