Chapter 301
Jacob is not sure he’s heard Sir Maximilian correctly, so he tilts his head, shakes it lightly, and turns his ear toward the man.
“Sorry, sir, did you say Garros ?”
“Garros Blackmere will join the main Vanguard team together with Sabrina Margrave.”
Jacob suddenly looks at the report on the table and realizes he’s made a mistake. Anticipating that Sir Maximilian would ask what the Champions and the Dark Champions could bring to the table, he had decided to explain Sabrina’s Skills.
One way or another, all their Skills would soon be revealed to everybody if they had to fight alongside other people.
At least that’s what Jacob had told himself.
He understands that Sir Maximilian is feeling resentment toward him, and Sabrina going away…
The Dark Champions will not like that , Jacob thinks to himself. They will not like that at all .
“Garros cannot leave the city,” Jacob says, picking the battle he deems they’ll be able to fight.
“Garros Blackmere will. Every casualty on the main team reduces the chances of clearing the Dungeon, Cloud. The choice is between saving a few thousand people or the entire city.”
You incompetent bastard! Jacob thinks, furious. What are you saying?! Just let us fight the damn Dungeon ourselves if your guys cannot do anything without Garros! Are we using Garros?! No! Selfish little bastard of a man. Coward little—
“Cloud? Are you dozing off?” Sir Maximilian asks in a deadpan. “Do you have any problem with what I have just said?”
The problem here is that Sir Maximilian’s authority is, indeed, higher than his. Jacob can defy pretty much anybody in this place and enact his plans—except for one person. And this damn person is now ordering him to let thousands die. Perhaps tens of thousands as the Dungeon stretches on. With the little progress they’ve made, their strategy is not paying off.
Jacob has read all the briefs from Sir Maximilian.
The Dungeon is turning out to be much, much trickier than they had anticipated.
They have found a bunch of underground ruins and they have started clearing them, but to get to the closest one, even with enchanted carriages, it takes almost two days.
If Garros only had to fight in the close-by quadrants, it would be possible for him to get in and out and—
Then, Jacob realizes something, and raises his eyes to meet the cold gaze of Sir Maximilian. There’s a cold satisfaction in the man’s pupils.
He thinks he’s doing the best he can to clear this Dungeon , Jacob realizes. He’s not going to like adjustments to his plan.
And no matter what, this now creates a two-pronged problem that is very hard to resolve.
“I joined the Academy to uphold justice and protect the weak, sir,” Jacob says, bowing his head. “I will follow your orders.”
“Good, then—“
Jacob stops listening and glances at the man, tuning him out completely.
“Just one question, sir.”
Sir Maximilian gives him a suspicious look.
“What?”
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“May I ask for my team to be granted training time? We are all struggling. We would like to be allowed private downtime away from the rest of the Vanguard when there’s no fighting in order for us to train.”
“Sure,” Sir Maximilian nods.
“I’ll take my leave, then,” Jacob says, turning toward the door of the war room.
“Cloud,” Sir Maximilian calls out and makes him turn. “Do not cause trouble.”
“Of course not,” Jacob gives Sir Maximilian a thumbs-up. “Who do you take me for, sir?”
“This is going to cause a lot of trouble,” Lancelot says after Jacob finishes explaining his scheme.
The room they sit in is bare in the way only a place repurposed in haste can be — long benches dragged in from the temple kitchens, sheets nailed across the windows to keep the worst of the dust outside, and a wide stone floor that has been scrubbed twice already today and still smells faintly of bile and lavender oil. A low murmur drifts in from the common hall beyond the doorway: dozens of the sick lying on cots, some children among them, all watched over by Garros and the handful of volunteers Lancelot has cobbled together from the neighborhood. Every minute or two, Lancelot’s eyes flick to the door. He does not notice he is doing it.
“Will you, for fuck’s sake, join, then?” Jacob rubs his face. “I need you , Lancelot. It’s either this or a bunch of these people are going to die.”
Lancelot, in his thin frame, looks at Jacob with a frown.
“I don’t like this, Boss.”
“I know,” Jacob sighs.
He is surprised by Lancelot’s resistance to allying with the Cultists.
“Jacob,” Lancelot says.
Being called by name — a rare thing from Lancelot — makes the Leader of Champions stand straighter.
“Garros cured my brother of his disease,” Lancelot says. “He’s the most unselfish person I know. He also now has talent that surpasses a common Champion. But he doesn’t spend much time training because he spends even more time caring for the weak and crippled.”
Jacob listens in silence, not taking his eyes off his Squire.
“I do think Nimirea has perhaps changed. But the Dark Champions we’re working with are criminals. In a world with them alive, I can’t sleep well knowing they could take those I love from me at any moment. Even you. You came close to dying more than once at their hands.”
It is true.
Jacob has risked his life multiple times while fighting the Cult of Asmodeus.
“Those who want to remain monsters will die, Lancelot,” Jacob suddenly says. “I made my mistake with Iskara. And you’re right. More than once my life has been at risk and if it wasn’t for their greed for power, for the same thirst and hunger that made them join an Evil God, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.”
“Then, why ally with them? Can’t we do this alone?!”
“They’re too strong,” Jacob says. “We’re weak. Without the Champions and the audience willing to sacrifice themselves for me, I wouldn’t have bested Nimirea, Lancelot. And… I don’t want that. I don’t want people to die because of how weak I am.”
Lancelot is about to say something but Jacob puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks before he can.
“In a way, I’m not that different from the Dark Champions when it comes to wanting to become stronger, Lancelot. The difference comes down to the reason why we want power. I want to become the strongest Knight. But I want justice first. If I must die for justice, I will. The Dark Champions have so far died because of their selfishness, not their cause.”
Lancelot frowns and then, after a few beats, slowly widens his eyes.
“Is this… Karma?”
“I believe so,” Jacob confesses. “The same fate you forge is something you must surrender yourself to. If worse comes to worst, I will stake my life for Ashenmere’s people. I didn’t do that with Iskara. I followed my selfish heart because I didn’t want her to become a monster like them.”
Lancelot did not grow up in a wealthy family. Much less in a family where they knew what Karma really was.
Even at the Academy, most people can barely understand Karma. There are plenty of historical books and accounts that try to give a Karmic read to events. Lancelot has even heard Elder Karl trying to explain Karma to Jacob.
Yet, it’s now as clear as day, after spending so much time with his Boss, what the young man in front of him means.
The Leader of Champions steels his heart and continues.
“Ironically, my failure allowed me to understand that it doesn’t matter whether we’re on the right or the wrong side. All that matters is how we fight our war. In fact, I fear the day that we’ll meet a true Evil, Lancelot, for I have understood a fraction of Karma, and it terrifies me. The Dark Champions and their Prophet are barely the tip of the iceberg. They’re dangerous, but something about this Dungeon really scares me.”
Lancelot looks at Jacob and swallows.
“And I need you, Lancelot. Without you, I can’t do this.”
The Squire looks at his future Knight and sighs, rubbing his face.
“Damn it! Alright! I’m… I don’t want to collaborate with the Dark Champions.”
“Oh, you’re not collaborating with anyone , trust me. In fact, how’s your training, are you…”
“Yeah,” Lancelot sighs and nods. “I figured it out.”
“Good,” Jacob smiles evilly. “They don’t even imagine what we’re about to do.”
“Boss, you sound like a Dark Champion. It’s hard not to believe you’re evil when you get those eyes.”
“Remember, Lancelot, my friend,” Jacob squeezes Lancelot’s shoulder, “in moments like this, we’re beyond good and evil.”
“We’re most definitely evil, then,” Lancelot sighs, taking out a sandwich from his satchel and stress-eating.