I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 624: It doesn’t work

Seven thousand years ago.

The number refused to reconcile with what Jack knew.

’That’s wrong,’ Jack thought immediately. ’The demon outbreak on Erbeon happened three hundred years ago. Demons told me that was because of Malakai’s control. Seven thousand years doesn’t match unless...’

He stopped as the answer slammed into him.

Twenty-four hours in Tartarus Spire equaled one hour in Erbeon. A ratio Jack had internalized through repeated exposure, but never fully considered the long-term implications of.

His mind raced through the mathematics with cold precision.

7,200 years in the tower. Divided by twenty-four. 300 years in Erbeon.

’The correlation is exact,’ Jack realized. ’Malakai disappeared from Tartarus Spire over seven thousand years ago. That translates to roughly three hundred years in Erbeon. The demon outbreak happened three hundred years ago. The timing matches perfectly.’

The demons broke free three centuries ago, overwhelming the Prosperity Kingdoms in a wave that couldn’t be stopped, and without Ren there, they all died.

And now Jack knew why they’d broken free.

Malakai had disappeared. The Soul Warden who’d apparently kept the demons contained, who’d maintained whatever balance prevented Floor Twenty-Five from spilling its horrors into the wider world, had vanished.

Without him, the demons had done what demons did. They’d spread, consumed, and destroyed everything they could reach.

’Malakai wasn’t just powerful,’ Jack thought, his understanding shifting. ’He was essential. A lynchpin holding back catastrophe. When he disappeared, everything collapsed. And without Ren to stop the outbreaks, everything was consumed.’

The weight of that realization settled across his shoulders like a physical burden. He stood in the same position Malakai had once occupied.

Which meant if Jack disappeared, if he failed, the consequences wouldn’t be limited to his personal defeat.

The demons would break free again. The cycle would repeat. Another nation falling to demons.

’No pressure,’ Jack thought darkly.

Kael had been watching him during the silence, those glowing eyes tracking micro-expressions that probably revealed more than Jack intended.

”You’ve figured it out,” Kael observed, his tone carrying something approaching approval. ”Most don’t make the connection that quickly. They hear ’seven thousand years’ and dismiss it as ancient history, irrelevant to whatever brought them to claim the throne.”

”The demon outbreak,” Jack stated. ”Three hundred years ago in Erbeon. Malakai’s disappearance caused it.”

”Caused is perhaps too strong a word,” Kael replied, beginning to walk. He wanted Jack to follow, and Jack did, falling into step beside the former Soul Warden.

”Malakai didn’t intentionally trigger anything. He simply... stopped maintaining what he’d built. And without him, the structure collapsed.”

Their boots made no sound against the obsidian surface despite clearly making contact. The reflection below showed their forms moving across the glass, but the images seemed delayed, as if light itself moved more slowly here than in normal reality.

”What did he build?” Jack asked.

Kael’s expression shifted, becoming more guarded. ”That’s a question with complicated answers. Malakai didn’t just occupy the Soul Warden position. He shaped it. Transformed what had been a title of moderate power into something that could challenge gods and contain demons.”

He gestured vaguely at the obsidian wasteland surrounding them. ”This realm you’re standing in? It didn’t exist before Malakai. Soul Wardens would have no access to spiritual domains or have no way to commune with those who came before. Malakai created this space, these connections, as tools for future Wardens to utilize.”

”Why?” Jack pressed. ”What was the point?”

”Legacy,” Kael said. ”Malakai knew he wouldn’t last forever. Even someone as powerful as him would eventually fall to time, combat, or the simple entropy that claims everything. So he built infrastructure. Created systems that would outlive him and provide resources for whoever came next.”

The former Soul Warden’s glowing eyes tracked across the horizon, seeing something Jack couldn’t.

”​Though his throne endures and the artifacts remain functional, the domain has begun to fracture in Malakai’s absence; without him to steady the deeper mechanisms, the balance has shifted and allowed demons to slip through.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, the obsidian stretching endlessly in every direction.

There are no discernible landmarks, and the terrain lacks any variation. It is merely a smooth, black, reflective surface mirroring the emptiness above.

Then Jack saw figures emerging from the darkness ahead. Materializing from the void as if they’d always been there, and Jack’s perception was only now catching up.

”The others,” Kael said, his tone carrying warning. ”Past Soul Wardens who specialized in dark magic during their tenure. They’ve been waiting here since their deaths, trapped or preserved depending on your perspective.”

The figures took shape as they approached. Men and women of varying ages and builds, all wearing expressions that ranged from curious to contemptuous. Their forms looked solid, physical, as real as Kael despite being dead for centuries or millennia.

Jack’s attention focused forward as Kael led him deeper into the Dark Sector, but his mind still churned through the revelation about Malakai’s disappearance and its catastrophic consequences.

The past Soul Warden’s closed in. Twelve figures in total, arranged in a loose circle that put Jack at the center of their attention.

A woman stepped forward first. Silver hair pulled back severely from a face that might have been beautiful before bitterness etched itself into every line. Her robes were dark blue, nearly black, with silver threading that caught what little light existed in this void.

”A new one,” she said, her voice carrying the kind of contempt that came from centuries of disappointment. ”How long will this go on. Another pretender comes to claim greatness he hasn’t earned.”

”Look at him,” a younger man added, perhaps thirty in appearance. ”Standing there with borrowed confidence and stolen power. Does he even understand what he’s attempting?”

More voices joined, overlapping into a chorus that felt rehearsed despite being spontaneous.

”Marked by the Forgotten One. I can see the divine lightning threaded through his soul.”

”Blessed by Death. The underworld’s favor sits on him like a cloak he didn’t weave.”

”The dragons are subservient to him, not out of deference or allegiance, but due to the inherent authority vested in the Soul Warden title.”

”Demons follow because they fear the position, not the man wearing it.”

The silver-haired woman circled closer, her eyes tracking across Jack with the clinical assessment of a surgeon examining a patient before deciding where to cut.

”Strip away the gifts,” she continued, her tone sharp enough to draw blood, ”and what remains? A blank slate with delusions of adequacy. A vessel for others’ strength who thinks carrying their power makes him powerful.”

Jack’s jaw tightened as the mockery intensified. These spirits had identified his foundations and were systematically dismantling them with surgical precision.

Kael stood apart from the group, his glowing eyes watching the confrontation with a neutral expression.

Observing Jack with the detachment of someone who’d seen this scene play out countless times before.

’They’re testing me,’ Jack realized. ’Seeing how I’ll react to having my strength questioned.’

He could respond verbally. Defend himself with arguments about how every Warden throughout history had used contracts and alliances to amplify their abilities.

Point out that utilizing available resources demonstrated intelligence rather than weakness.

Or he could show them their words meant nothing.

Jack reached for his mana, pulling power from the well that had fueled every spell and technique he’d mastered.

Golden Lightning should have crackled at his fingertips, electricity arcing between his fingers in patterns that had become second nature.

Nothing happened.

The mana remained still, stagnant, refusing to answer his call as if the connection between intent and manifestation had been severed completely.

Jack’s eyes widened fractionally as he tried again, reaching deeper, pulling harder at the power that should have been there.

Still nothing.

The flames that should have erupted from his palms remained absent.