Chapters 204-205

Chapter 204

I’m disoriented, honestly, Jacob thinks as, after yet another expensive meal, he and Lancelot walk toward the pier. Princess Naar’ethra alleges that Zibrek has the wrong Class. Zibrek still hasn’t progressed to Platinum Rank, which means there could be adjustments… but what kind? I have no idea what Skills she has other than the ones related to Engineering. And what about Boomgar? He’s very transparent about his love for explosives. But… that’s about as much as I know about his inclinations. I’ve asked him directly if he thinks I could help him out with anything, but he was as helpless as one could be. We have zero ideas here and I’m not sure what can be done. I’ve checked the Skills they’ve used with the Grimoire, but I keep not getting anything at all. Perhaps—

“Lancelot, could you chew with your mouth closed?” Jacob asks, groaning after being once again distracted by the loud ruminating of his Squire. 

“It helps me digest if I eat like this,” Lancelot says, nodding wisely. 

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. And, by the way, can you activate that form again after eating this much?” 

Lancelot grimaces, “I don’t think so, Boss. It requires a lot of energy.” 

Lancelot’s Draconic Form stores energy in form of fat when he turns into a giant Dragonkin. But he runs out of it very quickly because there’s a very low efficiency. Another but, though: we can’t help him level it up before he can use it again. He must be in his Draconic Form for me to guide him with the Grimoire. 

“You look worried, Boss,” Lancelot says. 

“Lots on my mind, Lancelot,” Jacob scratches his head. “Not sure how all of this will pan out.”

“You’re lucky, Boss. I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

“You know what? Fair. Let’s get going. One problem at the time.”

“Can you tell me now who do you think is going to betray you?”

“Again? I made that up.” 

“You definitely didn’t,” Lancelot scoffs. “Come on, who is it?” 

“I mean it,” Jacob turns to stare seriously at Lancelot. “I’m just throwing stuff at the wall and trying to see what sticks. I’m not sure what Iskara, for example, is going to do. All the Infernal movements, suspicious. But… who knows.” 

“So, what about the Sacrifice guy?” 

“No idea,” Jacob shrugs. 

“But why did you go there?” 

“Trying to mess with him,” Jacob says, looking at the cloudy sky with only a few blades of sunlight piercing the grayness. 

“Why?”

“Again, I’m not sure I’m right about anything, Lancelot. I’m just… sowing.” 

“Boss, those who so wind…” 

“Get a nice tailwind,” Jacob interrupts him.

“I don’t think that’s the saying,” Lancelot scrunches his brow. “I thought it was—” 

“Wait, is that a free buffet?” 

“Where?!” Lancelot stops in his tracks and turns around and Jacob jogs forward, leaving him behind. 

*

Zibrek and Boomgar are both quite nervous even though they’re trying their best to not show it. 

“How do you think we’re going to do this, lass?” Boomgar sighs, trying to hide his nerves. He keeps his eyes on the water instead of her. 

Zibrek folds her arms and watches the waves hit the pylons. 

“Do what, exactly.”

“Whatever it is that Jacob has in mind,” Boomgar says. 

“I’m sure that standing still won’t fix anything, anyway,” she says. 

Boomgar glances at her, then looks away again. 

“Aye. That’s fair.”

There’s a pause, and the sound of the sea fills it without hurry.

“You fought a gunslinger,” Boomgar says at last. “He any good?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately, and then her jaw tightens. “Annoyingly so.”

Boomgar grunts. 

“That bad, eh.”

“What about yours? I haven’t heard much,” Zibrek replies.

“One of your kind,” Boomgar shrugs. 

“Really? Mine was a Dwarf.”

“Fun how things worked out… I guess it makes sense,” Boomgar comments.

“The Dwarf seeks out the Goblin, the Goblin seeks out the Dwarf,” Zibrek echoes the sentiment. 

Zibrek studies his face for a moment. 

“You’re not angry.”

“Yeah, not an angry man,” Boomgar says, stroking his thick beard. “It’s a nightmare that becomes reality—losing my spot. In a way, now that I lost it, it feels almost reassuring.”

“Reassuring?” Zibrek tightens her fists. “What are you even talking about? You don’t want to kill the bastard who took your title?”

“I don’t feel great about it,” Boomgar confesses. “But before Jacob’s speech, lass, I did think about just going on with my life. Not everyone needs to be Champions.”

Zibrek looks at Boomgar, not able to comprehend what he’s saying. 

“I could never be anything else,” she says between her teeth. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” 

“Aye,” Boomgar isn’t convinced. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but who cares about Champions or not Champions. I enjoy blowing things up, lass. That’s about it. I can do that all the same.” 

“Then, why are you here?” 

“Do you ever feel petty?” Boomgar asks out of the blue.

“What?” 

“Petty. Do you ever feel petty?” 

“No?” 

“Bad sign, lass,” Boomgar tells Zibrek. “Lots of pettiness going around the Academy. Everyone can be a bit too much into the ideas they have of themselves and become petty.” 

“Boomgar,” Zibrek’s tone grows irritated, “speak your damn mind.” 

“Jacob made me feel petty,” Boomgar confesses. “He made me feel like a kid who’s not aware of his surroundings—someone who never wants to take responsibility.”

“I swear, I don’t understand one word that you’re saying, Boomgar.”

“Aye,” Boomgar sighs. “Goblins—very literal creature. Us Dwarves, we are a bit cryptic. Anyway, that’s the lad.” 

The both raise their eyes to see Jacob shortly followed by his newly-thinned-out Squire. 

Jacob slows his pace when he notices them by the pier, and his steps lose the careless rhythm he had a moment earlier. Lancelot follows, still chewing, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when he realizes he is not alone.

“Boss,” Lancelot says, lowering his voice with effort, “they look very serious.”

“I noticed,” Jacob replies.

Jacob knows that what Zibrek and Boomgar are going through is not easy to weather. Losing the title of Champion would definitely impact him a lot. And he started from nothing. If he went back to nothing, not much would have changed for him. In fact, he already has a better life than he could have ever imagined a few years ago. Yet, the Dwarf and the Goblin in front of him come from good families, from people with money, or power, or both. 

At the very least, they don’t come from nothing.

Before Jacob can say anything else, something appears on the pier.

A tall construct standing a few steps away from them.

“You have been blessed with the chance to take Master Rafnov’s Second Trial,” the golem says. “That fulfills the requirement.”

Boomgar squints at it. “You always talk like that, or is today special.”

The golem turns its head slightly toward him. 

“Boomgar Blackpowder. Your commentary is unnecessary,” it says. “Now, the Trial is a competition.” 

“I’m not going to compete with my friends,” Jacob rebuts. 

“You are not.” 

The Mithril Golem then snaps his fingers and one person materializes, opposite to the trio of Champion and former Champions.

“Filr’etk Blackbounty,” the Mithril Golem says, with a red skinned Goblin appearing. “Newly-crowned Champion, metallomancer.” 

Boomgar narrows his eyes. 

“Hello, dirty little Dwarf,” Filr’etk says to Boomgar. “I hope you’re ready for another loss. I couldn’t believe that I was awarded a chance to humiliate the former Champion again.” Then, the Goblin turns toward Zibrek, “greenskin, and a great warrior. I bow to you.” 

“Redskin,” Zibrek says. “Do not insult my friend.”

“Your friend?” Filr’etk looks disgusted. “I take back my greeting. A Goblin like you, a former Champion, mingling with this dirty Dwarf?” 

“Oh,” Jacob says. “I see where this is going.”

The Mithril Golem looks at Jacob again and then snaps his fingers. 

“Narfikara Warmfinger,” the Mithril Golem says and a Dwarven woman with a round face appears and looks around, giggling. 

“Look at that—neat Spell. So…” She turns toward Zibrek. “This is going to be a pleasure.” 

“Not for me,” Filr’etk says, looking disgusted at the Dwarven woman. “Stay away from me while I humiliate your kin. I don’t need your dirty hands anywhere close to me.”

Thankfully, they’re idiots, Jacob thinks. This is going to be pretty smooth. Cooperation is going to be important in this Trial, I suppose. 

“This is a Trial based on pure Skill. Each individual will have to carry himself over the end of it without any material help from the others.”

“Well,” Jacob flinches. “Still doable. And only two of them? I get that they might related to forging and whatnot, but is this it?” 

The Mithril Golem looks at Jacob with a sly smile. 

“I don’t like when undeserving fools stumble upon my master’s legacy,” the Mithril Golem says, and then snaps his fingers again. 

Yet, the terrifying creature doesn’t see the despair he expected on Jacob’s face when the third and most dangerous person of the people he handpicked appears. 

“Hey, long time no see,” Jacob smiles widely and one could almost see little stars in his eyes. “How have you been?” 

A beautiful girl with sparkling blue eyes, dark hair, and a solemn shaped jawline looks at Jacob with coldness. She has a pin that keeps her hair in a bun that has been sculpted into a series of lamenting skulls. 

“Do not greet me like we’re friends, Jacob Cloud,” she says. “I’m your worst enemy.”

“You look very good today, you know? I love the pin.” 

Boomgar leans toward Zibrek, cupping a hand to her ear, “is he flirting with the Leader of the Dark Champions?” 

“I think so,” Zibrek frowns. 

“Now, for the Trial,” the Mithril Golem says, not happy that his plan to instill fear in Jacob hasn’t worked. “Let me explain the rules. But first, I’ll bring you to its location.”

With the next snap of his fingers, they all disappear. 

Chapter 205 

They reappear with a jolt that presses Jacob’s stomach into his spine, and when his vision settles he realizes they are no longer near the sea because the air is dry and thin and smells of scorched stone.

They stand on a wide circular platform carved into the side of a mountain whose peak vanishes into cloud. Below them stretches a sheer drop that plunges into darkness, and above them a ring of hovering slabs rotates slowly, each etched with faintly glowing runes that hum with restrained pressure.

Zibrek plants her feet immediately and lowers her center of gravity because the stone beneath them vibrates.

Filr’etk clicks his tongue and scans the slabs overhead while Narfikara squints and rubs her palms together, and sparks jump between her fingers before she suppresses them with a laugh.

Nimirea doesn’t move, unfazed, and she just stares. 

The Mithril Golem stands at the edge of the platform with his hands folded behind his back, and his polished surface reflects the glow of the runes in a way that makes him look pleased.

“The Trial is simple in structure. There are three thresholds. You have to reach the final chamber and, once there, you’ll receive word on what your true mission is. However, if your adversary crosses two out of three thresholds, even before the final chamber, they win and to them go the spoils of my Master’s Inheritance.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” Nimirea smiles. “I didn’t know you were also associated with someone like the Legendary Miner. I will treasure this reward on your behalf before I take your life.”

Jacob looks over the edge of the mountain, to the slabs circling above, and then back at Nimirea. “Are you free for dinner?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Zibrek faceslaps in the back.

“You can move through portals, right? Would you like to bet a dinner over this? I’m kind of tired of always eating with my Squire. I like spending time with you.”

“Jacob,” Nimirea says, looking at him like he’s stupid. “I said, I will kill you.”

“Yeah, whatever. I said, ‘are you free for dinner?’” 

“The lad is gone,” Boomgar coughs. “He’s gone, gone.” 

“I would never enjoy myself with my target,” the half-Elf says, looking straight at the Leader of Champions, her nemesis. 

“Why don’t we bet dinner? If I win, you come to dinner with me.” 

“He’s asking her out on a date!” Boomgar says, putting a hand in front of his mouth. “This is a scandal.”

“What is he thinking—”

“Shhh. Let’s see what the lass replies,” Boomgar whispers. 

“There’s not one single chance you will win. And since I know I will win, this bet would be pointless for you.”

“Well, it might not be for you. You say I’m your enemy, right? I’ll tell you all my plans against you if you win. All of them. I outplanned you once, right? I’m doing it again. But if you win, that would put in a terrible spot. I imagine you would love to one-up me, right?” 

Nimirea narrows her eyes. She knows Jacob doesn’t pose much of a threat in a direct confrontation. But his plans have indeed fooled once—luck or no luck. If he’s actually planning something, this could be a great way to take his foolishness and cockiness and turn it against him. 

“One dinner,” Nimirea says. 

“The lass accepted!” Boomgar’s eyes go wide.

“Yes,” Jacob nods. 

“And if you lose, you reveal me your plans.”

“Of course,” Jacob says.

 “Whatever. Swear now.”

Jacob and Nimirea quickly exchange an oath under the stupefied Mithril Golem. 

How are they thinking about this while one of their groups could be the recipient of my master’s legacy?

Yet, neither Fil’retk nor Narfikara say anything. They were both informed of Nimirea real identity. 

“In fact,” Jacob says, turning to the two new Champions. “Why are you allying with her? She’s evil.”

You just asked her out to dinner! Zibrek thinks, feeling like tearing her own hair out.

Filr’etk bares his teeth in a grin, and he does not look at Nimirea with fear, and he does not look at her with respect either.

“Evil is a word that weaklings use when they want to hide their envy,” Filr’etk says. “I allied with her because of this inheritance, Jacob Cloud. And I hope you do lose your head, to her or someone else. I will never recognize an incompetent as my Leader. In fact, I plan on leading the Champions myself.”

Nimirea cocks an eyebrow, interested in seeing how Jacob will deal with such a challenge to his authority from his own faction. 

“And you?” Jacob completely ignores the red-skinned Goblin, turning instead to the Dwarven woman. 

Narfikara giggles again, and she raises her hands in a helpless shrug. 

“I allied with her because it sounded funny. And Rafnov’s a legend.” 

“Cool,” Jacob nods and turns toward the Mithril Golem. “Then, I guess it makes sense you picked them. Now, what’s the first trial?” 

“You will be brought to two opposite sides of the mountain. You will each have one hour to figure out this puzzle and the one who does so first conquers the first threshold.” 

The Mithril Golem does not answer immediately.

Instead, its surface ripples, and a seam of light runs straight down its torso, and then it splits cleanly into two identical figures that step apart in perfect synchronization. One turns toward Nimirea and the remaining Champions, while the other pivots toward Jacob, Zibrek, and Boomgar.

“Separation is required,” both golems say at once, and the echo overlaps itself in a way that makes Lancelot flinch.

Before anyone can protest, the golem facing Jacob snaps his fingers.

The world folds sideways.

Jacob stumbles forward and catches himself on instinct, and when his vision steadies he realizes they are no longer exposed to the open air because they stand before a massive metal door whose surface is layered with rust, scoring, and old impact marks. The door is thick enough to be defensive rather than decorative, and faint heat bleeds through it in waves that prickle Jacob’s skin.

Boomgar exhales slowly. 

“Now this,” he says, “feels familiar.”

The golem places a palm against the door, and the metal groans as ancient locking mechanisms disengage, and the slabs slide apart with grinding reluctance.

Heat rushes out.

Inside lies a vast forge chamber carved directly into the mountain, and its ceiling arches high enough to swallow smoke that never fully dissipates. At the center floats a massive, uneven sphere of molten metal that turns slowly in the air, and its surface shifts between liquid and solid states in a way that makes Jacob’s eyes ache. Runes orbit it at different distances, and translucent panels drift and rotate, each inscribed with incomplete arrays.

This place is brimming with power, Jacob thinks. 

The door seals shut behind them.

“This is the First Threshold,” the golem says. “The Chamber of Metal.”

Zibrek steps forward, eyes fixed on the molten mass. 

“I’ve seen a forge that works like this before. But… it’s supposed to stabilize hyper-reactive metal. That metal…” 

“Is extremely unstable,” the Mithril Golem says. 

Boomgar cracks his knuckles. “So what’s the job, then.”

The golem gestures toward the floating mass. “In one hour, the winning team will be the one who has produced the most stable mass of metal.”

Jacob blinks. “That’s it?”

“That is everything,” the golem answers. “You will build arrays of Platinum Rank. This is well within your realm of expertise.”

Boomgar snorts. 

“For her and for him, maybe.”

Zibrek shoots him a look. “You literally shape explosives for a living.”

“And they blow up,” Boomgar says. “That’s the point.”

The golem continues as though he was never interrupted. “By stabilizing the mana flow, the metal will stabilize itself. This forge was built to study living metal.”

“Living,” Jacob repeats quietly.

“Master Rafnov understood that life is not limited to flesh,” the golem says. “There exists a life cycle that transcends living creatures and belongs to all creations. Metal is born, metal grows, metal decays.”

Jacob nods slowly, and confidence settles in his chest.

With the Grimoire, this will be a cakewalk.

“Alright,” Jacob says. “That’s easy enough.”

Boomgar raises an eyebrow. “You sound very sure.”

“I am,” Jacob replies, and he closes his eyes and activates the Grimoire.

He immediately sees patterns of overflowing Mana and smirks to himself.

Easy enough. 

“Zibrek,” he says. “Place a stabilizing rune there and there, angled slightly to the left of the sphere. The vibration we see should stop at once if we do.” 

Zibrek does as told. 

The runes flare.

For half a second, the molten mass calms, and its rotation slows.

Jacob exhales. “See.”

Then the mana surges.

The molten metal convulses violently, and its surface bulges outward as though something inside is trying to escape. The runes scream as their harmonics clash, and the floating panels rattle and scatter, and a wave of heat slams into them hard enough to force Zibrek back a step.

Boomgar swears. 

“That’s not stabilizing.”

The molten mass swells again, and cracks of white-hot light race across its surface.

Jacob swallows.

“This might be a problem,” he thinks.