I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 529 529: Itʼs been a while

Miraʼs fire blazed brighter around her wounded form, pride and desperation mixing in equal measure as she processed Jackʼs casual question about her preferred method of execution.

”Thatʼs not possible,” her voice carried false confidence that cracked at the edges. ”You canʼt summon one of those three things here to kill us. The mana cost alone would drain you completely, and the time required for proper manifestation would give us more than enough opportunity to interrupt the ritual or escape.”

Her words came faster than normal, the slight tremor in her voice betraying the fear she tried to mask.

Sheʼd seen summoning rituals before.

She knew the circles required, the chants necessary, the vulnerability inherent in channeling that much power for extended periods.

But even as she spoke, doubt crept through her certainty like ice through warming flesh.

Jackʼs head tilted slightly, his mismatched eyes tracking her with the detached curiosity of someone observing an insect struggling against inevitable doom.

”Who said anything about summoning one of them?”

The words landed as hammer blows, each syllable driving deeper into Miraʼs false composure.

Her breathing hitched as the implication crashed through her bravado. Warrenʼs blue tattoos flowed faster across his skin, his mind racing through scenarios with growing horror.

ʼHeʼs not talking about summoning,ʼ Warrenʼs thoughts spiraled with terrible clarity. ʼHeʼs stating theyʼre already present. Either physically here within the dome, or... or he can transform into one of them himself.ʼ

His gaze snapped to the portal still hanging open behind Jack, the massive thirty-foot gateway that had seemed excessive for transporting a human-sized mage.

ʼThe portal. It wasnʼt oversized preparation... It was an exact measurement for whatever came through. Which means...ʼ

The realization settled into his awareness like ice water through his veins.

ʼThe size of the portal equals the power of the entity that emerges from it. Jack didnʼt make it that large by accident or poor control. He made it precisely that size because he needed that much space. And if he needed thirty feet to come through...ʼ

Warrenʼs jaw clenched as the full implication crystallized.

ʼWhat the hell did he become on Floor 25?ʼ

Miraʼs orange eyes widened as the same understanding crashed through her combat-hardened composure.

The massive gateway, the blood covering Jackʼs torso, the mismatched eyes burning with elemental power...

Jack wasnʼt boasting.

He was stating facts with the casual certainty of someone announcing weather conditions rather than describing apocalyptic capabilities.

Her fire flickered despite her enhanced constitution, fighting to maintain the Contractee stateʼs stability.

The flame that should have been constant wavered like a candle in the wind, her control slipping as psychological pressure overwhelmed her hardened discipline.

Jackʼs attention shifted entirely away from the Council members, his mismatched gaze tracking to where Loryn stood, maintaining the massive barrier, and S.

”Loryn. S.” Jackʼs voice carried across the assembled army without raising volume, his words somehow cutting through the oppressive silence with clarity.

”Make sure this barrier wonʼt break. I donʼt want the outside world to witness whatʼs happening.”

He didnʼt shift his stance or acknowledge their positions beyond the verbal command.

He just stood there, waiting for confirmation while his focus remained elsewhere.

The dismissive quality of the order spoke volumes.

Jack wasnʼt asking for their assistance. He was commanding subordinates, expecting obedience without question or hesitation.

Sʼs red eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he dropped the final piece of tangerine peel onto wet stone. The fruitʼs remnants landed with a soft plop that carried across the silence, joining the scattered evidence of his casual dining during such a tense moment.

”The barrier will hold, Master. Nothing short of divine intervention will breach it from either side.”

The confirmation was delivered with absolute certainty, no hesitation or qualification softening the statement.

S spoke with the authority of someone who understood what barriers needed to be perfect.

Satisfied, Jackʼs attention returned to Alaric. His mismatched eyes locked onto his father with a focus that excluded everything else.

”What are you doing here, Father?” The question, asked earlier and interrupted by Miraʼs reckless charge, returned with the same mild curiosity.

Alaricʼs purple eyes tracked his sonʼs transformed appearance.

The blood-soaked hair, the mismatched eyes burning with elemental power, and the missing hand.

His gaze lingered on the cauterized stump, the sealed flesh where a hand should have been.

No horror registered in his expression, no paternal anguish at seeing his child maimed. Just clinical assessment of an injury and tactical evaluation of how it might impact combat effectiveness.

”I was intercepted on my way home by agents,” Alaric replied, his tone carrying none of the disappointment or anger a father might express upon discovering his child had been wounded.

Just a clinical recitation of facts leading to his current presence. ”So I came to check on you.”

His gaze dropped to Jackʼs cauterized stump, the sealed flesh where a hand should have been. ”What happened to your hand?”

Jackʼs expression remained neutral, his voice carrying no particular emotion as he explained the injury with the same detachment someone might use to describe property damage.

”The woman killed my hand. I had to cut it off to survive.”

The words were simple, completely divorced from the pain and desperation that must have accompanied such a brutal choice.

Alaricʼs purple eyes shifted to Mira, and his demeanor changed.

The air itself grew heavier, pressure rising as if an invisible force was compressing reality.

Bloodlust rolled off the Duke in waves so thick they became almost visible.

A crimson aura that made reality strain from proximity to such concentrated killing intent.

Mira took an involuntary step backward, her fire flickering as survival instincts overrode wounded pride.

Every cell in her body recognized that Alaric Kaiser had just elevated her from ”opponent” to ”target marked for elimination,” and the distinction carried implications that transcended simple combat.

Her enhanced constitution prevented her legs from buckling, but only barely.

The bloodlust washing over her was the killing intent that came from someone whoʼd ended thousands of lives and felt no particular emotion about adding more to the count.

Warren extended his hand to stabilize her, as his heightened perception registered the Dukeʼs abrupt change in demeanor.

Theyʼd fought Alaric and survived through his restraint more than their capability. But restraint could evaporate in an instant when the family became involved.

The footsteps that had been echoing throughout the dome grew louder.

Each impact resonated with escalating intensity, the rhythmic percussion building like a war drum.

The masked figure whoʼd been walking from the shadows now stood just a few feet in front of Warren and Mira, his massive frame creating a barrier between them and the assembled threats.

White porcelain gleamed in the dim light filtering through the barrierʼs dark mana walls.

The runes carved into the mask pulsed with faint luminescence.

Both Council members physically relaxed as the newcomer positioned himself protectively.

Their shoulders dropped from defensive tension, the tight coiling of muscles.

Breathing slowed from hyperventilation to a normal rhythm, though still elevated by adrenaline and lingering fear.

With Magnus present, they werenʼt facing impossible odds alone anymore.

Warrenʼs tactical mind immediately began cataloging escape routes, calculating whether this distraction might provide the opening they needed to breach the barrier and flee.

His water manipulation senses tracked the domeʼs structure, searching for weaknesses that Lorynʼs construction might have left exposed.

The masked figure stood silent for a long moment, his yellow eyes visible through narrow slits in the white porcelain, tracking the assembled forces with calculating assessment.

Thirty thousand demons kneeling in perfect formation, S and Pho positioned near the portal, Loryn maintaining the barrier with dark mana that pulsed in steady rhythm.

Then his attention shifted to S, and when he spoke...

”How has the eighty-ninth floor been?”

The question was casual, as if asking about the weather.

Sʼs red eyes gleamed with dark amusement at the inquiry, his blood-covered suit leaving small puddles as he shifted position slightly.

One hand moved to adjust his collar, the gesture oddly civilized despite the blood painting his clothing.

”Itʼs been a while since Iʼve been there. Circumstances change, contracts evolve, and my presence became... unnecessary for maintaining certain arrangements.”