Reincarnated Lord: I can upgrade everything!
Chapter 457 - 457: Upgrading The Village Into A Town

The moment Asher gave the command, the trunks—scattered across the clearing like the corpses of felled giants—were engulfed in a golden beam of light.

It wasn't a sudden flash, but a curtain of golden brilliance that surged forward, sweeping past Asher and his warriors with a divine hush, like wind rustling through sacred banners. The light moved toward the village, thickening as it reached the perimeter. And then, it descended.

When the brilliance faded, it left behind a transformation.

Where there was once open ground, now stood a towering palisade—whitewood logs standing upright, each nearly nine meters tall, perfectly aligned, their bark stripped smooth and gleaming like polished bone. They were bound together with thick ropes, tighter than steel rivets, so seamlessly joined that not even air could pass between them.

Asher approached the wall, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. He raised a fist and slammed it against the wood.

Thud.

The sound was dull and deep—solid—but the wall didn't so much as shiver.

He narrowed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and this time struck with half his strength—enough to crush a boulder or shatter the skull of a king beast.

Thud.

The whitewood palisade trembled slightly. Just that—trembled. It held.

Asher's brows lifted with quiet awe. That strike carried several tons of force. And yet… the wall remained unyielding. It was no mere construction of logs and rope. It was something else now—enchanted, sanctified by the domain, perhaps even worthy of calling a true fortress in the making.

His gaze drifted to the stumps left behind in the forest, each like a severed neck. Only now did he fully grasp how much Force must have aided them earlier in cutting down those trees. Without it, taking down those giants would have been a feat for titans, not men.

Still, this was only the beginning.

"Rest for the night," Asher finally said, turning to his gathered soldiers. "Tomorrow, we continue."

Murmurs of acknowledgment passed among them. Many drifted toward the newly raised barracks, exploring it with tired but eager steps. Some began sparring in the open yard, their weapons clashing under the amber glow of twilight, finding rhythm and relief in motion even after a day's labor.

Asher remained where he was, sinking down onto one of the thick stumps near the palisade, its top still sticky with whitewood sap. He stared into the fading horizon—the orange-tinted treetops burning with the last embers of sunlight.

The wall was strong. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

He envisioned a greater version of it—reinforced palisades, walkways, ramparts for sentries, and battlements for archers. He needed the wall to breathe war, to look like it belonged to a lord who had survived storms of blood and fire.

His aim was clear: to upgrade Whitewood from a humble village to a proper town.

Once he achieved that, he could summon four hundred more troops from his dominion.

And he already knew who they would be.

Scarlett Templar Giants.

Warriors of monstrous stature, clad in blood-red plate inscribed with oaths, their brute strength rivaling even the Paladins who followed him now. With four hundred of them, he could garrison Whitewood properly—turn it into a bastion.

The reason he couldn't summon more Paladins, for now, was clear. They had their charge elsewhere—guarding his family, the sacred vaults, and the most vital places across his lands.

Ten Paladins, along with dozens of Angels, were stationed at Silverleaf Bastide— the small city cradled in the mountains, where the lifeblood of House Ashbourne was stored: their war machine blueprints, their armour designs, and professionals.

Those designs were not just tools of war. They were symbols of what made Ashbourne feared.

If even one of them fell into enemy hands…

…House Ashbourne might as well be declared dead.

Asher shut his eyes.

Sapphira's voice echoed in his memory, soft but precise—like an inscription carved into the walls of fate itself.

"A village allows you to summon a hundred, excluding yourself. A town raises that number to five hundred. A stronghold permits two thousand. A fortress… ten thousand."

She hadn't said more. But what little she revealed was enough to set his mind spinning.

If his enemies already possessed a fortress and had managed to march at least eight thousand soldiers into this realm, then his delay, his caution, might have already cost him dearly.

His access to the realm's resources—cut off if they took his village.

His chance to meet the Kingmaker—shattered.

And without the Kingmaker…

He would never truly become a king.

His gaze drifted up to the sky—now dark, speckled with stars. In the legends of Boundless, the rise of a new king was always heralded by a crimson comet streaking across the heavens, its flame so bright that every man, woman, and child on the continent would bear witness.

It was destiny written in the stars—undeniable, unforgettable.

The last time the sky burned red was over three centuries ago, when House Intis ascended and was crowned royalty.

Asher opened his eyes, a quiet storm brewing within them. He turned and made his way toward the lord's residence. There was work yet to do.

….

The following day, the village stirred early. Mist still clung to the earth as men marched into the whitewood forest once more. Muscles ached, but spirits burned brighter than ever.

This time, under Asher's command, the strategy changed.

No more cutting all at the base.

"Uproot some," he instructed. "Whole."

They obeyed—digging around the roots, leveraging their strength and tools, heaving the pale giants from the earth. The white trees groaned as they were wrenched free, the sound like bones cracking in a sleeping god's spine.

Each tree was then transferred into the village grounds—ten in total.

But soon, a new problem arose.

There was no more space.

Trunks were stacked along the borders, encroaching into paths and around buildings. The village itself groaned under the weight of its own growth. But that weight was the weight of progress.

By the end of the day, they had gathered more logs than before, albeit only slightly.

Still, it was enough.

Asher stood outside the barracks as the last light of dusk faded from the sky. He slung his sword over his shoulder, sweat streaking down his arms, and wiped his brow.

Then, it came.

A new message unfurled before his eyes—shimmering and radiant.

[Criteria for upgrade fulfilled. Would the host like to upgrade Whitewood Village into Whitewood Town with a reinforced wall? Yes or No?]

A slow, feral smile tugged at the corner of Asher's mouth.

The kind of smile only a man who knew he was ready for war could wear.

"Yes," he whispered.

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