Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Chapter 495: Iron Saints

“Wait.”

The voice was soft, too soft to echo, yet it slithered into the ears of every assassin like a serpent’s whisper, paralyzing them mid-step. From behind a thicket, she emerged; Blood, draped in her crimson gown that shimmered faintly under the moonlight like silk soaked in rubies.

Her eyes, like frozen wine, scanned the glowing camp ahead with a faint smile, one that never touched her eyes.

“Wait until it’s almost dawn,” she murmured, her tone cold and controlled. “They’ll be much weaker then.”

Crossing her arms, she tilted her head ever so slightly, a delicate scowl curving her lips as if the sight before her displeased her on a primal level.

After a long, silent wait, the morning dew clung to every blade of grass and dulled the sharpness of the eyes. A pale mist curled along the earth, softening outlines and swallowing the camp’s distant edges.

Standing near a brazier, a lone paladin exhaled, his breath blooming into a small cloud of white that mingled with the rising dew. The heat of the brazier warmed his gloved hands, but it couldn’t ease the gnawing unease in his gut.

He scanned the clearing from left to right. Same shadows. Same shapes. Still, the world felt different now, like it was holding its breath.

A faint crunch pierced his ears. The paladin spun around sharply, grip tightening around the spear’s shaft.

Through the drifting fog emerged a figure, tall, broad, walking with the practiced ease of someone unafraid. Moses, the chief paladin, strode toward him, his helmet tucked under one arm, face calm and unreadable.

“Chief.” The paladin bowed his head slightly.

Moses gave a curt nod, not breaking stride. “Keep your eyes sharp,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Then he walked past, vanishing into the wall of mist like a ghost swallowed by the dawn.

Moses continued his slow stroll through the misty morning haze until he reached a quiet, shadowed spot between the trees. The dew clung to his boots, the distant sounds of the camp fading behind him. As he began to unbuckle his belt to relieve himself, a sudden blur lunged out from the shrubs.

A flash of steel slammed into his cuirass with brutal force, the impact driving him back a few staggering steps.

Before thought could catch up, his instincts did, Moses flung a burst of fire toward the attacker, flames curling hungrily into the fog. But they caught nothing.

More shadows surged in from behind. Grinning like a maniac, Moses tore his belt free and twisted his body to the side, narrowly evading a thrust aimed for his spine. But he didn’t let his attacker escape.

With a snap of his wrist, the leather belt coiled around the assassin’s neck and with a vicious pull, he yanked the man backward, the body spinning in midair toward him.

The moment Moses caught him, a loud crack echoed through the trees, the assassin’s neck snapping like brittle wood.

Another rushed him.

Moses swung his arm like a battering ram, hurling the corpse into the second attacker and slamming him hard to the earth. But before he could recover, a third figure slammed into him from the side.

Both crashed to the ground.

A dagger pierced into the gap between Moses’ arm guard and cuirass, sinking deep into muscle. He snarled through the pain and drove his elbow into the assassin’s face with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, but Moses didn’t stop. He struck again, and again, until the body above him stopped moving.

Gasping, he shoved the corpse aside and forced himself to his feet.

Then he saw it.

The camp was in flames, three tents already consumed, tongues of fire licking into the foggy sky. Screams tore through the air. Steel clashed, voices cried out, men and women alike.

Quickly buckling his belt, Moses dashed toward the camp, boots thudding against the earth as panic knotted in his gut.

As he neared the perimeter, the clash of steel and the cries of battle filled his ears. Paladins were locked in fierce combat with figures cloaked in black, phantoms weaving through the flames with deadly precision.

“Where is His Grace?!” Moses bellowed, eyes scanning the chaos as he surged toward the grandest tent.

What he saw made his breath hitch.

Over fifty Paladins had formed a tight ring around Asher and his family, their aspis shields locked and spears leveled outward. They stood like an unbreakable wall, resolute against the tide of death pressing in.

Opposite them stood several dozen shadowed figures, faces hidden beneath cowls and masks.

All except one.

A woman with skin like polished bone, hair the color of fresh blood, and eyes that gleamed like rubies in moonlight.

She stood with arms crossed, her expression one of disdainful boredom, as if the Paladins before her were no more than stubborn weeds in her path.

“Duke Asher,” she said, her voice like silk drawn across a blade. “It is indeed as they say…”

Her eyes slid to Sapphira, gleaming with twisted admiration. “The most beautiful woman in Tenaria sleeps in your bed.”

Then her gaze turned cold.

With a swipe of her finger, she sliced her own forearm. Blood gushed forth, but it didn’t fall. It twisted and curled midair, reshaping into a sleek, curved dagger.

“Unfortunately,” she whispered, “none of you will live to see another dawn.”

She raised a hand, and Asher’s golden eyes widened.

In an instant, the Paladins surrounding him convulsed. Some groaned and fell to their knees, others dropped dead without a sound. Blood streamed from their ears and mouths, organs ruptured from within. The life in their eyes flickered, and was gone.

Fifty Paladins fell as one.

Wiped out in a heartbeat by the First Assassin’s will alone.

Blood’s crimson gaze shifted to Moses.

He stood defiant, even as his veins bulged and burst beneath his skin, dark rivulets seeping from the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hands still clenched, refusing to yield. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to fight her control, driven by sheer will alone.

But it wasn’t enough.

The light in his eyes faded, and with one final breath, Moses dropped to his knees, his body slumping forward, lifeless.

The air thickened with death, the scent of burnt cloth and ruptured flesh mingling with the smoke that clung to the camp.

More Paladins fell in the distance, their screams cut short as Blood’s inner world, a domain of unseen terror, snuffed them out like dying embers. Her power was suffocating, and yet, at the eye of the storm, Asher remained still.

[Criteria for upgrade fulfilled: Death and Rebirth. Would you like to upgrade your Imperial-Ranked Paladins into Exalted-Ranked Iron Saints with 200 years of battle experience?]

[Yes / No]

Asher’s golden eyes narrowed, the notification glowing softly in his vision. His grip tightened around the hilt of the Kingsword, its red-forged blade humming faintly, as if it too sensed what was coming.

The answer was obvious.