I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 816: Abyssal Warlord

SNAP.

S flicked his finger upward.

The gallons of dark blue blood staining the floor didn’t just move.

They ignited with violent, dark-mana acceleration. The liquid mass instantly levitated three feet into the air, hardening from liquid into crystalline, hyper-dense metal in the span of a single microsecond.

The Blue Demon’s eyes widened with sudden, genuine alarm.

He drove his massive feet into the dais, attempting to vault off his throne to escape the sudden spatial trap.

He was too slow.

THWIP-THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!

Dozens of razor-thin, crystalline spears forged from the blue blood erupted directly out of the floor beneath the throne.

They shot upward with the velocity of ballista bolts, piercing through the Blue Demon’s heavy dark-silver armor with horrific precision.

Two massive spears punched clean through the giant’s left and right thighs, pinning him to the stone dais. Two more drove through his calves, while a fifth shattered his left kneecap from behind.

“ARGH!”

The Blue Demon let out a sharp, guttural roar of shock and pain as the blood-spears locked his lower body to the stone.

The sheer speed of the manipulation was impossible.

It wasn’t elemental ice magic, and it wasn’t standard blood manipulation.

It was an absolute, high-tier authority that treated external biological fluid as its own personal extension.

“Impudent insect!” the Blue Demon roared, his pride surging over the pain.

Channeling his massive mana, the giant swung his single-edged blade in a blinding, downward diagonal arc.

The blade unleashed a hundred-foot crescent of absolute-zero plasma designed to cleave S, Pho, and the entire lower entrance in half.

S didn’t draw a weapon.

He stepped forward. His movement was so fluid, so devoid of kinetic buildup, that he appeared to slip through the seams of space itself.

He crossed the fifty yards separating the entrance from the high dais in less than a millisecond, stepping cleanly inside the arc of the giant frozen sword.

The hundred-foot crescent of plasma detonated harmlessly behind him, obliterating the entrance arches. At the same time, S stood directly on the armrest of the Blue Demon’s throne, looking down into the giant’s glowing, shock-filled eyes.

“Your technique lacks refinement,” S murmured politely.

S raised his right hand, his white glove dissolving into thin, black smoke to reveal long, slender fingers ending in razor-sharp, pitch-black obsidian talons.

SLASH.

S’s hand moved in a short, surgical arc.

The Blue Demon didn’t even see the strike. He only felt the sudden, terrifying loss of weight on his left side.

His entire left arm was cleaved cleanly at the shoulder joint, separated from his body, falling heavily onto the blue carpet of the dais with a sickening, wet thud.

Blue arterial blood erupted from the shoulder wound like a pressurized fountain.

“AAAAAGH!” The Blue Demon screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony echoing through the vast throne room.

Before the giant could even process the amputation or channel his mana to cauterize the wound, S was already behind him, standing lightly on the back of the throne.

“The Master is a busy man,” S explained smoothly, his voice echoing right beside the Blue Demon’s ear. “He has an entire kingdom to restructure on the surface. He does not have the time to sit through a lengthy negotiation with an arrogant warlord.”

SLASH-SLASH-SLASH!

S’s obsidian talons transformed into a blinding, geometric blur of black lines.

He didn’t execute a messy slaughter. He carved the giant with the terrifying, microscopic precision of a master surgeon preparing a delicate meal.

First, the right shoulder joint.

The Blue Demon’s remaining arm, still gripping his prized core-ice blade, was severed clean, the weapon clattering uselessly against the stone.

Next, the tendons behind both knees. S’s talons sliced through the dense, armor-plated hide effortlessly, severing the nerve clusters holding the giant’s lower legs together.

Then, the heavy plate armor covered the giant’s chest and back. S didn’t cut the flesh beneath; he peeled the thick, dark-silver metal away in pristine, uniform strips, exposing the glowing, blue-veined torso underneath while leaving the vital organs entirely untouched.

Within four seconds of continuous, horrific precision, the five-meter Blue Demon was reduced to a limbless, armorless trunk, pinned to his own throne by his dead soldiers’ blood, gasping for air in a pool of his own cooling life force.

S stepped off the back of the throne, landing lightly on the blue carpet before the dais. His suit was still pristine. Not a single drop of blue abyssal blood had touched his black jacket or crisp white shirt.

He produced a small, silver flask from inside his breast coat, unscrewed the cap with an elegant flick of his wrist, and held it beneath the fountain of blue blood spraying from the giant’s severed shoulder.

He collected a precise amount of the fluid, capped the flask, and slipped it back into his pocket.

“A fine vintage,” S noted smoothly, taking a small, elegant sip from a crystal vial he kept for sampling. “High-density abyssal mana, perfectly aged in deep-sea pressure. The Master will find the alchemical properties quite satisfactory.”

On the throne, the Blue Demon hung by the blood-spears, his massive chest heaving in shallow, panicked gasps.

His pride was entirely gone, replaced by the staggering, horrifying realization of what he was actually dealing with.

This wasn’t a butler.

Nor was this a servant.

This was an ancient apex predator from the deepest abyssal layers.

A creature that viewed Sovereign-class entities as nothing more than livestock to be harvested for fine drink.

“W-what… are you?” the Blue Demon choked out, his voice reduced to a raspy, blood-choked whisper.

S turned back toward the throne, his eyes shifting from terrifying abyssal crimson back into their calm, polite, timid red.

He adjusted his crimson silk tie with a light flick of his fingers, stepping back into his position beside Pho.

“I am merely the butler,” S replied, offering a faint, courteous smile. “And you, Lord of the Deep, are currently sitting in my Master’s chair.”

The silence that followed in the throne room was staggering.

Pho kept his head bowed, though a dark, satisfied smirk played on his pale blue lips.

Beside him, the Dark Elf Commander stood frozen, his eyes wide with a terrifying new respect, his hands trembling so hard against his spear that the metal clattered softly against his armor.

S smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket with meticulous care, ensuring not a single grain of dust or rogue speck of blue ash dared defile his attire.

He turned his back on the limbless, shuddering wreck pinned to the ancient throne, stepping down the dais with the unhurried, measured pace of a man strolling through a quiet estate garden.

“Pho,” S said, his tone returning to its usual polished, conversational cadence. “The Master is currently attending to the Council above, and the stage there is fully set. Take this giant, and throw him through the portal. Ren will handle the rest.”

Pho gave a sharp, appreciative snort, slinging his heavy ice axe casually over his massive shoulder. “About damn time. I’ve had my fill of this frozen hole anyway.”

With a flick of S’s wrist, a massive, jagged purple portal tore through the space right beside the ancient throne.

A second and third portal fractured the air across the throne room and the causeway outside, opening direct pathways back into the depths of Tartarus Spire.

The Dark Elf Commander didn’t need to be told twice; with a final, unhinged snicker, he signaled his two hundred blood-splattered troops, and the white-armored legion surged through the gateways in a silent, orderly retreat.