Reborn As Noble

Edmund’s War Camp

The night sky lit up with a shower of blazing explosions.

Another part of the mage formation was destroyed.

Screams filled the battlefield as fire rained down from above. Dozens of tents, carts, and command posts burst into bursts of mana and flames. Black smoke curled into the air as the scorched earth trembled under the relentless assault.

Edmund sat at the center of it all on his obsidian throne, his cloak billowing in the burning wind. His dark aura flared wildly, the pressure radiating like a storm about to burst.

The elite mages who were supposed to attack the Armand Border Wall were now falling one after another, their bodies scattered across the war camp like broken twigs. Panic spread quickly. The chaos threatened to overwhelm the formation.

Gritting his teeth, Edmund growled softly.

”These... pests—!”

His eyes snapped upward.

Dozens of flying constructs, sleek, silent, and merciless, danced overhead in tight, rapid formations. These were Javier’s drones. They were armed with gatling-type mana rifles, spraying bursts of concentrated energy into his soldiers below without pause. They darted too fast, dodging spells, weaving through barriers, never staying still long enough to be targeted.

And worse still...

A distant whistle.

Then another missile streaked through the air.

It hit directly.

A wave of elite soldiers was thrown into the air. The ground buckled beneath the impact. Blood and dust filled the air as chaos reigned.

Edmund’s jaw tightened. His personal barrier flared around him, shimmering black and crimson, but its protection was limited. It kept him, his throne, and a few of his closest guards safe... but everything outside that radius was vulnerable to the storm of attacks.

”Damn it!” he snarled, slamming his hand onto the armrest of his throne. ”How many missiles does this bastard have?!”

Another whistle, another flash of light.

A squadron of veteran summoners vanished in flames.

”These flying things... they’re forcing us to defend instead of attack,” Edmund muttered, voice low with fury. ”He’s stalling for time.”

He turned to his trembling aide. ”You! Send the command.”

”Yes, Your Majesty!”

Edmund’s voice boomed across the battlefield, filled with power.

”All mage units, focus all barrier spells! Full coverage zones! Stop wasting time on offense!”

”Yes, Your Majesty!!” dozens of voices responded in unison, already casting their spells.

Glowing mana domes shimmered into existence across the chaotic field, forming overlapping barriers to block the aerial assaults.

But the drones didn’t stop.

They darted low, weaving between the spells, then shot upward again, firing in perfect synchronization before vanishing beyond the clouds.

And above it all, the missiles kept coming. Not from the Armand Wall... but from somewhere else.

Edmund’s teeth clenched. Something was familiar about that.

He looked toward the horizon, where flashes of light still lit up the distance.

”...This isn’t just defense...”

He narrowed his eyes.

”...That little brat is waging a second front.”

He clenched his fist, black mana swirling and twisting like a vortex.

”So be it, Javier De Armand.”

His eyes gleamed with resolve.

”You want to bleed me from the shadows?”

The throne cracked beneath his grip.

”Then I’ll drown you in them.”

A suffocating wave of pressure swept across the battlefield.

Edmund raised both of his arms, his cloak fluttering violently as thick, corrupted mana spiraled outward in a dark vortex. The very air trembled. All around him, the bodies of fallen mages—broken, burned, and twisted—twitched suddenly.

Then they moved.

One by one, the dead rose.

Their eyes hollow, mouths slack, blood still fresh on their robes, yet they stood, animated and unyielding.

A low, guttural moan echoed across the field as dozens, then hundreds of reanimated spellcasters gathered to form.

Edmund grinned widely.

”You want to fight a Celestial Vessel... with your toys?”

His voice echoed like a curse.

”So be it.”

He spread his arms again. Waves of black miasma flowed from his palms, spilling over the field like thick oil. The miasma was so dense that the nearby living soldiers backed away in fear. It didn’t harm them—it empowered them.

And then.

”Summoners.”

Edmund turned to his right, his tone calm, controlled...cold.

”Begin summoning.”

The elite summoners instantly sank to their knees in formation. Their staffs slammed into the ground. A dark, guttural chant began, arcane and powerful.

One by one, magic circles lit up beneath them.

A deafening boom rocked the ground as the first huge figures emerged.

Then another.

And another.

Massive dark golems—each as tall as a fortress gate—rose from the summoning circles. Their armor was made of blackened stone, their eyes glowing red, fists thick enough to crush a squad.

One golem per summoner.

Within minutes, three thousand of these titanic beings had been summoned.

The ground cracked beneath their combined weight.

Edmund pointed toward the sky, where the drone attack came from.

”Use the golems to take cover,” he said with a wicked smirk. ”Let them take the fire. We’ll drain them dry.”

The mages obeyed immediately, hiding behind the advancing giants as the drones shifted position to aim at them.

Edmund’s dark gaze now fixed on a group of soldiers, twisted, with faintly gray skin and unnatural eyes. His specially modified troops.

”General Ekran,” he commanded sharply.

A dark-armored knight stepped forward and bowed.

”Yes, Your Majesty.”

”Take ten thousand of our enhanced soldiers. Ride west. Find the brat.”

He paused, then added with venom.

”Kill him. Kill everyone close to him. Burn it all to ash.”

”Yes, Your Majesty!” Ekran responded, raising his hand. His formation roared into life, soldiers mounting beasts, forming ranks, weapons gleaming under the black sky.

Edmund watched the distant horizon.

His smile never faded.

”Run while you can... little Armand.”

”You may have killed those Seventh before...” Edmund’s voice cracked into a maniacal laugh as he raised his arms, black lightning dancing around his fingertips.

”But now!!!!! Now you’ll face ten thousand soldiers with that same power.”

His eyes gleamed, unblinking.

”Let’s see if your little toys can stop my monsters!”

His laughter echoed across the war camp, ringing against the smoky, miasma-filled sky.

Behind him, the reanimated mages began glowing faintly, black mist swirling around their bodies. Their wounds started healing. Skin stitched itself back together with cursed mana threads, and some even began chanting again.

Edmund’s grin stretched wider, almost splitting his face.

”Ohh... yes... look at them! Healing themselves! My beautiful creations—risen, enhanced, undying...”

He clenched his fists.

”This... this is the true power of a CELESTIAL!”

He turned his gaze westward, toward the invisible battlefield where Javier’s presence lingered like a thorn in his mind.

”You think your talent matters, boy?” he hissed. ”You think your little rifles, your pretty drones, your pathetic cannon toys will change anything?”

He slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne.

”I’ll CRUSH your toys. I’ll tear them apart. I’ll melt every last gear into ash, until there’s nothing left of your inventions but dust!”

( End Of Chapter )