Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!-Chapter 415: A Grand Ambition

The tent flap parted, and Asher stepped out, his gaze lifted to the dark sky. Around him, soldiers moved swiftly, assembling into formation. Horns sounded. The air was electric with anticipation.

His boots sank slightly into the dirt as he advanced toward the center of camp—when, suddenly, the sky split.

Three wyverns.

They tore across the sky like arrows let loose, their wings stirring a violent wind. In a breath, they had passed over the camp. Tents rippled and collapsed, soldiers staggered or fell outright as dust exploded into the air.

Then—stillness.

Asher exhaled, a quiet breath of relief slipping from his lips. His shoulders eased.

He turned and strode back into the command tent.

Sapphira stood exactly where he had left her.

"I told you to leave," he said.

She didn’t flinch. "I would have, had there truly been a threat. But there wasn’t. And you need someone to talk to."

Her fingers tapped lightly on the chair, an invitation.

Asher sat once more, reclining.

"I read the letter you sent," she said. "You were right. Galvia’s knights... they don’t just carry plague—they are plague. People say seeing one is a death sentence. Even those who kill them become infected."

Her fingers stopped tapping.

"No apothecary could create such a thing. I believe they were made in the Dark Age... used to fight the abyss."

Asher looked up, his expression unreadable. "Then there’s a secret. A high one. If Galvia and the Eternal Immortal have these troops, then Sacred Flame likely does too. These units aren’t bred—they’re preserved. From a past the world would rather forget."

Sapphira’s voice dropped. "You forget they were all founded by men with the blood and talent of the first men."

A grim silence passed between them.

"We’ll bide our time," Asher said, voice calm. "Eventually, their secret will reach our ears."

"No," Sapphira snapped, her voice sharp with urgency. "We don’t have time!"

Asher’s brow lifted slightly.

She stepped closer, her voice tight. "I came here so suddenly because of what Lady Katarina told me. This is not something to read on parchment."

Asher’s head tilted. "She had a dream?"

"Not just a dream, Asher." Her eyes locked on his. "She saw the world unravel. Kings at war. Lords turning on each other. And in that chaos... the abyss returns. But this time—not scattered. This time, united. Under their king."

Asher’s jaw clenched.

"She says they’ll consume Cyrenia before we even know it’s begun. And when they reach our lands—" sapphira paused, "everything will already be burning."

Asher’s gaze grew cold and distant.

Sapphira’s voice trembled ever so slightly. "She said... ’They flood the earth like sand.’"

Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Then, more softly:

"We need to act, Asher. Our territory—our foundation—is not ready. The capital hasn’t been decided yet. Paradise lies in ruins. The final wave of freed slaves has arrived—we’re now at eight hundred thousand citizens. But can we feed them when famine strikes? Can we protect them when the abyss comes?"

She stepped to the table, placing her hand on the map.

"There’s no northern wall. No Great Divide. If they march down, there is nothing to stop them. And what of House El? Will they submit, or remain mere allies? How much longer can we delay what must be done?"

Asher leaned forward slowly, eyes fixed on the map, tracing the rivers and valleys of a land not yet whole.

"You would suggest war against House El?"

Asher’s voice rang deep and unwavering, like a tolling bell. The sound echoed in the tent, low and commanding, vibrating in Sapphira’s ears.

"No," she replied, shaking her head firmly. Her violet eyes held his, calm but resolute. "But they must understand—when the time comes, those who do not submit will find no entry into our city. They cannot feast on what they did not help grow."

Her voice hardened slightly.

"If they swear fealty, we can harness their strength. Their workers can build with us, farm with us, fight with us. But if they choose to remain aloof, then they must also bear the burden of their independence. When the abyss descends, we will not share our grain with those who hoarded pride."

Asher’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Then I’ll ensure Count Wyvern is removed from House Nubis’ territory. Once that’s done, I’ll return to lay the foundations of our capital... declare our independence... and raise a second wall."

He looked at her then, his features softened in the lamplight, the rough exterior of a warlord momentarily peeled away.

"And your kind?" he asked, voice quieter. "What of them?"

Sapphira offered a small, sad smile. "We can’t bring snakes into our home, Asher. They will strike from within. My people..." she paused, exhaling slowly, "they will not all accept what I’ve become. And if we welcome them in haste, they may turn on us in our sleep."

There was pain in her words, but not regret. Only resolve.

"I believe that with one year—just one—of focused effort, we can shape our land into something strong enough to weather the storm. If we are disciplined... if we are united."

Then she leaned in, her breath brushing his ear, her voice soft as silk and sharp as steel.

"When it comes... the lords who raise their swords against you will return, heads bowed, begging for a crust of bread."

She pulled back slightly, her gaze intense.

"The abyss force will march from the Black Iron Mountain Range, yes—but its plague will seep beyond the northern borders. It will crawl into the high plains, foul the rivers, and rot the grain. Even the proudest lords will be brought to their knees. And in that moment, your strength—our strength—will be the only flame that still burns."

She straightened, her fingers once again drumming on the table in a thoughtful rhythm.

"That is when they will come. Not with swords, but with open hands. And when they do... they must find a kingdom already built."