Reborn As Noble

Meanwhile, on the halfling side.

Panic and pride clashed fiercely.

“WE’RE GOING TO CRUSH THOSE FOOLS!!!” their commander roared, veins bulging on his neck. “ONLY 20,000!? KILL THEM ALL!!”

Another soldier shouted, “ARCHERS!! Focus your aim! Target their commander! SHOOT THAT ONI-HELMETED FREAK!!”

“YES, SIR!!”

“MAGES!! Prepare and cast a wide-area firestorm! Burn them all before they reach us!”

“PREPARE THE BARRAGE!!”

The atmosphere grew tense. Arrows were nocked, mana spells charged. The halfling war machine creaked loudly. An arrogant, lumbering beast confident of its dominance.

But no one noticed.

That none of Javier’s knights flinched.

Not one raised a shield to block.

And even the commander on the Pekko, still wearing that devilish oni mask…

Was smiling.

Javier smirked beneath his oni mask, his eyes glittering with a dangerous light.

He lifted his hand. Then, from nothing, a ripple in space appeared as his magic storage flickered open.

Very slowly, he pulled out a war horn, black with golden lining, etched with Armand’s crest.

Buddy, his Pekko, bobbed its head, sensing the mounting tension.

“Well, Buddy…” Javier whispered softly. “Let’s make it real… ehehe…”

All forces, both allies and enemies, locked in their positions.

Javier raised the war horn to his lips.

The sound burst out like thunder, rolling across the valley with a depth that made even the bravest soldiers feel it deep in their bones.

But…

The puppet knights didn’t move.

They stood there, perfectly still. Cold. Silent.

Unmoving, like statues of death.

Javier didn’t flinch. He just stood there, calm and smiling.

The halfling commander’s eyes widened in horror.

“What… what’s he doing?! Why aren’t they charging?!”

A halfling mage stepped forward nervously.

“Commander, should we—”

“SHOOT, IDIOTS!! SHOOT!!” the commander yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “HE’S STANDING STILL! KILL HIM! KILL THEM ALL!!”

The halfling archers let loose—an arrow storm pouring down from the sky, fierce and relentless.

The sky roared with magic.

The first wave struck Javier’s position like a meteor shower. Fireballs, lightning bolts, and explosive arrows crashed down in a maelstrom of violence.

From a distance, nothing could be seen, only a towering plume of smoke, dust, and shimmering flames engulfing the black-flagged army.

The ground trembled.

“Don’t stop the attack!!” the halfling commander howled from the rear. “Fire everything!! I want that damn boy turned into ash!!”

“Mages!!” he shouted again. “Launch your strongest spells!! Don’t hold back!!”

“Archers!! Magic arrows, all of you!! Kill him!! Erase him from this battlefield!!”

More blasts followed.

The sound of destruction was deafening.

The air was thick with smoke, ash, and searing heat.

Every halfling soldier was grinning now, convinced the enemy had been wiped out.

But then…

From within the dust and flame.

A low, cold hum echoed.

And a faint glow of white light.

The smoke slowly cleared…

Javier was still sitting leisurely atop his Pekko, Buddy, who casually pecked the ground like it was looking for snacks, completely unfazed by the massive barrage that had just rained down.

Not a single scratch on him.

Not even a dent on the armor of his puppet knights.

The very ground beneath them? Untouched.

The halfling troops stared, frozen.

Javier let out a long, bored yawn.

“I thought your attack was supposed to be strong…” he muttered with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head like he was just woken up.

“Man… it’s only loud.”

He stretched casually, like a man who just got out of bed instead of someone standing in the middle of a war.

Then he leaned forward slightly on Buddy’s saddle.

“Was that it?” he asked, voice clear, ringing across the battlefield with magical amplification.

“That was your big opening? Your finest magic? Your strongest barrage?”

Javier slid down from Buddy’s back, the Pekko sensing his calm resolve. He pulled out a clear, shimmering mana glass and slid it onto his eye, its surface gleaming as it caught the sunlight. The lens matched the sharp gleam in his grin.

“Right… since you insist,” he muttered with a dark chuckle.

Above him, ten manadrones floated into view, each armed with weapons and scanning the battlefield below, their metallic bodies shimmering slightly under the weight of incoming judgment. The sky seemed to ripple with the power of their presence.

Javier reached into his coat, pulling out a small, compact remote covered in glowing runes. His thumb hovered over a few switches, carefully considering his options.

“Let’s see…” he whispered, eyes flicking between the controls.

“Mana Gun: Suppression.”

“Mana Bomb: Devastation.”

“Drone Cannon: Precision strikes.”

He paused, lazily adding, “Mana Missile…? Nah, too much. Might blow up the whole mountain.”

He chuckled softly. “We’re not doing genocide today.”

Buddy tilted his head, emitting a curious cuquawk.

Javier leaned down to listen momentarily, then rolled his eyes.

“Huh? You say it’s up to me? Man, you’re no help…”

He straightened, his gaze falling on the halfling troops below—petrified, frantic spell-casting that fizzled harmlessly in the air, far from reaching his formation of puppet knights. Not a single knight had raised a shield or moved a muscle.

Javier’s smirk deepened. He pressed a blue rune button on the remote.

“Mana Gun mode: Wide spread. Ten-second burst,” he commanded softly.

The ten manadrones hummed louder, their cores glowing with intensified light.

He allowed himself a calm, cold smile.

“Time to return the favor.”

The dwarven soldier standing atop the fortress wall could only stare in stunned silence.

Below, chaos unfolded.

The sky lit up with magical fire, The flying machines hovered with relentless precision, unleashing a barrage of white-blue mana bullets that rained down onto the battlefield like a torrent of judgment. Each shot was rapid, calculated, and deadly—striking with terrible accuracy from above.

“W-What is that…?” a halfling soldier stammered, eyes wide with terror.

Those who tried to raise their shields found themselves helpless. The reinforced steel could not withstand the assault—mana rounds punched clean through armor, bodies, and even shattered chunks of the hardened ground beneath them. The air was filled with the sharp crack of energy strikes and the screams of the falling.

“Arghh!!”

Line after line of halfling soldiers broke apart, their formations shattered into chaos. The once-disciplined army devolved into a panicked, screaming mob—bodies hurtling through the air amid the deafening barrage.

Amidst the storm of destruction, there stood one figure. Calm and unyielding.

It was him, the man in black armor, outlined with red trims and gold edges. The terrifying oni mask on his face gleamed under the morning sun, reflecting a cold, deadly light. He was unmoving beside his Pekko, watching in silence, arms crossed in a relaxed but commanding posture.

He wasn’t shouting commands.

His knights stood motionless, like a wall of death, waiting for his silent signal to advance.

The masked man never looked at the halfling troops once. Not once did he flinch or waver in the face of the chaos.

Instead, he casually turned toward his puppet knights, adjusting the angle of a single knight’s shield by an inch—as if inspecting his lineup before a parade.

“…Who is he…?” the dwarven scout whispered in awe, eyes wide. “That… That’s not war. That’s execution.”

Beside him, another dwarven soldier muttered quietly, his voice filled with cold dread.

“Is this what Armand’s capable of…?”

( End Of Chapter )

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