Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!-Chapter 484: Birth Of The Warfather

Sariel slowly extended her hand, revealing the ring of authority. Without a word, she slit her palm, and crimson droplets welled up, falling onto the cold metal. The ring shimmered faintly, then flared.

Asher descended from the air, silent and regal, his mantle curling like smoke in the wind. He took the ring from her, and at his touch, it began to melt, not with heat, but with purpose, its form warping and merging seamlessly with the others already in his possession. In a single breath, one ring remained.

A moment later, the sky changed.

The crescent waves that had lingered ominously above dissolved into the ether. And from the far north, a golden comet surged across the heavens, streaking light across the cold sky and washing the clouds in radiant amber.

[Criteria for upgrading the Jotunn Queen and her people has been met. Would the host like to upgrade them into Pureblood Giants?]

"Yes." Asher’s voice was steady, final.

From the comet, a golden beam descended like a pillar from the gods themselves, enveloping Sariel and the seven thousand surviving Jotunn.

Their bodies glowed, limbs trembling as power coursed through them. They began to grow, taller, broader, until each one towered forty feet tall. Their once-leather armour was replaced by obsidian-black plates, contoured to their massive forms, etched with glowing runes and sharp, regal edges. Their muscles bulged like iron cables beneath the armour, their eyes now glowing beacons of controlled might.

The hill trembled beneath them, groaning under the collective weight of seven thousand True Jotunn, reborn as Purebloods.

Asher floated above them, the golden light glinting off his draconic armour, his eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned, his mantle catching the wind like a royal banner, and drifted away from the summit.

Behind him, the giants stirred.

With thunderous steps that made the earth quake, they began their descent, led by Sariel, who now wielded a colossal warbow, as long as a two-storey building, slung across her back. The plume of her helm snapped sharply in the air as she leapt from the hilltop, followed by the synchronized, ground-shaking leaps of her people.

Boom!

The snow below erupted upward like a geyser.

Then again, Boom! Boom!, a rhythm like war drums, as if the earth itself was being hammered by titans.

At the foot of the hill, sixty thousand warriors had gathered, huddled around crackling fires, wrapped in furs, tending to their weapons and wounds.

They looked up sharply as the ground beneath them shuddered, and a sound unlike any they’d heard before rolled through the forest, deep, ancient, and terrifying.

The thunder grew louder as the first of the Jotunn giants came into view, leaping down with a force that sent shockwaves across the frozen earth. Snow erupted with every landing, mist billowing into the air like storm clouds caught in the breath of war.

Kael’Zheran, seated on a boulder near one of the fires, slowly rose to his feet. His eyes widened, not in fear, but in awe. He had fought alongside mighty creatures before. But this...

This was different.

The Jotunn no longer bore the rough, tribal look of hill-born giants. They were regal now, structured, divine in bearing, walking fortresses cloaked in darkness and glory. Their armour glinted like volcanic obsidian under the pale light of dawn, their weapons dragging trails in the snow that hissed from the residual heat of their forging.

Kaelor staggered slightly, placing a hand on Nero’s shoulder. "By the Old Ones," he whispered. "We have titans on our side."

Nero, however, remained still, his eyes not on the Jotunn, but on the man descending in slow flight before them. Asher floated down in silence, his form outlined by faint wisps of his palpable energy. The dragon-black armour that adorned him clinked softly as he touched the ground, if one could even call it touching. The earth did not welcome him; it trembled as his feet touched it. Even gravity seemed reluctant to restrain him.

The fires dimmed slightly in his presence.

Moses approached, his expression unreadable. "Your Lordship..."

Asher’s gaze swept over the crowd, resting briefly on each of his generals. The wind carried silence.

"I’ve claimed the ring," he said, his voice deeper, more resonant than before, like it came not just from his throat, but from something ancient within.

"The crown?" Kael’Zheran asked cautiously, stepping forward.

Asher nodded once.

"And the Queen?"

"She kneels," Asher answered, lifting his hand.

Behind him, Sariel, now as tall as a tower, stepped forward. She knelt again, this time before the entire army.

A breath escaped the ranks, shock, disbelief, reverence.

Even the Minotaurs shifted uncomfortably, unsure if the power radiating from these giants could truly be wielded by any one man.

But then Thammuz stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Asher.

Then, slowly, he too knelt.

One after another, the leaders of the factions bent their knees, Minotaur, Wolf, Lion, Bear, and now Jotunn. Before this man who walked with the weight of prophecy, who claimed rings and now wore the crown of the Warfather, they all bowed.

"It is time. Prepare yourself, we march south," Asher finally declared.

....

Two weeks later...

The soft neighs of horses echoed beneath the towering canopies of Whitewood Forest, where shafts of sunlight pierced through the pale leaves like golden spears. Five thousand knights, clad in polished steel and layered gambesons, moved in steady rows, their formation weaving through the old forest paths like a silver serpent.

Light chatter and idle banter drifted lazily through the air, mixing with the rustle of hooves against underbrush and the creak of saddles.

Above them, the banner of House Nethaneel, a black dragon upon a purple field, flapped proudly amongst the ranks, its fabric snapping in the wind like an omen.

At their head rode a man clad in white armour trimmed with gold, an Awoken One, his long purple cloak trailing behind him. His eyes burned with restrained power, his very presence enough to hush even the boldest squire. And yet, even he looked unimpressed with their task.

"Why are we out here in the middle of a ghost-ridden forest, searching for a dead man?" one of the commanders grumbled under his breath. "If I find his corpse, I swear, I’ll trample it for dragging us this far."

Another scoffed, raising his voice mockingly, "Lord Asher! Come out! If you’re alive, don’t be scared, we won’t bite!"

The jeers rolled through the lines like a wave, laughter bubbling up from many throats. Even the general, the Awoken One, gave a small smirk.

In his heart, he too saw this as a waste of time. Asher Ashbourne was dead, and this mission was little more than a formality.

Suddenly, it happened.

The birds came first.

Hundreds of them erupted from the treetops, shrieking and fluttering, fleeing as if the forest itself had turned against them. They poured overhead in a frenzied black cloud, their wings flapping in unison, drowning out the sounds of the knights’ laughter.

And then came the trees.

Far ahead, the forest stirred.

The trees shook, not swayed by wind, but as if something immense was moving through them. Branches snapped, the ground trembled, and the air took on a charge, as if holding its breath.

A low rumble echoed, distant but growing stronger with every second.

The laughter died.

The general straightened in his saddle, eyes narrowing, hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his blade.

"What... was that?"

Then the sound returned, louder, deeper. The earth beneath their horses’ hooves began to tremble slightly. The knights shifted, confusion giving way to unease.

The commander who had mocked Asher turned pale, his lips twitching. "Is... is that thunder?"

But no thunder rumbled from beneath the ground.

The Awoken One frowned. Something was coming. Something vast.

And it wasn’t thunder.

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