I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

The sound echoed through the chamber like thunder, the acoustic properties amplifying the collision until it resonated through the very pillars supporting the ceiling.

Jackʼs left foot came down, boot pressing against the serpentʼs skull to pin the creature against fractured stone.

The serpent thrashed, its massive body coiling and writhing as it tried to escape the restraint, but Jackʼs weight kept its head immobilized despite their size difference.

He reached into his dimensional storage with his free hand, consciousness interfacing with the space where he kept essential equipment.

An obsidian bowl materialized in his grip, roughly two feet in diameter, its surface carved with script that matched the patterns on the chamberʼs pillars.

Jack placed the bowl on the ground beside the pinned serpentʼs head, the vessel settling against broken stone with a quiet scrape.

Then he summoned the sentient spear. It appeared in his right hand, black metal humming with anticipation that quickly shifted to confusion as it registered the situation.

{Wait, weʼre not fighting properly? This feels more like... oh. Oh no. Are we doing THAT? Because I have opinions about...}

”Shut up, Oscar,” Jack stated flatly, his tone carrying finality that cut off the weaponʼs internal commentary.

He angled the spear downward, Oscarʼs four-bladed tip pressed against the serpentʼs throat, where the scales were thinner, and major blood vessels ran close to the surface.

The weaponʼs edge pressed against armored flesh, not yet piercing but creating pressure.

”I am not here to play your games or prove my worth,” Jack stated, his voice carrying across the chamber with certainty that made the words feel like fundamental truth. ”I require your blood for the Soul Realm.”

The lead serpentʼs eyes blazed brighter, rage and humiliation warring with survival instinct as it processed being pinned by a creature a fraction of its size.

Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air rapidly as it started to feel an emotion it hadnʼt felt in centuries.

”You dare...” it started, but Jack drove Oscar downward before the protest could be completed.

The four-bladed tip punctured scales and flesh, penetrating deep into the serpentʼs throat to access the major arteries running beneath the armored exterior.

Silver-and-purple blood began flowing immediately, thick viscous liquid that steamed as it struck the air and pooled in the obsidian bowl. The serpentʼs massive form convulsed, not from pain but from instinctive response to having its life force drained.

The other six serpents hissed, their bodies uncoiling from pedestals as they witnessed their leader being harvested like livestock.

But they didnʼt attack or charge forward to rescue their companion.

They watched, their glowing eyes tracking every movement as Jack stood perfectly still with one hand on Oscar and one boot pinning their leaderʼs skull.

Malakaiʼs laugh echoed through the chamber, a dark sound that carried satisfaction bordering on joy.

The entity remained perched on his pillar, his translucent form flickering between states as silver veins pulsed with increased intensity.

”The King has arrived,” Malakai called out, his voice resonating with authority that made even the ancient serpents flinch. ”You know your end of the deal. Protection from the Titans in exchange for your blood when the Soul Warden demands it.”

The lead serpentʼs eyes shifted toward Malakai, recognition and resignation bleeding through the rage. Its voice emerged as a rasp, vocal cords struggling to function while Oscarʼs blade remained embedded in its throat.

”The pact... was made... in a different age,” it managed, each word clearly causing discomfort. ”When Titans walked... and Wardens ruled... we agreed to this... burden.”

Jackʼs expression didnʼt change; his boot maintained pressure, keeping the creature immobilized, while silver-purple blood continued to flow into the bowl. He didnʼt respond to the serpentʼs words, acknowledge the historical context, or express sympathy for the ancient agreement being enforced.

He patiently awaited, his demeanor exuding an unwavering conviction that his intentions would come to fruition.

The lead serpentʼs struggles weakened as blood loss began to affect its consciousness, and its movements grew sluggish despite its supernatural constitution.

The obsidian bowl was half-full now, the liquid within glowing faintly.