Reincarnated: I Became The First Warlord Of The World-Chapter 77

No one said a word. They all followed Evan into the helicopter, one by one, casting one last glance over their shoulders at the man who chose to remain behind.

As the helicopter’s blades began to spin, lifting them back into the sky, Evan stared down at Jonathan standing tall among the ruins, a lone figure of resistance against the encroaching night. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He brought a hand to his chest and whispered, barely audible over the hum of the rotors.

"Stay safe... and deliver your hometown from this madness."

Evan gave Jonathan a small nod, the kind that carried weight no words could express. Then, without another word, he turned toward the helicopter—but every step he took felt heavier than the last.

He wished, with everything in him, that he could stay behind and fight alongside Jonathan. This—this was the kind of soldier he had always dreamed of standing beside. The kind of man who didn’t just carry weapons but carried the weight of others. Who didn’t just take orders but carved meaning out of chaos.

If only he had an ounce of energy left in him. If only his body hadn’t been pushed to the brink. If only his bones weren’t trembling under the pressure of the last battle. He would have stayed. Without hesitation.

But Evan knew his limits. And he knew that going back out there with an empty tank would only drag Jonathan down—and he couldn’t do that to him.

Behind him, Willow stood frozen. Her eyes didn’t blink. Her fingers gripped the straps of her uniform like she was trying to hold back the urge to stop Jonathan by force. But what could she even say?

Jonathan had made up his mind. Not out of arrogance, but out of something deeply rooted. A loyalty that ran thicker than blood. A man who saw his hometown falling and refused to run, even when he had every excuse to.

Willow wanted to say a hundred things, but none of them made it to her lips.

So she did the only thing that felt right. She stepped forward, straightened her back, and gave him a firm salute—eyes locked with his.

"You better come back," she muttered under her breath.

Jonathan smiled faintly. "I’ll do more than come back," he replied. "I’ll clean up this mess."

Willow didn’t trust herself to speak again. She gave him one last look—the kind of look that only comrades who had walked through fire together could understand—before turning around.

She followed Evan from behind.

Evan and the team walked into the helicopter with a heavy heart. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken emotions—respect, admiration, sorrow, and uncertainty. As they took their seats inside the chopper, each one of them turned for one last glance at the man standing firm like a lone flame refusing to flicker in a storm.

Jonathan stood tall, the wind from the helicopter’s blades whipping through his hair and tugging at his tattered uniform. He raised a single hand in a firm wave, a farewell filled not with weakness or doubt, but with purpose. Evan, seated by the window, lifted his hand in return and mouthed words Jonathan couldn’t hear—but he understood. "Stay alive."

The helicopter roared louder, lifting higher into the sky, blades cutting the air with authority. Dust and debris swirled around Jonathan’s boots as he shielded his eyes, watching the steel bird climb into the heavens. His heart panged—not with fear, but with longing. A part of him wanted to go, to be somewhere safe, even if just for a few hours. But he knew better.

From the moment he woke up in this world, reborn, rebirthed, reforged in flame and memory—he knew. He wasn’t brought back to live a peaceful life. No, fate had thrust a much greater burden upon him.

He had a responsibility, to protect Dreamway, to destroy Alphacrest.

And most of all—to stop the madness of war that had bled too many nations dry.

That was his purpose. That was why the heavens gave him a second chance.

Jonathan closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath as the last echoes of the helicopter faded into the sky. He could still hear the hum, feel the vibration in the earth—but he was alone now. And he was ready for it.

As the winds died down and the quiet settled back over the ruined base, the sound of boots crunching on broken ground approached him.

Captain Liam stood nearby, his taskforce already dispersing to scout the area.

He turned to Jonathan, his face lined with exhaustion but lit with admiration.

"Will you be okay?" Liam asked with sincere concern. "We’ll protect you. I admire your bold move for deciding to stay."

Jonathan straightened, clicked his boots together, and brought his hand up in a crisp salute.

"Captain Liam," he said, voice low yet steady, "I’m heading to my birthplace—Old Dockside. I’ve heard Base Commander Charles has pushed the fight that way. I intend to stand beside him."

Liam’s brows knit in surprise. Old Dockside lay at the center of the ruins, a place every recon drone had flagged as the fiercest hot-zone—fires still raging, sporadic gunshots echoing, Alphacrest banners flapping over half-collapsed rooftops. Any sane officer would have hesitated. But Jonathan? He simply adjusted the straps on his ruined armor and began checking the knives tucked into his belt, as calm as if preparing for morning drill.

There wasn’t a shred of fear in him—only an iron resolve.

Liam took a step back and studied the younger man. This soldier had already fought through a Titan Whale, taken point against an elite captain, and was now volunteering to plunge straight into the city’s burning heart. Not for medals. Not for orders. For people—civilians still trapped, soldiers still resisting.

Remarkable, Liam thought. A soldier born from the very soil he’s sworn to protect.

"You realize Old Dockside is crawling with enemy elites," Liam said quietly. "We’ve picked up multiple heat signatures—half of them in Alpha armor. It’s a meat grinder down there."

Jonathan gave a single nod. "That’s why I have to go."

Liam searched his face for any flicker of doubt—and found none. Only certainty.

Slowly, the veteran captain’s lips pressed into a respectful line. He straightened his own posture, brought his hand up, and returned the salute with all the gravity an officer could muster.

"Then go," he said. "Stand with Commander Charles. Do what you were born to do."

Captain Liam saluted Jonathan and gave him the go ahead that he can go and save his people.

Jonathan responded to Captain Liam’s salute with a firm nod and a fierce glint in his eyes. Then, without another word, he bent his knees and launched himself into the sky.

The air around him cracked from the force of his takeoff.

Captain Liam’s eyes widened as his head jerked upward to follow the streaking silhouette.

What the hell...? the movement was swift—unnaturally swift. It wasn’t just a high jump or a burst of speed. Jonathan had covered dozens of meters in a second, soaring above the debris, vanishing behind the broken rooftops with the grace of an elite.

Liam didn’t even have time to blink before Jonathan was gone from sight.

"That... that’s not normal," Liam muttered.

A few nearby soldiers turned to look at him. He was still staring into the sky, jaw slightly slack.

It wasn’t just the speed—it was the pressure that followed the jump. A wave of energy had rippled outward the moment Jonathan took off. It was the kind of thing only seen in high-tier cultivators. Not Junior Privates. Not commoners.

Liam clenched his fists slowly, brows pulling tighter.

If Jonathan had been born into a noble house, trained from youth with resources and ancient bloodlines, then this level of movement might’ve made sense.

But Jonathan?

Jonathan was a commoner.

A soldier who had barely awakened weeks ago.

A name unknown to the elites of Alphacrest or Dreamway.

And yet... here he was, moving like a phantom across the war-torn skyline.

Liam’s mind raced, remembering the initial reports of Jonathan’s awakening—low background energy, average physical potential. Nothing special. Nothing elite.

But everything he was seeing now screamed otherwise.

"Just who are you really, Jonathan?" Liam thought, his gaze still locked toward the sky.

He was well aware of the time Jonathan went through his awakening.

They had all the team data to themselves—that was why Captain Liam knew Jonathan’s exact stats. The moment the task force was deployed, the headquarters had uploaded every known detail about the units on the ground, especially the privates who had submitted reports. Jonathan’s file was among them—basic profile, average scores, combat assessments.

He remembered it clearly.

Jonathan Hale.

Commoner.

Fourth stage of his magical path.

No signs of special lineage or high affinity.

That was the report, but what he just witnessed... it didn’t match.

The leap, the aftershock, the movement—it resembled a B-ranked mobility skill, maybe even a rare enhancement technique layered beneath it. The way the air cracked, the slight shimmer around Jonathan’s legs, the energy that briefly pulsed outward—it had the signature of something far above his stage.