Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!-Chapter 419: Her Tears

Their eyes locked—her luminous violet gaze trembling with emotion, and his golden eyes darkened by questions, confusion, and the bitter sting of betrayal.

Sapphira's heart pounded violently in her chest. A shiver ran through her core, her entire being quivering beneath the weight of the moment. Fear—raw and unrelenting—coiled around her like a serpent.

What would happen now?

Without a word, she turned and disappeared into the tent. Asher stood frozen for a breath, then followed, sheathing his sword with a sharp click. His pulse roared in his ears. His right arm trembled. Thoughts raced like wild beasts in his mind, and already, conclusions—dark and damning—were forming.

He flung the flap open with force, and there she was.

Kneeling.

Her hands rested in her lap, head bowed. Silent.

She couldn't look at him?

Or worse—was this some cruel mockery?

The corners of Asher's eyes reddened. Memories surged unbidden, her silhouette above him, wings aglow in moonlight... the way they sparred, her laughter during council meetings, the warmth of her presence beside him... their bodies entangled on a shared bed, skin against skin, heart against heart.

And now?

Now it all felt like—

"What are you?" His voice cut through the air like a blade drawn across steel; sharp, cold, and unforgiving.

Sapphira slowly raised her head, and before his eyes, the illusion shattered.

Her black hair shimmered and lengthened, shifting in hue to a radiant emerald cascade that flowed down her back like a waterfall, spilling across the floor like a living cloak. Her form stretched, six feet became nine. Her skin paled to an immaculate white, flawless, untouched by time or scar. She was breathtaking—an ethereal being of impossible beauty, her very presence divine.

Even with her stomach rounded with child, she was regal. A goddess in flesh.

Her eyes—now the same deep emerald as her hair, met his.

Asher stood frozen. For a heartbeat, he felt the urge to kneel, to worship, to weep.

But something inside him cracked.

Trust.

"I am the will," she said softly, her voice like the rustling of ancient trees, fragile yet echoing with impossible depth. "The consciousness of this very continent upon which you stand. There are mountain spirits, forest spirits, river spirits… and man. I am the mother of them all."

Her words hung heavy, and though her tone carried a vulnerability that could stir pity in any soul, Asher's eyes only grew colder. Distant. Like a star drifting from the sky.

Sapphira's lips trembled. "Some things I told you were true. I made this body so I could walk the world, feel it, understand the ways of the races. This body is a hundred years old… but it holds memories that span millennia—"

"A several-thousand-year-old piece of land," Asher snapped, his voice razor-sharp. The words cut through her like ice. Her breath hitched, and tears welled in her eyes.

"All this time," he continued, stepping forward, his fists clenched, "I was just a fool. A child in your eyes, someone to mold, to push toward your goal. 'Acceptance of the races'? Was that your mission? Was I just a vessel to fulfill it?"

His voice cracked with anguish. "What? Were we hurting you? Is that why you used me—Sapphira? Or should I say… whatever your true name is?"

He bowed his head, pain rippling across his face.

"Get out of my sight."

Her lips parted, trembling. "A-Asher—"

Just his name. Nothing more. Her throat closed around the rest.

Tears streamed freely down her pale cheeks, glowing faintly in the light. Her voice, her power, her truth, was locked behind a dam of pain. Thousands of years of wisdom and knowledge crumbled beneath the weight of heartbreak.

"I said GET OUT!" he roared.

Veins bulged along his neck, rage and sorrow battling for dominion in his voice. He pointed toward the tent's opening with a trembling hand.

Sapphira staggered, her limbs weak. "Asher, please—"

But before she could reach him, a shimmer of silver caught her eye.

Shing!

Asher unsheathed his sword again, not to strike, but to declare judgment.

"Tenaria," he said coldly, his voice eerily calm yet breaking beneath the surface. "I order you to leave… and not return."

At his words, the ground trembled softly. Verdant green vines erupted from the earth—lush, vibrant, alive. They curled around Sapphira's form like a cocoon, wrapping her gently, enclosing her slowly.

Her last visible act was placing a hand protectively over her stomach—over their unborn twins—before the vines closed completely.

And then—

They withered.

The vines dried up into brittle husks and crumbled into dust, leaving no trace behind.

She was gone.

Like she had never existed.

Asher turned sharply, marching out of the tent with bloodshot eyes, fury dripping from every step. "Bring me Velmorne. We ride for Velmyra tonight!"

Nero stood nearby, eyes widening.

He had served his lord for three years—through battles, campaigns, and sieges—but he had never felt this from him.

Rage.

Boiling, choking rage. The air itself seemed to retreat from him.

"My lord, where is Lady Sapphira?" Nero asked, voice hesitant.

Asher turned to him slowly. His gaze, once golden and warm, was now frozen and hollow.

Even Nero flinched.

The soldiers around the camp felt it too. Whispers of Sapphira's presence… and now her absence. They had heard Asher draw his sword, but never strike. And though no blood had been shed, every man knew something inside him had been broken.

Velmorne was brought forth—Asher's steed, black as obsidian, a crystalline spiral horn emerging from its brow like a blade forged of starlight. Asher mounted in silence, gripping the reins.

His heavy cavalry assembled, the paladins riding close.

The ground thundered beneath the hooves of warhorses as the Duke's army surged forward—driven not by strategy or conquest, but by something far more dangerous.

Wrath.

The walls of Velmyra loomed ahead, its House Wyvern banners fluttering in the wind.

But those manning the walls didn't cheer or steel themselves.

They quaked.

The sheer pressure of Asher's presence, the sheer violence of his aura—it bore down on them like a storm of blades. He was no longer a man but a force, a beast in human form.

The soldiers began to drop their weapons, falling to their knees, raising their hands in surrender. Their lord had abandoned them. What was the point of resisting?

They lowered the wyvern flag. The gates groaned open. Men in light armor knelt before the incoming army.

But Asher's expression remained like stone.

"Javelins!" he barked.

Almost ten thousand Bladebreakers raised their crimson-tipped javelins in perfect unison, the sky above flashing red with steel.

Nero's blood turned cold.

"My Lord… they've surrendered."

Asher didn't look at him.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

The only thing Nero could feel was a monstrous storm. Silent, unrelenting, and ready to drown them all.