I Died and Became a Noble's Heir-Chapter 351: Borrowed Power

Aurora’s fingers tightened around his hand, just for a moment, just enough to convey the explosion of hope and gratitude she couldn’t voice.

Her blue eyes widened fractionally, and her free hand moved to her throat unconsciously. That singular gesture eloquently conveyed the profound desire for her voice to be restored.

Jack gave her hand a gentle squeeze to acknowledge, then let go and stepped back. The entire interaction had lasted perhaps five seconds, but the impact was clear in Aurora’s expression.

Lady Sunblade watched her daughter with maternal concern mixed with curiosity, clearly noting the change but not asking questions.

Cassius’s keen gaze observed Jack and Aurora.

"The garrison?" Alaric asked, his voice carrying dark amusement. "Time to teach the elf another lesson?"

"Past time," Jack confirmed, his grin returning as anticipation surged through his system. "Rhys wanted a rematch. I’m feeling generous enough to oblige him."

"How generous are we talking?" Celeste materialized from somewhere with her ever-present wine bottle. "Generous enough to let him land a hit? Or generous enough to make it look like a fair fight for the first thirty seconds?"

"The latter," Jack replied. "Can’t have the nobles thinking I’m completely without mercy. Where’s the entertainment value in total dominance from the opening move?"

"Psychological warfare," Octavia observed, falling into step beside him as the group began moving toward the manor’s exit. "Allow him to believe he has an opportunity. Foster a sense of hope, then proceed to break him down step by step."

"You make it sound rather strategic," Jack remarked with feigned naivete.

"It is," Octavia replied flatly. "And effective. Father taught us well."

Alaric’s laugh boomed through the hallway. "Don’t blame me for your brother’s theatrical tendencies. That’s all Genevieve’s influence."

"I merely suggested that victory tastes sweeter when your opponent sees it coming," Genevieve said with a smile that could cut a diamond. "The anticipation enhances the experience."

They reached the manor’s side entrance where the evening air carried sounds of a crowd gathering in the distance. Nobles were streaming toward the garrison in organized clusters, their excitement was palpable.

This wasn’t just a duel, it was entertainment, drama, and a good way to make some coin on someone unlucky enough to bet against Jack.

Aurora walked next to Jack. Her hand brushed his arm once, on purpose, Jack thought and when he looked at her, she was smiling.

Not the diplomatic expression she usually wore but genuine happiness that made her ethereal beauty even more striking.

Little Violet bounced in her father’s arms. "Are we going to see brother Jack beat the dumb elf now?"

"Yes, little flower," Cassius confirmed. "And you’re going to watch carefully. This is an important lesson about what happens when people challenge those stronger than themselves."

"The elf is gonna cry!" Violet declared enthusiastically.

"Probably," Alaric agreed cheerfully. "Though whether from pain or humiliation remains to be seen."

In the distance, the garrison loomed, massive walls of stone raised through Loryn’s earth magic, designed to contain five thousand soldiers and withstand siege warfare.

The structure’s gates stood open, and light spilled from within where magical illumination had been established for the upcoming entertainment.

Jack led his family and the Sunblades through the gardens, nobles parting before them like water before a ship’s prow.

People watched him go by, some excited, some scared, and some just plain greedy.

They knew what he’d just done to Lady Starfell. They knew what he was about to do to Rhys Luffiel. And they couldn’t wait to watch the destruction unfold.

A sharp, hollow whistle drifted into the arena, and a hush followed it like a freezing wave. One by one, their breaths were stifled as they watched him approach.

Something inside Jack made him feel like he needed to whistle. But he couldn’t quite get a grip on what it was.

All eyes turned toward the source of the sound.

Jack walked through the sudden silence with serene authority, red lightning crackling faintly around his fingers in time with his footsteps.

’Why did I do that?’ he wondered, even as another part of him answered with satisfaction. ’Because I wanted them to look. Wanted them to see what’s coming.’

The demon blood didn’t just crave violence. It craved a spectacle. The art of domination is displayed for maximum psychological impact.

And whistling into tense silence before a fight? That was pure theater.

Alaric glanced at his son with raised eyebrows but said nothing. Genevieve’s smile deepened fractionally, as if recognizing her own influence in the gesture. Octavia just sighed quietly, resigned to her brother’s flair for dramatic timing.

The structure’s interior was vast, an open training ground surrounded by towering walls, with viewing platforms at various heights for observers to watch combat drills or, in this case, entertainment.

The crowd had already assembled. Hundreds of nobles filled the platforms, their expensive clothing a riot of colors against grey stone.

Servants moved between them with trays of wine and delicacies, because apparently watching violence made people hungry.

At the garrison’s center, in a cleared space perhaps forty feet across, stood Rhys Luffiel.

His hair was pulled back in elaborate braids that probably required an hour to create each morning. His eyes were as pale as winter ice.

Behind Rhys stood his bodyguard, a massive figure that was visible through his cloak.

As Jack descended the steps into the arena, Rhys’s pale eyes stared him down. The elf straightened fractionally, his posture shifting into a more aggressive stance.

"Lord Kaiser," Rhys called out, his voice carrying the melodious quality that made elven speech sound like a song even when delivering insults. "How gracious of you to finally grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think you’d lost your courage between the manor and the garrison."

Jack stopped perhaps twenty paces away, and their gaze met with steady confidence. Behind him, his family and the Sunblades moved to the viewing platforms where space had been reserved for Duke Alaric’s party.

"Lost my courage?" Jack echoed with a mocking laugh. "No, Rhys. I’m just finishing some business. You know how it is, so many people to see, so many lives to ruin. Time management becomes critical."

The crowd murmured at the veiled reference to Lady Starfell, and Jack caught several nobles exchanging knowing glances. The gossip would spread like wildfire, but that was the point.

"Before we begin this duel," Jack continued, his voice carrying easily across the garrison, "we should probably establish rules. I’d hate for there to be any confusion about what constitutes victory."

Rhys’s jaw tightened fractionally, the only outward sign of his irritation. "The rules are simple, Kaiser. First to be incapacitated or surrender loses. The duel ends when one party can no longer continue or verbally yields."

"How civilized," Jack said with false appreciation. "Though I notice you didn’t mention anything about borrowed power. Wasn’t that your whole argument? That I only won our last encounter because I was using my patron god’s strength rather than my own?"

The crowd’s murmur intensified. Several nobles leaned forward with renewed interest, sensing the verbal sparring about to commence.

Rhys’s expression hardened. "That’s exactly what I’m saying, Kaiser. Your previous victory was hollow. You relied on divine intervention rather than skill, training, or genuine capability. Anyone can channel borrowed power. It takes true mastery to fight with only your own strength."