Reborn As Noble

Chapter 692: Death from Above ( 692 )

Javier didn’t answer at first.

He just glanced back, watching the smoke dance in the distance, then slowly raised one hand into the air.

A faint whirr buzzed from above.

A mana drone descended from high altitude. Equipped with dual mana gatling guns mounted on its sides, and four small missile launchers glowing with runes underneath, the machine hovered silently above them like a hunting hawk.

Javier pointed lazily in the direction of the explosion.

“There.”

The drone blasted forward at incredible speed, closing the distance in seconds.

The twin mana gatlings unleashed a storm of glowing rounds, tearing through the already devastated zone.

One after another, mana-guided micro missiles rained down on the area, turning the terrain into a crater-ridden wasteland. The drone circled once, scanned the wreckage, then performed another strafing burst just to be sure.

Javier nodded in satisfaction.

“There. Now the enemy, and those kinds of people are gone.”

He didn’t even look back as he lowered his arm.

Gloria exhaled softly. “Ara… I suppose that’s one way to handle loose ends.”

Liana looked forward again, eyes serene.

“At least now… we can return to the Armand without worrying.”

Meanwhile..

In the region adjacent to Armand.

A massive army, numbering over 700,000 soldiers, stood in formation. Stretching beyond the hills and forests, they wore gleaming armor under the banner of King Edmund. They were the royal and elite ground forces, handpicked warriors, veteran knights, spellcasters, and siege masters.

At the front, atop a tall, black-plated warhorse, was General Gilmon. A battle hardened veteran known for leading brutal campaigns in the Dwarven Kingdom.

He squinted toward the Armand border.

“…What the hell is that?”

From the distant skies of Armand, something fast, thin, and glowing with magic pressure shot upward with terrifying speed.

Gilmon’s eyes widened.

“What—what is that thing?! A spell?!!”

Before anyone could answer, the sky lit up like midday.

Their wyverns units were blown out of the air, exploding mid-flight.

Wings torn off. Riders vaporized.

Burning corpses rained down like cursed snowflakes.

“No… no no no no no!” Gilmon’s voice cracked.

He gripped the reins tightly as a wave of panic swept through the troops.

They had expected glory, a swift charge behind the flying unit, an easy path to occupy the border.

Instead, they were watching an aerial massacre.

The Armand Region didn’t respond with spells…

It didn’t need mages.

It just launched something, something beyond comprehension.

Gilmon’s adjutant, a young mage commander, trembled.

“G-General… this… this wasn’t in the plan. We…we don’t even know what kind of magic that is!!!”

Gilmon grit his teeth. “Those damn bastards… this is why no one’s returned alive from scouting Armand!”

He looked up again.

The sky was still rumbling.

Gilmon’s instincts screamed.

His eyes caught a glimmer in the sky. Something fast, sharp, burning with mana and coming straight toward them.

“Everyone!! RUN!!!”

His voice roared like thunder.

Gilmon kicked his warhorse, turning it around as fast as he could, yelling at every officer, every knight, every soldier in range.

“RETREAT!! NOW!! SCATTER!!!”

The ground trembled.

A sharp whistling sound pierced the air.

And then.

A mana missile struck the heart of the camp.

A thunderous shockwave tore through tents, siege weapons, wagons, and flesh.

Hundreds of soldiers were blasted into the air like ragdolls, screams vanishing in the inferno.

One after another, the missiles rained down, incinerating formation after formation.

Blood, ash, and fire clouded the battlefield.

Gilmon’s horse staggered, nearly falling from the shockwave, but he forced it forward, eyes wide, ears ringing.

Inside his mind.

This is why… this is exactly why I told them not to invade the Armand Region!

He gritted his teeth, fury and despair mixing in his chest.

But King Edmund… that madman, that power-hungry bastard… ever since he devoured the Fifth Celestial from King Gurdan, he’s been obsessed. Obsessed with domination. Obsessed with Armand.

He remembered the meetings. The warnings. The silence from most of the generals who feared contradicting a Celestial-possessed king.

Even though everyone knew.

Knew that the Armand Region had once destroyed a 200,000-strong coalition of nobles.

Knew they had “magic tech” that didn’t exist anywhere else.

And worse…

Hesbeirn.

Gilmon’s heart clenched.

He could still picture the man—grinning like a demon, swinging a big sword.

The strongest berserker in the Human Kingdom.

That monsters was loyal to Count Garius.

Gilmon pulled his horse harder, the flames of another explosion licking his back.

Behind him, chaos.

His elite formation was gone.

“Damn it… this isn’t war… this is suicide…”

BOOM!!

The explosion tore through the earth like a raging beast.

Gilmon was flung into the air, a blur of twisted metal and flame, his horse disintegrating in the blast.

His body crashed hard against the rocky ground, rolling like a ragdoll down a shallow slope.

His mithril full plate armor, dented and scorched, groaned under the impact.

Riiiinggg…

An eerie, high-pitched ringing pierced his ears.

His world was spinning.

Everything looked hazy.

His vision, a mix of smoke, fire, and flashing lights—could barely make sense of the scene.

He blinked.

Again.

And again.

But the blood flowing from his forehead made it impossible to see clearly.

He groaned, trying to push himself up with trembling arms.

But his body wouldn’t move.

His legs were numb, his arms shaking, and his lungs burned with every breath.

The mana pressure still lingering from the blast was crushing.

In his final moment of fading consciousness… he saw them.

Flaming bodies falling from the sky.

The elite wyvern riders.

The pride of King Edmund.

Falling. Screaming. Exploding.

Like insects before a flame.

Gilmon smiled bitterly.

“…I told them…”

And then—

Darkness.

Hours later…

The charred battlefield was still smoldering. Air thick with smoke, ashes swirling in the wind, and the stench of burnt flesh clinging to every breath.

Hesbeirn rode at the front of his elite Pekko-mounted unit, armored in full black-etched plate and draped in the crest of Armand.

Behind him, a procession followed.

Special retrieval squads, body handler units, and a small team of battlefield healers prepared to collect what little remained.

His steely gaze swept the field.

So many bodies.

So many once-proud knights, now no more than corpses scorched beyond recognition.

Then he saw it.

A broken figure slumped against a shattered boulder, half-buried in blackened soil.

Still breathing.

Gilmon.

Hesbeirn clicked his tongue.

“…Dumbass Gilmon.”

He dismounted, walking over with slow, heavy steps.

The body armor was nearly torn off, but the crest of King Edmund’s royal guard was still visible.

“Lift this idiot up,” Hesbeirn muttered coldly, turning to his men. “Bring him to the magic healing unit at base. If he lives, maybe he’ll learn something.”

“Yes, General.”

Two medics rushed in, carefully placing Gilmon on a mana stretcher.

Hesbeirn exhaled sharply.

“What a fool,” he muttered, more disappointed than angry. “I warned you not to follow that mad king blindly.”

He turned, raising his hand.

“Command to all squads. Burn every enemy corpse.

If you find anyone still breathing, bind them, seal their mana, and drag them back. No mercy.”

“Yes, General!”

The mages began chanting.

Magic flames erupted across the field, turning everything to cinders.

A sea of fire.

Orange and red reflected in Hesbeirn’s sharp eyes.

He stood there silently, arms crossed.

“What a stupid, arrogant move… to wage war against a region that sought peace—yet stood stronger than the rest.”

( End Of Chapter )

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