Reborn As Noble

Slash!!

Steel ripped through flesh.

”Arrghhh!!”

The Halfling General staggered back, a deep cut slicing diagonally across his torso. Blood sprayed the ground beneath him as he dropped to one knee, barely keeping himself upright.

”Father!!!” Fansia screamed, rushing forward.

Kenjirou took a step toward her, his wicked grin returning.

But—

”RAAAAAAH!!”

A group of Halfling warriors charged him from both flanks, weapons raised, spells ready.

Swords. Spears. Mana-infused hammers.

They didn’t hesitate.

”Protect the commander!! Shield the lady!!”

The sudden rush slammed into Kenjirou’s path, forcing him to halt. One blade scraped his arm, while another struck his side with a burst of magical force.

Kenjirou stumbled back half a step, his expression twisting.

The pressure around him intensified as wave after wave of Halfling warriors joined the fray, cutting off his path and surrounding him with fierce determination.

Just as Kenjirou began to push back against the swarm, a new voice rang out from behind the lines.

”O Light of the Ancients—cleanse the cursed! Strike down the unholy!!”

A golden radiance surged forward as a Halfling priest, clad in ceremonial armor and robes inscribed with divine sigils, raised his staff high. Mana circled him like a halo as the holy chant reached its peak.

”Sanctus Break!!”

A brilliant beam of pure holy light erupted from the priest’s staff, cutting through the air like a spear of judgment.

It struck Kenjirou squarely in the chest.

”GAAAAHHHH!!!”

Kenjirou screamed, staggering backward as the holy light seared into his flesh. His divine sword trembled in his grip, and the dark aura around him flickered violently, distorted by the divine power.

His body spasmed, smoke rising from the burns where the beam had hit. The grin vanished from his face—replaced by rage.

”YOU... LITTLE... INSECT!!!” he roared, his voice cracked with fury and pain.

The Halfling warriors seized the moment.

They tightened their formation, shielding Fansia and the wounded General, forming a wall between them and the monster now reeling in agony.

Kenjirou staggered back a step, one knee bending for just a moment.

He glared at the priest—hatred burning in his glowing red eyes.

Kenjirou growled, swinging his sword in violent bursts of power, slashing down Halfling warriors that dared come too close. But his movements were different now.

Less aggressive.

More measured.

He was stepping back—bit by bit.

Not because he was scared.

But because even he knew—

He was alone.

He glanced around mid-swing. The battlefield behind him was silent.

His entire force—5,000 Amazarak warriors—was gone. Slain.

He blocked another attack, sparks flying as his sword clashed with an enchanted halberd.

”Fighting this many is a pain,” he muttered, his eye twitching. ”Too many pests crawling around…”

Fansia raised her staff again, and more Halfling elites moved to surround him.

Kenjirou snarled and raised his hand, unleashing a wave of black mana to force them back momentarily.

Then he leaped back several meters, landing on a bloodstained ridge with narrowed eyes.

”Just you wait, you weaklings!!” he shouted.

”I’ll come back with more troops! Stronger ones! And next time, I’ll bring hell with me!!”

His body began glowing faintly with a teleportation glyph, drawn from cursed divine magic.

And then—

In a flash of dark light, Kenjirou vanished.

Gone.

Leaving behind nothing but bodies… smoke… and the sound of Fansia’s labored breathing beside her wounded father.

Kenjirou reappeared in a flash of dark light, stumbling slightly as the teleportation rune faded beneath his feet. His breath came in short, heated bursts, his armor cracked in places, his body scorched by holy magic—but his grin hadn’t faded.

”Heh...”

He glanced back toward the smoke-filled battlefield far behind him—still visible in the haze of the horizon.

”At least their numbers are down.” His tone was casual, but his eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction.

The Halfling Kingdom had sent eighty thousand.

Now? They had barely half that.

Kenjirou dragged his divine sword over his shoulder, resting it there like a trophy as he walked along the ridge.

”Fighting 80,000 with just 5,000 was never going to be easy,” he muttered to himself. ”But... I gave them a lesson. A real one.”

He smirked, licking a trace of blood off his lips.

”I wounded their General. Shattered their morale. Burned their lines.”

He looked ahead, toward the direction of Amazarak’s southern ridge—their reinforcement route.

”Their border is weak now. Conquered.”

He narrowed his eyes.

”And if my lovely Queen Zephyra has arrived with the full force...”

His grin deepened, his eyes glowing faintly once again.

”Then this war is already over.”

He clenched his fist, his aura flaring briefly in the dusk light.

”Soon, my queen... I’ll make sure every last one of these weaklings kneels before you.”

Kenjirou’s steps slowed as he reached a ridge overlooking the open plains that separated the battlefield from Amazarak territory.

His expression was calm, but the thoughts behind his eyes burned hotter than any flame.

”And after that...” he murmured, his voice low and hungry, ”my queen will give me what I want.”

He could already picture her—elegant, commanding, untouchable by anyone but him.

He was fascinated by her. Addicted. Completely lost in her.

The way she looked at him. The way she touched him. The way she whispered promises meant only for him.

He had fought for kingdoms before, carried blades for others.

But Zephyra?

He would burn the world if she asked.

”You’re the only one who understands me, Zephyra. The only one who sees what I really am...”

He clenched his sword tighter, the blade humming with twisted energy.

”I’ll slaughter whoever you need me to. Crush every army that stands in your way.”

He laughed quietly to himself, his gaze locked on the horizon.

”And in return... you’ll be mine. As always.”

Kenjirou looked up at the darkening sky, blood still dried on his armor, the wind brushing past him like a whisper.

His expression softened—not with peace, but with fevered obsession.

”Ah… my Zephyra.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of her—regal, commanding, utterly intoxicating—burning behind his eyelids.

”I belong to you... and to you only.”

He breathed in deeply, drawing strength from that thought alone.

Then he turned, stepping back into the shadows of the path leading toward Amazarak lines—toward her.

( End of Chapter )