Reborn As Noble

The battlefield was silent.

What was once an army of 120,000 was now reduced to wreckage, fire, and corpses.

The ground lay torn apart, craters from mana explosions littering the area, while the air thickened with smoke and the stench of burning flesh.

The forces of the Saint of Three Gods no longer existed.

And yet—

Javier still stood.

His breath was ragged, his hands trembling from the overuse of mana.

But his eyes still burned with fury.

He was ready to keep going.

He wanted to keep going.

Because in his mind—this war wasn't over yet.

Then—

A soft cough broke the silence.

"Ahem."

Javier felt a sudden shiver run down his spine.

His rage-filled mind snapped back to reality.

Slowly, he turned his head.

And there stood his father.

Garius's eyes met Javier's, his expression calm, firm, and absolute.

"Javier… that's enough."

Javier froze.

Then—a soft, familiar voice followed.

"Honey bun…"

Javier turned further, and there she was—

Francesca.

Her gentle eyes gazed at him with warmth, her motherly presence calming him.

She smiled softly.

"You should stop now."

She gestured toward the battlefield—toward the destruction.

"There are no more enemies left."

Javier hesitated, his hands clenched, his body trembling.

Then—

His vision blurred.

A sob broke from his throat.

Tears streamed down his bloodstained face.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"I… I'm sorry…"

And finally—for the first time since the battle began—

Javier let himself cry.

"Mother…"

His voice cracked, his body shaking as he took slow, unsteady steps toward Francesca.

Then—he collapsed, wrapping his arms around her thigh, clutching her as if afraid to let go.

"Mother…"

His sobs grew louder, raw and unrestrained.

Tears streamed down his face.

His entire body shook.

Francesca froze for a brief moment.

Javier never cried like this.

Never.

Yet now—he was breaking down in front of her.

"…They're gone."

His voice was soft, broken.

He didn't specify who.

He didn't say what.

But Francesca felt it—the deep, crushing grief in his words.

Her heart clenched.

She didn't know who he meant.

But it didn't matter.

Because right now, her sweetest honey bun was in pain.

Without hesitation, she knelt down, embracing him fully, wrapping her arms around his trembling frame.

She stroked his bloodstained hair gently, soothingly.

"Shh… I'm here, my love. Mother is here."

Javier buried his face into her, his sobs only growing louder.

Francesca simply held him, letting him cry, letting him release all the pain that had been bottled up inside.

The sound of war was gone.

The explosions had stopped.

The screams of enemies had faded.

And now—only Javier's cries remained.

His sobs echoed across the silent battlefield, raw and broken.

He clung to Francesca like a lost child, trembling as he buried his face into her.

Francesca held him tightly, her warm hands gently stroking his hair.

A soft sniffle broke the stillness.

Behind them, Erinnete turned away, crossing her arms as she pretended not to notice—but her fingers subtly wiped away the tears in her eyes.

"Ara… I saw nothing," she murmured, her voice wavering slightly.

Alf and Hesbeirn stood in silence, neither speaking nor moving.

What could they even say?

The strongest young master of the Armand family—

The monster who had single-handedly wiped out an army—

Was now just a boy, crying in his mother's embrace.

The soldiers of Armand watched from the walls.

They should have felt relief.

They were alive.

The war was over.

And yet—

Seeing Javier like this stirred something deeper within them.

A profound, unspoken sadness.

Even the most hardened knights lowered their heads, understanding the weight of the moment.

Javier had won the war.

But at what cost?

Garius stood a short distance away, his arms crossed, his gaze unmoving.

His expression remained unreadable.

But inside…

His chest felt tight.

His hands clenched slightly.

He did not move.

Because if he did—he might break too.

So he simply stood there, watching his son cry—

Allowing Francesca to do what he, as a father, could not.

Beside him, Eridith remained still.

She did not grumble.

She did not complain about boredom.

She did not mock the situation.

She stood quietly beside Garius, watching the scene unfold.

Even she—a dragon who had lived for centuries—

Knew when to say nothing.

Francesca felt the shaking of Javier's body slowly subside.

His sobs faded, his breathing steadied.

Then—something changed.

All at once—

The Puppet Knights vanished.

The Mana Cannons disappeared.

The Anti-Air Guns, the Mithril soldiers, the Mana Mortars—

Everything returned to Javier's magic storage.

The battlefield that had once been filled with weapons of destruction… Find more to read at My Virtual Library Empire

Was now empty.

Francesca lowered her gaze.

Javier's eyes were closed, his body growing limp in her arms.

Her soft golden eyes filled with warmth as she gently brushed his hair.

"Dear… he's sleeping."

Her voice was tender, not filled with worry—but with relief.

He had cried everything out.

He had released all the pain.

And now, exhausted—

He could finally rest.

Garius watched for a moment, absorbing the scene, before turning away.

His voice was calm, steady, and absolute.

"Hesbeirn."

Hesbeirn straightened immediately.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Take over the wall. Ensure the patrol units are active. Rotate the soldiers—let some rest while others guard. Make sure they all eat."

Hesbeirn placed a fist over his chest in salute.

"As you command, my lord."

Garius turned to his two most trusted subordinates.

"Alf. Erinnete."

Both stepped forward, ready for instruction.

"Yes, my lord?"

Garius exhaled deeply, composing himself.

Then, with his usual calm authority—

He spoke two simple words.

"Let's go home."

Eridith simply smiled, a rare softness in her usually mischievous expression.

Francesca gently cradled her honey bun—her Javier—holding him close as his steady breathing reassured her. The exhaustion, the grief, the battle—it had all taken its toll. Yet now, in her arms, he could finally rest.

Alf and Errinette bowed politely, their usual sharpness subdued by the weight of the moment.

No words were needed.

The battlefield was silent.

And so, the Armand family turned away from the destruction—

Heading home.

(End of Chapter)