I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 815: True Dominion

High above them, deep in the subterranean tunnels, the sound of measured footsteps began to echo through the dark as a lone figure emerged into the dim light.

It was not Jack Kaiser.

The figure that stepped through the shattered, smoking threshold of the grand obsidian gates was no mere human.

He wore a tailored, pitch-black three-piece suit without a single crease, crisp white gloves, and a crimson silk tie, neatly pinned at his collar.

His jet-black hair was slicked back flawlessly. In his left hand, he held a small, perfectly ripe tangerine, casually peeling the citrus skin and all the pith in one small motion.

This was S.

To the surface world, he was merely Jack Kaiser’s quiet, impeccably mannered butler.

But to those who understood the deepest, most violent layers of the abyssal hierarchy, he was a contract demon whose true name made high-tier warriors turn cold: The Crazed Red Eye Demon.

S walked past the western reservoir where Ren stood among the white-armored dark elves. Ren didn’t even turn his head.

The Sovereign-rank warrior gave a single, clinical nod of acknowledgment, continuing his work securing the captives and ledgers.

S returned the gesture with a polite, subtle bow of his head, stepping cleanly off the shattered bedrock overlook.

The two-hundred-foot drop Pho had obliterated moments prior, and was casually walking down through empty air as if descending a marble staircase.

His leather dress shoes tapped softly against the blood-soaked causeway, completely ignoring the mountains of shattered armor and blue gore.

He glided through the three-hundred-yard bloodbath of the grand hall, stepping cleanly over bisected corpses without letting a single drop of abyssal fluid touch his polished boots.

He entered the ancient throne room.

The moment S stepped past the shattered double doors, Pho’s entire posture shifted.

The massive, roaring deathfrost demon, who had just single-handedly shattered Disaster-class sentinels and held his ground against the Blue Demon’s aura, instantly lowered his head.

Pho pulled his ice axe back, planting the shaft into the stone, and took a half-step backward, bowing his massive shoulders in absolute, instinctual submission.

The Dark Elf Commander, however, did not share Pho’s ancient instincts.

Fresh off the adrenaline high of dying forty-two times, his white armor dripping with blue gore, the commander twirled his light-spear, looked at the black-haired man in the pristine suit, and let out a sharp, mocking cackle.

“Who the hell is this old bastard?” the commander snickered, leaning on his spear as his unhinged grin stretched wide. “Did the boss send his tailor down here to measure the throne? Who does this guy think he is, walking into a warzone like he owns the…”

FLASH.

Pho’s ice axe moved with blinding, catastrophic speed.

Before the commander could even finish his sentence, Pho swung the flat side of his massive titan-steel axe in a brutal, horizontal arc.

The blow struck the Dark Elf Commander directly across his midsection, cleaving his white-armored torso completely in two and slamming his upper body violently against the stone floor.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Pho growled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, terrifying weight as he glared down at the severed commander. “Learn your place before he tears your soul out of your chest.”

The commander’s severed torso landed with a wet thud.

His manic grin faltered for a fraction of a second as he looked up at Pho’s dead-serious expression, realizing with a sudden spike of cold dread that the deathfrost demon wasn’t joking.

Strings of blood reconnected his body as his body was dragged back together, standing again in the room, completely silent, his head bowed, his hands trembling as he fell into line behind Pho.

High upon the multi-tiered obsidian throne, the Blue Demon’s glowing, lightless eyes narrowed slightly.

The giant indigo demon had watched the exchange with mounting intrigue.

He knew Pho.

He recognized Pho’s pride as a high-tier warrior of the frozen deeps.

To see a creature as dominant and feral as Pho immediately lower his head in genuine submission to a small, suit-wearing human-shaped entity sent a subtle, cold shift through the ambient mana of the throne room.

S didn’t seem to notice the tension.

He paused a few paces behind Pho, brought a segment of the peeled tangerine to his mouth, and consumed it.

“Mmm. Exceptionally sweet,” S murmured, his voice smooth, cultured, and perfectly modulated.

He wiped his gloved fingers with a pristine white handkerchief produced from his breast pocket. “A rare vintage from the eastern orchards. The Master insists on only the finest.”

S stowed the handkerchief, his crimson silk tie shifting slightly as he looked up at Pho’s lowered head.

“Pho,” S said, his tone mild, almost conversational. “The Master’s instructions were exceptionally clear. The Blue Demon’s head is to remain intact for his arrival. But why, pray tell, are his arms and legs still attached to his torso? You have been in this chamber for nearly twenty minutes.”

Pho kept his gaze fixed on the floor. “I was keeping him anchored until…”

“You were indulging yourself,” S interrupted smoothly, though there was no anger in his voice.

Only a cold, absolute certainty that made the air in the room feel thin. “You enjoy the theater of combat, Pho. The Master enjoys results.”

Up on the throne, the Blue Demon let out a low, rumbling laugh that sounded like grinding stone plates. He leaned forward, resting his massive elbows on his knees, his single-edged blade of pure abyssal ice resting across his lap.

“A butler,” the Blue Demon mocked, his indigo lips curving into a cold, arrogant sneer. “The Soul Warden achieves a few victories on the surface, and now he sends a servant in an ape’s suit to lecture my warlords? You speak of severing my limbs as if I were a carcass hanging in your master’s slaughterhouse, creature.”

The Blue Demon’s aura erupted outward in a violent, suffocating shockwave.

The deep-sea mana radiating from his frame turned the air into a crushing, gravitational vise, instantly shattering the glass in the upper archways and encrusting the massive stone pillars in thick, arctic frost.

“I am the Lord of the Abyssal Trench,” the giant declared, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. “I have ruled this sunken city since before your master’s bloodline learned to walk upright. If you wish to address me, servant, you will do so on your knees.”

S didn’t flinch.

He didn’t raise a shield.

He didn’t even shift his footing against the crushing gravitational wave.

Instead, S raised his right hand, casually tossing the remaining orange peel over his shoulder.

When his eyes reopened, the faint, polite warmth in them was entirely gone.

His irises didn’t merely change color; they transformed into twin pools of absolute, abyssal crimson.

Glowing with a sickening, ancient malice that made the shadow beneath his feet twist and writhe.

“A long speech,” S remarked softly, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying, dual-layered resonance that vibrated directly inside the skulls of everyone present.

“Though I suppose primitive creatures always feel the need to vocalize before they are butchered.”

S extended his right index finger, pointing it casually toward the vast pools of dark blue blood covering the throne room floor.

The spilled life force of the hundreds of abyssal guards that Pho and the dark elves had slaughtered.

“You speak of ruling the deeps,” S whispered. “Allow me to demonstrate what true dominion looks like.”