Reborn As Noble - Chapter 575

Chapter 575: Hold the Line ( 575 )
Inside the last dwarven stronghold.

Lines of silent armored figures stood atop the walls—Javier’s puppet knights. Motionless but vigilant, their glowing eyes scanned the horizon, while mana-infused bows and crossbows rested in their mechanical hands, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Below, the tension that once filled the halls was gradually replaced by the smell of food and the quiet clatter of utensils.

The dwarves—gaunt, tired, and half-starved—sat around makeshift tables, eating bread and stew like men pulled from the brink of death. No chains. No cages—just freedom… and confusion.

Javier stood at the edge of the high balcony inside the great hall, arms crossed, watching the recovering dwarves with calm that was impossible to read.

A dwarf elder stepped forward, hesitant but bold enough to speak.

“Lord Javier…”

He turned his head slightly. “Hmm?”

“You conquered this stronghold… yet you allow us to eat, walk freely, speak freely… You didn’t chain us. You didn’t take us as prisoners.”

The elder’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Why do this?”

Javier tilted his head.

“Why?” he echoed. “Why would I need to do that?”

“What if… later…” the elder hesitated, voice tense, “what if some of us betray your kindness? Try to take the stronghold back once we’re strong again?”

Javier slowly smiled—a quiet, calm smile that made the dwarf’s neck hairs stand on end.

“If that happens…” he said softly but firmly, “so be it.”

The hall went still. Even the sounds of eating paused.

“I don’t rule by fear,” Javier continued. “I lead with strength. I don’t need to cage people to control them. If your people try to fight again, I’ll simply crush them… again.”

He looked down at the elder with an expression that was neither cruel nor kind—just absolute.

“But if they live peacefully… they’ll live better under me than they ever did alone.”

The elder opened his mouth, but no words came.

Javier raised one hand, a soft blue glow pulsing at his palm.

A magic circle opened mid-air, spiraling like a gateway as his personal dimensional storage activated. Crates and barrels began to appear one by one, stacking into neat piles in front of the astonished dwarves.

Dozens of heavy wooden crates—filled with flour, dried goods, sealed herbs and spices. Barrels packed with preserved meat and enchanted produce that still carried the scent of life.

“W-What is this…?” one dwarf muttered, wide-eyed.

Javier didn’t turn around. “Rations.”

He looked at the dwarf commander beside him. “You’ve already repaired more than ten caravans, right?”

The commander blinked and straightened. “Yes, Lord Javier. We finished the repairs yesterday.”

“Good,” Javier said flatly. “Load everything. Move these crates into those caravans.”

The dwarves stared in silence.

“Are… are you certain, Lord Javier?” the commander asked, disbelief in his voice. “This is food. Real food. You’re… giving it to us?”

Javier finally glanced at him, one brow raised.

“Hmm? Of course,” he replied. “Your people are starving. And your capital—the last line of defense—is likely worse off than this place.”

The commander’s mouth opened slightly, stunned.

Javier’s voice was calm but firm. “Now tell me. How many of your troops here are in proper fighting condition?”

The dwarf commander quickly responded. “Out of 10,000 stationed here… I believe 2,000 to 3,000 are fully recovered and combat-ready, my lord.”

“Good.” Javier’s mana flared again.

Five hundred puppet knights materialized behind him.

“I assign these 500 to escort the caravans,” Javier said, pointing forward. “Their only task is to secure the supply delivery to your capital. No exceptions.”

The commander looked overwhelmed. “I—yes, my lord. Understood!”

“Then go,” Javier ordered. “Move quickly. Every hour wasted is one step closer to losing your capital.”

The dwarves saluted instinctively. Soldiers scrambled to load the crates, rushing toward the caravans. The puppet knights moved silently behind, forming tight security formations.

As the last supply caravan rolled out under the protection of his puppet knights, Javier stood silently at the edge of the battlement, arms crossed, wind ruffling his cloak.

His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, watching the dust fade into the distance. A heavy silence settled around him—thoughtful and burdensome.

“…I should be heading to the capital,” he thought, but he didn’t move.

He knew better.

Even with the remaining 5,000 puppet knights stationed here—each forged from reinforced mithril and enhanced with his advanced magic—they weren’t invincible. They wouldn’t panic, wouldn’t sleep, but they would follow commands until they broke.

Javier’s brows knit together.

“Once the Halflings discover their army is gone… they’ll send more,” he realized.

He hadn’t forgotten that last battle—the slaughter of one hundred and twenty thousand halfling elite troops. He had turned that battlefield into a mechanical slaughterhouse.

“But victory only brings noise,” Javier thought bitterly. “And noise draws more enemies.”

Leaving this stronghold now—even fortified with spells, mana beacons, and mithril knights—might still not be enough.

The walls wouldn’t fall easily. His knights wouldn’t yield.

But if the Halflings arrive with siege beasts… or worse, a Celestial vessel…

He clenched his jaw.

And still—there was no word from his father. No envoy.

Javier exhaled slowly, leaning on the battlement, gazing at the gray clouds above.

“I can’t move. Not without orders. Not yet.”

He understood his role. Not just Javier—the boy genius, the youngest son of Count Garius De Armand, but a trusted field commander on a vital mission.

And until he received the next instruction, he would hold this stronghold.

And if the Halflings came?

Then he would bury them here, just like the last wave.

With more firepower. More magic. More death.

But still…

His eyes narrowed.

“…Gumarak might not have that long.”

Javier glanced down from the battlement at the familiar orange fluffball sprawled in the middle of the training yard—legs splayed out, wings half-open, belly exposed to the sun like a retired noble on vacation.

“Buddy…”

“Cuquawked~,” Buddy chirped lazily, one eye barely opening to acknowledge his master before shutting again with smug satisfaction.

“What are you doing?”

“Cuquawk,” Buddy replied without moving, his tail feathers giving a relaxed wiggle as if to say, I’m supervising. From this angle.

Javier sighed, resting his chin on his hand.

“The center of the entire courtyard, huh? You couldn’t have sunbathed, I don’t know… two steps to the left? Somewhere not directly in the way of marching units?”

“Cuquaaawk.”

“…You know, most people expect a war beast to look intimidating, not like a lazy loaf of roasted poultry sunning itself.”

Buddy flapped one wing slowly, as if dismissing the comment with a ‘not my problem’ motion.

( End Of Chapter )