I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 642: Do you resent it?

The chamber they entered was austere and private, designed for the Elven King’s personal quarters away from the throne room’s theatrics.

Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the western wall, and through them, the sun was descending toward the horizon in shades of amber and crimson.

The light painted everything in warm copper tones, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the stone floor.

Maelor moved immediately to the window, his ancient frame silhouetted against the dying light. His hands clasped behind his back.

He was shouldering a burden that far exceeded his physical capacity. The strain in his shoulders was palpable, not the acute tension of immediate confrontation, but the profound, persistent tension of someone who has carried a weight for an extended period without respite.

Jack remained at a respectful distance, his hooded form dark against the warm light flooding the chamber. He stood motionless, waiting, allowing the King his moment of silence as the kingdom’s external beauty continued to exist while its internal structure crumbled beneath the surface.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Maelor spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

”How do you know so much about my son?” he asked, still staring out at the sunset. His fingers tightened slightly on the windowsill, the knuckles beginning to show white.

”A human noble, thousands of miles away from Cordelia Magic Academy, possesses more accurate records of Rhys’s progression than I do. The King of the Elven Kingdom. His father. The man who should know him better than anyone alive. How is that possible?”

The question carried more than mere curiosity. It carried the weight of a father’s deepest shame.

The realization that a stranger understood his own child better than he did. That a foreigner had invested more attention in Rhys’s development than the King himself. It was an admission that cut to the heart of Maelor’s failure.

Jack subtly adjusted his hood, contemplating the inquiry with meticulous precision, as if carefully selecting each word.

When he spoke, his tone was measured, professional, offering no false comfort or diplomatic softening.

”Information is the only currency that doesn’t devalue, Your Majesty,” Jack stated. ”When the son of a King is the third most powerful student in the world, moving through an institution as prestigious as Cordelia Magic Academy, certain people take notice. Certain organizations ensure they understand what is happening with individuals of genuine significance. The Kaiser family has learned that awareness of emerging power is as valuable as the power itself.”

He paused, allowing the implication to settle like sediment in still water.

”You should ask yourself why you didn’t take the same precautions, why your own son’s achievements were invisible to you while they were perfectly visible to us. Why a foreign power cared more about your son’s development than his own kingdom did.”

The words landed like a blade, and Maelor’s entire body stiffened.

But he didn’t turn from the window. He continued watching the sun descend, processing the weight of what Jack had just articulated.

His own son’s extraordinary achievements had been tracked more carefully by a foreign power than by the King himself.

”I received reports,” Maelor said slowly, his voice emerging with the defensive tone of someone trying to justify the unjustifiable, ”from the Academy. They stated that Rhys was progressing at an acceptable rate. That he showed promise but remained... unremarkable. That his advancement was steady but not exceptional. That he was competent but not outstanding.”

”And you believed them,” Jack said.

”I wanted to believe them,” Maelor replied, his voice dropping lower. ”Because believing them meant I didn’t have to confront what I already suspected. What I already knew, in my heart, to be true.”

”Which was?” Jack pressed, his tone remaining neutral but probing.

Maelor’s shoulders sagged fractionally. ”That my own household was lying to me. That the people I trusted most were actively obstructing my son’s path. That I was a King in name only, a figurehead who rules while others make the actual decisions about what happens in my kingdom.”

He fell silent again, allowing that admission to settle across him like a physical weight.

”How long have you known?” Jack asked after a moment.

”Suspected?” Maelor replied. ”Years. At that moment, I understood that my son was struggling in ways I couldn’t help him with. That the Academy and the Council knew something about his situation that they weren’t telling me. And I realized that if they were keeping secrets about Rhys, they might be keeping other secrets as well.”

Maelor finally turned from the window, his ancient eyes meeting Jack’s hooded form for the first time. ”But I had no evidence. Just the growing certainty that I was being manipulated by those closest to me.”

He proceeded to a table situated by the window, exhibiting signs of fatigue. His hand gestured toward it with the authoritative simplicity of someone accustomed to issuing orders rather than asking for permission.

”I require payment to save face with my people for the bridge,” Maelor stated, his tone carrying the weight of a formal transaction. ”The Azure Gate bridge will need reconstruction. The people must see that their King is rebuilding what was damaged. That order and stability will be restored despite everything that has been revealed.”

Jack’s hand moved, and a portal opened beside the table. A heavy cloth sack emerged from the rift, its weight evident in the way it settled against the wooden surface with the unmistakable sound of metal coins settling into place. The weight was substantial, genuine, impossible to deny.

He said nothing.

Maelor glanced toward the table. A brief acknowledgment of the payment’s arrival.

He registered the sack, noted its presence with the clinical assessment of someone who understood the practical realities of power, and returned his attention to the sunset without further comment.

Maelor stared off into the distance for a couple of moments before speaking again.

”Do you resent it?” Maelor asked, his voice emerging with genuine curiosity tinged with desperate hope. The question had weight to it, not merely an inquiry about Jack’s personal feelings, but something far deeper. ”Being a Chosen One? Being born into the Kaiser name? Does the weight of that legacy ever become... unbearable?”

The question revealed vulnerability: a King asking a younger being about the burden of power, because he desperately needed to understand whether what he carried could ever feel like anything other than a prison. Could power ever be anything other than a burden?

Jack remained silent for a moment, considering the question with the care it deserved.

The sunset deepened, the light shifting incrementally from amber to deeper orange, and the entire chamber seemed to darken in proportion.

”Power is a tool, Your Majesty,” he finally replied. ”Like any tool, it can be wielded or set aside. It can be used to build structures or to destroy them. It can create or devastate. But the burden doesn’t come from having power. The burden comes from refusing to use it decisively when circumstances demand it.”

He took a step forward, his presence commanding attention in the way only authentic power can.

”My father learned long ago that the real burden isn’t the weight of what you carry. It’s the weight of what you refuse to carry,” Jack continued. ”The decisions you don’t make because you’re afraid of their consequences. The actions you don’t take because you’re concerned about how others will perceive you. The opportunities you let slip away because you lack the courage to seize them.”