Reborn As Noble

Meanwhile, in the Klimbert Grand Hall…

The nobles laughed and drank in excess, their goblets overflowing with expensive wine. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and perfume filled the lavish hall.

Women—both noble escorts and high-class courtesans Klimbert had paid generously—moved among them, ensuring these lords and marquises were properly entertained.

They reveled in the illusion of victory.

To them, this was just a formality before they claimed Armand's riches.

They had no idea.

No idea that their grand army had vanished.

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No idea that their forces had walked into something far worse than a battlefield.

And no idea that the host of this feast was no longer part of their delusion.

Inside Klimbert's Private Chamber…

Klimbert sat across from General Mushka, the commander of his personal army. A grizzled veteran, Mushka was loyal, disciplined, and above all, a survivor.

His sharp eyes studied his lord, sensing the tension in the air.

"Mushka."

"Yes, my lord?"

Klimbert leaned forward, his voice low and controlled.

"We only have 3,000 active troops right now, correct?"

"Yes, my lord. And we still have 35—"

"Shhh!"

Mushka immediately fell silent.

Klimbert's eyes flickered toward the door, as if expecting someone to be listening.

Only after a moment of silence did he continue.

"Ensure those 3,000 troops remain 'busy' guarding our own border. Keep them away from this war."

Mushka nodded. "Understood."

Klimbert exhaled and leaned closer.

"And our reserves… they are to remain in their homes, dressed as civilians."

Mushka blinked.

"Their armor and weapons?"

"Kept inside their homes, ready at a moment's notice." Klimbert's voice was cold. "If anything happens, we will mobilize them instantly—but not before."

Mushka remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow, firm nod.

"As you command, my lord."

Klimbert leaned back, his fingers tapping the desk.

The fools in the grand hall could keep drinking.

The coalition could keep thinking they had already won.

But he would be prepared.

Klimbert's thoughts darkened.

Even if, by some miracle, the coalition army was winning—he would not let his guard down.

He knew the true nature of the high nobles.

There were no allies in nobility—only opportunists waiting to strike.

And he would be damned if he let his house fall because he trusted those vipers.

Duke Ibzles.

Marquis Mikele.

And those sniveling lesser nobles—High Baron Velstadt, Viscount Relles, and the others.

They thought they were untouchable.

They flaunted their connections to the Duke and the Marquis, believing it gave them an advantage over him.

They looked down on him.

Mocked him.

Dismissed him.

They believed he was beneath them.

But they were wrong.

Klimbert's eyes gleamed with quiet fury.

"Don't worry, you shitheads…" he muttered under his breath.

"Once the chance opens up…"

His fingers tightened into a fist.

"I will personally take your land next."

For now, he would smile and play along.

But when the time came—

He would be the one standing over their corpses.

Klimbert's gaze shifted to the large map spread across his table.

His fingers slowly traced the borders of his own region—a wealthy, strategically positioned territory.

But it wasn't enough.

Not for him.

His eyes moved further across the map, taking in the regions surrounding him.

To the south.

To the north.

To the east and west.

All of them… ruled by lesser nobles.

Weak men. Fools who believed their proximity to Duke Ibzles and Marquis Mikele gave them power.

They relied on connections instead of true strength.

Klimbert scoffed.

If I could take all their lands…

His fingers curled slightly as he mentally redrew the borders in his mind.

If those territories became his, then his land would be larger than Duke Ibzles's domain.

Larger than the Armand region.

He exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a hungry smirk.

The coalition thought this war was about Armand.

But he saw something else.

An opportunity.

One way or another—he would come out on top.

Klimbert's eyes burned with ambition as he studied the map before him.

It wouldn't be easy. Duke Ibzles and Marquis Mikele wouldn't sit quietly and watch him grow stronger.

But once those lands were his…

It wouldn't matter.

With that territory secured, he would immediately ramp up recruitment, building an army large enough to defend his new borders.

North?

That was where Armand's territory lay. Garius might be strong, but with enough forces, even he could be contained.

East?

That would grant him access to the sea, ensuring trade and naval power.

West?

That marked the border of the Beastkin Kingdom—a natural defense against any nobles who might interfere.

South?

That was Duke Ibzles's domain—his biggest threat. But once Klimbert secured the other regions, he could match the Duke's power.

If he controlled the north, east, and west, while fortifying himself against the south, his land would become an independent powerhouse.

Bigger than Duke Ibzles.

Stronger than Armand.

Klimbert smirked, gripping the table.

"When that happens… no one will be able to challenge me."

Klimbert leaned back, exhaling slowly as his thoughts settled.

He knew the opportunity would come.

Right now, the coalition army was marching toward Armand, believing they were on the verge of victory.

But Klimbert wasn't a fool.

Armand would annihilate them.

Completely.

Once that happened—once every coalition soldier was wiped out—the four regions surrounding him would be left vulnerable.

All of them would be weakened. Their armies drained, their defenses exposed.

And unlike the other nobles, Klimbert understood one undeniable truth.

Armand wouldn't interfere.

They wouldn't expand their territory or conquer others.

They weren't interested in growing their influence.

They only fought because they were attacked.

And once the war was over, Armand would retreat back into isolation.

That meant only one thing.

Klimbert would have free rein.

He smirked, his fingers drumming against the map.

"Let Armand do the dirty work… and when the dust settles…"

His eyes gleamed with ruthless ambition.

"…I'll take what's left."

Klimbert rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate.

His thoughts were calm, his strategy set in motion.

As he walked toward the door, the two elite guards stationed outside immediately took notice. Without a word, they fell into step behind him, their armored boots echoing against the polished floor.

Though they remained silent, a single thought crossed their minds.

Today, our lord seems… pleased.

They wondered why, but none dared to ask.

Inside the Grand Hall…

The moment Klimbert stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of pure excess.

The grand nobles, dressed in their finest robes, were laughing, drinking, and boasting about how they would divide the Armand lands.

Women—both noble escorts and paid courtesans—draped themselves over these men, feeding them grapes, pouring their wine, whispering sweet nothings in their ears.

It was a celebration.

A celebration for a victory that did not exist.

Klimbert's expression remained unreadable, but inside his mind…

If I wanted to poison everyone here, it would be easy.

A single, tasteless toxin in their drinks.

A slow, creeping venom in their food.

They would never see it coming.

But—

He sighed internally.

That would hinder my plans.

For now, these fools were still useful.

For now.

Klimbert slowly raised his goblet, his cold eyes scanning the room.

If only they knew the surprise that awaited them.

( End of Chapter )