Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!

While the half-giants stripped off their heavy crimson armor and turned to the task of felling trees for the town’s expansion, Asher donned his Leviathan Armour Set—dark gray with streaks of black pulsing faintly across its surface and disappeared into the depths of the Whitewood with his paladins.

The forest felt eerily silent.

Asher’s sharp gaze swept the area, ever alert for threats or opportunities. Yet there was nothing—no hidden predators, no lurking shadows, not even the telltale signs of danger. Strangely, they hadn’t encountered a single powerful beast. Only a few skittish herbivores, elk, deer, and rodent-like grazers had shown themselves, only to bolt at the first sight of the heavily armored men who marched like steel-born statues.

“There’s nothing. Not even a water source,” Nero muttered grimly, stepping over a tangled root. “How are we supposed to build a self-sustaining town without water?”

Asher didn’t respond. He kept walking, every step dragging him deeper into instinct. Something tugged at him—subtle but constant, like a current beneath still water. It felt as if with each step, he moved closer to… something. Something within the depths.

The paladins followed silently. They had marched through snowfields and scorched badlands, through nights filled with screams and skies bleeding fire, and they had never once complained. But today was different. They weren’t advancing toward a known enemy or following a beacon. They were wandering. And that uncertainty unsettled even the most seasoned of them.

Hours passed. They had crossed several kilometers, and not a single wild animal—no wolves, no birds, not even insects—had appeared.

That was when tension finally crept in.

Grips tightened around spears and tower shields. Muscles coiled beneath steel plate. Helmets swiveled. It was unnatural—this quiet. And then they saw it.

Rising ahead like the jagged edge of some long-dead colossus was a wall of stone. Boulders, clustered and stacked by the hand of nature or something far older. Some of them soared ten meters high, covered in moss and pale green lichens. The whitewood trees—so consistent in the region—had grown around the stone cluster but none sprouted from within. It was as if the trees feared the place.

Near one of the stones lay the bones of a beast—its massive ribcage cracked open, its skull shattered like clay.

Asher approached and squatted beside the carcass, brushing snow and dust from the remains. The bones were sun-bleached, brittle with time, but even in death the creature looked monstrous.

Levi stepped up, a solemn look beneath his helm. “That thing was at least four meters tall…”

Rustle.

A single sound—but every paladin moved in unison. Shields locked together in a perfect semi-circle, their spears angled forward in a bristling wall. Asher stood behind them, silent, his gauntlet resting on the hilt of his sword.

Then—a rabbit leapt out from the brush.

The men exhaled as one, but the tension did not leave.

“The reason you’re all on edge…” Asher said, slowly rising to his feet as his gaze drifted to the towering stones. “…isn’t out here.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he stared at the strange rock formation, more natural than carved—but ancient nonetheless.

“It’s in there,” he finished, voice quiet but heavy.

With a powerful leap, Asher vaulted onto the highest of the jagged boulders. His boots struck stone, and he dropped to one knee—more out of instinct than exhaustion—as his eyes widened in disbelief.

Below him lay a colossal crater, vast enough to hold a city.

And it was filled with minotaurs.

Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of them.

The creatures stood over three meters tall, monstrous in form, their thick, fur-covered bodies rippling with brutal muscle.

Curved horns jutted from their bestial heads, some polished like ivory, others jagged and blood-stained. Their faces were ox-like, but twisted with intelligence and savagery.

Bone armor adorned their bodies—ribcages of unknown beasts strapped to their torsos, claws and fangs woven into belts and harnesses. Some wore entire skulls atop their heads—one the crown of a great elk, another the flattened dome of an elephant.

Asher’s breath hitched. His eyes swept the crater.

Obsidian hooves stomped through snow. Clawed hands, some with bracelets of vertebrae, gripped tools or weapons fashioned from stone and bone. But it wasn’t just their terrifying appearance that struck fear into his heart.

It was their power.

Mana radiated from them in thick waves—raw, ancient, and undiluted. Sacred-rank strength pulsed in each heartbeat, not born of Force, but pure mana. If it were in Tenaria, these beings could slaughter an entire legion of saint-ranked knights.

A legion, crushed like ants beneath a heel.

And there were over ten thousand of them—maybe more.

All moving in eerie discipline, like a ritual.

They marched in long lines toward a massive cave at the far end of the crater, and as each one emerged, they carried metal ores. The rocks glimmered faintly with a golden sheen, like smelted sunlight trapped within stone.

Asher narrowed his eyes.

Not just any ore. An Eden ore! It would definitely be better than anything in Tenaria.

Then, to his astonishment, the minotaurs cracked the ore with their fangs and ate it. Crunching it as if it were nothing more than chicken bones. Their jaws crushed it into glinting powder, their bodies absorbing the metal as if it were nourishment.

Asher felt a pang deep in his chest. That ore could change everything. A resource like that could arm an army—his army—with gear that might rival the Fourth Knight’s titanium armor. But there was nothing he could do. Not now. Not against them.

Even if he called every soldier from his dominion, victory would cost too much—a massacre on both sides.

“My Lord…” Simon’s voice came softly from below, yet heavy with caution. “It’s best we leave this place.”

Asher gave a small nod, torn but pragmatic. “We’ll return someday… but not today.”

Just as he turned to descend, a low growl rippled across the crater.

A single minotaur emerged from the cave—massive, even by their terrifying standards. It towered above the others, draped in blackened chains and adorned with human skulls that clattered like beads around its thick neck. Its fur was matted with blood, its horns spiraled into jagged curves.

Then it roared.

The sound tore through the air like a sonic cannon. Shockwaves rippled visibly, scattering loose snow and bending nearby trees. The other minotaurs froze—then immediately dispersed, backing away like scolded wolves.

The feeding was over.

Those who hadn’t eaten would have to wait.

Asher’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know if the beast was a chieftain, a guardian, or something worse. But he knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t a force meant to be provoked.

“Move. Now.” Asher jumped down, landing silently beside his paladins.

Without another word, they retreated into the forest, vanishing like ghosts.

No one spoke. Not until they were far, far from the crater.

Now Asher understood why there were no monsters in this part of Whitewood.

The minotaurs had cleared them all out.

And if they ever left their crater—if they ever hunted outside their sacred ground—then it was only a matter of time before they stumbled across his fledgling town.

A shadow crossed his face.

Would they come?

And if they did… would he be ready?

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