I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 570: Young Lord Bale

Jack stood motionless in the corrupted forest, purple mist swirling around his boots as Father Caelen dismounted from Voidweaver and moved to a position where he could observe whatever Jack was planning.

The old priest’s weathered features showed a curiosity.

After decades of serving various nobles and warriors, he had learned that sometimes the best approach was simply to wait and see what would happen.

The chains extending from Jack’s right arm remained taut, still wrapped around the Disaster-class serpent’s translucent soul.

The ghostly form hovered near him as he held the chains in place.

[Soul Binding Available]

[Target: Disaster-Class Serpent (Soul Captured)]

[Binding Cost: 150,000 Death Tokens]

[Warning: Binding without a physical body present will require extended reformation time. Entity will manifest at reduced efficiency until full materialization completes.]

[Proceed with binding?]

[YES] or [NO]

Jack selected yes without hesitation.

[150,000 Death Tokens Consumed]

[Current Balance: 41,822,470 Death Tokens]

[Soul Binding Initiated...]

[Estimated Reformation Time: 60 Minutes]

The restraints illuminated intensely, with a surge of dark energy propagating along their extent as they constricted around the ensnared entity.

The serpent’s ghostly form convulsed once, recognition that its existence was being rewritten on a fundamental level, then went still as the binding took hold.

Jack felt the connection snap into place. A new presence in his soul space added to the collection of bound creatures that served his will.

The Disaster-class serpent was his now, its loyalty absolute and its capabilities at his disposal whenever he required them.

The chains began retracting, pulling the soul inward.

Father Caelen watched the space where Jack’s attention was focused, seeing nothing but recognizing from Jack’s posture that something significant was occurring.

"How long?" he asked quietly.

"An hour," Jack replied, his yellow and orange eyes tracking the soul’s gradual materialization.

"Without a physical body to anchor to, it takes time for the binding to reconstruct the form from pure essence. But once it’s complete, I’ll have another beast to use."

The old priest nodded understanding, settling himself on a fallen log. He produced a small flask from within his robes, taking a sip before tucking it back into the fabric.

They waited in silence, purple mist continuing to swirl around their position as the corrupted forest remained empty of threats.

Stormfang and Voidweaver stood patiently nearby, the wyvern’s enhanced senses constantly scanning for danger while the spider’s multiple eyes tracked the reformation process with curiosity.

Slowly, the Disaster-class serpent began taking physical shape.

It started as an outline. A basic structure, becoming visible as a ghostly form, gained definition and substance.

Then came texture, green scales manifesting one at a time across the massive body, each one solidifying from translucent essence into an armored plate that gleamed with oily sheen even in the dim light.

The process accelerated as more of the serpent’s form stabilized, the binding’s power constructing the body that matched its original physical appearance down to the smallest detail.

Muscle structure, internal organs, greenish eyes.

Jack noticed something different about those eyes as they materialized.

Every few seconds, a red spark would shoot from the serpent’s gaze, a small discharge of energy that hadn’t been present when the creature was alive.

Mark of the binding, perhaps, a visible indication that this was no longer a natural beast but something claimed and transformed by the Soul Warden’s power.

Fifty minutes passed before the reformation was completed fully, the last sections of the serpent’s tail solidifying as the binding finished its work.

The creature lay coiled in the forest clearing.

Then its eyes opened fully, greenish glow mixing with those periodic red sparks as the bound serpent’s consciousness activated.

It raised its head immediately, gaze locking onto Jack’s position with recognition and absolute loyalty that transcended what any normal taming could achieve.

Jack approached without hesitation, his stride confident as he moved toward the creature that had been trying to kill him less than two hours ago.

The serpent lowered its head in a gesture that might have been submission or simply a way of making itself accessible for mounting.

He climbed onto the snake’s skull, finding a secure position between its eyes, where he could sit comfortably while maintaining a clear view of their surroundings.

The scales beneath him were warm despite having just reformed, body heat already generating through whatever biological processes the binding had restored.

"Stormfang, Voidweaver, you’re dismissed," Jack commanded, his consciousness interfacing with the soul space that housed his bound creatures.

Both entities vanished immediately, returning to the dimensional storage where they resided when not actively deployed.

Father Caelen stood from his log, approaching the serpent with careful but confident movements.

The creature remained completely still as the old priest climbed onto its back, finding a position twenty feet behind Jack’s location where the snake’s body was wide enough to lie across comfortably.

The priest settled himself with surprising ease, producing his flask again and taking another sip before stretching out in a relaxed posture.

He found the giant snake to be a perfectly acceptable mode of transportation.

Jack glanced back at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you a drunk, or just a functioning drunk?"

Father Caelen’s laugh carried genuine amusement, weathered features crinkling with a smile that made him look decades younger.

"Does it matter? I’ve blessed battlefields while sober, while tipsy, and while outright intoxicated. Caelora doesn’t seem to care about my blood alcohol content as long as the prayers are sincere."

He took another sip, neither confirming nor denying Jack’s assessment. "Besides, traveling on a giant snake through a corrupted forest at night seemed like an appropriate time for a drink."

Jack’s grin widened at the answer, turning his attention back forward as he prepared to test whether the binding had granted the serpent understanding beyond simple commands.

The snake began moving immediately.

Its massive body uncoiled smoothly, scales sliding across the forest floor with surprising quietness despite the creature’s enormous size.

Jack’s surprise must have shown in his posture, because Father Caelen called out from his position on the serpent’s back, amusement evident in his tone. "Problems?"

"No," Jack replied, his mind already analyzing the implications. "Just surprised. The binding gave it more than loyalty. The snake knows what I want without needing detailed instructions."

Father Caelen observed, his voice carrying the slightly distant quality of someone sharing historical knowledge. "Made sense that the binding would include some form of enhanced comprehension. Otherwise, coordinating thousands of servants would be logistically impossible."

The serpent moved through the corrupted forest with devastating efficiency.

Its massive body plowed through obstacles that would have required careful navigation on foot.

Fallen logs crushed beneath its weight, twisted vegetation pushed aside by bulk that wouldn’t be denied, purple mist parting before its advance like water around a ship’s prow.

The absence of monsters remained absolute.

Hours of travel through territory that should have been crawling with corrupted beasts, and they encountered nothing.

Just empty forest, twisted trees, and oppressive silence broken only by the serpent’s movement and Father Caelen’s occasional swigs from his apparently bottomless flask.

Jack’s mind cataloged every detail, the detail of the situation reinforcing his certainty that someone had deliberately cleared this region.

The dungeon’s appearance, the elimination of all investigation parties, and the serpent attacks on the fortress.

All of it orchestrated by intelligence operating with specific goals he didn’t yet fully understand.

The purple mist grew thicker as they traveled, visibility reducing until Jack could barely see twenty feet ahead despite his enhanced perception.

The corruption was worse here, deeper into the forest, a saturation of magical contamination that made the air itself feel heavy and thick.

Red sparks continued shooting from the serpent’s eyes, small discharges that briefly illuminated the mist before fading.

Mark of the binding, making the creature’s status as a Soul Warden’s servant visible to anyone capable of perceiving such things.

Two hours of steady travel brought them to the forest’s heart, where the corruption reached its peak, and the twisted landscape became almost alien.

The trees here weren’t just dead or twisted.

The alterations transformed the bark into a nearly crystalline substance, with branches exhibiting geometric growth patterns that deviated from natural development.

And ahead, barely visible through the thick purple mist, Jack could see their destination.

The dungeon entrance.

------

Young Lord Bale reclined on an absurdly oversized cushion in his villa’s third-floor parlor, one hand holding a crystal wine glass. At the same time, the other gestured dramatically as he told some story about a hunting expedition he’d probably never actually undertaken.

Three women lounged nearby. Carefully selected for their beauty rather than conversation, their presence was purely for decoration.

The villa itself was a monument to inherited wealth and a complete lack of taste.

Three floors of excessive decoration, multiple rooms filled with furniture that cost more than most families earned in a lifetime, artwork purchased because it was expensive rather than because anyone actually appreciated it.

Young Lord Bale had inherited his father’s title, lands, and considerable fortune at age nineteen, when snake venom had slowly killed the competent warrior who’d actually earned the Bale family’s status. Since then, the young lord had dedicated himself to avoiding responsibility with the same enthusiasm his father had shown for military excellence.

He was mid-sentence, describing how he’d supposedly tracked wild boar for three days, when heavy knocking interrupted his narrative.