I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 839: Watch Closely

The ten councilors stood completely paralyzed.

The sheer, ruthless pragmatism of the tale.

The cold, calculated deceit, the use of a brother’s bones as armor, the absolute destruction of a clan’s leadership from the inside out.

Mirrored the exact fate that had just befallen the High Council of Caeloria in the throne room.

“You’re a monster…” Selene Alyon whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at him with profound terror.

“I am efficient,” Jack corrected smoothly. “A god tasked me with cleaning up this Spire. The floors were infested with stagnant corruption and broken power structures. I don’t have the time to hold debates or plead for cooperation. I clean the rot, bind the survivors, and turn them into a functional vanguard. And they obey every single word I speak because of one simple truth: I am the Soul Warden.”

The ten councilors looked at each other in total confusion.

“Soul Warden?” Yandor Sideris muttered, his brow furrowing as he searched his centuries of academic knowledge. “There is no such title in the ancient records of the First Sun. Is it a rank within the human kingdoms? An alchemical order?”

At the edge of the assembly, King Maelor remained completely silent.

The ancient King did not utter a word, but his knuckles tightened visibly against the hilt of his broadsword.

Beneath his stoic facade, Maelor’s mind was reeling.

Unlike the ignorant nobles who knew only the politics of their isolated continent, Maelor had read the forbidden, primordial texts locked in the founding dynasty’s deepest subterranean archives.

He knew the ancient legends of Elysium and the metaphysical keepers of reality.

To hold the mantle of the Soul Warden was not merely to be a powerful mage or an elite conqueror; it was to hold the ultimate administrative authority over life, death, and the transmigration of souls across the entire cosmic order.

Elowen Ashwood, recovering some of her composure, pointed a slender finger toward Jack’s left arm.

“If you possess such absolute, terrifying power,” Elowen asked, her sharp emerald eyes narrowing upon the dark leather sleeve that hung slightly looser than the right, “then what happened to your hand? How does an immortal conqueror lose a limb?”

Jack glanced down at his left wrist.

Under the tailored cuff of his coat, the sleeve ended with nothing visible in the sleeve.

There was no flesh, no fingers, only an empty void where his hand had once been.

Jack let out a short, quiet chuckle that sent a shiver down the councilors’ spines.

“That,” Jack said, gesturing lazily toward the right scrying portal where Mira was currently leaping across a basalt chasm on Floor 21, “was her doing.”

Sable Malakor’s breath hitched. “The red-haired girl?”

“When she was alive, Mira was the supreme matriarch of a fire clan,” Jack explained, his voice smooth and detached.

“She possessed a rare, ancient bloodline technique: the Supernova Palm. It doesn’t just burn flesh with heat; it violently extracts every drop of moisture and cellular energy from whatever it touches, causing organic and inorganic matter to dehydrate and collapse into ash.”

Jack raised his left forearm, tapping the stump with his right index finger.

“During our battle, she managed to land a single, glancing blow on my left palm,” Jack continued calmly. “Within two seconds, the skin on my fingers withered and turned to gray dust. The necrosis was traveling up my meridians, eating through the bone and spreading toward my forearm. If I had hesitated for another three seconds, my entire arm would have dissolved into powder. So, I drew my blade, severed my own hand at the wrist, and let it bleed until I could handle her.”

The councilors stared at him in stunned, horrified silence.

The casual, matter-of-fact way he described amputating his own arm in the middle of combat was more terrifying than any display of raw magic.

“And what did you do to her?” Sirius Anake asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“I used an ancient technique that almost destroyed my other arm,” Jack said, his heterochromic eyes gleaming with dark finality. “I tore her soul from her corpse, burned away every single memory, identity, and thought she ever possessed, and bound her eternal spirit to my being. She broke my hand… so in return, I turned her into my personal dog. She lives only to obey. She fights only when I point. And she will serve as a mindless hound for the rest of eternity to repay the mess she made.”

A suffocating, dead silence fell over the obsidian plateau.

The ten councilors looked between Jack’s empty sleeve, the scrying portal showing the silent, obedient Mira, and the thousands of demons kneeling below.

The last lingering thoughts of rebellion, of finding loopholes in their Soul Contracts, or of plotting a counter-coup with the provincial armies evaporated completely from their minds.

They were dealing with a force that did not operate on mortal logic, pride, or mercy.

Jack turned his back on the trembling nobles, looking toward Pho.

“Pho,” Jack commanded, his voice shifting into a crisp, authoritative tone.

The blue Deathfrost demon stepped forward instantly, his massive frame dropping into a deep, respectful bow. “Speak, Master.”

“The trial between Rhys and Theo will conclude on Floor 13,” Jack said, his gaze sweeping across the Spire. “I want the intermediate sectors secured before we make our descent. Take five hundred of the Sovereign-class dragons and five hundred of the white-armored Dark Elves. Descend to the mid-tier floors immediately and execute a complete military sweep. Clear every rogue entity, secure the perimeter arrays, and purge Floors 14 through 19.”

Pho’s eyes ignited with icy, battle-hungry radiance. “It shall be done as you command, Soul Warden. Floors 14 through 19 will be cleansed before the hour ends.”

Pho turned on his heel, letting out a deafening, piercing whistle that resonated across the entire mountain range.

“ROOOOOOOAAAAR!”

From the skies above Floor 25, five hundred colossal Sovereign dragons detached from the defensive formation, their massive wings beating with the force of hurricanes as they banked downward in tight, disciplined echelons.

Below the plateau, five hundred Dark Elves, their white armor gleaming brilliantly against their charcoal skin, drew their blades in unison, marching in perfect ranks toward the descending dragons.

Within seconds, the massive aerial strike force surged through a massive, shimmering spatial gate that opened along the northern ridge, plunging into the lower floors to execute Jack Kaiser’s absolute will.

Jack stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind howling around his coat as he looked back at the twin scrying portals.

On the left, Theo Althalos bled heavily from his shoulder, his dragon roaring in frustration as it struggled against endless waves of water demons rising from the ocean depths.

On the right, Prince Rhys and Mira were already clearing the outer perimeter of Floor 21, moving with unstoppable, lethal momentum toward the final trial floor where he would deal with demons similar to his master.

Jack’s lips parted in a sharp, cold smirk.

“Watch closely, Councilors,” Jack said quietly, his voice cutting through the wind. “You are about to witness the true birth of Caeloria’s new dynasty. And every one of you will only have me to thank for that.”