Reborn As Noble

Javier turned, glancing back over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded with disinterest.

”Last warning,” he said flatly. ”Leave Arjam. Otherwise...” He tilted his head slightly, a slow grin curling on his lips. ”I’ll let my toys play with you. And trust me... they don’t play nice.”

Without rushing, he pulled an adamantite sword from his magic storage and rested it casually on his shoulder. The black sheen of the blade gleamed under the sun.

”You both aren’t that stupid, right?” Javier asked, his voice low but clear. ”Surely your households remember how strong Armand is. Both your regions sent troops during the first Noble Coalition War against us. What was it? Three... maybe four years ago?”

He let that sink in, then smirked and drove the blade into the dirt with a dull thunk. His hands rested on the hilt as the wind caught his cloak, billowing it behind him.

”And you should remember how Armand crushed that coalition,” Javier continued, eyes sharpening. ”Not a single casualty on our side. Not one.”

He turned his gaze from one side of the battlefield to the other, Turka troops shifting uncomfortably, Garka ranks stiff with unease.

”Now, now~” Javier said with a faint, lazy smile, ”if you value your lives, if you still want to go home, kiss your wives, drink your cheap beer, then listen carefully...retreat. Take every man and march outside the Arjam border wall.”

He raised one hand and pointed down.

”Because from this moment on...” His voice dropped, low and cold.

”Arjam belongs to the Armand Region.”

He flicked his eyes back and forth between the two trembling young lords.

”You both remember, don’t you?” Javier went on, tapping two fingers against his temple. ”The Human Kingdom... more than 800,000 troops, the whole damn royal army, all those so-called invincible wyvern elites. All that power, annihilated.”

He let his words hang, his tone cold and merciless.

”Their best mages, their finest knights... crushed. And Armand didn’t lose a single soul.”

He squatted, one hand gripping the hilt, his gaze drilling into both commanders.

”And yet here you both are... with what, 18,000 troops between you?” He gave a soft, mocking chuckle. ”You really think you stand a chance? Is this bravery, or just stupidity?”

Javier’s eyes glinted, his voice sharp. ”You see those banners behind me? That’s not even the full Armand main army. Father only sent ten thousand this time. Says that’s more than enough for the likes of you.”

He smirked, his grin widening as his gaze swept over the field. ”But let me give you a gift. My Modern Knights, those puppet knights you’ve heard rumors about?”

He leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. ”I’ve got a hundred thousand of them. All on standby. And they don’t just use swords and shields anymore. So... what do you think? Want to test if you’re really as tough as you talk?”

Just as the two young nobles were about to say something.

Hesbeirn rode in from Javier’s right, astride his imposing Pekko, the beast’s talons gouging the earth with every step. On the left came Gilmon, the ex-general, every inch the grizzled war veteran, his own Pekko towering nearly as high as Hesbeirn’s.

The two young lords of Turka and Garka froze, their confidence vanishing the instant they recognized the newcomers.

The Unstoppable Berserker..Hesbeirn, the terror of the Human Kingdom, a man whose name alone sent seasoned knights running. And on his left, Gilmon, the former royal general, the living legend who fought under the late King Edmund, rumored to be the only warrior in the land who could go toe-to-toe with Hesbeirn.

Hesbeirn scowled, dragging his sword from his back with a single hand. ”Oi, brat! How long are we gonna keep standing around here?” He didn’t even try to hide his impatience, voice loud and casual, like he was addressing his own nephew and not the youngest son of Garius.

Gilmon just shook his head, lips twitching at Hesbeirn’s lack of manners. Only in Armand could the strongest men in the kingdom talk this way to their lord’s son and not fear for their lives.

Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Uncle, you know how strict Father is. You’ve been by his side since before I was born, don’t act like this is new.”

Hesbeirn grunted. ”Still, my head hurts.”

Javier snorted. ”That’s on you, ’uncle.’ Maybe try not drinking yourself under the table with your ’drinking buddy’ here.” He tossed a glance up at Gilmon, who did his best to look innocent, scratching at his cheek.

Hesbeirn swung his sword to rest on his shoulder, the steel gleaming in the sun. ”How about we just crush their army now and take those two as trophies?”

Gilmon hefted his twin axes, a wicked smile flashing across his face.

Javier raised a hand, palm outward.

”No need. Even if we captured them, they’d be nothing but a burden. Father has a plan, let’s give these idiots their chance: fight or retreat. I’m not interested in wasting money feeding prisoners who can’t even put up a fight.”

The two noble sons couldn’t hide their fear any longer.

”J-just... you... wait! I’ll tell Father about this!” the Garka son stammered, voice cracking. He spun on his heel, shouting at his troops. ”Everyone, retreat! Fall back! NOW!”

The Garka army didn’t need to be told twice. Armor rattling as they scrambled to follow their young lord, relief and terror pushing them into a full retreat.

Across the field, the Turka son was just as shaken. Face pale, hands trembling, he choked out a command. ”Retreat! All of you, retreat!”

He lingered only long enough to point a shaking finger at Javier. ”Just you wait, Armand brat! My father will file a formal complaint with the royal court! You’ll regret this!”

Javier yawned, digging his ear with a pinky, unbothered. ”Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, tell the great ’King Kimar’ all about it. Scary~” He flicked away the invisible dust with a bored flick, barely sparing them another glance as their armies fled in disgrace.

Hesbeirn let out a long sigh, shifting his sword back over his shoulder. Gilmon just shook his head, watching the fleeing armies with a half-smile.

”Young Master... you really just going to let them run? We could crush them all right here,” Gilmon muttered, voice low but edged with disappointment.

Javier shot Gilmon a sharp look, his gaze stern. ”You think I want to let them go? It’s Father’s order. I’m sure you heard the command yourself, straight from the estate, through your own mana talkie.” He squared his shoulders, mimicking Garius’s calm, authoritative tone. ”’Javier, do not kill any noble sons or their troops if they retreat. That is a direct order.’”

Hesbeirn snorted, grinning at Javier’s imitation. ”Heh, you sounded exactly like Lord Garius just now. Even nailed the serious face.”

Gilmon gave a little bow, playing along. ”Mmm~ The resemblance is uncanny, Young Master. Such poise... truly the heir of Armand.”

( End Of Chapter )