I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 305: How do you know?

Jack’s eyes opened to the golden light streaming through his window.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his body didn’t ache.

He lay there for a moment, savoring the unfamiliar sensation. The sheets were soft against his skin. The air carried the faint scent of breakfast being prepared somewhere below.

Birds sang outside his window. Normal birds, not chickens trying to claim his bed as their personal roost.

His father, Duke Alaric, and his mother, Lady Genevieve, had returned yesterday.

He’d heard their arrival through the manor’s walls.

The clatter of horses, the shouted greetings from guards, Octavia’s voice rising in relief as she greeted them.

Jack sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The movement was smooth, effortless.

He stood, crossed to the washbasin, and splashed cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him looked older than it should.

’Though technically,’ Jack thought as he dried his face. ’Five hundred days in Tartarus Spire. One and a half years compressed into three weeks of external time.’

The tower’s time dilation had aged him. To everyone else, he was still sixteen, but in reality, he was almost eighteen.

He dressed quickly, wearing simple, informal clothes.

If his father wanted a discussion, formality could wait until after breakfast.

The manor’s corridors were already busy with servants preparing for the day. They bowed as he passed, their eyes carrying that same mixture of respect and reverence he’d seen since returning.

Word of what he’d done had spread through every level of the household.

The dining hall’s doors stood open, allowing morning light to flood through the tall windows. His family was already assembled.

Duke Alaric sat at the head of the table, his dark magic subdued but present. Shadows that clung to his shoulders like a cloak.

Lady Genevieve sat to his right, her composure perfect despite whatever concerns lurked behind her eyes.

Octavia and Celeste flanked the table’s other side. Annabelle sat between them, her small frame nearly swallowed up by the high-backed chair.

All of them looked up as Jack entered.

”Good morning,” Jack said, moving to his seat without waiting for an invitation.

”Jack.” Alaric’s voice carried pride. ”Join us.”

Jack sat, and servants immediately appeared with plates.

Eggs, bread, strips of bacon that smelled better than anything he’d eaten in Tartarus Spire. He began eating without ceremony.

Silence stretched across the table. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just... waiting.

Octavia broke the silence.

”We need to talk about what happened,” she said with a stern look. ”About where you were. About what you did.”

Jack swallowed his bite of eggs before responding.

”What specifically would you like to know?”

”All of it,” Alaric said, his golden eyes, so similar to Jack’s own, studying his son with intensity that could break weak men.

”You disappeared for weeks. No word or explanation. Then you return and kill fifteen thousand mercenaries in a single day.”

”The disappearance is easy to explain,” Jack said, reaching for his water. ”I was in a dungeon.”

Celeste’s fork clattered against her plate. ”A dungeon? For weeks?”

”Three weeks, yes.”

Lady Genevieve’s composure cracked fractionally.

Her hand moved to her throat, fingers pressing against her as if checking her own heartbeat. ”Jack... do you understand what that means?”

”I do.” Jack took another bite, chewing slowly. ”One day inside equals one hour outside. Three weeks of external time means I spent approximately five hundred days in the dungeon. A year and a half, give or take.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Annabelle’s eyes had gone wide, her breakfast forgotten.

Octavia stared at Jack as if seeing him for the first time, recalculating everything she thought she knew about her brother.

Celeste’s usual carefree demeanor had vanished entirely; her mouth was left open from the shock.

Alaric leaned back in his chair, his shadows rippling with agitation. ”Five hundred days. You survived five hundred days in a dungeon. Alone.”

”Not entirely alone,” Jack said. ”I had companions for parts of it. But yes, mostly alone.”

”That’s...” Octavia started, then stopped. Her strategic mind was clearly working through the implications, calculating what kind of experience that represented and what kind of growth it would bring.

”Jack, that kind of sustained combat, that level of pressure... it should have broken you.”

Jack’s lips curved slightly. ”They sure tried.”

Lady Genevieve’s hand trembled as she set down her teacup. ”How? How did you survive?”

Jack met her gaze directly. ”I can tell you. All of you. But first, you need to understand something.”

He let his eyes sweep across each family member in turn. ”What I’m about to share cannot leave this room. Not to anyone outside this family. If word of this spreads, if even a whisper reaches the wrong ears, I will be forced to kill whoever knows. Not because I want to. Because the information is that dangerous.”

The words hung in the air like a guillotine about to cut someone’s head clean off.

Alaric’s shadows intensified. ”Jack...”

”I’m serious.” Jack’s voice carried finality that made even his father pause. ”This isn’t a negotiation. Either you agree to absolute secrecy, or I say nothing, and we finish breakfast in silence.”

Before anyone could respond, Jack turned toward the door. ”Seraphina.”

She appeared almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting just outside. ”Young master?”

Jack gestured her closer. She approached, bowing her head as she leaned down to hear his whispered words.

Whatever Jack said made her eyes widen fractionally.

Then she nodded once and withdrew without a word.

The family watched this exchange with varying expressions of confusion and concern.

Octavia’s eyes narrowed. ’What did he just tell her?’

Jack turned back to the table. ”Well?”

Alaric studied his son for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. ”We agree. Whatever you need to tell us, it stays in this room.”

”All of you?” Jack’s gaze swept across them again.

Octavia nodded. Celeste followed suit. Annabelle looked uncertain but copied her sisters. Lady Genevieve inclined her head with grace.

”Good,” Jack said. ”But words aren’t enough. I need a promise. A real one.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, a simple blade, nothing ceremonial, and placed it on the table between them.

”Each of you will cut your palm,” Jack said, his tone matter-of-fact. ”Not deep. Just enough to draw blood. Then you’ll rub your hand in dirt and rub the mixture on your forehead.”

The family stared at him.

”Jack, what...” Octavia started.

”Do this,” Jack interrupted, ”and I’ll know you’re serious. I’ll know your promise isn’t just words spoken over breakfast that you’ll forget by dinner.”

Celeste’s usual humor had vanished entirely. ”That’s... oddly specific.”

”It is what it is,” Jack replied. ”Either you do it, or we finish eating and never speak of this again.”

Before anyone could reach for the knife, Alaric’s hand slammed down on the table. Not hard enough to break anything, but loud enough to make everyone jump.

His eyes were locked on Jack with intensity that bordered on alarm. Shadows writhed around his shoulders like serpents.

”How do you know about that?” Alaric’s voice was low and dangerous. ”Jack. How do you know about that ritual?”

Jack met his father’s gaze without flinching. ”Does it matter?”

”Yes,” Alaric said, his tone leaving no room for deflection. ”It matters a great deal. That gesture, that’s not some children’s game.”

He stood slowly, his considerable presence filling the room. ”That’s a demon ritual. A symbol of peace and truce between warring demons. A way to stop wars before entire realms burn. I’ve only seen it performed twice in my entire life, both times when I was sent to quell demon uprisings that threatened to spill into our world.”

The dining hall went absolutely silent.

Octavia’s face had gone pale. Celeste’s hands gripped the armrests of her chair. Lady Genevieve’s composure had cracked entirely, her eyes moving between Jack and Alaric with something approaching fear.

Annabelle didn’t understand the implications, but she understood enough to know something profound had just shifted in the room.

Alaric’s shadows expanded, darkening the corners of the dining hall despite the morning sunlight. His voice dropped even lower.

”So I’ll ask you again, my son.” Alaric grimaced. ”How do you know about that?”

Jack held his father’s gaze for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

Not reassuringly.

The kind of smile that belonged to someone who’d just been asked exactly the question they were waiting for.

”Because,” Jack said quietly, ”that’s part of what I need to tell you.”