Chapter 291

“ Delefagus ,” Jacob says, reading off the Primordial Grimoire — which has, evidently, no problem analysing the Dark Champion in front of him. The portal it would not look at; the man in robes it will.

“I am , indeed, Delefagus Lodèl, as Jacob Cloud said.” Delefagus wipes his spectacles on his dark robe and puts them back on. “Previously, I was trying to kill Mr. Cloud here. But, well, he seemed to know my plans, somehow. I’d love to know, by the way, how you found out. Especially if you already knew about Astabazos before killing him.”

Lancelot has stepped between Jacob and Delefagus. His aura is billowing.

Jacob raises a hand.

“Lancelot,” Jacob says, “stand by.”

“You bastards are—“ Lancelot starts.

“Stand. By.”

Lancelot exhales, hard, through his nose. He steps a half-pace back, which is the most he is willing to concede.

“Yeah, yeah,” Delefagus says, watching this. “I don’t like you either, Jacob . You took from me the only person among the Dark Champions who’s not a total idiot . So, how about you ask yourself, ‘why’s the bad guy coming to talk to me?’”

Jacob has to admit that it’s a good question even though he wants nothing more than tearing this person apart. Literally, nothing more.

“Let’s hear it,” Jacob says, chanting a quick spell under his breath.

“Huh? What was that?” Delefagus frowns.

“I’ve locked the space around us,” Jacob smiles sweetly. “I won’t allow you to run.”

“Heh, you might have learned every spell Baalrek knew. Interesting,” Delefagus adjusts his spectacles and shrugs. “So, apparently, the Cult of Apocalypse’s apocalyptic spell was awakened by your killing that Minor Nightmare.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, I don’t like doing it, but I divinate things a lot. Heh, sort of ironic given my aptitude for research. But, the Mithril that was in the mine was apparently a massive amount. And it was consumed now to spawn a terrifying Dungeon with True Diamond and, possibly, Imperium Rank Nightmares. Now, it was also calibrated so that only those up to True Diamond could enter it. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Jacob’s eyes are on the portal over the lake. The portal that the Grimoire refused to analyze.

“All the Champions and a few more people are coming here, Delefagus. We’ll take care of this.”

“Yes, but… no,” Delefagus taps his lips. “The Dungeon I’m talking about is way beyond what you might even understand, Mr. Cloud, sir. The Dungeon is made of atrocities beyond our understanding. I personally came here without the Prophet even agreeing to this, in order to negotiate, despite knowing it might cost me my life — well, or yours. I do think you underestimate me.”

“Delefagus,” Jacob says, “ why would your people concern themselves with this? You summon and become monsters. You want to swarm the world in monsters.”

“Well, for example, we wouldn’t swarm the world in Undead . We hate them. In the same way, we hate the Cult of Apocalypse.”

“I understand that if you’re here, you are about to propose some sort of collaboration, aren’t you?” Jacob asks. “Give me one reason why I would ever listen to this.”

“Fair question,” Delefagus admits, raising his hands. “The reality is that Nightmares are not monsters, nor living creatures as one might define living . They’re technically Demons .”

“Demons?” Jacob frowns. He has never heard of that term to refer to actual creatures.

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“Demons,” Delefagus nods. “And, the more we delay destroying this Dungeon…” Delefagus looks up to the ceiling of the cavern, which is so far up it disappears into shadow. “Let me find the right words to communicate how important it is that we deal with this immediately. An Apocalyptic Dungeon is an entity onto itself. It will consume more and more power from the Mithril, then spill out in two ways.”

The Dark Champion raises one finger.

“First, it will, as we know from normal Dungeons, including the ones that my Lord Himself spawns, overflow . There’ll be a spillage and monsters will overrun Ashenmere and completely raze it to the ground.”

Jacob nods. That’s expected.

“And?” Jacob asks.

Delefagus raises the index finger of his other hand.

“Second, and much worse, Apocalypse, the Primordial God , doesn’t follow the laws of magic, men, and whatever. It doesn’t even follow the laws of Evil Gods , as your kind calls them. This Dungeon is an Infection . Primordial Gods have a power that can replicate itself as long as there’s sustenance. That Mithril will be consumed slowly, but every time a piece of it goes into the hands of Apocalypse’s Nightmares, another Dungeon might spawn in a radius that is — I’ll not bother you with the calculations. The longer the Dungeon stays active, the higher the chances it will spawn another Dungeon through some weird resonance.”

Jacob’s eyes go wide at the implications.

“And unless you have a nice Primordial Spell to stop such a thing, we’re fucked . And I say we because my Lord is particularly hated by Apocalypse and those Demonic beings will start hunting down Dark Champions first the moment they spawn en-masse and swarm the world. It already happened, apparently, during the Primordial Era. But this is not a history lesson. Do you understand now why, reluctantly, we should join hands?”

Jacob looks at Delefagus and closes his eyes for a brief moment.

“You bastards have a bunch of Rainbow Skills just like the Champions. An addition of any of your people will be invaluable to any team we build to enter this Dungeon.”

“We should hurry up, however. There must be something else here that I’m missing. The Cult of Apocalypse is very insidious. And by the way, we can make up a few oaths to make sure no one backstabs each other.”

“Of course, I don’t trust your Dark Champions.”

“Yeah, but… I said this because I don’t trust you .”

“Boss.”

Lancelot’s aura is still billowing. He’s keeping his voice quiet enough that Delefagus has to lean a bit to hear.

“Lancelot, I’m thinking.”

“Boss. They turned Iskara.”

Jacob does not look at him. He looks at the portal.

“I know.”

“And we’re going to swear an oath with him.”

“Yeah.”

Lancelot’s jaw works.

“Look at the portal, Lancelot. This is going to take everything we have if this is as bad as it looks, and that includes him.”

“I won’t swear his oath.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m swearing the oath. You stand behind me with your mouth shut. When this is done, you can hate me for it.”

Lancelot stands by. He stands a half-pace behind Jacob’s left shoulder, squire’s position, and his lips go thin.

Jacob turns back to Delefagus.

“I am not swearing anything today,” Jacob says. “And neither are you.”

“Oh?” Delefagus blinks.

Lord Ashenvale is waiting for them in the throne room, standing, which is itself unusual.

A man Jacob has never seen before is standing beside the throne. Two of Lord Ashenvale’s servants are still bowing themselves out of the room with their eyes down. The door clicks shut behind them.

The man is mid-forties. Plain-faced. He wears a Knight Commander’s uniform with the Academy’s sigil on the shoulder. He has no aura performance. Everyone in the room is straightened up already, including Lord Ashenvale, who is a Peak True Diamond and has lowered his eyes a fraction without realising it.

A clerk stands at the man’s right hand, holding a leather folio thick enough that whoever owns it has been doing this for centuries.

“Sir Maximilian, Knight Commander,” Lord Ashenvale says.

Maximilian tilts his head to acknowledge Jacob.

“Cloud.”

Jacob inclines his head.

“You’re here for the Dungeon? How did you come so fast–“ Jacob says, before he can stop himself.

“Headmaster’s emergency translocation.” Maximilian doesn’t quite smile. “Three thousand Knights and Adventurers will arrive by morning. I came ahead so we wouldn’t waste the hours of preparation.”

Jacob opens his mouth to brief him.

Maximilian raises two fingers.

“Cloud. Don’t brief me yet. I’ll get to you.” He turns his head, slightly. “Lord Ashenvale. I want written down the output from your mine each of the last twelve months. I want to know how many men the mine accommodates and then I’ll go inspect it myself for further considerations.”

Lord Ashenvale nods, slowly, and turns to find the steward who keeps the books.

The clerk has already opened the folio to a fresh page and produced a pen.

“Cloud,” Maximilian says, without looking up. “While we wait. The Apocalyptic Seedings on record. Which ones have you studied.”

“None, sir,” Jacob says. “I have never heard of the term.”

“None?”

“No, sir.”

Maximilian doesn’t react. The clerk waits with his pen over the paper.

“This is the eight I face in the past one hundred years. By the Mana discharge in the area, this is the largest I’ve met. Now, since you are the Leader of Champions, let me tell you about–“

But suddenly, before anything else can be said, a mental message goes to everybody there.

[Dungeon of Apocalypse, Lyra, has awakened.]