Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

“What exactly happened?” Asher asked, his voice low but heavy with urgency. He squatted before the kneeling Bear King, his brows furrowed in concern and growing dread. “If she was this dangerous… how was it that none of you knew?”

Thammuz’s massive shoulders rose and fell as he drew a long breath. His piercing blue eyes met Asher’s golden gaze, weary and haunted.

“That crown,” Thammuz rasped. “It changed her.”

He spoke slowly, as if every word weighed a hundred years.

“She said it herself. The urge to grow, to conquer, to dominate, it roared within her like a rabid beast, caged and thrashing inside her skull.”

Asher’s jaw clenched. The realization of what had happened and what had been lost weighed heavily on him. Twenty thousand bear warriors, known for their raw strength and unwavering discipline… gone. They could have stood behind him, and made his army greater!

But something else tugged at his thoughts, something that pulled deeper than the pain of lost numbers.

“Crown?” he asked slowly. “What crown?”

Thammuz’s expression darkened. His lips trembled as he spoke, his voice hushed, like one invoking a curse.

“The Armour of the Warfather… isn’t armour. It’s a crown.”

A silence followed, deep and suffocating.

“A crown,” Thammuz continued, “forged by the Kingmaker’s brother, an Old once who fell to madness… corrupted by the Abyss. We… we told ourselves lies. That the crown was made before he turned. That it was pure.”

Thammuz shook his head slowly, voice breaking.

“But it wasn’t. It was forged after he fell.”

He looked directly into Asher’s eyes, and for the first time since they met, the Bear King showed signs of deep fear.

“The crown was never meant to lead mortal armies. It was made for him, for the Abyss King.”

Asher’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. The very name rang like a whisper of ancient doom in the back of his mind.

“He is the one who ruled the Godblood… and still does,” Thammuz went on. “He fought the ancient races, broke their walls, shattered their cities, and forced their kings to kneel. His name was never written, only feared. Through him, the abyss Plague came and through him, Tenaria burned.”

Asher stood slowly, the air around him suddenly feeling thinner, colder.

“He is not just a warlord,” Thammuz said, voice cracking. “He is the father of war. The first tyrant and we were fighting for what was his.” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Where is this Jotunn Queen now?” Asher asked, his golden eyes gleaming like molten suns, intense, unblinking, and deadly calm.

Thammuz slowly looked up at him, the shame and fury in his expression still raw. “Deep within the Icy hills,” he said. “That is where her den is.”

He gritted his teeth. “I believe she no longer walks with her people. She rules above them like a god. I saw it when she came.”

Kael’Zheran stepped forward, brow furrowed. “The Icy Plains… that’s far beyond the boundaries of the forest. Even our scouts dare not enter that territory.”

Asher’s grip around his claymore tightened, the leather of his gauntlet creaking. “We’ll go there,” he said flatly.

Omar’s expression turned solemn. “If she’s corrupted by the Abyss… if that crown has truly awakened within her, then we may be heading to our deaths without priests and priestesses.”

“We have no healers,” Asher said, his voice calm but resolute as he turned to face Thammuz. “I will face her and her soldiers myself.”

Thammuz stared at him, stunned into silence. His massive frame seemed to shrink under the weight of those words. He turned toward Kael’Zheran and Kaelor, hoping for a hint of contradiction, some sign of doubt but their expressions were the same: quiet, controlled disbelief.

How in the name of the old gods was one man supposed to stand against a queen who had annihilated an entire race of warriors?

“Will you submit,” Asher asked, his gaze steady as he stepped closer, “stand beside me… or end yourself, unknown in this forest?”

There was a long pause before Thammuz gave a heavy grunt. Then, with a trembling hand, he reached into his cloak and pulled out his ring, the mark of a king and placed it in Asher’s outstretched palm.

…

After seven days of relentless marching, Asher stood at the base of a colossal hill, one so vast and towering it seemed like a gate meant for titans.

The snowstorm had grown fiercer, flurries of white lashing at his coat, whipping through his white hair and fluttering the cloaks of the sixty thousand soldiers behind him. Yet despite the chill, their footing never faltered, boots and hooves buried deep into the thick snow, hearts locked on his command.

Asher turned to his generals, his tone low but resolute.

“I shall proceed from here.”

“My Lord—”

“No.” His single word silenced Nero, sharp and final.

He turned away, walking forward. Each step sank deep into the snow, leaving behind a trail of bold footprints that the storm slowly tried to erase. One by one, the swirling winds devoured his silhouette, until his form became no more than a ghostly blur in the blizzard.

Nero stood still, fists clenched around the twin sword hilts at his waist, his eyes tracking Asher’s shape through the storm. His Dreath Sight allowed him to follow what normal eyes could not, watching silently as his lord reached the base of the hill. And then it happened.

A surge of ice erupted from the ground, sharp, gleaming, and majestic, rising rapidly and lifting Asher into the sky, elevating him until even Nero’s supernatural sight could no longer follow.

“He’ll be back.”

The voice came from behind.

Nero turned to see Moses and Thammuz, both standing outside the forming camp.

“He’s going to face a woman with a cursed artifact,” Thammuz said grimly, his breath steaming in the cold. “And an army that slaughtered mine. Your lord may be strong… but this might be beyond even him.”

Moses placed a hand on Nero’s pauldron, his voice steady.

“Maybe that’s why he has to do this alone. He doesn’t want needless blood spilled. But more than that…” Moses looked up at the icy hill, his gaze thoughtful. “He needs to shatter the limits we’ve placed on him in our minds. You, maybe all of us, haven’t accepted what he’s become. I’ve heard stories. That he’s a man God personally forged, tempered by war, refined by suffering. A man set apart.”

He gave a soft chuckle, though his tone held weight.

“He won’t die in some nameless mountain. He has two boys, not yet two years old, waiting for him. A wife. A domain of millions that depends on him. The burden on his shoulders, given by both man and God, isn’t one death can take. Not here. Not now.”

Nero turned to him, voice low. “If he dies, I’ll take your head.”

Moses laughed, full and hearty, nodding several times. “It’s a deal.”

But as Nero turned to join the others, the laughter faded. Moses’ expression darkened, worry weighing down his eyes.

Thammuz watched Nero’s retreating figure, then said quietly, “Kaelor and Kael’Zheran are disappointed. They believe your lord won’t make it back.”

“I’ve been there,” Moses replied grimly.

….

Calmly, Asher stepped onto the flat summit of the hill. The wind howled softly around him, tugging at his coat as he took in the vastness of the terrain. The hilltop stretched wide like a forgotten arena carved by the gods, strewn with massive boulders of all shapes and sizes, some embedded deep into the earth, others toppled and cracked, as if remnants of ancient battles.

But none of that held his attention.

Before him stood an army, tens of thousands of towering warriors. Giants, their skin a glacial blue that seemed to pulse faintly in the cold light. Each one stood over ten feet tall, their physiques carved from raw strength, their eyes sharp, predatory, and fixed solely on him.

They wore weathered leather armour, scarred and stained by time and war, and each carried a unique weapon, axes, hammers, blades of unfamiliar make, all heavy and primal.

Yet it was not the giants that stirred the air with dread. It was the woman seated behind them.

She sat atop a natural stone dais that rose like a throne at the edge of a cliff, its height commanding reverence. Draped in regal, obsidian armour that shimmered like oil in the dim light, she exuded presence. Her gauntlets ended in long, gleaming claws, sharp enough to tear through steel, and she rested her chin atop steepled fingers as though observing a guest, not a threat.

Her helm concealed most of her face, but her glowing blue eyes, cold and calculating, pierced straight through him. Atop her helm, the metal rose into jagged spires, forming a wicked crown that cast a faint silhouette in the sky behind her.

“I knew you were coming,” she said with a low, melodic chuckle, her voice echoing through the silent host. Her gaze briefly flicked upward to the sky, where faint traces of crescent waves still etched into the clouds, glimmered faintly like ghostly signatures of his presence.

“But why so cold?” she mused, resting her clawed fingers gently against her cheek. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to greet a queen?”

____

A/N: Sorry for the late upload. I really wasn’t motivated to write. I’ll also uploaded one chapter for tomorrow.

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