Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

Chapter 534: Abyss [5]

They were fighting against numbers greater than anything the mortal or spirit realm could muster, a tide so vast the battlefield felt as if it balanced on a knife-edge between survival and collapse.

As the united army surged toward the shattered gap in the black citadel’s wall, the sky darkened with movement. Thick-scaled beasts clawed their way into the open, wyverns by the hundreds, their roars shaking the molten ground, followed by true dragons, massive four-legged terrors whose wings churned the ash-laden air.

Their scales ranged from dull iron to volcanic red, from sickly green to obsidian black. Behind them, thousands of drakes spilled from the citadel like floodwater released from a broken dam.

Apollyon’s Death Knights took the lead, their rust-black armor scraping and clattering as they advanced.

As the vanguard, they absorbed the first collision of fire and talons. Wyvern flames drenched them; some knights burned alive inside their armor, collapsing like melting statues but still holding formation until their bodies failed.

Asher was not at the front, not because he lacked strength, but because the entire army leaned on his presence. Even the other rulers, however much they plotted and measured him, knew he carried their survival on his shoulders. If he fell too early, panic would spread faster than dragonfire.

Priests and priestesses threw up shimmering barriers, layers of gold and white light that curved like domes over the infantry.

But as dozens of dragons opened their jaws at once, the pressure became too much, the barriers rippled, strained, and then split.

Dragonfire poured through the cracks, sweeping over shield walls and turning entire rows of soldiers into charred silhouettes.

Sirius pressed against Asher’s leg, growling deep enough that the ground trembled. Asher ran a hand through the wolf’s fur, steadying him, and Sirius immediately understood. His crimson eyes lifted to the sky, burning with intent.

The great white wolf began to grow.

His bones stretched, muscles thickening and knotting beneath his fur. His spine lengthened, his jaws widened, and the earth itself cracked under his expanding weight. In moments he was the size of a titan, towering, monstrous, and yet frighteningly poised.

Sirius threw his head back and howled.

The sound cut through the entire battlefield like a blade. The dark clouds above twisted, peeled away, and a gap tore open in the sky. Sunlight, real, golden sunlight, pierced through, spilling across the field.

Saelix’s creatures recoiled. Many screamed. Some staggered blindly. Most of them, having lived under smoke and corruption for ages, lifted their arms to shield themselves from the sting of pure light.

Even Malrath flinched, raising a gauntleted hand to shield his eyes.

That single moment was enough.

Blue lightning exploded across the battlefield, Zenas. He moved so fast he seemed more like the flash than a man. He darted between wyverns, vaulted over fallen titans, and reached Malrath’s three-headed dragon in an eyeblink.

One lightning-charged step on the beast’s spine sent all three heads snapping downward, paralyzed.

Malrath swung his massive blade on instinct, but Zenas slipped past it, the air crackling in his wake. His sword plunged through Malrath’s armored back, punching out through his chestplate in a burst of sparks and blood.

And then Zenas collapsed.

His knees hit the ground hard. Lightning still crawled across his body in violent arcs, his fingers twitching uncontrollably. He had pushed beyond his limits, far beyond, and his limbs refused to obey him.

The three-headed dragon, though scorched and twitching, turned its massive tail. Bone spikes jutted from it like jagged spears. It swung with a force that could pulp a fortress wall.

Zenas couldn’t dodge. He couldn’t even lift his arm.

The tail came down.

But before it struck, a shadow dropped from the sky. It was Asher.

Ithamar cleaved through the dragon’s tail in a single stroke. Bone, scale, tendon, everything parted under the blade. The severed appendage slammed into the ground beside Zenas, throwing up a plume of dust and molten debris.

Asher landed between Zenas and the dragon, cloak rippling behind him, Ithamar dripping burning ichor. His golden eyes locked onto Malrath who pulled out the sword from his chest.

Saelix’s general was badly wounded but still stood. His armor hung in shattered plates, ichor dripping from every rent in the metal, yet his posture did not waver. Thousands had fallen beneath his blades, and even now, with his mount crippled, lightning still dancing across his body, Malrath raised his gaze to Asher without the slightest trace of fear.

He was a creature built for war, one who did not understand retreat or surrender.

But Asher’s eyes narrowed and Malrath’s own blood answered.

The crimson inside his veins surged, twisted, and erupted outward in jagged spikes. They tore free through his skin and armor like spears bursting from within a rupturing beast, and one of them burst clean through Malrath’s forehead.

The mighty general staggered once, his three-headed dragon collapsing beneath him, and then the warrior who had once conquered an era toppled into the ash.

Dead before he hit the ground.

Asher exhaled slowly, and only then realized what had changed. His awareness stretched far beyond his own body; it threaded through the battlefield in a net of pressure and will. He could feel every drop of blood around him, their density, their rhythm, the violence thrumming inside them.

And when he lifted a hand, their bodies obeyed.

All across the battlefield, thousands of orcs convulsed at once. Their skin split in violent bursts as their blood lashed upward like spikes. Corpses dropped in waves as Asher rose from the ground, cloak snapping in the heated wind.

He no longer wore the Warfather’s armor yet flew. Wind curled around him like a living thing, forming invisible vortices that held him aloft. As he ascended, more orcs burst apart in synchronized detonations, painting the blackened ground in fresh splashes of red.

Then he raised his hand to the sky.

Lightning answered before the sound could follow. Thick bolts tore through the clouds, slamming onto the wings of several dragons, binding them in crackling chains before ripping their limbs clean off. The beasts screamed as they dropped from the air like stones.

A heartbeat later, Asher vanished in a thunderclap.

The sonic boom rolled across the battlefield in expanding rings, rattling shields and bending spears. High above, a streak of white and crimson tore through the sky, Asher cutting down dragons one after another, Ithamar slicing through scale and bone as if they were paper.

Zenas watched from the ground, still half-paralyzed, chest heaving. His lips moved in a whisper, the only strength he could muster.

“He realized…”

Zenas continued, barely audible. “They thought he was just a bridge… They never understood what he truly was…”

Above them, Asher twisted midair. A dragon spat a roaring inferno toward him, but Asher seized the torrent of flames, bent it backward, and forced it straight into the creature’s open jaws.

The dragon exploded from the inside, fire bursting through its throat and ribcage as it spiraled downward in a burning heap.

Asher hovered in the sky, wings of wind churning around him, golden eyes scanning the battlefield. He could feel it now, that presence, hidden behind the walls of the black citadel. Something watching him, unbothered by the destruction of its armies. Something patient.

“Saelix…” Asher breathed, his eyes blazing with cold fire.