I Died and Became a Noble's Heir-Chapter 295: Mutiny

The gesture of a devoted servant seeing his master after centuries of absence.

S, standing nearby with Fluffy at his heels, watched this display with red eyes that had gone completely unreadable.

His expression remained neutral, but something in his posture had shifted.

The entity paid neither of them attention. Jack’s transformed body turned to face the assembled mercenaries, golden eyes tracking across fifteen thousand faces frozen in various stages of terror.

Memories flooded through the entity’s awareness.

Not its own memories, but Jack’s. Every moment since awakening from his coma played in rapid succession.

The duel with Rhys. The fight with Spiralus. Training with Sera. The growing power. The family he protected.

And most recently, the events that led to this moment.

Marcus Thorne’s invasion. House Starfell’s betrayal. Seraphina being struck. Annabelle taken hostage.

The entity processed everything in perhaps three seconds.

When it spoke again, Jack’s voice carried authority that made reality itself seem to lean in and listen.

"I understand the situation now." The words echoed off ice walls with unnatural clarity. "You came to this territory thinking numbers would be sufficient. That fifteen thousand professional soldiers could overwhelm a family you perceived as weakened."

The entity’s smile wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t kind either. Just infinitely patient, like a teacher explaining obvious facts to slow students.

"You were wrong."

Jack’s hand gestured broadly, encompassing the dome, the demons, the dragon, the frozen corpses still hanging in the air.

"But I’m not unreasonable. I understand that most of you are simply following orders. Doing what you were paid to do. I know it’s not a personal vendetta for you."

Hope flickered across mercenary faces. Desperate, fragile hope that maybe they could survive this.

"So I’m going to offer you a choice." The entity’s smile widened slightly. "One thousand of you can leave. Return to your homes. Your families. Your lives. Walk away from this battlefield and never speak of what occurred here."

The mercenaries stirred. Whispers spreading through their ranks.

One thousand? Out of fifteen thousand? Those were terrible odds, but better than zero.

"However," the word cut through rising hope like a blade through silk, "there are conditions."

Jack’s transformed body began pacing slowly, each step deliberate, giving the mercenaries time to process what came next.

"First. You will submit to me. Not in service. Not in slavery. But in acknowledgment that House Kaiser is not to be threatened. Ever. By anyone. For any reason."

The entity paused, letting that sink in.

"Second. You will take a blood oath. Never to speak of what happens inside this dome. The moment you attempt to describe these events, the demons, the dragon, the methods employed, your tongue will turn to ash in your mouth. Your eyes will go blind. Your memories of this place will burn away, leaving only screaming nightmares you can’t articulate."

Several mercenaries made small sounds of distress.

Blood oaths weren’t metaphorical. Magic enforced them with absolute certainty. But not just anyone could forge blood contracts. It had been decades since anyone had seen someone with soul magic.

"Third." Jack’s golden eyes swept across the assembled faces with predatory focus. "Marcus Thorne and his captains cannot be among the one thousand. They orchestrated this invasion. They made the choice to threaten House Kaiser. They face different consequences."

Marcus, standing in the middle of his army, felt his legs finally give out. He collapsed to his knees, armor clanking against ice.

"So." The entity’s smile became something sharp. "If you want to be among the one thousand who leave... you need to prove your commitment. Show me you understand who holds power here."

Silence stretched. Mercenaries looking at each other. At their captains. At Marcus. Processing what was being asked.

"Capture them." The words dropped into silence like stones into still water. "Marcus Thorne. His seven captains. Bring them to me. Alive. Whoever participates in their capture is guaranteed a place among the one thousand."

The silence stretched longer this time. Men wrestling with the choice between survival and loyalty to commanders who’d led them into this nightmare.

"And for those of you not fast enough to capture the primary targets..." The entity’s voice took on an almost cheerful quality. "You’ll need to secure your place among the one thousand through other means. Prove you’re worthy of mercy."

The implication was clear.

Fifteen thousand men. One thousand spots. Fourteen thousand would die here.

"You have until I grow bored." Jack’s hand waved dismissively.

"Begin whenever you’re ready. Or don’t. Stand there frozen in indecision until I have my demons start selecting targets. Your choice."

The mercenaries remained motionless.

Staring, trying to process. Unable to believe what they were being asked to do.

Then one soldier, standing perhaps twenty feet from the nearest captain, pulled a knife from his belt. His hand shook. His face went pale.

But desperation overrode everything else.

He lunged forward, blade coming up toward the captain’s throat. "I GOT HIM!"

The captain spun, sword coming up in practiced defense. Steel rang against steel as the knife was deflected.

But the spell was broken.

Other mercenaries saw the attack.

Saw the promise of survival if they just moved fast enough.

Chaos erupted.

Men turned on their commanders. Swords drawn. Knives out. Fists swinging. The disciplined army that had marched on Sorne dissolved into mob violence in the span of three heartbeats.

"GET MARCUS!" 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"THE CAPTAINS! GRAB THE CAPTAINS!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

The eastern section of the dome became a churning mass of bodies. Men fighting each other. Fighting their commanders. Fighting anyone between them and the targets that meant survival.

One captain went down under six attackers, his sword torn from his grip, hands pinning his arms while someone else secured rope around his wrists.

His screaming protests were lost in the general chaos.

Another captain tried to run, forcing his way through the crowd. Made it perhaps thirty feet before someone tackled him from behind. Then five more soldiers piled on, pinning him to the ice.

Marcus scrambled backward on his knees, armor scraping against ground. His eyes went wild. His mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to process what was happening.

His own men. The soldiers he’d paid. The army he’d assembled. All of them turned on him with the single-minded focus of drowning men reaching for driftwood.

"PROTECT ME!" Marcus finally found his voice. "I’LL DOUBLE YOUR PAY! TRIPLE IT! ANYTHING YOU WANT!"

But gold meant nothing to men facing extinction.

Survival was the only currency that mattered anymore.

A soldier Marcus didn’t recognize grabbed his arm. Then another seized his other arm. More hands grasping at his armor, his legs, pulling him down to the ice.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! I’M MARCUS THORNE! I’M..."

Someone’s fist connected with his jaw, cutting off his protests. Stars exploded across his vision. His head rang like a blow horn in his ear.

When his awareness cleared, he was on his back. Surrounded by faces he should have recognized but couldn’t focus on. All of them looked at him not as their commander, but as their ticket to survival.

"We got him!" Someone shouted. "We got Marcus Thorne!"

Cheers erupted from the soldiers holding him.

Victorious. Relieved. Already counting themselves among the one thousand who would leave.

The entity watched all of this with Jack’s golden eyes.

He was unmoved. Waiting for the chaos to organize itself into something more useful.

Around the dome, similar scenes played out. Captains being overwhelmed by their own troops.

Some were fighting back with skill that let them take down attackers.

But numbers always won eventually. Seven commanders against thousands of desperate men.

Within five minutes, all seven captains were secured.

Bound with ropes and strips of torn cloth. Whatever materials were available. Held by groups of soldiers who guarded their prizes with the intensity of men who’d just won the lottery.

And Marcus Thorne, former head of House Thorne, architect of this invasion, lay on the ice with perhaps twenty soldiers surrounding him. Making absolutely certain he couldn’t escape.

Making sure he couldn’t be stolen by other groups seeking to claim credit.

The entity nodded once as if he was satisfied.

"Well done." Jack’s voice carried easily across the dome despite not shouting.

"Those of you holding the targets are guaranteed places among the one thousand. Congratulations. You may step aside and wait."

The groups holding captains and Marcus began moving toward the dome’s edges. Creating space. Putting distance between themselves and what came next.