I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 776: The Book of Origin

The prophecy resonated through Jack’s consciousness, each word landing with a weight beyond mere sound.

He understood what he was hearing.

The Primordial Kings, he assumed, he understood the references to them in Draven’s memory orb, when he’d lived as Sarin and walked a world that predated the gods’ rise to power.

The Titans, the creatures of immense power that had come before civilization, had ruled the world in an age of chaos before the gods imposed their will and order.

The Spire, the tower that Jack now understood was far more than a simple dungeon.

It was a great tomb, something ancient to the structure of reality itself.

And the prophecy said he would transform it into a weapon. A spear aimed at the heavens themselves.

“The Titans,” Jack whispered, his voice barely audible in the vast throne room. “The ones I saw through Sarin’s memory. The ones who existed before the gods.”

“Yes,” Dreknar confirmed, settling back onto his throne. “The Primordial Kings predate even the gods, little lamb. They are forces of nature that have been bound, sealed away, locked beneath layers of divine magic for ages beyond counting. And the prophecy speaks of an age when those seals will fracture, when the Primordial Kings will awake. When war will come to the heavens themselves.”

Jack’s mind spiraled through the implications. A war with beings older than gods.

A conflict that would require an army of unprecedented scale.

The transformation of the Spire into a weapon, a spear aimed at cosmic forces that should have been impossible to threaten.

“Do you believe,” Jack asked, his voice strained, “that this prophecy speaks of me?”

Dreknar’s smile widened. His green eyes burned with an intensity that bordered on genuine belief.

“You are the first,” Dreknar said, his voice low and absolute.

“In all the ages of my existence, across every mortal I have encountered, you are the first capable of fulfilling that prophecy. The first to harmonize with contradictions that should have torn you apart. The first to embrace demonic hunger without being consumed by it.”

The demon god settled deeper into his throne, those green eyes never leaving Jack’s face.

The green flames in the lanterns seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, casting dancing shadows across the vast chamber.

“Do you understand what that means?” Dreknar continued.

“For centuries, I searched. I observed countless mortals, traced bloodlines, and studied the prophecies written in ages when the world was young. I found nothing. No one who matched what was written. No one who possessed the strength to become what prophecy demanded.”

He could feel the weight of Dreknar’s conviction, the absolute certainty in the demon god’s voice.

“Then you arrived,” Dreknar said, leaning forward slightly. “A mortal who consumed the hearts of demons and grew stronger rather than shattered. A being who carried the blood of three cosmic lineages and could stand in harmony with all three rather than being torn apart by their contradiction.

A creature who bound thousands of souls to his will without losing himself in the process.”

The malevolent deity’s smile broadened, revealing an aspect that surpassed mere menace.

“That is why I have guided you. That is why I continue to invest in your survival. That is why these tasks matter, little lamb. Each one shapes you, molds you, forges you into something capable of standing against forces that predate the gods themselves.”

Dreknar sat back in his throne. The bone structure creaked beneath his weight, a sound like the earth’s plates shifting.

He extended one clawed hand, and an object materialized between his palms.

A book.

The leather binding was ancient, worn smooth by centuries of handling. The edges were frayed slightly, as if countless hands had turned its pages over ages uncounted.

The leather itself was a deep black, almost absorbing the green firelight.

Runes were carved into the cover, glowing faintly.

Patterns that seemed to shift and change when Jack wasn’t looking directly at them.

Languages of power older than the tower itself, older perhaps than civilization.

Jack somehow understood immediately what it contained, but he wasn’t sure how.

Knowledge of resurrection, transformation, and reshaping living forms according to the wielder’s will.

Everything necessary to bring back what had been erased from existence.

Everything needed to take the Council members and remake them into something older that would serve him for eternity.

“A gift,” Dreknar said, extending the volume toward Jack. His voice carried something that might have been warmth beneath the menace.

“For the future, we will build together. Within these pages lies everything necessary to create what was lost. Everything you will need to resurrect the Dark Elves and reshape the Council into your foundation. Use it well, little lamb. Use it to build an empire that prophecy has already promised will come to pass.”

Jack stepped forward and took the book.

The moment his fingers touched the leather, he felt it.

A pulse of power, ancient knowledge thrumming against his palm like a second heartbeat.

The leather was warm despite its age, as if the book itself was alive with power waiting to be unleashed.

His fingers traced the runes on the cover, and for a moment, he could almost read them, almost understand the magnitude of what was contained within these pages.

“Will you require more time to recover?” Dreknar asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

Jack looked down at the book in his hands. His body was still weak, still recovering from the Madness state and the strain of the Herald battle.

Every muscle ached. His internal injuries were still knitting themselves together. A sensible being would request time, would allow himself to heal fully before taking on new tasks.

“No,” Jack said flatly. “I move forward now. Every moment spent recovering is a moment the Council breathes free air. Every delay pushes the conquest further from completion. I’ve wasted enough time unconscious.”

Dreknar’s expression shifted.

“Then go,” Dreknar said, returning to his throne. The bone structure settled beneath his weight with creaking finality.

Jack turned and walked back toward the edge of the throne room, toward the space where consciousness and flesh intersected.

The book remained clutched against his chest, a physical anchor between worlds.

His awareness began to rise, the pull of his physical body calling him back through layers of reality.

The throne room began to fade, becoming translucent, less real with each step.

The green flames dimmed. The shadows dispersed. Dreknar’s massive form became nothing more than a silhouette against the fading light.

Dreknar’s voice followed him one final time, cutting through the layers of reality as if distance meant nothing to a god: “Do not rest, little lamb… For Sarin’s original tome is one of the oldest books to ever exist.”

Jack remained kneeling on the stone circle, his hands still pressed together, his body exactly where it had been when his consciousness departed.

But everything was different now. The weight of the book was undeniable in his hands.

The shrine fell away behind him as he walked toward the stairs. With each step upward, his legs grew stronger, his resolve crystallizing into something sharp and cutting as broken glass.

There was work to be done.

[Obtained The Book of Origin – Sarin’s First Tome]