Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!-Chapter 421: Hard Truth

Two months had passed since the rains began, and still, the skies wept without pause.

Now, within the grand stone hall of Nineveh—where sunlight, pale and half-hearted, filtered through towering arched windows—the council of vassals had convened.

The hall echoed with silence and tension. At the high table sat Regent Kelvin Salvatore, his silver-streaked hair slicked back like polished steel, eyes sharp beneath heavy lids. Flanking him were the kingdom's most powerful vassals: Count Alec Lyon, huge and barrel-chested, with a lion's mane of black-curly hair; Count Finn Waters, lean and composed, fingers drumming faintly against his goblet; Viscountess Katarina Dremlen, thin-lipped and robed in somber gray; Viscount Claude Flameheart, cloaked in red and bronze, his eyes smoldering with suppressed ire; City Lord Aquila, calm and beautiful ; and Lord Commander Adam, dressed in blackened plate, his gauntleted hands entwined on the rectangular table.

Despite the illusion of sunlight, the mood was cold and oppressive. Outside, the rain continued—soft, steady, and unyielding—a ceaseless drizzle that had not lifted for sixty days. It whispered against glass panes and slick stone, a constant background murmur that set nerves on edge.

Lowland towns and villages had become swamps. Farmlands were submerged, roads vanished into mud, and rivers swelled until they devoured their banks. Entire communities had been evacuated, their people crammed into neighboring cities under makeshift shelters. Disease loomed in the air like a second storm.

Worse still, the Sacred Flame Empire had confirmed it wasn't just Ashbourne.

It was raining everywhere on Tenaria.

A continent that dwarfed all of Earth's landmasses combined—and then doubled—was slowly drowning beneath its own sky. The oceans that surrounded Tenaria, once distant and tame, now seemed to whisper of reclamation, as if they waited to consume the last remnants of civilization.

Within the hall, the lords sat in silence, silk cloaks heavy with house emblems, gold-threaded brooches pinned to their chests. Some bore the weight of damp travel; others wore the weariness of sleepless nights.

They had not come out of ceremony or tradition. No, this kind of council only convened under one condition—

Crisis.

A threat not to one province or city, but to the realm itself.

And at the heart of every such gathering, always—

His Lordship.

"He's not present," Katarina said softly, her eyes fixed on the empty throne—an ornate seat carved from stone and steel, now cold and silent. It loomed like a void at the heart of the hall, the absence of its owner more thunderous than any voice.

"He returned after a full month... and since then, he's locked himself away for two more," she continued, her voice laced with concern. "Rumors now fester—whispers of Lady Sapphira violating the marriage pact and birthing bastards. A slap to the throne. The cities murmur, and the people demand justice for their lord." ƒreewebɳovel.com

Lord Claude Flameheart leaned forward, his voice sharp and firm. "We cannot ignore it any longer."

Regent Kelvin's eyes snapped to him, cold and cutting. "What exactly are you suggesting, Lord Claude?"

"That we uncover the truth!" Claude replied, his voice rising. "The people are restless. Their homes are drowning, roads are impassable, trade routes are crumbling. Wild beasts flee the drowned forests. And still, no word from their ruler! If this silence persists, rebellion may not be far behind."

"You're not implying we apprehend Lady Sapphira, are you?" Count Alec Lyon asked, his voice heavy with restrained fury.

Claude exhaled sharply. "Of course not. The poor woman gave birth two months ago. And His Lordship—he didn't even acknowledge it. Not a letter. Not a word. But we cannot remain in ignorance any longer."

Kelvin closed her eyes, weary. "Our enemies are already exploiting the rumor. It's a crack they will drive open to shatter the dominion's spine. Still... has anyone seen Lady Sapphira?"

"I tried," Katarina said, lips thinning. "But the Crimson Temple refused me entry."

"As did I," Aquila added, her voice clipped. "But I heard the chief apothecary was summoned urgently to her chambers in the second week, three months ago. That confirms she did give birth—to her children."

"If they were truly His Lordship's heirs, he wouldn't be hiding in silence," Count Finn Waters interjected coolly. "He would be celebrating. He'd throw a feast that would shake the foundations of Ashbourne."

"His personal guard claims he ordered her to leave," Finn muttered. "Something deeply grave must have occurred for His Lordship to cast away the woman he cherished so openly. I can think of no greater betrayal than the breach of sacred vows."

"You honestly believe," Aquila asked slowly, "that a woman of her station would stoop to share a bed with any man here—or worse, a guardsman?"

The room fell into a hush.

Aquila's scowl deepened. Her lips curled into a beautiful but contemptuous sneer. The mere suggestion that Lady Sapphira—a woman of impossible grace, a siren before whom even kings would kneel—would debase herself so utterly was an affront. Her fists clenched against the arms of her chair.

"She could command half the realm's men with a smile," Aquila hissed. "And we are to believe she lay with some nameless spearman? With someone not even fit to polish His Lordship's boots? No matter how rational you sound, Finn, you insult us all with that notion."

Kelvin raised a hand, his voice low but final. "Enough. This matter is too volatile. His Lordship will speak—when he's ready. Until then, we will not speak of it again."

A tense pause followed, broken only by the sound of distant rain tapping against the stained glass.

Katarina cleared her throat, pushing the conversation forward. "Then let us speak of the flood. Have any of you found a solution?"

Just then, the great doors creaked open.

A soft hush fell across the chamber as a man stepped into the hall, clad in robes of black and gold that shimmered faintly beneath the filtered sunlight. His gait was slow, deliberate—his back hunched from a lifetime bent over scrolls, vials, and ancient texts. Wisps of brown hair framed a gaunt, thoughtful face. Despite his frailty, there was something unsettlingly sharp in his gaze, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

It was none other than James—the chief apothecary of Ashbourne.

He bowed his head slightly, his presence met with a ripple of whispers and narrowed eyes. Some lords sat straighter, others exchanged glances.

"I believe he should have been summoned by you, Regent," said Lord Commander Adam, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but laced with iron. "But since you did not, I invited him here at the hour I deemed appropriate."

Kelvin frowned but did not speak. The tension in the room thickened like the storm outside.

James came to a halt just beyond the circle of nobles and rested both hands atop his gnarled cane, his dark eyes unreadable.

"We have questions," Adam continued, his gaze fixed on the apothecary. "Questions concerning His Lordship's twins."

The word twins seemed to echo against the stone walls. A stir passed through the council.

James remained silent for a moment, as if measuring the weight of what was being asked.

"Then ask," he finally said, his voice low and steady, "but know that some truths, once spoken, cannot be unheard."