I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 527: Don’t ignore me

Warren turned to her, his voice barely audible despite standing right beside her, the silence making even whispers feel too loud.

"There’s got to be over twenty thousand demons here." Mira stuttered.

Knowing the precise scale of their opposition would only accelerate Mira’s descent into panic, and he needed her functional for whatever came next.

Mira’s orange eyes tracked the assembled army with growing desperation, her fire magic flaring brighter as wounded pride fought against survival instinct.

"At least," she replied, her voice tight with tension that threatened to break into hysteria.

The admission cost her.

Warren could see it in the way her shoulders tensed, in how her fire blazed hotter to compensate for the fear she refused to acknowledge verbally.

Years of hunting Soul Wardens, eliminating threats to the Council’s supremacy, and she’d never faced an army that numbered in the tens of thousands.

Then a voice cut through the oppressive silence, calm as snow falling to the ground.

As if correcting a minor miscalculation in a scholarly debate.

"Actually, there are over thirty thousand demons."

The change profound.

Warren’s water-manipulation senses registered the difference before his eyes could properly process what he was seeing, his enhanced perception screaming warnings about power vastly greater than it had been ten minutes ago.

Every cell in Warren’s body recognized that the person emerging from the gateway was categorically different from the wounded Soul Warden they’d fought minutes ago.

This was not merely a process of healing or recovery; rather, it represented a fundamental transformation that enhanced Jack’s capabilities to an extent that surpassed anything Warren’s centuries of experience could have anticipated.

Jack had stripped his demon armor completely.

The intimidating exterior that had made him look monstrous had been discarded entirely, revealing what lay beneath.

In its place, he wore what looked like a black tactical skinsuit that clung to his frame like a second layer of flesh.

The material was matte black, giving the impression that Jack was enveloped in a dynamic shadow.

Red marks covered the suit that loomed like mystical runes.

Lines that glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with what Warren assumed was Jack’s heartbeat.

The patterns weren’t random; they were designed to help with mama flow and make magic easier to cast and control.

Blood covered Jack’s upper torso. It painted his chest and shoulders.

This could only have come from being close when someone’s throat was cut.

The kind of proximity that left no doubt about who had done the killing.

More blood stained around his mouth, dried to dark red at the edges but still wet and glistening near his lips, as if he’d been drinking blood.

His white hair was slicked back with blood.

The crimson made his hair appear darker, closer to deep red than its natural color, creating a stark contrast against his pale skin that made him look like some ancient war god emerging from a battlefield rather than a young mage returning from a brief absence.

But most disturbing were his eyes.

His right eye blazed yellow, the color of dawn breaking through storm clouds, burning with intensity that made Warren’s water-manipulation senses register distortions in local mana flow.

His left eye burned orange, the hue of forge fires at their hottest, radiating heat that Warren could feel from ten feet away despite his enhanced resistance to temperature extremes.

Both eyes maintained a comprehensive and simultaneous awareness of the courtyard, as if perceiving every potential threat, strategic position, and tactical consideration without the need for sequential processing.

And his left hand was still missing. The cauterized stump remained visible at his wrist, sealed flesh showing no sign of regeneration or the fire construct he’d manifested on Floor 25.

This was the cost of underestimating your enemies

The permanent cost of survival against Mira’s technique.

But Jack didn’t move like someone who’d lost a limb.

His balance was perfect, his posture relaxed, his steps seemed confident.

The missing hand clearly didn’t impair his combat effectiveness or self-assurance.

Jack walked through the portal with casual confidence that bordered on contempt for the assembled threats.

His steps were measured and unhurried despite being surrounded by potential enemies, his mismatched eyes fixed on one person only.

He acknowledged no one.

Neither S nor Pho, despite their repositioning.

He failed to monitor the positions of Warren or Mira, despite their direct involvement in his injuries, nor did he acknowledge the presence of thirty thousand demons meticulously arrayed around him.

His gaze locked onto Alaric Kaiser with a focus that excluded everything else.

"What are you doing here, Father?"

The question was delivered in a tone with mild curiosity rather than any particular emotion.

As if asking about the weather rather than confronting the man who’d just been fighting Council members with casual dominance.

Mira’s fire blazed brighter, fury mixing with wounded pride as she processed what she was witnessing.

Jack ignored her completely, speaking to his father as if she and Warren were beneath notice, as if the fight they’d just survived was already forgotten and dismissed as irrelevant.

The dismissal cut deeper than any insult could have. She was the Council. SS-rank fire mage in Contractee state, enhanced by a Mythical Spirit that granted three-hundred-percent damage increases.

She’d killed twenty-two Soul Wardens over her career, eliminated threats that had terrorized kingdoms and toppled governments.

And Jack was treating her like she didn’t exist.

"You want your other hand removed?" Mira’s voice resonated across the hushed battlefield, a blend of derision and unbridled fury that she could no longer contain.

The taunt was petty, and she knew it, but wounded pride demanded some response, some acknowledgment that she’d hurt him, that she’d forced him to mutilate himself to survive her technique.

Jack didn’t respond or turn his head.

He didn’t shift his gaze from Alaric or acknowledge that Mira had spoken.

His mismatched eyes remained fixed on his father, waiting for an answer to his question with patience that transcended simple confidence into absolute certainty that he’d receive what he wanted.

The dismissal was more insulting than any verbal response could have been.

Warren recognized the tactic immediately.

Treating Mira as so far beneath consideration that acknowledging her existence would be a waste of breath.

Fire erupted beneath her feet as she launched forward with explosive speed, her Contractee state pushing physical capabilities to their absolute limits.

Warren’s hand shot out to grab her shoulder, to stop the reckless assault, but she was already moving too fast for him to intercept.

His fingers closed on empty air as Mira crossed the distance in under a second. Her enhanced speed turned her into a blur of crimson and orange that left scorched footprints on wet stone where her fire-wreathed feet touched ground.

The gap between them vanished.

She was close enough to see individual droplets of blood on Jack’s face, close enough to smell the blood still on his body.

Mira’s right hand blazed with Supernova Palm, microscopic points of stellar heat condensing at her fingertips with intensity that made the air around her fingers shimmer and distort.

The technique was activated before contact, heat building to levels that had forced Jack to sever his own hand minutes ago to prevent total body consumption.

Her hand shot forward with speed that blurred even to her own enhanced perception, fingers extending to grab Jack’s face and pour concentrated heat directly into his flesh.