I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 615 615: Degree of Control

The Blight Clanʼs primary settlement on Floor Twenty existed in what the demons called the Ashen Clearing.

A circular expanse of pale gray stone surrounded by swampland that reeked of rot and stagnant water.

Dead trees rose from the murky pools like skeletal fingers clawing toward a sky that existed in perpetual twilight.

Their bark wept the same dark fluid that leaked from the Blight Clan membersʼ corrupted skin, creating black streams that ran down twisted trunks to mix with the fetid water below.

The swamp was a place of decay and disease, where everything that grew did so through corruption rather than natural vitality.

Fungi bloomed in colors that pulsed with bioluminescence.

They were beautiful, but highly toxic.

The air carried a thickness that made breathing feel like inhaling something semi-solid, each breath coating lungs with moisture that tasted like mold and death.

Under normal circumstances, the Ashen Clearing served as the clanʼs gathering space.

A place where members conducted trade, trained their young in controlling the Blightʼs corrupted touch, and held meetings to discuss territory management and Floor Twentyʼs endless territorial disputes with neighboring demon populations.

Now it served as an open-air morgue.

One thousand corpses lay scattered across the pale stone.

The bodies showed no defensive wounds, no signs that theyʼd fought back or attempted escape. Theyʼd died where they stood, killed so efficiently that most hadnʼt registered the threat before consciousness fled and left only cooling meat behind.

The Hydraʼs work was obvious in sections where charred remains clustered together.

Seven different flame temperatures had scoured the stone, each head choosing a different intensity based on the target resistance.

Some corpses were carbonized husks, reduced to blackened skeletons that would crumble to ash at the slightest touch.

Others showed minimal external damage, their bark-like skin intact, while internal organs had been cooked to a paste by heat that killed from the inside out.

The Voidweaverʼs contribution created unsettling gaps in the body distribution.

Circular zones ten feet across, where reality had been twisted just enough to separate demons from their connection to physical existence.

The corpses in these areas looked peaceful, lying in natural positions as if theyʼd decided to sleep and never woke up. No wounds, no burns, no visible cause of death. Just the absence of life where it had been moments before.

But the majority of the dead bore Miraʼs signature.

Desiccated corpses littered the clearingʼs center in clusters.

Sheʼd moved through the population like wind through wheat, touching each target just long enough to trigger cellular death before moving to the next.

Their bark-like skin had cracked and peeled away from dried muscle, faces frozen in agony as moisture was violently extracted from every cell simultaneously.

Some had died with hands reaching toward family members theyʼd been talking to seconds before the killing started.

Others had collapsed mid-step, their forward momentum carrying desiccated bodies to the ground where they shattered on impact.

A few had died while trying to run, their dried husks creating trails pointing toward the clearingʼs edges where theyʼd believed safety might exist.

No screaming, crying, sounds of grief or rage from the nine thousand survivors whoʼd watched a thousand of their people executed as punishment for one young demonʼs arrogance.

The remaining Blight Clan members stood pressed against the dead trees at the clearingʼs perimeter, their bodies rigid with terror that went beyond normal fear into something approaching catatonic shock.

Their eyes were wide and unblinking, staring at the carnage while trying desperately not to draw attention to themselves.

Dark fluid leaked from their cracks in volumes that exceeded normal stress responses.

Some had puddles forming at their feet; others showed streams running down their legs, mixing with the swamp water.

Their corrupted physiology was screaming warnings their conscious minds had already processed: the predator was still present, and survival required absolute stillness.

Mira stood at the clearingʼs eastern edge, positioned to provide a clear line of sight across the entire killing field.

Her red wavy hair caught what little light bled through Floor Twentyʼs perpetual gloom, and her figure showed no signs of exertion despite having just orchestrated a massacre.

Her clothing was clean, her breathing steady, her posture relaxed as if sheʼd just completed a routine chore rather than murdered a thousand demons in seventeen minutes.

Her empty eyes tracked movement at the clearingʼs northern entrance, expression unchanging as Jack Kaiser walked into view.

She executed a slight curtsy. Her voice, devoid of inflection, reported the completion of the assigned task in a detached tone, as if confirming a routine logistical operation.

”One thousand Blight demons eliminated as ordered, Master. The Hydra and Voidweaver performed efficiently. Resistance was minimal. Total execution time was seventeen minutes from initial engagement to final kill.”

Jackʼs boots made quiet sounds against the stone as he entered the clearing.

His white hair seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, and his yellow-orange eyes tracked across the scattered bodies.

His path took him directly through the center of the killing field, stepping between desiccated corpses and around charred remains with casual precision that treated the dead as obstacles to navigate rather than tragedies to mourn.

He stopped beside a cluster of bodies that had died mid-conversation.

His head tilted slightly as he examined the thoroughness of cellular death.

Skin cracked like drought-stricken earth, muscle tissue visible through gaps where bark-like flesh had peeled away, eye sockets empty except for ash that had once been functioning organs.

Mira had varying degrees of Supernova Palm. She had a terrifying degree of control over how much she wanted to turn to ash and what parts she wanted left whole.

”You did well, dog,” Jack observed, his tone carrying approval that treated mass execution as a completed project worthy of professional acknowledgment.

”Systematic,” Mira confirmed, her voice maintaining its flat affect. ”Eliminated the strongest combatants first to prevent coordinated resistance. Then, it worked through the civilian population in descending order of physical capability. Final targets were the weakest, those who posed no tactical threat.”

The clinical description landed without emphasis, delivered with the same detachment she might use to discuss organizing storage containers.

Jack nodded once, his assessment complete.

His attention shifted from the corpses to the nine thousand survivors pressed against the clearingʼs edges, tracking across their terror-stricken faces with eyes that cataloged every detail of their psychological state.

The survivors formed a rough circle around the killing field, their positions creating a barrier of living flesh between themselves and the dead. Their hands were raised in gestures of submission.

Palms forward, fingers spread, bodies bent slightly at the waist to communicate they posed no threat and offered no resistance to whatever came next.

The Clan Leader stood among them, her more extensive cracking leaking dark fluid in streams that ran down her entire body.

Her eyes remained fixed on Jackʼs face with an expression that mixed absolute terror and desperate hope that this massacre had satisfied whatever punishment heʼd deemed appropriate.

Her lips moved silently, forming words that might have been prayers or simply repetitive mantras meant to keep her conscious mind from shattering under the weight of watching a tenth of her clan die in less time than it took to eat a meal.