I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 617: Demon King

The other survivors began dropping to their knees as well, the movement spreading through the crowd like a wave.

Nine thousand demons prostrating themselves in the swamp water, heads bowed, bodies trembling as they communicated surrender so complete it transcended simple obedience into something approaching worship.

Jack’s expression didn’t change. He stood there, surrounded by one hundred thirty resurrected demons who waited for his next command while nine thousand survivors prayed he wouldn’t decide to repeat the culling.

His attention shifted toward the clearing’s exit, his purpose here complete.

Punishment delivered, power demonstrated, loyalty secured through an overwhelming display of strength tempered by unexpected mercy that made the survivors grateful instead of resentful.

He took three steps toward the northern path that would lead him back to the portal connecting Floor Twenty to Floor Twenty-one.

Then a voice shattered the clearing’s terrified silence.

”The Demon King will kill you if you keep this up!”

The voice belonged to a demon who looked young despite being in his early twenties.

Equivalent to a human teenager based on development relative to the species’ millennia-long lifespans.

His bark-like skin showed less extensive cracking than the older clan members, and his smaller frame pointed out that he hadn’t yet reached full physical maturity.

He stood near the clearing’s western edge, having broken free from his mother’s grip with strength fueled by accumulated terror finding outlet in suicidal honesty.

His mother’s face went white; what little color her corrupted complexion possessed drained away as horror registered in every line of her expression.

Her hands shot out to grab her son, fingers closing around his arm with force that would have broken his bones if she were not careful.

”Quiet!” she hissed, her voice cracking with panic that transcended normal parental concern into genuine life-or-death urgency. ”Be silent! Don’t speak! Don’t...”

But the boy pulled against her grip, his eyes fixed on Jack’s back with intensity born from fear that had finally exceeded his ability to contain it.

”He’s killed two Infernal Nobles already!” the boy continued, his voice rising despite his mother trying to physically drag him down to the swamp water. ”Noble blood spilled twice! The Demon King doesn’t forgive that! He can’t! He’ll come down from his castle and erase you for the insult!”

The clearing’s atmosphere shifted instantly, terror transforming into something approaching apocalyptic dread as the surviving demons processed what the boy had just said.

Their eyes tracked between Jack and the teenager, calculating whether this outburst would result in another massacre or whether the Soul Warden would demonstrate the same mercy he’d shown by resurrecting the dead.

The mother succeeded in pulling her son down, both of them collapsing into the swamp water with a splash that sent ripples across the surface.

She tried desperately to cover his mouth with her hands, bark-like fingers pressing against his face to muffle further words while dark fluid poured from her cracks like tears.

”Forgive him!” she gasped, her voice breaking with desperation that made the words barely intelligible. ”He’s young! He doesn’t understand! Please, Soul Warden, he meant no disrespect! He’s just frightened and speaking without thought!”

Her entire body trembled as she held her son, trying to make them both as small and non-threatening as possible while praying that drawing the Soul Warden’s attention wouldn’t result in their immediate deaths.

Jack had stopped walking when the boy first spoke, his posture unchanged, but his attention clearly redirected.

He stood there for three seconds, processing the outburst with the same clinical assessment he’d applied to everything else in this clearing.

Then he turned, movement casual as he faced the source of the interruption.

The boy’s eyes went wide as Jack approached, his mother’s desperate attempts to keep him quiet intensifying as she recognized that drawing the Soul Warden’s direct attention was potentially the last mistake either of them would make.

But Jack’s expression carried no rage, no murderous intent, no indication that he was about to add two more corpses to the clearing’s collection.

Instead, his face showed genuine curiosity, as if the boy had presented an interesting puzzle worth examining rather than an insult demanding violent response.

He stopped three paces from where mother and son knelt in the swamp water, his yellow-orange eyes tracking across the teenager’s face with an assessment that stripped away bravado to reveal the terror beneath.

”Why are you so certain I’ll die?” Jack asked, his tone making the question sound like an academic inquiry rather than a threat. His voice was relaxed, almost conversational, as if discussing weather patterns instead of his own potential execution.

”Explain your reasoning. What makes you think the Demon King will personally intervene?”

The boy’s mouth worked soundlessly beneath his mother’s fingers, his eyes darting between Jack’s face and his mother’s desperate expression as he tried to determine whether answering would make things better or worse.

Jack’s hand moved in a small gesture, the motion carrying casual authority. ”Let him speak.”

The mother’s hands fell away from her son’s mouth as if Jack’s words carried physical force, her entire body trembling as she knelt there powerless to protect her child from whatever came next.

The boy’s voice emerged shaky and uncertain, stripped of the conviction that had fueled his initial outburst. ”You... you’ve killed nobles. Two of them. Valdoren the Magnificent on Floor Two. An Infernal Viscount. And the Infernal Third-Tier you executed on Floor Twenty-Five. That’s... that’s two members of the Infernal Nobility.”

His hands clenched in the swamp water, fingers digging into mud as he forced himself to continue despite every instinct screaming to stay silent.

”The Demon King doesn’t forgive insults to his nobles. He can’t. If he lets you kill ranked demons without consequence, it shows weakness. Other powerful entities will see it as permission to challenge his authority. So he’ll come. He has to come. It’s not about revenge or justice...

It’s about maintaining the hierarchy that keeps the tower’s demon population from descending into complete chaos.”

The boy’s voice dropped lower, fear overwhelming the analytical tone he’d been trying to maintain.

”And when he does come... you’ll die. Everyone knows what the Demon King can do. How many Soul Wardens he’s killed over the centuries. How many challengers have tried to claim his throne and failed? You’re strong, but you’re not...”

His voice trailed off as imagination failed to provide adequate words for the gulf between Jack’s demonstrated power and what the Demon King supposedly represented.

Jack’s expression didn’t change throughout the explanation; his curiosity, apparently, was satisfied by hearing the boy’s reasoning laid out in clear terms. His head tilted slightly as he considered the logic.

Then his lips curved into a small smile that made the temperature in the clearing seem to drop several degrees despite producing no actual environmental change.

The expression wasn’t cruel or mocking. It carried genuine amusement mixed with anticipation, as if the boy had just told him about upcoming entertainment rather than his inevitable execution.

”If I were so lucky, kid,” Jack stated, his voice carrying across the silent clearing with perfect clarity. His tone remained completely relaxed, treating the Demon King’s intervention as a desirable outcome rather than a death sentence. ”He’d come now. Then my business with Dreknar would be over.”

The words landed like a slap to the face, creating ripples of shock that spread across every demon present. Their eyes went wider, dark fluid leaking faster as they processed what Jack had just said and tried to reconcile it with their understanding of how power hierarchies worked.

The boy’s face went blank, his mind clearly struggling to parse the statement that treated the Demon King’s personal attention as a convenient development rather than an apocalyptic threat.

His mother’s hands came up to her mouth, muffling the gasp of disbelief that escaped despite her attempts at silence.