I Died and Became a Noble's Heir-Chapter 372 - 100 Years too late

"The elves," Alaric said, his disgust transforming into something colder, "are responsible for my brother’s death."

The dark mana intensified. Rhys’s knees buckled, his body refusing to support his weight as the pressure increased beyond what mortal flesh could endure standing.

Sylph tried to generate wind currents, to push back against the suffocating darkness, but her magic scattered like leaves in a hurricane. The Duke’s power was undeniable.

"My father," Alaric continued, his voice carrying centuries of hatred," slowly fell because of what happened to his son. When you elves left because you couldn’t face the demons..."

Rhys’s vision tunneled completely. He could see nothing but Alaric’s face, those golden and purple eyes staring down at him with contempt so visceral, akin to physical force.

"So I ask you again, elf," Alaric’s hand rose, and the darkness coalesced around his fingers like claws, "why should I allow you to breathe the same air as my son? Give me one reason I shouldn’t erase you from existence right now. One reason your death wouldn’t bring me satisfaction after what your kind took from my family."

The shadows reached toward Rhys like grasping hands.

And Rhys realized, with crystalline clarity, that he was about to die in Jack Kaiser’s study.

Clyde’s instincts screamed at him from outside the study door. The oppressive weight of dark mana pressed against the threshold like a physical barrier, and through the gap, he could see Rhys collapsing, Sylph flickering, and the shadows consuming everything.

His lord was dying.

Clyde didn’t hesitate.

Three daggers left his hands in rapid succession, each one aimed at his chest. The blades cut through the oppressive darkness, their trajectory perfectly....

Duke Alaric’s hands moved so casually it looked effortless.

Catch.

Catch.

Catch.

Three daggers plucked from the air as easily as picking fruit. He dropped them on the ground.

Clang!

Clyde was already moving, his own dark mana manifesting around his nose and mouth like a black mask. The technique was crude compared to Alaric’s mastery, but it created a pocket of breathable air as he charged into the study.

His sword came down in a devastating overhead strike aimed at forcing the Duke to release his grip on the room’s atmosphere.

Alaric sidestepped with minimal movement, his boot coming down on Clyde’s hands with crushing force. Bones didn’t break, but the pressure was absolute. The sword fell from nerveless fingers.

Then Alaric’s hand closed around Clyde’s throat.

"Pathetic," Alaric said quietly, his purple eyes meeting Clyde’s gaze through the darkness. "Train for another hundred years. Maybe then you’ll be worth the effort of actually killing."

Clyde’s own dark mana mask flickered, failing under the pressure of Alaric’s overwhelming power. His vision started to narrow, his lungs burning....

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Seraphina appeared in the doorway, her pristine appearance unchanged despite the oppressive darkness filling the study.

She stepped into the room without hesitation, moving with the same efficient grace she always maintained.

The shadows parted around her.

Where she walked, the darkness retreated fractionally, maintaining a respectful distance from her form.

She crossed the room slowly and performed a perfect curtsy before Duke Alaric, her expression showing nothing but professional courtesy.

"Your Grace," Seraphina said calmly, "they are Master Jack’s guests."

Alaric’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but his hand released Clyde’s throat. The bodyguard collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as his dark mana mask finally dissolved completely.

"Guests," Alaric reiterated, his tone devoid of emotion. He looked down at Clyde with the same expression one might give a particularly stupid dog. "Train for another hundred years before you dare challenge me again."

He stepped back from the bodyguard, and the oppressive weight in the room began to lift. The shadows writhed once more, then began to retreat toward their master as if being recalled.

"Why," Alaric asked Seraphina without looking away from the fallen elf, "did my son invite elf filth into his private study?"

"Master Jack has his reasons," Seraphina replied without much interest in the matter. "He has asked me to bring them with me, but he was explicit that they were to be treated as honored guests."

Alaric’s jaw clenched fractionally, but he nodded once. The last of the shadows pulled back completely, dissipating into nothing as the Duke recalled his dark mana.

The study’s warm, magical lighting returned, revealing the full extent of the scene. Rhys on his knees, gasping for breath, Sylph flickering weakly on his shoulder, Clyde collapsed against the wall, still clutching his throat.

Rhys dragged air into his lungs in desperate, heaving gasps. His vision swam as oxygen flooded his system, his body trembling from the near-death experience. Beside his ear, Sylph’s tiny form solidified as her manifestation stabilized.

"What a monster," Sylph whispered, barely audible even to Rhys.

Alaric’s head turned toward the tiny spirit. A smirk played at his lips. Sylph’s eyes widened as she realized he’d heard every word despite speaking at a volume meant only for herself.

The Duke said nothing, just held her gaze for a heartbeat before turning back to Seraphina.

"When will my son arrive?"

"Momentarily, Your Grace."

Seraphina departed as silently as she’d arrived, leaving the study in tense quiet. Darkness lingered like a phantom pressure against Rhys’s chest.

Clyde forced himself upright first, his legs shaking but functional. The hooded bodyguard crossed to Rhys, extending a hand to help his lord stand.

"My lord," Clyde’s voice was hoarse, damaged from Alaric’s grip. "Can you stand?"

Rhys grasped the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle, but he locked his knees and refused to collapse again.

Twice in one day was humiliating enough. He wouldn’t give the Duke the satisfaction of werehird display of weakness.

"I’m fine," Rhys said, though his voice came out rough and unconvincing.

Sylph had gone completely silent on his shoulder, her usual mischievous commentary absent. Her tiny form pressed against Rhys’s neck as if seeking comfort or protection, her earlier bravado thoroughly shattered by the Duke’s casual demonstration of overwhelming power.

’That wasn’t even his full strength,’ Sylph’s mental voice carried genuine fear through their contract bond. ’He was playing with us. Testing. If he’d actually wanted us dead, we’d have been erased before Clyde could react.’

Rhys didn’t respond mentally, he was too focused on keeping his breathing steady and his stance stable. His eyes found Alaric across the study, and the Duke met his gaze with complete indifference.

As if the near-execution had been nothing more than swatting an annoying insect.

The casual nature of that indifference was somehow more terrifying than the violence itself.

Clyde positioned himself slightly in front of Rhys, a futile protective stance given what they’d just witnessed, but instinct overrode logic.

The bodyguard’s hand rested on his sword hilt despite knowing the weapon was worthless against this opponent.

Alaric moved to stand beside the large desk, his posture relaxed as he waited for his son’s arrival. The purple glow had faded from his eyes, leaving only the golden light.

Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. Rhys focused on controlling his breathing, on projecting composure he didn’t feel. Preparing himself mentally for whatever conversation Jack intended to have.