Chapters 201-202

Chapter 201

No one is getting up, Lancelot surmises. They’re offended even by Jacob thinking they could get up. But that’s only because of how he phrased it. If they get up, they’re cowards who want for nothing.

The Champions don’t even dare look around, in fear they might show some hesitation, and even the servants who bring food are waiting at the door’s threshold, afraid of barging in the dense auras that are now slowly rising in the room.

The Boss wants them to turn toward the Generation of Legends and away from the politics of their family, race, and whatever obligations they must feel. 

Lancelot would describe that as manipulation in many cases—most likely, including this one. Yet, he can see why Jacob’s doing it.

Without pride, honor, and whatever they must be feeling as stakes, nothing would even compare to their current allegiances. The Boss is asking, ‘are you cowards who can only do the most convenient thing for petty interests, or are you heroes fighting for a larger cause?’

As Lancelot keeps chewing, trying to be as quiet as possible, on his turkey leg, he suddenly raises an eyebrow.

In a way, he’s kind of making the Champions into another Cult. A good Cult, though.

*

In reality, Jacob is way less sure and confident in his own performance than Lancelot gives him credit for.

The Guide of Champions is currently sweating bullets as he sees everyone narrow his eyes at him. He got a new Class, more power, and a new bag of tricks with it. Yet, all the people in here are extremely dangerous. They’re not part of the Generation of Legends for nothing. 

Silence holds for a long breath after Jacob’s speech. 

Iskara is the first to move.

She lifts her chin and straightens in her seat.

“I’m staying,” she says.

A faint ripple runs through the room. The servants at the door take their first breath in the past minute. 

Kai nods once and places both forearms on the table.  

“I’m in, brother,” he says. “Our family… they’re important to me. They’re the most important thing. But if I wasn’t fighting for what’s just, then I’d be betraying them.”

Asterion follows without hesitation.

“My bloodline exists to fight threats that others cannot—my own blood was always supposed to be a weapon. I’m staying.”

Sabrina Margrave clicks her tongue and crosses her arms, but she does not stand.

“I hate being told what I might lose,” she says, “but I hate cowards more, and I’m not leaving my seat to someone weaker. After we are done with the Dark Champions and the Evil Gods, I’ll be coming for your countries. Until then, this group has my allegiance.” 

Orrivane leans back, studies Jacob for a second, and then shrugs.

“I already told a Dark Champion to fuck off,” he says. “It would be stupid to stop halfway.”

Zibrek exhales sharply and looks at Boomgar before speaking.

“I lost my seat,” she says, “but I didn’t lose my will, and if this group breaks apart now, then we deserve what comes next.”

Boomgar grunts and nods.

“I don’t like relying on others,” he says, “but, as a Dwarf, I have an unbreakable pride, lad. I will be with you until the day I die, even if my job will only be to cart around canteens of water.” 

“I have no family, no allegiance. I have a master, but he would never ask me something malicious. Nor I would follow him if he did. My allegiance has always been to this group,” Kaelric says. 

“If Jacob hadn’t come to the Academy,” Vyrrak says, “I wouldn’t be here now.” 

Everyone looks at the Dragonkin in different states of surprise. Not all of them have heard about what went down with Vice Principal Caradoc. 

Everyone’s eyes turn to Jacob.

“This is going to be a long war,” he says. “But Champions are those whom I want to fight it with.” 

“Jacob, what are we going to do, now?” Zibrek asks. “Boomgar and I are still without our title as Champions.”

Jacob takes a deep breath.

“My master, King Baalrek, notified me of the presence of someone following me around, waiting for me to be ready for a trial.” 

Everyone frowns. 

“Who, lad?” Boomgar asks before a hulking, gigantic golem appears right behind his seat. 

“You were aware of my presence, Jacob Cloud.” 

It’s a gigantic, white-silvery Golem—to be precise, a Mithril Golem. One of the many creations of Rafnov, the legendary Miner.

 The room freezes.

Boomgar does not turn at first, because dwarves trust their backs to stone and steel and habit, but the weight behind him presses on his spine anyway. The shifting of the now-nervous Champions makes their chairs creak.

“You were aware of my presence, Jacob Cloud,” it repeats, and this time it inclines its head a fraction.

“I was,” he says. “And I’d like to start the trial. I will need two helpers, right?” 

The Golem has a chiseled face of a hero, not a lump of rocks. It frowns.

“You were informed of my master’s trial. Who is responsible for this knowledge?” 

“My master, King Baalrek,” Jacob says. “He passed away recently. He gave me some information before he did, though.” 

The Mithril Golem’s gaze sweeps the table, and it pauses on each Champion in turn.

“Your master did not break any rules. Baalrek was a great warrior—despite not having any interest in metallurgy.” 

That’s a weird, backhanded compliment, Jacob thinks. But he says nothing. It’s not an actual insult. 

“You are late,” it says. “But you are sufficient.”

Boomgar finally turns, and his beard bristles as he takes in the construct from head to foot.

“Lad,” he mutters, “that thing is massive. Is this safe?” 

Jacob nods and smiles. “It’s part of Rafnov’s legacy. The one we found back then. This is another milestone and now that I’ve made my Class advancement, it was just a matter of time before it sought me out.” 

Zibrek tightens her grip on the table.

“A trial,” she says. “For you?”

“For us,” Jacob answers. 

“Master Rafnov concerned himself not only with mining, like many seems to think. Of course, his knowledge of the earth is much greater than anybody else's. Yet, he was a master of metal, of mineral, and much more. He was also a master of life. I am just one of an army of humble servants.” 

A low hum rolls through the room as the golem shifts its stance.

“Jacob Cloud, you have learned the very minimum of what comes with my master’s legacy. You received high-grade Platinum that I see on your companion’s arms and armors.” 

Everybody stares at their own equipment and is reminded that Jacob had it crafted for them once they got out of the Tomb of Fate. 

“Now,” the Mithril Golem thunders, “are you ready to take on the second trial? You will die if you’re not well-prepared.” 

“I am ready,” Jacob says. “I would like to bring Zibrek Gearlash and Boomgar Blackpowder with me.” 

“Very well,” the Mithril Golem says. I’ll wait at the pier of this island, under the large lighthouse. Once you’re ready, come.” 

With that said, the Mithril Golem disappears as if he has been never there in the first place. 

“You expect me and Boomgar to grow stronger from this?” Zibrek asks. 

“Something like that,” Jacob replies. 

“What’s the trial?” Boomgar asks. 

“Something to do with Blacksmithing. You two know more than me, right?” 

“Lad, I was born with liquid metal flowing in my veins! Of course!” Boomgar smiles. “Not sure about that little wimp, though.”

“We’re the same height, Boomgar! I’m actually slightly taller than you!”

“Lies,” Boomgar smiles to himself. 

“Anyway, before we go, I have a couple of visits to take care of. Boomgar, Zibrek, just get ready and we’ll meet this evening there. Oh, and one more thing for everybody else.”

The Champions all perk up.

“I know that one of you will betray me,” Jacob says. 

“What?” Vyrrak frowns. “What are you saying? Who?” 

“If anyone tries that,” Orrivane narrows his eyes, “I’ll kill them.” 

“Jacob…” Kai, his brother is speechless. “Who would do something like that? And why are you saying it like this?! Who is it?!” 

“Who knows,” Jacob smiles. “Maybe I’m just playing mind games.” 

Lancelot, who has incredibly stopped eating from the surprise, thinks, this is definitely a very devious plan. 

Chapter 202

He takes a sip from the freshly squeezed juice he ordered at the inn. It’s good—very refreshing. It definitely doesn’t compare to the plain rations he’s used to while on normal missions on behalf of the crown. 

He takes a hand to his blonde lock that falls forward and combs it back. If it was up to him, he would have cut it a long time ago. But, as part of his training dictates, he has to cure his outward appearance as much as he has done his martial training. He’s not just a honed weapon on the battlefield, but also at court or on diplomatic missions. 

This one, however, is a very particular one.

“Is that The Sacrifice?” Someone whispers in the inn, barely even catching his attention. 

“Oh my, I think it is, isn’t it?” 

It. 

The Sacrifice takes a normal breath not to give away his annoyance and resettles, eliminating any distracting thought from his mind. 

It’s time to eat for sustenance. I let my mind slip. 

He has been trained not to get distracted, to always be laser focused on whatever he’s doing—no matter how trivial. And so, he focuses on the food, on the drink. On eating at a normal pace that looks leisurely and elegant from the outside. He doesn’t use the same stiff manners that are required at Royal-hosted banquets, however. It would alienate people here.

“Is he really a Devil?” 

“He has the blood of them, I believe. But why doesn’t he look like Infernals, then? He looks perfectly Human.” 

As he eats, he goes over the details of this mission. 

I am here to wait and stalk Jacob Cloud once he gets expelled. The Matriarch told me to start imparting fear in him and to then hunt him down once the Princess is done with him. I am also to look out for potential allies and enemies, therefore I have to establish a routine of being seen eating out in public, walking among the crowds, and, to an extent, attract attention. 

That, to be honest, was something that bothers him. 

Receiving orders to stalk and kill someone never upsets him. No matter if he’s someone he knew, someone he’s trained with, or even one of his teachers. No one knows how to be good at killing better than him. But this? This spectacle? This circus he’ll have to be at the center of? 

The Sacrifice has never been ordered to stand out, to receive admiration, to attract political favor. He’s a weapon meant to scare, to unsettle, to make sure that the enemies of the Infernals will always cower in fear at the thought of waking up with him smiling at them in their own bed, at the thought that his blade might be the last thing they see in their miserable lives. 

“HEY!” 

The Sacrifice startles as he stiffens and straightens up. He was eating mechanically and immersed in his own thoughts about the mission. He hasn’t noticed a girl approached him. 

When he raises his eyes, he knows why.

“Would you like more juice?”

A brunette with an eyepatch is staring at him.

A cripple. She’s too weak for me to register as a threat. 

It’s the inn’s maid. She only has one leg, one arm, and somehow also lost one eye. Whoever did that, the Sacrifice reasons, must have not enjoyed symmetry to the fullest. 

Left arm. Right leg. Left eye.

If it had been up to him, he would have taken everything from one side only. 

“Sir, would you like more juice or not? You have finished yours. You have been drinking from an empty cup.”

The Sacrifice turns his eyes at the cup in his right hand—it is, in fact, empty. 

How very observant. 

“Oh my,” the Sacrifice lets out a warm laugh. “Look at me, how silly. Sure, miss, I would love some.” 

The girl shrugs and fills up his cup. He takes a sip and smiles at her, nodding. “Delicious.”

When she doesn’t leave, he cranes his neck a little, “yes, milady?” 

“Milady?” She snorts. “Is it true that you’re a Devil?” 

“Not exactly,” he replies. “Why, would you like to speak to a Devil? They were famous for being very tricky to deal with.” 

“You look like you don’t even use your mind much, at least while eating,” the girl says, cocking both her eyebrows. “You don’t look very tricky to deal with.”

He doesn’t take offense from the cripple. If anything, he’s slightly amused at her behavior. 

“Then, what could I help you with?” 

“I’m fifteen. I’m training to enter the Academy. They say that you’re super strong and you almost killed the Fake Champion. Now, I don’t know how strong the Fake Champion is, but he must be decent. So, I need some pointers.” 

The Sacrifice quietly uses one of his Perception Skills to check on her Mana and is confused at the question. 

“You don’t seem to have trained much in your life and to possess much in terms of Skills, milady. I doubt my training would help you much. May I, in fact, suggest that you look for another profession? Knights… it’s not a great world.”

“You just joined the Academy. You’re going to be a Knight,” she states matter-of-factly. 

Once Jacob Cloud is dead, I will go back and take the rest of my Oaths. I will never be a Knight. I am a weapon. 

“Right,” he nods. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I have the time, then.” 

He’s curious to see how she’s going to take his refusal.

But still, how peculiar that she thinks that a cripple like her, with no Skills, no bloodline, no apparent talent, could be a Knight. Will she cry, now? I do have some trinkets on me. Perhaps, I could—

“Oh, so are you weak? And what’s your name? They say you don’t have a name.” 

The Sacrifice almost makes the mistake of frowning. Instead, he smiles warmly again. 

“I’m not the strongest, I suppose. And I don’t have a name. It’s customary in my line of work not to have names.” 

“Why?” She asks with a non-committal expression. 

“It’s just tradition.”

“It sounds like a very stupid tradition.” 

“Are you insulting Infernal customs? That would be rude,” The Sacrifice says in a sweet tone that makes all the other people in the inn stop breathing. 

“We’ve been talking for a while and you still haven’t asked my name, despite calling me a lady,” the maid says with a shrug. “You are quite rude.”

The Sacrifice snorts, not being able to help himself. 

He’s used to many things. 

Contempt, fear, flattery. 

This? 

This is mildly amusing to him. 

“Cecilia, stop bothering him!” A cook comes out of the kitchen, a woman. 

“I’m not bothering him,” Cecilia, the crippled maid, says. “He’s not that scary, you know? He doesn’t even have horns.” 

Once again, the Sacrifice snorts in amusement. 

“The Blood of the Devil doesn’t come with horns,” the Sacrifice says. 

“But does it come with power?” Cecilia frowns at him.

“Oh, yes, it very much does.”

Everyone turns to the entrance and a few people immediately recognize the young man who just entered. 

“That’s the Fake Champion!”

“Didn’t the Blood of the Devils almost kill him?” 

“Maybe he came for revenge!” 

“Oh my, this is might get bloody! Oh no! I’m not done eating!”

Now, the Sacrifice slowly changes his posture, ready to attack Jacob Cloud, the Fake Champion. However, he notices that Cecilia, curious, turns and moves in-between them.

You stupid girl, you’re going to get injured if he does something and I have to attack! MOVE! 

But he’s been trained not to show emotions and he has to stay still. 

Jacob Cloud, however, just strolls lightly to the table, picks a stool, and sits in front of him.

“Hi,” Jacob says to the maid and points to the plate in front of the Sacrifice. “Nice eyepatch. Could I have a plate of that myself?” 

The Sacrifice gets instantly irritated by Jacob’s behavior. And, honestly, he doesn’t even know why.

“Sure,” the maid nods. “Is he actually strong, then?” She points back at him.

“Oh, very strong. Possibly, the strongest first-year student.” 

“Huh,” Cecilia now looks impressed. 

Why is that so pleasing? The Sacrifice frowns, feeling satisfied at Cecilia’s reaction. 

However, he forces coldness back in place when the girl is gone.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit? If this is a visit.”

Jacob Cloud looks at him and smiles lightly. 

“Curiosity,” Jacob smiles. 

That’s a lie. The Sacrifice immediately spots thanks to his training.

“Really? For what?” 

“You’re young,” the Fake Champion tells him. 

“Am I?” He replies. “And how would you even—”

“Seventeen, right?” 

The Sacrifice is suddenly stumped and frozen. 

How does he—this must be a Skill. A very powerful one for it to tell my age. Rainbow? 

“You have interesting means,” the Sacrifice replies. 

“You’re only two years older than me?” Cecilia has come back with a hot plate and juice,balancing them both with one hand and dexterously moving them in front of Jacob. “You’re a kid.” 

“Very powerful kid,” Jacob Cloud says. “We’re the same age, though.”

“Cecilia,” the Sacrifice says slowly, “I would like for you to take a few steps back.” 

The maid looks curious and moves back with her wooden leg clacking against the floor. 

A barrier Skill suddenly surrounds them both and cuts off the sound from the rest of the room, also partially obscuring them from the outside. This is one of the many Skills he had to learn in his line of work. 

“Why are you here?” The Sacrifice says, not willing to entertain the Fake Champion. “I don’t like being bothered.” 

“I mean, you’re here for me,” Jacob says. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“It’s not very flattering to be a target for murder.”

“Murder?” He asks.

“I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out, right?” Jacob takes a sip from the juice and starts eating, apparently waiting for the Sacrifice to say something else. 

Measuring his words, he starts talking in an piqued voice, “if you think I’m here for your life, did you come to beg?” 

Jacob snorts and hits himself on the chest a few times to have the food go down. 

“I have a Skill that lets me see very far into the future.”

Lie. 

“And it tells me that you’re not going to kill me.” 

Lie—no, he believes that. Why is he here?

“What does it tell you?” 

“That you’re an interesting guy. Anyway, is it true that Sacrifices, as they’re called, sign away everything in their Oaths? I asked a few friends about it. That seems to be the understanding.”

“Would you like to pity me? That seems like something up your alley.”

He bothers me a lot. I can’t wait to take your head, Jacob Cloud.

“Pity you?” Jacob Cloud smiles. “I think you pity me, in a way. I do wonder, though, about something.”

“Speak your mind, freely.” 

“What if someone could break those oaths? Right, that’s an interesting hypothetical. If you could have your oaths broken, would you still want to be a slave?” 

The Sacrifice looks deeply into the Fake Champion’s eyes.

“Do you think this is the first time someone tries to insult me by calling me a slave?” 

“I don’t think you heard my question right. But then, you seem like a fella who likes to keep a lot of anger inside. So, who knows, maybe you like this slavery, right? Lets you kill people, I believe.” 

“What is this nonsense? Would you like for me to show you real power?” 

“No, no. I just came to have some food. Plus, if you did, unless you want the Champion’s spot, which you don’t because it would bind you more to the Academy, you can’t really randomly lay your hands on me. It’s against the rules.” 

Right. He’s a sharp man. 

“I will underestimate you, Jacob Cloud.”

“I know,” the other replies. “Drop the barrier now. We’re done with confidentiality. I also have to go soon. I have to pay a few visits around today.”

The Sacrifice waits for a moment and then nods, dropping the barrier.

The sounds of the inn come back for a moment, before people realize they can hear the two again and go silent. 

Jacob Cloud drops a golden coin in the hands of the maid, Cecilia, which makes the Sacrifice almost frown. He has lots of funds for his missions, but he doesn’t love to spend them recklessly to show off just like the Fake Champion just did. 

“The rest is your tip, darling,” Jacob Cloud smiles at the maid. 

“You’re the Fake Champion, really?” Cecilia asks Jacob, putting the pitcher under her stump and taking the gold coin with her good hand and giving it a bite.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m, like, sort of his enemy. He wants to kill me.”

“Why?” Cecilia frowns.

If I could, Jacob Cloud, I would take your life right now. 

“My master, King Baalrek, offends his people.” 

They’re not my people.

“Oh,” Cecilia shrugs. “Ok.” 

Then, the Fake Champion leaves. 

“That’s a cool name, you know?” Cecilia suddenly says, making him turn to her. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“King Baalrek. You don’t have a name, right?” 

“I don’t like where you’re going with this,” the Sacrifice says. “It’s a supremely offending character to Infernals the one you’re speaking of.”

“Ok,” Cecilia shrugs. “Then, Baal. If you come back again, that’s what I’m calling you. It’s exhausting talking to someone without a name.”

*

Jacob gets out of the inn to find a trembling Lancelot who dramatically sighs in relief when he sees him. 

“Oh my, Boss,” Lancelot places his hands on Jacob’s shoulder. “I thought he would kill you. Why are we here again? What plan is this?” 

“Heh,” Jacob scratches his head. “I think he really wants me dead, now. But, there’s a decent chance that, in time, this could all turn in our favor, my friend.”

“The fact that he wants to… kill you?” 

“My plans are too complicated to explain,” Jacob says with a nod. 

“Is there a chance he actually kill you?” Lancelot asks. 

“A good one, I reckon,” Jacob replies pensively. 

“That doesn’t sound like a great plan.” 

“Oh, my friend, it’s the best. Now, next, we have a Princess to visit.”