Reborn As Noble

Chapter 603: The Black Banner ( 603 )

Meanwhile…

In the human temporary camp at one of the dwarven cities that had been captured and conquered by King Edmund’s troops.

King Edmund sat silently, his sharp eyes fixed on the map spread out before him. His tent was dimly lit, and the only sound was a low, sinister whisper echoing in his mind.

“Just one last capital, and we get Gumarak!! Edmund, what are you waiting for!?” the voice of the Celestial inside him hissed, filled with manic hunger. “Devour his Celestial — become the fourth! Claim more power!”

A slow smirk crept across Edmund’s face. His fingers tapped lightly on the wooden armrest of his chair, deep in thought.

“I can’t deny it… I want that power. I want Gumarak’s Celestial,” Edmund murmured quietly. “But what about Gurdan? From what my scouts have reported… he’s now holding two Celestials.”

The whisper in his mind snarled in frustration. “Then destroy him! Gurdan’s nothing without an army that can fly!”

Edmund’s eyes shone coldly. “Exactly. The halfling kingdom has no aerial defenses. No wyverns, no air magic. Their forces are all on the ground.”

“Then send your wyvern units! Relentless strikes, day and night!” the Celestial urged. “They’ll crumble under the skies!”

Edmund stood slowly, walking to the edge of the war tent. The wind whipped the canvas as he gazed out into the smoky dawn, where distant wyverns roared, their wings beating against the blood-red sky.

“Then it’s decided,” he whispered. “Tomorrow… we launch the final airstrike. Gurdan will fall. Gumarak will break. And I—”

He smiled darkly.

“—will rise.”

Edmund’s smirk grew darker, his eyes shining with ruthless determination.

“Call General Gilmon,” he ordered sharply, his voice resonating through the tent.

One of the nearby advisors immediately snapped into attention. “Yes, my liege!”

As the advisor hurried out, Edmund rose from his seat, a shadow of the Celestial stirring restlessly behind his gaze. He clenched his fists, the veins on his arms glowing faintly with the twisted power surging within him.

The Celestial’s voice whispered in his mind with a sinister delight. “Yes… finally… rain fire upon them, Edmund. Burn them to ash…”

Edmund leaned forward, pressing his hands firmly on the war table as he looked down at the miniature figures representing the last dwarven city.

“I will send the entire wyvern division,” he declared coldly. “Full force. No mercy. Thousands of them, day and night. I want the dwarves to feel true despair.”

With a violent motion, he slammed his palm down on the model of the dwarven capital, cracking it in half.

“They will break,” he hissed. “And once they do… Gumarak will be mine.”

Gilmon entered the tent and knelt before Edmund.

“My liege, we have another report,” Gilmon announced respectfully.

“Hmm? What is it, Gilmon?” Edmund replied without turning, still gazing at the map.

“Our intelligence officers discovered that the dwarves have received aid from outside forces. One of our scouts reported about five hundred knights wearing mithril armor lined up along the dwarven wall. Moreover, ten aid caravans with supplies have arrived, and the dwarves are slowly recovering,” Gilmon said steadily.

“What!?” Edmund hissed sharply. “How can you be sure?”

“Our special magic-disguise units infiltrated the last dwarven capital. They transformed themselves to look like dwarves. We received the intel directly from them,” Gilmon explained.

Edmund’s eyes darkened dangerously. The air around him grew tense, a heavy pressure rising from his mounting fury.

“Five hundred knights… in mithril armor?” he muttered, his knuckles clenching. “And aid caravans? Who dares interfere with us?”

Gilmon kept his head lowered. “We are still investigating the origin of this aid, my liege. But…” he hesitated.

“But what?” Edmund’s voice turned cold.

“The banners they fly are unknown. Our agents described them as black with a golden emblem. They don’t match any known kingdom or noble house on the continent.”

Edmund’s eyes narrowed even further. “An unknown banner… a third force?”

He slowly stood and moved toward the large war map spread out on the table. His finger hovered over the last dwarven stronghold and then tapped it once.

“And this mysterious force… is the one that took over the third dwarven stronghold?”

“Yes, my liege,” Gilmon answered. “According to intercepted messages among the dwarves, they surrendered without resistance. This unknown commander crushed 120,000 halflings using strange magic and flying devices.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Edmund’s expression froze.

“…Flying devices?” he repeated softly.

“Yes, my liege. Our agents described objects soaring above the battlefield, firing magical projectiles with deadly accuracy. They called them metal birds or invisible war machines.”

Edmund stared intently at the map before him. Then he muttered one name quietly:

“…Armand.”

Gilmon flinched at the mention.

“Only one region possesses that level of technology… only one family dares wield such heretical power.”

He turned away, his cloak flowing behind him.

“Javier De Armand,” Edmund said ominously, voice thick with menace.

The Celestial within him hissed with rage.

“KILL HIM. DEVOUR HIM. TAKE HIS POWER.”

A twisted smile curled on Edmund’s lips.

“Soon.”

Gilmon remained on his knees.

“There is… one more report, my liege.”

Edmund’s eyes narrowed, voice sharp. “Speak.”

Gilmon swallowed. “Gilikan Town, and the first dwarven town bordering the Beastkin Kingdom—both have been captured.”

“What!?” Edmund’s voice roared through the command tent. “Captured? By who!?”

Gilmon clenched his fists. “By the Beastkin Kingdom. The banners raised… belong to them.”

Edmund slammed his fist down on the table, cracking it.

“They’re moving!? Those damn beastkin are joining the war now!?”

He turned away, pacing like a caged beast. His celestial essence flared around him, crackling in the air.

“Fuck!!! They ruined everything! All of it was perfectly aligned until now!”

He smashed his goblet to the ground, wine spilling like blood.

“Fucking Garius!! That bastard planned this!!” Edmund shouted, veins throbbing along his temple. “They cut off our land route to Gurdan! Now we can’t push against the halflings from both flanks!”

He snarled again, voice breaking with rage.

“Shit! Shit!! Shit!!!”

Gilmon didn’t speak. The entire command tent was silent—no one dared move, breathe, or raise their heads.

Edmund stood still, seething.

“Everything… all because of that man. Garius De Armand… and now his cursed sons are moving.”

( End Of Chapter )

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