I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 838: How??

The mad alchemist demon moved with a jerky, unnatural grace, his skeletal limbs clicking faintly beneath his taut, ash-gray hide.

He extended both of his elongated, clawed hands into the open air, the joints popping in rapid succession.

Dark mana, dense and pitch-black as liquid obsidian, bled from his fingertips, weaving through the ambient space in intricate geometric rings.

VUUUUUUM.

With a sharp, dual flick of his wrists, Loryn tore two massive, rectangular windows through the fabric of space.

The portals hovered three feet above the stone floor, expanding to ten feet wide and five feet tall, functioning as twin scrying mirrors that reflected real-time feeds from the trial floors below.

The left portal shimmered with a cold, sapphire light, displaying the violent, storm-tossed seas of Floor 11.

The image was chaotic, framed by crashing waves, dense clouds of salt-spray mist, and the thrashing wings of the Disaster-class Dragon.

Theo Althalos could be seen clearly, his silver armor dented, his face pale and smeared with blue demon blood as he desperately hacked at bone harpoons while swarms of four-armed Tidefang demons breached the churning water.

The right portal glowed with a deep, volcanic crimson, showing the desolate basalt ridges of Floor 20.

There, the scene was one of clinical, terrifying efficiency.

The scrying window caught the exact moment Prince Rhys severed the head of the Obsidian Colossus, pulling the Disaster-rank core from its smoldering chest. At the same time, Mira stood nearby, calmly pulling her suppression gloves over her lethal, ash-burned hands.

Elowen Ashwood took a hesitant step forward, her sharp green eyes fixed on the right portal. Her fingers nervously traced the hem of her green velvet gown as she watched Rhys smoothly stow the massive stone head into his spatial ring.

“He… he already cleared the primary target of Floor 20?” Elowen murmured, her voice carrying a mix of awe and profound unease.

“In less than an hour? Floor 20’s mana density is high enough to crush a standard knight’s core, yet he moves as if he is strolling through the palace gardens. If what you told us is true.”

“It’s not just the boy,” Sirius Anake spoke, his scarred jaw tight as his steel-blue eyes tracked the silent woman in the feed.

“Look at the red-haired woman. That strike… she turned solid volcanic rock into dust with a single blow. She didn’t just break the stone; she decomposed its very matter. What manner of magic was that?”

Daemon Archon leaned in, his platinum hair falling across his brow as he observed the left window, where Theo was nearly thrown from his saddle by a pressurized water geyser.

“Captain Althalos is drowning above the waves,” Daemon said, his voice cold and analytical.

“He brought a siege weapon into an ocean trench. The water demons aren’t even engaging his light magic directly; they’re pulling him into the deeps. If not for the dragon’s physical bulk, the Senior Praetor of our Vanguard would already be fish feed.”

Sable Malakor did not look at the portals.

Her cold, amethyst-violet eyes remained fixed entirely on the back of Jack Kaiser’s head. Her arms were crossed tightly over her crimson bodice, her knuckles pale under the dark leather panels.

The sheer impossibility of the situation was grinding against her aristocratic pride.

For centuries, the High Houses had operated on the absolute belief that their lineage was the pinnacle of martial and magical evolution.

Yet here, a human had effortlessly orchestrated the execution of their council, bound their souls with unyielding contracts, and now commanded a realm populated by legions of existential nightmares.

Unable to contain the suffocating tension, Sable stepped forward, her voice ringing out sharp and demanding.

“How is any of this possible, human?” Sable asked, her tone laced with sharp defiance.

“Demons are creatures of primordial chaos and bloodlust. For ten thousand years, every historical text has recorded that their minds cannot be reasoned with, that their instincts drive them to slaughter all living flesh on sight. Yet you have forty thousand of them marching in disciplined legions. You have Disaster-class dragons acting as docile mounts. How did an outsider from the mortal realm discover this place, and how have you forced monsters to live in peace?”

The other nine councilors went dead silent, their breath holding as they waited for Jack’s response.

Even King Maelor turned his golden eyes toward Jack, curious to hear how much the Emissary would reveal to the new court.

Jack did not turn around immediately. He let the wind whip through his dark coat for several long seconds before slowly rotating on his heels, his hands still casually resting in his pockets.

His heterochromic gaze swept across the ten nobles, cold and devoid of arrogance, carrying only the absolute weight of a sovereign stating plain facts.

“They live in peace because they understand what happens when they don’t,” Jack said smoothly, his voice low and carrying effortlessly across the plateau.

Jack gestured with his chin toward the towering, two and a half meter tall figure standing a dozen paces away.

Pho, the blue-skinned Deathfrost demon sentinel, stood with his massive arms crossed, his icy eyes burning with ancient, quiet fury.

“Take Pho, for example,” Jack continued, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. “When I first encountered his clan on the lower floors, they were just like you described: arrogant, proud, and convinced that their bloodline made them apex predators. Pho was the supreme warlord of his clan. He commanded thousands of warriors and had four powerful generals at his side.”

Pho shifted slightly, a low, rumbling growl vibrating in his chest, though he did not break his disciplined stance.

“Did they negotiate with you?” Calix Meridan asked, his amber eyes wide with skeptical curiosity.

“Demons don’t negotiate with humans,” Jack answered flatly. “So, I didn’t give them the chance. I hunted Pho’s younger brother in the wastes, slaughtered him, stripped the flesh from his corpse, and used his bones to forge a set of enchanted demonic armor.”

A sharp, collective gasp rippled through the elven councilors. Sylvea Starling covered her mouth in sheer horror, her lavender eyes wide with disgust, while Astraea Ouroboros visibly stiffened.

“I put on his brother’s bones,” Jack said, his tone entirely conversational, as if he were discussing the weather.

“I masked my human mana signature with pure dark energy, walked straight into the heart of Pho’s stronghold, and posed as an angry demon. I killed one of his generals and set his castle into panic. I then gained a seat at the war table of one of his four generals. I presented them with documents promising ultimate power and dominion over the upper floors. They signed them willingly, believing they were sealing a pact of conquest.”

Jack tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Sable.

“They were Soul Contracts,” Jack said. “The moment the ink dried, their wills belonged to me. One of the generals realized the trap and tried to resist. He sent a chimera after me. I ripped its tail off his back, and in front of him, beat his chimera within an inch of its life until it listened to me.

Pho fought like a beast… but once you sever the head and control the lieutenants, the body collapses. I killed Pho in single combat, bound his soul to me, and every demon under his banner bent the knee to save their race from total extinction.”