I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 875: Soul Contract

“She didn’t mention her grandmother was rotting in a keyhole,” Jack noted dryly.

“Ouch. Do I look that old to you? In human years, I’m only thirty-five.”

Valeria’s grin widened, revealing sharp, predatory canines. “Ah, well. Anyway, I’m not surprised she didn’t. Tell me, boy… how is the little viper doing out there? Still causing problems for everyone who crosses her path?”

“She doesn’t have her memories anymore,” Jack stated, keeping his tone flat as he watched her face. “She doesn’t remember where she came from. She certainly doesn’t remember you.”

Valeria blinked, her smirk faltering. Her amber eyes narrowed sharply.

“Her memories are gone?” Valeria crossed her arms tighter, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “That doesn’t just happen. The girl’s soul was stubborn as granite. The only way you strip the mind clean out of a viper like her is if someone bound her after death.”

She locked her burning gaze onto Jack, leaning forward with sudden, keen intensity.

“What did you do to her, boy?”

“I bound her,” Jack said, his expression completely blank as he held up his right hand, letting a faint, suffocating trace of his Soul Warden authority flicker across his fingers. “I took her soul, shattered the defiance out of her, and put a collar around her neck. She doesn’t remember who she was because she doesn’t need to. Now, she’s just a faithful dog who manages my logistics.”

Valeria stared at his hand. For a heartbeat, the air turned ice-cold.

Then, she let out a low, appreciative whistle, her eyes dancing with dark amusement.

“You collared her,” Valeria murmured, a wicked grin slowly spreading across her face. “You actually broke the little wretch and made her heel. And here I thought nobody had the teeth to put her down after she put a knife through my ribs.”

Jack’s gaze sharpened, the pieces locking into place. “She’s the one who killed you.”

“Of course she was,” Valeria chuckled, utterly unbothered by the fact. “Who else would’ve had the spine for it? If anyone was going to put a blade through my heart, I’m glad it was blood. But seeing you turn her into an obedient pet? That’s even funnier.”

She shook her head, her posture shifting from casual amusement to predatory calculation.

She shook her head, folding her arms once more, her posture shifting from casual amusement to predatory calculation.

“Which brings us to you, Successor. You didn’t turn Malakai’s key into your chest just to deliver family news. You came hunting. You’re a Blank who somehow burned a Dark Sigil into his soul, bound a primordial dragon no Warden could touch, and swallowed the royal blood of the abyss. But you don’t have the Red Sigil.”

“I need the formula,” Jack said, getting straight to the point. “And I need the locations of the remaining Soul Keys.”

Valeria chuckled, circling him slowly. “Direct. I like that. But knowledge isn’t cheap down here. You think I care about the Soul Warden title? Look at this place. An endless sea of red ash, broken rocks, and five senile fools who can’t even take a punch. I’ve been trapped in this spiritual cage since the day Mira bled me out.”

She stopped directly before Jack, leaning in until their faces were barely two spans apart. Her amber eyes burned with absolute, unyielding desperation masked by feral bravado.

“I can see it in your meridians, Jack. You don’t just consume power. You have the ancient touch. You possess Soul Grafting.”

Jack’s heterochromic eyes narrowed fractionally.

“You have the ability to take a soul from this purgatory, weave it into your own vessel, and carry it across the threshold back to the living world,” Valeria whispered, her voice tight with fierce ambition.

“Take me out of here. Give me a physical body on the other side. You need someone to manage that massive, rotting castle in the Spire? I ran its inner infrastructure for sixty years. I know every secret passage, every arcane valve, and every supply conduit Malakai built. I will steward your fortress, maintain your logistical spine, and hunt down your keys.”

“An enticing offer,” Jack said, his tone dropping into icy cynicism. “Except for one minor detail.”

“Which is?”

“You’re a warmonger whose own granddaughter slit your throat because you couldn’t be trusted,” Jack replied coldly. “I don’t keep unchained vipers in my house. If you step into the living world, I need an absolute leash. A verbal promise from a dead woman is worth less than the ash beneath my boots.”

Valeria scowled, her jaw tightening. “Then draw a contract, boy! Bind me with an oath!”

“My contract demon, S, isn’t here to arbitrate,” Jack countered. “And I don’t sign contracts mediated by third parties who hold the strings.”

Valeria blinked, then burst into a fierce, mocking grin. “You think you need an external system to write an oath? Is that what the modern world taught you? That you need a divine clerk to witness your will?”

She stepped back, raising both hands, her spiritual fingers igniting with concentrated, thread-like ribbons of scarlet soul-mana.

“Listen closely, human,” Valeria said, her voice turning sharp and authoritative. “A True Soul Warden doesn’t ask permission to bind the dead. Malakai didn’t rely on systems or gods. He forged the law from his own soul. I will teach you the ancient art: Soul Contract Weaving. How to use your own soul meridians as the parchment, your will as the ink, and your core as the executioner.”

She snapped her wrists, the scarlet threads dancing between her fingers in intricate formations.

“Learn the weave, Jack. Draft your leash. Make it as merciless as you want. But when you’re done, you pull me out of this grave.”

Valeria wasted no time on philosophy. She moved with the brutal efficiency of a drillmaster who had trained hundreds of Spire vanguards.

“A soul contract isn’t an agreement between equals,” Valeria instructed, her voice cutting through the dry sulfur air as she manipulated the floating crimson filaments. “It is an asymmetrical metaphysical cage. Modern mages use external registries to act as the anchor. If one party breaks the word, the external power executes the penalty.”

She snapped her fingers, unraveling the threads.

“A True Soul Warden has no external anchor. You are the registry. You draw the contract directly from the silver resonance of your soul meridians. The terms must be absolute: direct subordination, complete surrender of spiritual autonomy upon treason, and an instantaneous execution clause wired directly to your core.”

Jack watched the geometric interplay of the threads with razor-sharp focus.

His intellect broke down the structure instantly. It wasn’t complicated; it was a matter of spiritual architecture.

Where other mages lacked the density to enforce an oath without an external god backing them, Jack’s soul possessed the weight of an unyielding mountain.

Jack raised his right hand.

He didn’t use mana. He tapped directly into the silver streaks running through his soul meridians.

A brilliant, pristine thread of silver light pulled free from the tip of his index finger, crackling with the primordial resonance of creation. Alongside it, a thin ribbon of deep abyssal darkness emerged from his demonic core.

Jack wove the two opposing forces together.