I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 824: My Love

[A/N: I apologize to anyone who bought this chapter before I updated it. I accidentally posted a chapter from my second book here.]

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The profound silence that enveloped the esteemed Council Chamber transcended a mere lack of sound.

It manifested as an oppressive, stifling presence, permeated by the acrid odor of vaporized blood, the pungent essence of bile, and a distinct metallic aroma that filled the room.

Around the sweeping, elevated semicircle of carved mahogany desks, nine of the eleven High Councilors of Caeloria lay slumped in various grotesque postures of physiological ruin.

Their blood, darkened to a tar-like crimson by the neuro-corrosive distillation brewed in the Spire’s alchemical laboratories, continued to drip with a slow, rhythmic cadence from the polished stone moldings.

Each drop struck the pristine white marble of the sunken floor below with a faint, sizzling hiss, etching microscopic pits into the centuries-old masonry.

At the base of the royal dais, the ruined bulk of the Blue Demon lay pinned like an insect beneath an invisible pin.

His four shoulder stumps twitched with involuntary, rhythmic spasms, weeping thick, viscous ribbons of indigo fluid across the lower steps.

The creature’s single remaining eye, dilated into a black, lightless sphere under the crushing authority of the [Sovereign’s Command], remained locked onto Jack Kaiser with a glaze of unadulterated, spiritual helplessness.

Jack stepped forward, the heels of his dark boots striking the stone.

He did not look at the dead nobles.

He did not spare a glance for the lake of Rowan Starling’s cooling blood that crept steadily toward the center aisle.

His focus was anchored entirely upon the trembling, indigo face beneath him.

“Demon,” Jack said, his voice dropping into a smooth, conversational cadence that carried the absolute, unbending gravity of an iron decree. “Tell me the truth: was Caspian the only one you had dealings with? Surely, this wretched, sniveling elf could not be the mastermind behind everything.”

A violent shudder racked the demon’s massive, four-meter-long frame.

The creature’s crystalline teeth ground together with a sound like grinding millstones, flecks of cobalt froth spraying past his lips as he fought against the invisible, soul-binding chains constricting his mind.

His vocal cords seized, the thick, corded muscles along his indigo throat bulging as he attempted to swallow his own tongue to preserve the secret.

It was entirely useless. Under the Sovereign’s Command, his consciousness was merely a helpless passenger in a body compelled to obey.

“No…” the Blue Demon gurgled, the word tearing out of his throat like a jagged piece of shrapnel.

“The pale dog… was merely the clerk. He moved the wagons through the southern trade artery under the guise of the Silverleaf Merchant Guild. The wagons had forged seals… but he didn’t have the authority to bypass the High Wards at the Western Gate. Every shipment required the royal crest.”

The demon let out a raspy, agonizing chuckle that splattered blue blood across the marble step.

“The idiot didn’t hold that crest,” the demon rasped, the compelled truth pouring from him in an unbroken, humiliating torrent.

“He carried out the logistics, but the mind that drew the maps… the one who demanded the blood to preserve her fading youth and refine her core… sits above.”

The demon’s neck strained, his single, terror-stricken eye rolling upward, tracking past King Maelor until it locked directly onto the golden throne.

“Queen Morvana.”

The name dropped into the vast chamber with profound, somber finality.

“She demanded forty barrels of pure, unadulterated essence every quarter-turn of the moon,” the demon continued, his voice vibrating through the stone dais with sickening clarity.

“She drank the refined distillation in secret, staving off the decay. She met that wench in the forgotten underground vaults beneath the Western Spire… sharing a bed while her King sat blind upon his throne, believing her to be in secluded meditation.

She handed me the exact patrol rotations of the frontier outposts, telling me which garrisons to butcher so the supply lines remained unmolested. She promised me the entire western river valley once Maelor withered from the slow, necrotic draughts she had been slipping into his evening vintage.”

A wet, rattling gasp escaped Caspian Alyon as he lay huddled against the base of the left balustrade. The young councilor was trembling so violently that his teeth clicked against one another.

He clawed at the floor, dragging himself toward Jack’s boots, desperate to deflect the impending doom.

“Lord Kaiser! Please!” Caspian wailed, his aristocratic voice breaking into a pathetic, high-pitched screech.

“I have the keys! I have the private ledgers hidden beneath the vault floor in the third district! Hundreds of Thousands in gold, beast cores, trade agreements with the northern merchant leagues….

I will give it all to you! It wasn’t my design! Sariel threatened to liquidate my family, and Morvana promised me an entire province once the King fell! I was only an instrument! Spare my life, and I will serve as your dog!”

Jack stopped, looking down at Caspian with an expression of flat, clinical boredom.

“A dog that bites its master once will bite the next,” Jack said smoothly. He reached inside the lapel of his coat and produced a slender crystal vial.

Inside, an oily, violet-black substance swirled with an unnatural light. It was Loryn’s most concentrated brew.

An alchemical neuro-toxin refined specifically for high-tier mana users.

“Do you know what this is, Caspian?” Jack asked softly, holding the vial between two fingers.

“You traded in crude Bloodrush, but this is the apex of the craft. It enters the bloodstream, seeks out the central mana core, and forces it to overcharge until the pathways reach critical temperature. Your own mana will boil your blood, dissolve your organs, and liquefy your marrow from the inside out.”

Jack tossed the vial through the air.

A white-armored dark elf guard stepped forward, catching the glass with a sharp, soundless snap of his gauntlet.

“Make sure Caspian drinks every drop,” Jack commanded, his voice cold and devoid of inflection. “He wanted to manage the distribution of refined essence. Let him experience the true pinnacle of the craft.”

“No! No, please! Maelor, mercy!” Caspian shrieked, his voice breaking into a high, pathetic wail as he scrambled backward on his elbows, his silk robes tearing against the blood-soaked floor. “Morvana, my love, tell him! Tell him I only followed your orders! Maelor, I beg of you…”

The two white-armored soldiers moved towards Caspian.

One soldier drove an iron-clad boot down onto Caspian’s chest, pinning the councilor to the floor with enough force to crack his sternum.

The second soldier knelt, seized Caspian’s silver hair with one hand, and violently yanked his head back until his throat was stretched taut.

With his other hand, the dark elf uncorked the vial with his teeth and poured the thick, violet sludge directly into Caspian’s open, screaming mouth.

The soldier clamped his gauntleted hand over Caspian’s jaw, pinching his nostrils shut with two fingers, forcing the councilor’s throat to swallow the poison in convulsive, desperate gulps.

The effect was horrific.

Caspian’s screams were cut short as his body went completely rigid.

His eyes bulged, the blood vessels in his sclera rupturing in rapid, wet pops that filled his sockets with thick, arterial crimson.

His veins turned jet-black against his pale skin, swelling until they looked like writhing worms beneath his flesh.

SNAP.

Caspian’s spine arched backward with such violent force that his pelvis lifted six inches off the floor, the sound of his vertebrae separating cracking through the hall like dry timber.

Black, smoking bile erupted from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes, his mana channels igniting in a chain reaction of internal combustion.

His skin turned a mottled, bruised purple as his muscles contracted continuously, crushing his own ribs until his lungs collapsed.

Within thirty seconds of silent, thrashing agony, Caspian Alyon went limp, his body melting into a puddle of caustic, foul-smelling sludge that hissed as it ate into the marble.

Morvana watched her lover dissolve, her mouth hanging open, her chest heaving in rapid, panicked breaths.

Jack stepped over the steaming puddle of Caspian’s remains, stopping at the base of the dais. He looked up at the King, then shifted his gaze toward the trembling Queen.

“As we agreed, King Maelor,” Jack said, his tone carrying the calm, terrifying certainty of an emperor closing a ledger.

“The mastermind of this atrocity belongs to the victims. The orc clans of Krogar have lost thousands of their sons and daughters to these distillation vats. One hundred thousand warriors are mobilized along the western rim, prepared to raze Caeloria to the bedrock.”

Jack tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Morvana’s pale, sweat-slicked face.

“Handing over the primary architect is the only political currency that will prevent total war,” Jack continued smoothly.

“Send her to the Great Chieftain of Krogar as a gift of peace. Let the orcs decide whether she is worthy of the executioner’s pyre… or if she is better suited to be stripped of her titles, bound to their pens, and used as a breeding sow.”