I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 780: King Maelor’s Plight Part III

“First, the demon incursion into my lands must cease. The creatures will encroach further and cause untold damage if it is not fixed soon.

Second, the orc situation. They press constantly, and I do not have the strength to repel them after what the demons did.

Third, I need control of the Council returned to me. They have grown too independent, too willing to make decisions without royal sanction. I need authority over my own kingdom restored.”

Jack’s eyes tracked Maelor’s every movement.

There was a slight tremor in the king’s left hand as it clenched and unclenched at his side.

The way his breathing remained slightly elevated, his body still processing the shock of Ren’s bloodlust.

The particular angle of his shoulders, drawn back in an attempt to project confidence, while his internal state suggested anything but.

“The demon issue,” Jack said, his voice carrying no inflection whatsoever, as if he were describing weather patterns rather than the systematic harvesting of his subject’s people, “stems from a drug called Bloodrush.

The demons are not operating independently. They are cultivating, harvesting, refining, and distributing it throughout your lands and beyond. The production method is calculated. It involves the bodies of elves and orcs as primary sources.

They use them as vessels for the harvesting process. The subjects are restrained, drained of their essence, their bodies converted into the drug through processes that cause excruciating pain and systematic organ failure.

The subjects die in the production. Their bodies are discarded once the drug has been extracted, dumped into places where they can decompose.”

Maelor’s pale eyes widened.

He reacted with a visceral gesture, as though the gravity of the information.

Specifically, the systematic extermination and deliberate exploitation of his community had profoundly disrupted his emotional equilibrium.

His breathing accelerated. His jaw clenched. But he remained standing, forcing himself to absorb each word, to process the full weight of what Jack was revealing.

“How many?” Maelor asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The question came from someone who, with sudden and devastating clarity, understood exactly what he was asking.

“Enough that it is a significant drain on your population,” Jack said.

“Enough that it represents a direct threat to the stability of your kingdom. The elves are vanishing in small numbers. Your citizens assumed them dead in accidents or demon attacks, reported to their families, mourned, and were forgotten.

The orcs are missing from their tribe, their disappearances attributed to the border conflicts. Missing persons reports filed and filed away, dismissed as casualties of conflict.”

Jack got up from his chair and stepped closer, and Maelor didn’t retreat.

“The drug enhances magical power significantly,” Jack continued. “That is why consumption is spreading so rapidly. A single dose quadruples magical output temporarily. Multiple doses create permanent enhancement, but at a cost. The users are addicted within weeks.

They require more to maintain the high, more to feel the benefits they’ve come to expect. It becomes the center of their entire existence. Everything else is secondary to the pursuit of the next dose.”

Maelor turned away. His hand gripped the edge of a nearby table, his knuckles whitening as he pressed his weight against it, as if the physical anchor was necessary to keep him standing. His pale eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them, they were wet.

“The Queen,” Maelor said, his voice barely audible. “She has been drinking this rather strange vial over the past month.”

“I did not know,” Maelor said quietly, and the admission carried the weight of a king realizing the full scope of his kingdom’s vulnerability. “I knew the demons were a problem. But I did not know the extent.”

Jack walked to the window, positioning himself so the afternoon light caught his features directly.

His gaze radiated an intense, almost supernatural luminescence, as his inherent power, transcending the physical limitations of his being, shone through.

Outside, the city of Caeloria sprawled beneath them, with buildings, streets, and elves living their lives unaware of the machinations at the highest levels of power, unaware that their city was slowly being poisoned from within.

Maelor remained by a table, his hand still gripping its edge, his breathing still elevated, his mind processing information that necessitated a reevaluation of every assumption he’d made about the stability of his kingdom.

“The orc issue is simple,” Jack said, looking out at the city, speaking as if discussing matters of basic logistics rather than the reordering of political relationships.

“They came to your borders for something specific. They have wishes that were made clear through their representatives. Give them what they came for.”

Jack turned slightly, not fully facing Maelor, but addressing him obliquely.

“And when you make the offer,” Jack continued, “when you present the goods to their leadership, mention my name as the reason for the harvest. Tell them that Jack Kaiser has ensured their compensation.

When they discover who is responsible for the Bloodrush production and uncover the full scope of what was done to their people, hand the perpetrator directly to them.

Do not prosecute through your own courts. Do not imprison them in your own dungeons. Let the orcs take the guilty party back to their lands to deal with as they see fit. Their justice will be far more savage than anything your legal system could impose.”

Maelor’s gaze lifted, his pale blue eyes settling on Jack. For a brief instant, an expression flickered across his features, an understanding of the information Jack had subtly conveyed.

Jack averted his gaze from the window. His demeanor remained impassive, yet his hands were tightly clenched at his sides, his knuckles stark white against his palms.

This tension was a profound internal struggle, perhaps stemming from suppressed anger or the lingering impact of past betrayals, which persisted despite the passage of time and intervening circumstances.

“The Council problem can be resolved swiftly,” Jack continued, each word landing with the precision of a blade finding its target.

“But you will need to have replacements in mind. People you trust. People who understand what needs to be done and are willing to do it without flinching.”

Maelor pushed away from the table. He began to pace as his mind was working through possibilities, calculating the mechanics of what Jack was proposing.

“How will you know,” Maelor asked quietly, “which Council members are beyond redemption? Which ones are so far gone into addiction that they cannot be brought back?”

“That is not my concern,” Jack said. “I care not for their addiction to power or drugs”

Maelor stood motionless throughout Jack’s explanation. His breathing had stabilized, but his chest still rose and fell in a rhythm that his heart was working harder than it should have been.

His pale blue eyes tracked Jack’s every movement.

The way his hands clenched and unclenched, the set of his shoulders, the particular intensity of his gaze.

The weight of what Jack had revealed settled over the chamber like dust after an explosion.

When Jack finished, Maelor remained silent for a long moment. His pale blue eyes had fixed on the crack in the floor, tracing its path from Ren’s position to where it ended near the chair.

The visible evidence of supernatural force remained, a scar in the stone that couldn’t be ignored or explained away, that spoke wordlessly of the power in the room and the consequences of testing it.

Maelor’s hand trembled slightly as he turned it palm-up, studying it as if it belonged to someone else.

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