Reincarnated: I Became The First Warlord Of The World-Chapter 60

He spread his arms wide and stamped his foot hard on the ground.

The earth beneath him cracked open violently, and with a deep rumble, a massive earth ball surged from the broken ground like a beast awakened. Thick, solid, and covered in glowing runes, the boulder launched forward with terrifying speed—zooming straight at Jonathan like a cannon fired at close range.

Willow’s eyes burst open in shock.

She had seen Paul’s attacks before—felt the weight of them, struggled under their pressure—but this one was on a whole different level. The sheer size, the speed, the violent force pulsing from the earth ball... it was far beyond anything he had used earlier.

"That’s not the same technique..." she whispered.

She could feel it in her bones. This was a finisher—a skill meant to crush, not just defeat.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her limbs.

"Jonathan!" she shouted, starting to rush toward him.

But she was too late.

The attack had already reached him.

The massive earth ball roared like a falling mountain, covering Jonathan’s entire vision. It blotted out the light with its size, spinning with crushing force as it closed in.

But Jonathan didn’t flinch.

His eyes were calm. Focused. Cold.

He took a deep breath through his nose, slowly, controlled. His body didn’t shake. His feet didn’t shift. He simply stood there—waiting.

Then, right as the attack came within a heartbeat of smashing into him, Jonathan raised his hand.

A single, smooth movement.

And just as the attack was about to connect—he brought his palm down with force.

"Palm Strike: Plus One."

The moment his hand dropped, a burst of orange energy exploded from his palm—sharp, clean, and precise.

CRACK!

The massive earth ball shattered into pieces.

Huge chunks of stone were blasted backward, flying in all directions, breaking apart mid-air before they could even hit the ground.

Dust and shards rained down gently around him, but Jonathan stood tall—unmoved, untouched.

Jonathan didn’t say a word.

He stood in the middle of the battlefield, dust settling around him like ash after a storm. The shattered remains of the massive earth ball lay scattered at his feet. His orange aura flickered faintly around him, slowly fading—but his eyes, cold and steady, never left Paul.

He had said nothing.

But his actions had spoken louder than war drums.

he hadn’t dodged, he hadn’t shielded.

he hadn’t run, He had stopped it, With one hand.

The silence that followed was heavier than the attack itself.

Every single Dreamway soldier—Willow, Ezra, even Jonathan’s former doubters—stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths parted slightly, as if their brains were trying to piece together what their eyes had just witnessed.

Ezra blinked twice.

"That was a... a direct hit," he muttered. "No one blocks that and stays standing..."

One of the newer recruits whispered under his breath, "Did he just... palm a tier-five attack like it was nothing?"

Jonathan didn’t turn to them. He remained still, the wind gently rustling his shirt. His face didn’t change, but inside, he knew—he was done dragging this out. He could feel it in his bones. This wasn’t about proving anything anymore.

It was about ending it, he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t need to explain.

But from the way Paul had pushed, from the arrogant words, from the way everyone had doubted—not just him, but Willow, Evan, the entire Dreamway squad—he knew he had to finish this.

And fast.

Because he was tired, Not just physically, He was tired of the disrespect.

Tired of being underestimated.

Tired of the noise, the boasting, the drama that came with men like Paul.

This fight had gone on long enough.

And across from him, Paul was slowly getting back up again—blood on his lips, rage burning in his eyes, disbelief twisting across his face like a curse.

He couldn’t understand it.

He had used everything in that last attack.

And Jonathan had broken it. Easily.

Paul staggered a bit, shaking his head like he was waking from a nightmare.

But he wasn’t alone in his shock.

Even members of the Alphacrest squad watching from afar were stunned.

"What... what is that guy?" one of them murmured. "He wasn’t even on the list of known threats."

"Where did Dreamway get him?" another whispered.

It was like a crack had opened in reality, and through it, Jonathan had stepped into a version of himself no one saw coming.

Willow stared, still trying to process the moment.

Then—suddenly—she started laughing.

Soft at first, then louder.

Ezra turned to her in confusion. "Willow?"

But Willow wiped the edge of her mouth, her face finally relaxed.

Her laughter wasn’t out of mockery. It wasn’t nervous.

It was relief, For the first time since the battle started, she felt her chest loosen.

Because now she knew something with absolute certainty.

No matter what came next...

Jonathan would come out victorious.

Willow stared at Jonathan with wide eyes, her mind still racing, trying to catch up with everything that had just happened.

She thought she understood him.

She thought she had already seen what he was capable of.

But clearly, she was wrong.

Very wrong.

She had always believed Jonathan was quiet, reliable—someone who followed orders and kept his head down. Not the loudest. Not the fastest. Just... steady.

But now, that same quiet soldier was standing tall in the center of a shattered battlefield, his back straight, his breathing calm—as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just broken through one of the strongest attacks Paul had ever launched. As if he hadn’t just embarrassed a high-ranking Alphacrest warrior in front of both squads.

And that was exactly what was happening.

Embarrassment.

Willow could see it clearly now.

Paul was shaking with fury. His own team had gone quiet—some biting their lips, others exchanging glances they thought no one noticed. They had seen it too. They had seen how Jonathan didn’t flinch, how he didn’t struggle, how he destroyed the attack and stayed standing like it was child’s play.

And whether Paul liked it or not—whether any of them liked it or not—the balance of power was shifting.

The soldiers watching would start to think it.

They’d whisper it in their minds, even if they didn’t say it out loud.

"Jonathan... is stronger."

Willow’s heart was pounding now, not with fear, but with the weight of realization. Jonathan wasn’t just here to fill space. He was here to change everything.

And from the look on Paul’s face, he knew it too.

His pride was burning.

But Willow could tell—he wasn’t done.

Paul would never walk away after being humiliated like that. No. He would strike again. He would try to reclaim control, try to show everyone watching that he was still the superior fighter, that he wasn’t about to let a "mere soldier" rise above him.

Willow narrowed her eyes, reading the tension in Paul’s movements.

He was already planning his next attack.

And this time, it wouldn’t just be big—it would be brutal.

She watched closely as Paul’s hands began to glow again, this time a darker shade of brown, almost black. The ground beneath his feet rumbled—not cracking, but twisting, like it was being rewritten.

This wasn’t a basic earth attack.

This was something deeper.

He was channeling something strong.

Something dangerous.

Willow could see it—the way his muscles tightened, the way his stance changed. He was preparing a core technique—something that came from the heart of his magical path.

And when he launched it, it was going to be the kind of attack that reshaped the battlefield.

Willow clenched her fists, She knew it, She could feel it.

Paul was planning to unleash something massive.

Something that would either silence Jonathan... Or destroy everything around him trying, And it was coming.

At that moment, Jonathan’s instincts kicked in.

His eyes flickered toward Willow, and though she hadn’t said a word, something about her body language shifted. The way her fingers twitched. The way her gaze locked intensely on Paul. The way her stance was slightly lowered, braced—as if she was preparing for something.

She was planning.

Jonathan could feel it in the air—a tension, quiet but sharp, like a bowstring being pulled back.

He didn’t know what she was about to do.

He didn’t know when she would strike.

But he knew something was coming.

And he had to be ready.

His heartbeat slowed, not out of fear, but focus.

This battlefield—chaotic and unpredictable—was where instinct mattered more than logic. He had already faced the impossible tonight. What was one more wave?

He braced his stance again, centering his weight, his eyes scanning both Willow and Paul.

Whatever was coming—whether from Paul’s fury or from Willow’s unspoken strategy—he would face it head-on.

He wasn’t afraid.

Not now. Not anymore.

And if whatever happened next was part of someone’s plan to bring him down...

Then they were about to learn something important.

Jonathan would not only survive it—

He would make sure they realized it was a big mistake to ever think he wouldn’t.