Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Chapter 511: Shattered Dream Night

The moon hung high above the drifting clouds, like silver ships sailing across a celestial sea, their pale glow illuminating the night with an ethereal light.

Asher stood silently on the wide balcony of his chamber in Nineveh, the city of stone and song sprawled beneath him. His hands rested on the rail, the marble cool beneath his fingers, and his golden eyes were fixed on the heavens, wearing a thoughtful, unreadable expression. The Kingmaker had told him to return after a month, and ever since he set foot back on the soil of the capital, his mind had been anything but still.

Before he left, Ark and Dan had finally unveiled the armor they had labored on for over a year, Chronicles.

A pristine white armor, forged in hardwork and patience, imbued with Mythril crystal dust, an essence as rare as it was powerful. It shimmered faintly, even in darkness, as if holding the light of ancient stars within.

The armor was more than protection; it was a promise. A bulwark against the insidious corruption and mind-warping influence of Saelix. With such armor and weapons, his soldiers would not falter. They would stand firm. And once they were equipped, they would be ready… ready to descend into the Abyss, a place now whispered of as no different from hell itself, blacker than any myth dared to paint.

A sudden shift in the wind rustled his hair and tunic, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. His eyes narrowed subtly.

Footsteps.

Soft, measured, and careful. Someone was approaching, trying to tread quietly over the polished floor, yet failing to escape his finely honed senses. Asher made no sign of acknowledgment. Instead, he stood as he was, letting her think she remained unnoticed.

Then her arm, gentle yet firm, wrapping around his abdomen, slender fingers lightly brushing the fabric of his tunic. A warm body pressed into his back, head resting lightly between his shoulder blades as though seeking the rhythm of his heart.

He didn’t need to turn.

He already knew.

Sapphira.

Her presence was unmistakable. The fragrant scent of roses clung to her like a crown, familiar and intoxicating. Her height, the silken smoothness of her skin, the healthy pale glow of her forearms wrapped around his waist, all unmistakably hers.

“What are you thinking about?” Sapphira whispered, her voice a breath of silk, warm with affection and laced with worry.

“How to unite the world. It would be easy to get the acknowledgement of House Adamos, Nubis, and El, but what about Cyrenia, Sacred Flame, Silvermoon, and Galvia? I do know that Galvia does not see us in a good light, neither does Cyrenia. Two vast empires, each boasting over ten million citizens, are poised like coiled serpents against us. The Sacred Flame Empire remains distant, watching from their holy towers with a neutral eye, and the Silvermoon Kingdom shrouds their stance in silence.”

Asher raised an eyebrow when he heard Sapphira chuckle, a soft, honeyed sound like water trickling over smooth stones. “We’ve always known they were planning to strike,” she whispered. “That’s why you were wise enough to form a firm alliance with House Nubis and House Adamos… giving them controlled access to the Mythril crystal mine was your masterstroke. It bought loyalty with power.”

She clutched him tighter, her body pressed gently against his back, warming him. “House Nubis has a population that rivals ours. Together, we could resist even a god’s wrath. But now isn’t the time to let blood spill between potential allies. Go to Cyrenia first. That land… it’s not just another empire. It’s a mosaic of the old world. The fairies, the elves, the dwarves, the beastmen, they all live there. If we win Cyrenia, we stand a chance of getting Sacred Flame to align itself with us.”

Asher turned to face her, and the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he was statuesque. The moonlight, silver and solemn, washed over her like divine silk, revealing the near-translucent white garment she wore. A thin sheen of steam curled from her damp skin, still kissed by the heat of the bath. Strands of wet hair framed her delicate face, and her neckline dipped just low enough to reveal a curve of bare chest that made Asher’s breath falter.

No wonder he’d felt that cooling chill when she embraced him earlier, the water still clung to her like dew to petals, and the scent of roses swirled around her, thick and intoxicating.

She had just come out of the bathroom.

Sapphira’s pale cheeks took on a rosy hue, a delicate blush as she caught his gaze, entranced and helpless to look away. Her voice came like a whispered enchantment. “I came to invite you to the bathroom.”

Asher cleared his throat and straightened himself with effort. “Are we not going to discuss Cyrenia? There is their prophecy—!”

But Sapphira stepped closer, her finger pressing gently against his lips. Her touch was featherlight, but it stole all resistance from him.

“I Am should have already shown their seers the truth about you,” she murmured. “And with the sword Kingmaker will forge for you in a month, I doubt anything in Cyrenia or the Abyss itself can stand against you. Now…”

She took his hand and guided it to rest on the curve of her waist, warm, smooth, divine.

“Are you coming or not?”

Asher sighed with a half-laugh, and before another word passed between them, he bent down and swept her into his arms. Her laughter chimed like bells in spring as he lifted her princess-style, her fingers clutching the collar of his robe and her head tucked against his shoulder. The scent of roses enveloped him fully now, heady, wild, and beautiful.

But just as his foot touched the threshold, ready to take her to the bathroom, a sharp voice tore the veil of the night like a dagger ripping through silk.

“Father! I would like for you to watch my battle against Merlin!”

It was Atreides. At this hour!

….

With her emerald hair attended to by five maids, each one weaving strands with the reverence of temple artists painting on silk, Sapphira sat like a goddess wronged, her body still and breath shallow, but her aura boiling like a sealed storm.

Her hair, radiant and smooth like woven jade waterfalls, shimmered even under the dull morning light, its beauty so breathtaking that it could reduce even the most confident of noblewomen to envy and self-loathing.

Normally, this room was filled with laughter, soft, ladylike giggles and the gentle murmur of compliments as the maids admired her grace and shared court gossip, but now, all had fallen silent.

Not even the sound of silver combs brushing through strands dared to break the tension. The once carefree servants now kept their heads bowed low, their hands trembling slightly as they worked.

Only Mia, her most trusted personal attendant, dared to speak, though even her voice held a cautious edge. “He left?” she asked, her golden curls shifting as she turned, her tone a mixture of disbelief and dread.

Her eyes joined Sapphira’s in their direction, peering past the opened balcony doors at the sight unfolding in the courtyard.

There sat Asher. His dark, broad frame reclined slightly, leaning on one arm like a worn-out lion at dusk, his gaze focused on the battle between their sons. Merlin, moved like a blade himself, calm, calculating, with a round shield in one hand and a spear in the other.

Opposite him, Atreides burned with raw energy, his dual swords slicing through the air like twin fangs.

Mia turned back, her golden hair, though often praised, dimmed in presence beside Sapphira’s radiant emerald locks.

The look on Sapphira’s face sent chills down her spine. That face, usually composed with soft serenity, now harbored the fury of a storm, silent, deadly, and cold. Her crimson lips curled in a hard line, her brows slightly furrowed, and her eyes, though unshed with tears, brimmed with betrayal and weariness.

“You were supposed to make sure we were uninterrupted,” Sapphira spat, her voice laced with ice so sharp it could cut stone. It was the kind of cold that carried heartbreak, not anger alone.

This was supposed to be their night. The night she’d prepared for with care. Her instincts, gifted by her true nature and sharpened by her bond with Asher, had already warned her. The spirits were stirring. Her husband was to be taken soon, whisked away from flesh into the spirit world, and this night was meant to be theirs, possibly the last of its kind with the growing turmoil.

She had scented herself with oils of midnight roses, bathed in the perfume of fire lilies. Every seam of her gown had been chosen to stir him, to make him see not just the queen or mother, but the woman who had always stood by his side. But all of that, every aching hope and effort, was for naught.

Just one glance at Asher’s resting arm, the faint weight in his shoulders, and she knew. He was already exhausted. Already slipping.

“All my time was stolen… by Merlin and Atreides,” she whispered under her breath, voice shaking, not in weakness, but in wrathful sorrow.

Mia swallowed hard, guilt creeping up her throat like ivy. “Before I got to their chambers, they were gone. I tried searching for them but—”

But she never finished.

Sapphira turned her gaze sideways, not even granting a full look, but it was enough. One glance from those storm-laced eyes silenced Mia instantly.

“Prepare their things,” Sapphira said sharply, rising from her cushioned seat with the grace of a queen and the finality of a sentence. Her voice cracked like a whip. “They’ll be staying with their aunt in the Adamos County for a while.”

The finality in her words left no room for argument. The decision was made. Her sons, beloved as they were, had taken something precious from her and now they would learn what distance felt like.