Reborn As Noble - Chapter 310

Chapter 310: Instincts of a Leader ( 310 )
Garius set down his drink and looked at Gilmon.

His expression was calm—but his eyes held a sharp glint.

“By the way, Gilmon.”

Gilmon paused mid-bite, glancing up.

“Yeah?”

Garius leaned forward slightly.

“Ensure His Majesty’s safety.”

The room went silent.

Garius smirked slightly, resting his chin on his hand.

“I still haven’t had the chance to fight him in a duel.”

Gilmon blinked.

Then he let out a small chuckle.

“Even after all these years, you still want to challenge him?”

Garius grinned.

“Of course. I don’t care if he’s a king. He still owes me a proper match.”

His grin faded slightly.

Then—his tone turned serious.

“So make sure his Majesty and his family remain safe.”

Garius tapped his fingers against the table.

“Don’t ever let the enemy slip in.”

Gilmon narrowed his eyes.

“…You’re expecting something, aren’t you?”

Garius chuckled softly.

“Call it instinct.”

He picked up his drink again but didn’t sip.

“His ‘relatives’ will try something. You know that as well as I do.”

Gilmon exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples.

“Haaah… Damn nobles.”

Garius finally took a sip, his smirk returning.

“That’s why you’re there, right?”

Gilmon sighed but nodded.

“Fine. I’ll double the security.”

Because he already knew—

If Garius was concerned about something…

Then it was only a matter of time before it became reality.

Garius set his glass down, locking eyes with Gilmon.

His usual smirk was gone.

Instead—his voice carried quiet authority.

“And if… if something really happens…”

The room fell completely silent.

Even the ministers—who had been merely observers—held their breath.

Garius continued, his tone firm.

“…Don’t hesitate to ask for my help.”

Gilmon stared at him, then slowly nodded.

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

But Garius wasn’t finished.

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms.

“Also.”

Gilmon raised an eyebrow.

Garius paused for a moment, then smirked slightly.

“Inform Arnold.”

The mention of the name made a few ministers stir.

Because everyone knew Arnold.

The noble headmaster.

The man who had challenged Garius countless times—only to always lose.

A respected figure.

A man of principle.

A stubborn fool—but an honest one.

“Tell him that if that ‘thing’ happens—

He should do his best to secure it.”

Gilmon’s eyes darkened.

“And if he can’t?”

Garius grinned slightly, but his next words were deadly serious.

“Then tell him to rush to Armand territory.”

The implication was clear.

If Arnold had to run—

It meant the kingdom itself was no longer safe.

Gilmon exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.

“Haaah… You really do think something’s coming, don’t you?”

Garius just smiled.

Alf and Erinnete immediately stiffened, their expressions turning serious.

Because they understood.

Whatever “that thing” was—it wasn’t just a simple problem.

Garius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply.

“Haaah… If only Arnold had listened to me from the start.”

His voice carried a rare hint of frustration.

He leaned forward, fingers tapping against the wooden table.

“I told him—no, I warned him—to lock it away in my territory.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Yet both he and Edmund insisted it was ‘under control.'”

Alf crossed his arms, frowning.

“…And now you think it’s slipping out of their grasp?”

Garius didn’t answer immediately.

Instead—he swirled his drink in his glass.

After a long pause—he spoke.

“Let’s just say… I’m preparing for the worst.”

His voice was calm. Too calm.

And that made the weight of his words even heavier.

After the meeting ended, Garius rose from his seat, stretching slightly.

He slowly made his way toward his private room, his steps steady and unhurried.

Accompanying him—Alf, Erinnete, and Hesbeirn followed silently.

The weight of unspoken thoughts hung in the air.

As they approached the hallway, Garius glanced at the elite guards stationed nearby.

Despite his usual relaxed demeanor—his eyes were sharp. Focused.

Then, with a small smile, he spoke.

“Call Rasdingen here.”

The guards saluted immediately.

“At once, my lord.”

Garius took a few more steps before adding—

“And bring Eridith.”

Alf raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing.

Hesbeirn glanced at Erinnete, who only nodded.

Garius paused in front of the door to his private room.

Then—his gaze turned sharp.

“…Along with Fransesca.”

The command was given.

The guards immediately moved to summon the requested individuals.

Because whatever this meeting was about—

It wasn’t just a simple discussion.

It was a gathering of Armand’s strongest minds.

A preparation for something bigger.

Something only Garius could see coming.

Garius sat at the head of the table, his fingers lightly tapping against the wood.

Everyone was now inside—Alf, Erinnete, Hesbeirn, Rasdingen, Eridith, and Fransesca.

The air was heavy.

Garius leaned forward slightly.

“Alf. Report.”

Alf stepped forward, his usual composed expression even more serious than usual.

“According to our investigation, the Sword Hero’s body was nowhere to be found.”

The room fell silent.

Even though they had expected it—hearing it confirmed still left an uneasy feeling.

Alf continued.

“And his sword… it’s missing too.”

They all knew what this meant.

The other summoned heroes? Completely annihilated.

Javier—in his uncontrollable rage—had wiped them out alone.

But now—one survived.

And not just any survivor.

The leader. The Sword Hero.

Garius leaned back, exhaling slowly.

“Looks like ‘she’ ensured the last hero survived.”

A certain name was left unspoken.

A certain ‘goddess’ who had meddled in this world far too much.

A soft, beautiful smile formed on Fransesca’s lips.

But—

The air in the room grew heavy.

Dark. Oppressive.

The space itself seemed to tremble under the sheer weight of her presence.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Because everyone could feel it.

Fransesca—the gentle, loving mother. The kind and elegant countess.

Was furious.

The air in the room felt heavier.

Fransesca slowly opened her eyes, her gentle smile never fading—yet the sheer presence radiating from her was suffocating.

Then—she spoke.

“Those lowly spirits…”

Her voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

“Pretending to be gods. Lying to the people. Twisting their faith into chains of obedience.”

She picked up her cup of tea, swirling it idly before continuing.

“They deceive the masses into believing they hold true power… when in reality, they are nothing more than arrogant little spirits, clinging to stolen authority.”

Fransesca took a slow sip of her tea before setting the cup down.

Her eyes glowed faintly.

“They are the ones who created the Saint of Three Gods… the ones who have led people astray for generations. The ones who plant war and suffering wherever they walk—claiming it is ‘divine will.'”

She tilted her head slightly, as if amused.

“And now… they truly believe they hold dominion over everything?”

Her voice dropped lower, softer—yet every word seemed to carry an unavoidable conclusion.

“All three of them?”

The room was silent.

Not out of fear.

But because every single person present understood—

Fransesca wasn’t asking a question.

She was issuing a warning.

A warning to those so-called ‘goddesses’ who dared to toy with her family, her people… her world.

Because if they truly thought they were untouchable—

Then they were gravely mistaken.

( End of Chapter )