Chapters 196-197

Contrary to popular belief, for every shorter (<1400 words chapter) there's usually a longer (>2300 words chapter). The conspiracy theories in the comments will let you think the average chapter is ungodly short, but Book 3, which goes from chapter 134 to 194 has 121,614 words.

121,614 ÷ 61 = about 1,994 words per chapter on average.

(These two chapters total something around 3640 words. One sits at 1903, and the other at 1737.)

Chapter 196

To say that Jacob’s stunned would be the understatement of the century. He knows that Lancelot has a Draconic Constitution—despite not having any idea where it came from. Still, it means that Lancelot’s base strength is actually pretty close to a Dragonkin’s in many regards. The problem was that the previously-chubby-man had never had anyone teaching him how to learn to use his strength.

Jacob, however, thanks to The Grimoire Extraordinaire, has done what would have been impossible to practically anybody else: he’s fixed every single flaw that Lancelot had in his Skills, down to the way he circulated Mana. 

Yet, watching the now thin, cheekbone-y Lancelot, he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening.

“Is your new Class this good?” Jacob asks, surprised. 

“New Class? Wait, for a Squire?!”

Everyone looks at the nameless Elf laying out cold through the wall, with the innkeeper making a tab of all the damages his poor place is getting. 

“That’s his Squire?! What do you mean?! Are you joking?! That Elf was at Platinum Rank! His strength was probably at Advanced Platinum Rank! Didn’t they say that the Fake Champion was barely at Intermediate Platinum?!” 

“I know!” Someone else chimes in. “But how the hell does he have a Squire who’s stronger than him?! What has the world come to, even?!” 

“The Class is really good, Boss,” Lancelot nods. “But now I’m hungry all the time.”

Jacob just stares with an unchanging expression, “you mean… exactly like before?” 

“Worse! Way worse! I always feel like I’m starved! Speaking of which, could I get some of that soup?” 

“Order your own,” Jacob says, moving in front of the little soup remaining in his bowl. 

“Oh, come on, you haven’t finished it!” 

“Because they assaulted me! Have you lost your eyes?” Jacob replies, crossing his arms. 

“Anyway, sit down. We have to talk.” 

Then, however, Jacob notices that the crowd isn’t thinning. 

If anything, it has only gotten bigger. 

“Huh, actually,” Jacob sighs, “maybe we need to change spot.” 

“Where do you think you’re going?!” A guy, a Human this time, walks forward with a giant axe in his hands. “I’m taking you down, Fake Champion.”

When his aura erupts, he’s at Peak Platinum Rank. 

Jacob groans and facepalms. 

“It’s going to be like this for a while, isn’t it?” 

“No one gets to my boss before going through me!” Lancelot declares, awkwardly shifting forward. 

Jacob suddenly notices that Lancelot didn’t get new pants, he’s still wearing his oversized pants before the weight loss—he’s just put a very narrow belt on them.  

“Lancelot, you need pants and a new robe. We’ll go get you sorted out later to Elder—”

“Silence!” The human thunders. “You scrawny idiot, move before I paint the wall with your innards! A Squire shouldn’t mess with real Students!” 

Jacob sees Lancelot move forward, trip, and faceplant because of his pants. 

What have I done to deserve this? He walks forward and, with a few movements of his hand, cuts the long ends of the pants that were getting in the way, leaving Lancelot with very wide shorts. 

“Hah! Genius!” Lancelot nods, very satisfied. 

“He just cut his pants, what genius is in that?!” Someone comments from the back. 

“I swear, I’ll eat my hat if that Squire manages to last ten seconds against this guy. He’s a Peak Platinum Rank, for crying out loud!” 

“I’ll eat your hat if the skinny guy can last five seconds!” 

The guy launches forward, attacking Lancelot, and the axe howls through the air as he tries to split the thin Squire from shoulder to hip. Lancelot’s eyes widen for a heartbeat, and then his feet plant on the floorboards.

Lancelot raises his left hand and catches the blade in his palm. The momentum is stopped so abruptly that the guy’s arms jolt as if he just hit a wall made of metal. 

There’s even a slight metallic twang as the guy comes to a stop.

The man tries as hard as he can to wrench the axe back, screaming at the top of his lungs, “give me back my damn axe!” 

But, for all he’s pulling, Lancelot’s finger feel like a steel clamp. 

A guy in the crowd has already thrown his hat away. 

Another one has nodded thankfully toward him. 

“Move!” the man spits, and he tries to slam his knee into Lancelot’s ribs.

Lancelot doesn’t shift and when the leg finds him, there’s a sickening crunch to the impact. 

“AHH!” 

But before he can say anything else, Lancelot slaps him. The slap renders the man instantly unconscious, making him leave the axe behind, out of his grip, as he flies away.

He hits the far wall, and the wall caves in, and the man vanishes through it in a burst of dust and shattered plaster.

Silence takes the room for a second, and then the innkeeper screams.

“MY WALLS!” he roars. “DO YOU ANIMALS THINK I BUILD THIS PLACE OUT OF AIR?!”

Lancelot  flexes his fingers once, and then he looks at Jacob with a grin that is too proud to be polite.

“Boss,” Lancelot says, “did you see that?”

Jacob keeps his face steady because he does not want the crowd to know how impressed he actually is.

“That was… interesting,” Jacob clears his throat. “Good job, Lancelot. We’ll find a place to eat now.” 

“FIRST YOU’LL PAY FOR THE DAMN WALLS YOUR SQUIRE DESTROYED!” The innkeeper shouts. 

“I know,” Jacob says, and then he turns to the man who made so many holes in the walls. “You just increased your debt to me.”

Lancelot blinks. “Boss, I don’t have any money. Wait, what debt? Are you keeping tabs of everything?”

“I do,” Jacob replies. “It is called your future rewards from Quests and whatnot. I’m investing in your food because it makes you stronger. But at some point, you’ll have to pay it back.” 

“What?!” Lancelot shouts, horrified. “All the food I ate is on my tab?!” 

“It was my treat a couple of times,” Jacob smiles wickedly. “But the rest is all on you. By my calculations, you owe about 55 Diamond Coins. We’ll talk about the interest later on.” 

“The interest?!” Lancelot cries out. “That’s cruel!” 

One of them swallows loudly. “He… he slapped a Peak Platinum into another wall.”

“No,” another whispers, “he slapped him through the wall.”

“That is a Squire,” a third says, and his voice goes thin. “That is the Fake Champion’s Squire.”

But then, as Jacob and Lancelot are getting ready to leave, a very tall figure, so tall he has to bow his head, appears in the midst of the crowd. 

“You’re not going anywhere before facing me. I haven’t made such a long journey for nothing.”

The voice is deep and resonant and everyone turns to see a twelve-foot tall Minotaur.

Jacob frowns, feeling the aura of the Minotaur and placing it roughly at Early Diamond Rank. 

That’s too much for Lancelot, I believe. His current power sits beyond Peak Platinum Rank and Diamond Rank—his physique is incredible, but this guy looks dangerous for him. 

“Lancelot, let me take this,” Jacob says, cracking his neck.

But Lancelot sticks out his hand, pulling Jacob back. 

“Boss, let me show you something. The way you came out and made lots of Infernals pissed inspired me.” 

“Inspired you?” Jacob frowns. “What do you mean inspired you?”

“I’m going to piss off a few people with this, Boss. I hope you don’t hold it against me.” 

“You want to go against me, little Squire?” The Minotaur gives a booming laugh. “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for. I’m about to break every single bone in your body.” 

The Minotaur takes a large bronze shield from his back and sword so large it must be six feet long.

But then, Lancelot slowly widens his stance and says, “Dragon Soul.”

A shockwave rocks the inn and Jacob can feel the foundations of the place starting to shake, which make him hug a spasming Lancelot and jump over the people and right into the street outside. 

What happens next is beyond Jacob’s wildest imagination.

Lancelot’s body slowly grows larger and larger, with scales sprouting all on his skin and assuming a blue tint. 

The blue tint deepens and reflects sunlight like lapis lazuli. 

His chest expands and his shoulder become much wider. His spine lengthens with a series of cracks, while his neck becomes thicker, with muscles bulging out. 

His hands grow into claws and his pants, previously very wide, get stretched over his now giant thighs. 

Jacob watches the Mana in Lancelot body exploding through new veins, creating a pressure that makes his jaw go slack.

A tail sprouts from Lancelot’s lower back and then his face turns into a half-muzzle, just like Vyrrak’s.

Did he just become a damn Dragonkin? Jacob wonders. Oh. Oh… this is what he meant.

Jacob now understands why he had inspired Lancelot. Him declaring himself King Baalrek’s apprentice angered Infernals. Lancelot turning into a Dragonkin, considering how apparently obsessed they were with blood purity, would go almost as bad with them as what Jacob did with Infernals. 

When the change ends, Lancelot stands in the street and he is eight feet tall.

There’s only one problem that Jacob can spot with this new, intimidating form.

“Why are you fat again?” Jacob frowns.

The scary Dragonkin Lancelot turned into is… very chubby.

Lancelot shrugs after looking down at himself.

“It was like this since I first used it. I have no idea.”

Jacob stares at him and then he looks at the Minotaur, since the Minotaur is staring too and his grin is coming back.

The Minotaur lets out a booming laugh and he points the enormous sword at Lancelot’s stomach. “So you turn into a Dragonkin in the shape of a pig. I came all this way for this?”

“When you say that you came all this way, what do you mean?” Jacob suddenly asks. 

“With the Academy opening the recruiting again and the spots of Champions open for anyone to take, I made my journey from the distant kingdom of Nangdria to here.”

“The Headmaster re-opened the recruitment?” Jacob is confused. 

“Yeah, Boss,” Lancelot, now a very tall and very obese Dragonkin, says. “Lots of people are coming.”

This means more guys like this, or even stronger, are going to come to the Academy. If I had to guess, this is yet another Headmaster’s game. Champions… he doesn’t want us to lose the spot—at least, that’s my guess.

Jacob’s eyes widen a moment.

He wants to recruit more people, that old creature! Let’s say a bunch of people come here, they’d have to abide by the Academy’s rules. That means that, if they stayed long enough to graduate, the Headmaster would get a bunch of Knights who came here for the wrong thing and ended up, knowing or unknowing, waging war against monsters and having to take a bunch of Quests. 

I can only hope to one day become as manipulating and sly as that man, Jacob finds himself thinking.

“Enough chatter,” the giant Minotaur says. “Let me break you so that I can get to your little friend. This is the first time I see a Squire being stronger than the person they serve. It appears that I’ll become a Champion on my first day at the Academy, HA!” 

Chapter 197

Jacob’s main worry with the incoming fight is that he just saw the Passive Skills that the Minotaurs has. 

[Analysis Completed.]

[The abilities’ descriptions have been summarized.]

[Steel Horsepower - Lv. 78 (Diamond)]

[Steel Horsepower vastly increases your speed and dexterity.]

[Fighting Spirit - Lv. 91 (Platinum)]

[Fighting Spirit increases your endurance as long as your fighting spirit is not broken.] 

[Spring Tendons - Lv. 88 (Platinum)]

[Spring Tendons increases the elasticity of your tendons and the power they can generate and withstand.] 

[Bullblood - Lv. 95 (Diamond)]

[Bullblood increases your power the longer the fight goes on.] 

“Lancelot, he’s a pure physical fighter,” Jacob tells his Squire. “Be careful and try to make it quick.”

“Quick?” The Minotaur booms with laughter. “Who do you take me for? I’m the strongest of my generation! Let me show this overgrown lizard what true power is like!” 

“Don’t worry, Boss,” the giant Dragonkin-like figure says, “I’m a physical fighter too.”

As the Minotaur springs forward and slashes at Lancelot, the bulky draconic figure sidesteps with the grace of a ballerina and the sword hits nothing.

“What the—” 

The Minotaur frowns and raises his shield as Lancelot’s palm strikes out. The impact makes the Minotaur skid several feet back, leaving deep scratches on the street’s paved floor. 

Not stopping and, actually, going even faster, so fast that Lancelot’s draconic form starts releasing steam, another attack reaches the Minotaur, another very simple palm. 

Yet, now taking it seriously, the Minotaur dodges and slashes at Lancelot. 

Jacob holds his breath as the large sword makes its way for Lancelot’s overextended arm. Yet, when the sword is about to reach his Squire, the hulking Dragonkin pivots and sweeps the Minotaur’s legs. 

What the hell is that dexterity? Lancelot’s has always been very agile, even when he was fat. But now, despite the huge size, he keeps moving and twisting like he’s one tenth of his current weight.

“Have you seen that?! That Dragonkin is so fast!” 

“That’s not a Dragonkin, idiot. That’s the Fake Champion’s Squire. He probably used some forbidden spell or something! Look at him!” 

The Minotaur tries a roll, but Lancelot grabs an arm and uses it to throw his enemy onto the ground, cratering it and immediately making the Minotaur pass out. 

A few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and they grow louder because people did not expect the fight to end like that.

“That Minotaur was at Diamond Rank power, wasn’t he?”

“He didn’t even use any flashy Skills. He just… folded him.”

“That Fake Champion has a monster at his side.” 

Jacob exhales only after the Minotaur stops moving, and then he nods once as he looks at Lancelot.

“Good,” Jacob says. “This form is incredible.” 

Lancelot straightens and steam keeps leaking from the seams of his draconic form while he rolls his shoulders as if he barely warmed up. 

“Easy work. Does this warrant a celebratory lunch? Your treat, boss?” 

Jacob is about to reply when the air changes.

He was about to go have more food alongside with Lancelot before he gathered all the Champions, but he can clearly feel the presence of someone problematic. 

There are footsteps of metal boots on the stone amidst the chaos. An aura that lets out a terrific pressure mutes the sounds as an Infernal man steps forward. 

He has deep-red skin and curled horn on his skull, but despite looking just like every other Infernal, his deep brown eyes lock onto Jacob and the aura keeps spreading.

That’s at the very least Intermediate Diamond Rank power.

“Lancelot, stand back,” Jacob says, frowning. 

“Boss, I’ve got this,” Lancelot says and then turns to the Infernal. “Are you here to challenge my Boss?” 

The Infernal looks in abject disgust at both, as if to wish they’d both immediately disappear into thin air. 

“The master mocks Infernal, and the servant Dragonkins. How apt of two vermin.” 

Jacob raises an eyebrow. 

“What’s your name?” Jacob asks. 

“I’m Lazerketh,” the man replies. “I’ve come here to humiliate you, Jacob Cloud. How do you dare claim you’re the disciple of the Mad King? What insult do you use to amuse yourself and humiliate my people?” 

“King Baalrek was a man of honor. Your history books are wrong, Lazerketh. I know that you must have animosity with me, just like many of your people. But if you’re willing to listen.” 

“I’m willing to break your Squire bones and then yours,” Lazerketh says, taking out a long, barbed whip.

Unconventional weapon. Strong aura. This is not going to be an easy fight for Lancelot. 

“Lancelot, you’re not guaranteed to win against this guy,” Jacob says. “If you want me to take over—” 

“Boss,” the eight-foot tall colossus says, “may I ask you whether I can take this fight first? I need to test myself.”

Jacob is nervous about this but still nods.

“Be careful.” 

“Out of my way,” Lazerketh says to the onlookers and cracks his whip on the ground, dangerously close to those spectating. 

“A member of the Three Great Races—an Infernal, no less!” Someone says. “The Fake Champion’s in trouble.”

“Look at that whip and his equipment… he looks incredibly strong.” 

“He probably is—he’s still an Infernal. And he’s not a known face. If I had to guess, he made it all the way here just to take the spot as Champion! And if he does there’ll be two Infernal Champions!”

The fight starts, and, immediately, Jacob starts sweating.

“Field of Thorns,” the Infernal says as Lancelot dashes forward. 

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” 

Many barbed wines appear on the ground and impede the newly-minted Dragonkin’s movements. 

He’s a battle-control specialist, Jacob inhales. Not a great matchup for Lancelot. 

More steam comes out of the draconic man’s form as he pushes forward and finally gets in range to attack. Yet, the Infernal doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Wall of Bloody Roses,” he chants. 

A giant wall of bleeding roses arises from the ground in front of him and Lancelot, feeling wary, steps back. 

Good call. That Skill has a strong lifesteal effect. 

And so, a dance starts with Lancelot trying to get close, but getting more and more minor injuries that soon start to pile up. The Infernal, instead, has too many Skills that make it hard for Lancelot to get close. 

Right when it seems like Lancelot is about to blow him away with a palm, the whip cracks around the Dragonkin’s arm and redirects the blow. At the same time, Lazerketh’s weapon bites deep into Lancelot’s skin. 

Lancelot grunts as blood hits the ground, and steam bursts harder from his body as pain finally reaches him. He pulls his arm back, but the whip does not let go right away, and the barbs tear loose only after ripping more flesh.

“Lancelot!” Jacob shouts.

The Dragonkin steps back, and he clenches his fist while his muscles tighten to stop the bleeding.

That’s when Jacob notices something.

Oh, I see. 

He activates the Grimoire to double check.

[Analysis Completed]

[Dragon Soul’s - 138 Flaws have been found.] 

That’s a whole lot of flaws. No Rank, a Class Skill. 

[Dragon Soul Main Flaw - Due to the poor efficiency of the Skill, Dragon Soul requires a lot of energy to be extracted from the body of the user. To fix it…]

Jacob looks at Lancelot and sees the chubby frame starting to shrink visibly as his Squire heals.

He uses too much energy to fight and to heal. A battlefield-control specialist can stall him for as long as he wants. 

The whip snaps again, and this time it wraps around Lancelot’s leg. Thorns rise from the ground at the same time, and they stab into his scales and slow him down even more. Lancelot roars and pulls hard. Yet, the battle keeps going in the same direction.

Jacob’s jaw tightens. 

Lancelot is losing.

Lancelot takes a deep breath, and then he lowers his stance. The steam around him grows thicker.

“Boss,” Lancelot says without looking back, “don’t step in yet. Please.”

Then, the slimming Dragonkin starts shimmering.

“Water Dragon’s Claw.” 

Lancelot’s hand shines and the Infernal’s eyes go wide as he erects several barriers in front of him. 

Lancelot unleashes a devastating claw that tears up the air and launches three energy slashes toward the Infernal. The barriers block most of the attack, but in the end, even though he tries to parry with his whip, the attack leaves some deep gashes in his arms. 

For a moment, Lazerketh’s eyes widen.

“Bastard,” the Infernal mutters with hate dripping from his mouth. 

Lancelot sways on his feet as the light around his arm fades, and the steam pouring from his body thins out. His scales pull tighter to his bones, and his broad chest shrinks fast. In just a few breaths, he looks wrong, too thin, like something vital is being pulled out of him.

Jacob’s heart drops.

He’s reverting.

The crowd notices it too, and the whispers turn sharp.

“He’s shrinking.”

“That form is breaking.”

Lazerketh sees it and smiles wide. He does not back away. He steps forward.

“So this is the limit of your borrowed strength,” he says.

The whip snaps forward again, aimed straight for Lancelot’s legs.

“That Squire is done! He’s going to get crippled!”

“He’s going to tear him apart!”

“The Fake Champion’s cowardice is about to cripple his Squire!”

The whip never lands.

Metal rings through the street as a sword flashes into view—King Baalrek’s sword. 

The blade catches the whip mid-air. Sparks fly as the force travels through Jacob’s arm, but his feet do not move.

At the same time, Jacob steps in and hooks one arm under Lancelot’s body before it falls to the ground, and he lifts him cleanly off while the whip slides off the sword and recoils.

The crowd goes silent.

Jacob lands lightly and holds Lancelot with one arm as if he weighs nothing. Lancelot blinks, then looks at Jacob’s face.

“Boss,” he says weakly, “did I earn my lunch?”

Jacob smiles.

“You did,” he says.

He lowers Lancelot carefully and helps him sit against the stone of a building at the side of the street, and he makes sure his Squire is steady before letting go. Lancelot exhales and rests his head back, smiling despite the pain.

Jacob straightens and turns.

He looks at Lazerketh, and his smile is gone.

“Drink a potion,” Jacob says calmly. “You’ll need it.”