Reborn As Noble

The door opened with a soft creak.

Gilmon turned his head instinctively, and his heart skipped a beat.

His breath hitched.

No way...

Standing in the doorway.

Serene, composed, and untouched by time, was her.

”F-Francesca...?”

His voice came out barely above a whisper.

She stepped in gracefully, her white dress flowing with each quiet step. No makeup. No jewelry. Just her. The same calming presence... the same gentle air that silenced every room she walked into—not with force, but with awe.

The same woman who hadn’t aged a day since their youth.

Still looking like that beautiful young lady from the noble school, while the rest of them grew old, scarred, and bitter.

The one everyone thought would become queen...

The one Edmund chased relentlessly back then when he was still the Crown Prince...

But she rejected it all.

She rejected the royal court.

She rejected the crown.

She chose Garius instead.

The quiet, unimpressive boy with messy hair and bad posture... the one who always seemed to be dozing off in the back of the class.

And yet... she followed him.

Not out of pity.

Not for politics.

But because she saw something in him none of them could.

Gilmon swallowed hard.

No... not just followed.

She fought beside him.

She was there when they sealed the Third Celestial... when they struck down the Fourth... when they tricked and trapped the Fifth... and when they crushed the madness of the Sixth.

A woman stronger than any title could describe.

Mage? He wasn’t even sure that word applied anymore.

He didn’t even know what her real class was.

Only that whenever she stood beside Garius, the impossible became real.

And now... she stood here, before him.

Looking straight into his eyes.

”So~ Gilmon boy~” Francesca’s voice was as light as ever, almost musical. ”How’s your wound?”

Gilmon froze.

His throat tightened.

He couldn’t tell if it was her tone or her presence that made the back of his neck prickle.

”I—uh... I...” he stammered.

Her smile didn’t waver. It was pure. Serene. Motherly.

And yet, somehow... terrifying.

Too terrifying.

Gilmon gulped.

She stepped closer.

Elegant, graceful, harmless in appearance.

”Oh, don’t worry,” she said, her voice still sweet and calm. ”I’m not here to hurt you.”

Then why does it feel like I’m already dying?!

Francesca tilted her head, still smiling.

”It’s just~ My dear husband wants you to be fully healed by now~ Isn’t that thoughtful?”

Garius wants me healed...? That means...

Gilmon’s thoughts were cut short as a radiant glow surged around him.

His entire body was engulfed in a soft, brilliant white light—gentle and warm, yet far too powerful to feel natural.

He could feel it—his flesh knitting back together, the aches vanishing, even his old battle fatigue... gone.

The pain? Gone.

The wound? Gone.

But the fear?

Still there.

In fact... it only got worse.

Because even as she stepped back, clasping her hands before her like a gentle saint...

Her eyes never blinked.

Her smile never changed.

And her presence screamed one thing.

You better not betray my husband again.

Gilmon shivered in place, drenched in cold sweat.

”Ah~ don’t worry, Gilmon,” Francesca said.

Her tone remained gentle. ”It’s just... I don’t want you to meet my husband while in pain, or wounded~ That would be... unpleasant, wouldn’t it?”

Gilmon’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard.

He didn’t dare respond.

He couldn’t.

Because deep down—he understood.

She hadn’t healed him out of kindness.

She healed him... so there’d be no excuses.

No limping.

No trembling.

No ”I was injured” to soften the conversation.

Inside his mind:

So that’s it...

She healed me.

So when Garius comes...

I’ll be standing. Fully recovered. No bandages. No pain.

So that when he looks at me.

There will be no pity.

No mercy.

No sympathy.

Just judgment.

Shit...

I’m screwed.

”All right, boy~ I’ll leave you to my dear husband,” Francesca said sweetly, turning at the door with a serene smile. ”Enjoy~”

Her footsteps echoed softly as she exited, as if nothing was wrong.

But Gilmon couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

He simply watched, frozen, as that graceful silhouette disappeared behind the wooden door.

Then... silence.

Until...

Step.

Hesbeirn entered first, arms crossed, face stiff as granite.

Behind him, Erinnette moved in silently, her eyes sharp and unreadable, like a hawk watching prey take its final breath.

And finally.... Alf.

The butler’s polished shoes made no sound as he entered, but his presence alone was enough to suffocate the air. Calm. Steady. Deadly.

And then...

Footsteps echoed beyond the hall.

Slow.

Measured.

Authoritative.

Gilmon’s pupils shrank.

He knew that rhythm.

He remembered that walk. From decades ago. From the training ground. From the battlefield. From the time they sealed the Celestials. That step belonged to only one man.

The sound wasn’t loud.

But to Gilmon?

Each step was a thunderclap.

A declaration.

Judgement is coming.

The doorknob turned.

Gilmon gripped the blanket instinctively.Like it could shield him from what was coming.

It can’t.

Not this time.

Because that wasn’t just Garius De Armand—the boy he used to laugh with.

That was the man who stood against Celestials.

The man who struck fear into kings.

The man who—despite the world turning against him—never once compromised.

And now...

He was here.

Because Gilmon failed.

Garius stepped inside.

No expression.

No smile.

Just calm—like a blade still in its sheath, but everyone in the room knew exactly how sharp it was.

He stood a few steps from the bed, arms behind his back, coat unbuttoned but pristine. His gaze met Gilmon’s with terrifying ease.

”How’s your day... prisoner?”

Gilmon flinched slightly, eyes lowering on instinct.

He didn’t dare answer.

Garius tilted his head a little, then took one step forward. The air in the room tightened.

”So,” he continued, voice smooth. ”How are you feeling? Good? Healthy now, right?”

Gilmon gritted his teeth, his sweat cold as it ran along his temple.

”I... I’m sorry.”

”Hm?” Garius raised a brow slightly, his tone unchanged. ”Sorry for what?”

Gilmon’s mouth opened, then closed.

He couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth out loud.

( End Of Chapter )