"Lazhardrak has been killed so many times--in so many horrible ways. And his followers--dirty rats like you--have been massacred since before I was born," the Infernal says to Lavrine, who looks terrified at her own arms, feeling all her Soul Magic restrained.

"HOW?! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?! WHO ARE YOU?!"

"I killed one of Lazhardrak's Imagos myself thrice. What pushes rats like you to follow such a loser?"

"YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY LORD LIKE THAT?!" Lavrine puts her fear aside for a moment and lashes out, almost foaming at the mouth.

"I dare, yes," the Infernal smiles, tilting his head.

In that brief moment of pause, Lavrine finally pieces everything together.

She looks at the hellish landscape again, then at the fortress of obsidian, finally resting her gaze upon the Infernal's tattoos.

"You... I know you."

"I'm sure you do," the Infernal's smile grows wider. "I wish you did, at least. It would be a surprise if Lazhardrak didn't instruct his followers on this King, the only person to banish him three times. Even that bastard of a Headmaster was impressed."

"Y--you're HIM."

"Yes," the Infernal chuckles. "Lazhardrak was always my people's greatest enemy. The God of Broken Souls. What a joke. He thinks he can wield Soul Magic better than the descendants of those who invented Soul Magic?"

"You're my Lord's archenemy," the woman trembles, trying to muster her magic again to slaughter the heathen in front of her. Yet, she could do nothing. And she didn't struggle to believe that this Infernal could restrict her like this now since she finally understood whom she had found herself in front of.

"You're... Baalrek the Bastard."

The Infernal took a deep breath.

"It's been a while since anyone was bold enough to call me that to my face. I forget that Lazhardrak spread this epithet."

At that point, Lavrine sees Baalrek the Bastard raise a clawed hand and she suddenly feels as if hot blades had been driven through her entire body.

"AHHH! SCREW YOU, BAALREK THE BASTARD! I WILL--"

Suddenly, her voice is taken from her.

"You will do nothing and you will only speak when I say so," Baalrek says. "In fact, you forget that this is a Soul Space."

Lavrine tries to speak again but her eyes widen in horror as she touches her mouth and feels only skin over it. Her lips are gone. Her mouth has been sealed.

"Let's see what you did to the kid, now," Baalrek walks forward and Lavrine frowns.

What kid is he talking about?

"You don't even know, right?" Baalrek says as he comes to rest in front of her.

Lavrine is about to reply when Baalrek simply plunges an arm in her torso, making her silently scream in pain.

"Let's see... Lazhardrak's followers have always been the nastiest to deal with--well, close to the nastiest, at least. You took that kid's future, the Void Mage. Now, let's see if we can give it back to him."

Lavrine can't understand how Orrivane had earned the favor of such a scary entity like this one. Baalrek the Bastard was a legendary enemy of their Cult, a myth of old, the only one who had killed their Lord more than once.

"Soul Tethers... Soul Bonds..." Baalrek says, almost bored. "Here we go. Thankfully, you have a tether to the kid."

Lavrine feels her mouth come back and stumbles back as Baalrek removes his arm from her torso.

"Why did you give my voice back?" Lavrine says, frantically touching her face. "What did you do?!"

"Nothing yet. And I gave it to you because I want to hear you scream."

"Wha--"

"Soul Recession. Soul Separation. Soulbond Shattering."

Baalrek moves his hands so rapidly that Lavrine can barely see them.

The Cultist's screams split the soul space, making the earth and sky tremble under the pleased gaze of the Infernal.

"This will take a while, too. I want to make sure I get to destroy everything you tethered to the boy's soul through you. But that means I'll have to be very meticulous with how I cut you apart. I hope you had an unpleasant life because I'm about to try and make this the worst thing you've ever experienced and I would like it to be a little challenging."

* * *

I wake up on the couch and I see the dead body of Lavrine on the ground.

"Where did she come out of?" I ask, a bit disgusted.

King Baalrek told me to take a nap in the room where Lavrine had brought me.

Done, Jacob Cloud. Orrivane Nyxmoor has been freed.

Thanks, King Baalrek. I didn't expect it to be this easy, honestly.

Your friend wasn't that important in their plans. He's just a very talented kid. If he had waited any longer before asking for your help, they had plans to strengthen the Soul Magic that bound him. I just undid everything they did to him. I've also notified the--

I see the Headmaster popping into existence right in front of Lavrine's body.

"Lazhardrak's followers dare mess with my students?" The voice comes low and deep, much lower and much deeper than what I'm used to from the Headmaster. "Do they think I grew senile?"

I see dark smoke coming out of the Headmaster's nostrils.

"Headmaster," I say, clearing my voice. The smoke starts clouding the room and it makes me cough.

With a wave of his hand, the smoke around us disappears.

"Jacob Cloud."

The Headmaster turns slowly toward me and then toward the body.

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"You took a great risk. You should have notified me of this immediately. Baalrek might be a great expert of Soul Magic, but you ran wild with another useless risk."

I know that the Headmaster knows about King Baalrek. After the fight with the Cult of Asmodeus, King Baalrek told me he met the Headmaster while he was fighting Asmodeus's incursion with my body.

"I only risked my life," I say. "I'm sure King Baalrek would have notified you if that happened. There was no one else's life at stake here but Orrivane's and mine. And I got both back by just staking mine. This was a risk, but it was mine to take."

The Headmaster takes a deep breath and nods, "I see why that stubborn man chose you. You two are very much alike."

WE'RE MOST DEFINITELY NOT. King Baalrek screams in my mind.

"Now, then," the Headmaster snaps his fingers and Orrivane teleports in the room, falling disoriented to the ground.

"What the--"

When he sees the dead body of his aunt lying on the ground, he mutters, "Is she dead? Damn it, I'm going to--"

"You were liberated of your shackles, Orrivane Nyxmoor. And you have Jacob Cloud to thank. I was notified of your story and your affiliation to the Cult of Lazhardrak."

"Headmaster, I--" Orrivane looks scared now.

"There's no reason to justify anything. You have not committed any crime since you came here and I am not interested in your past either. You've been given a second chance to life, a chance to become a real Knight by none other than the Fake Champion."

"W--what?" Orrivane looks stunned. "I thought--"

"Jacob Cloud called me after the fact. Through methods I cannot divulge, he killed Lavrine Nyxmoor and destroyed what tethered you to the Cult of Lazhardrak."

Orrivane turns toward me with, unexpectedly for someone usually so relaxed, tears in his eyes. He comes up to me and gives me a tight hug.

I hear his breath shaking and I awkwardly return the hug.

Jacob Cloud, the Fake Champion, disciple of Baalrek the Bastard, I hear the Headmaster's voice in my head. How fitting.

* * *

With Orrivane's business taken care of, the Headmaster now on the tracks of the Cult of Lazhardrak, and Elder Karl on his way to make money off the Runic Notation I gave him, it's now time to assess my personal progress toward Platinum Rank.

Name: Jacob Cloud

Class: Infernal Architect – Lv. 172 → 194

Core Skills:

Hellbane's Sword – Lv. 65 → 100 (Platinum – Offensive)

Flame Slash – Lv. 85 → 100 (Gold – Offensive)

Flame Shield – Lv. 89 → 100 (Gold – Defensive)

Flame Armor – Lv. 100 (Gold – Defensive)

Infernal Veins – Lv. 89 → 100 (Platinum – Constitution)

The Grimoire Extraordinaire (Rainbow – Support)

Class Skills:

Furnace Core (Passive) – Lv. 100

Flameform Blueprint (Active) – Lv. 100

Infernal Thread (Passive) – Lv. 100

Ember Keystone (Active) – Lv. 44 → 68

Architect's Insight (Passive) – Lv. 100

Hellspire (Active) – Lv. 100

Ignition Array (Active) – Lv. 57 → 79

Attributes:

Strength (STR): 345 → 369 (+2 Free Attributes) Dexterity (DEX): 404 → 500 (+52 Free Attributes) Endurance (END): 245 → 267 Vitality (VIT): 404 → 500 (+52 Free Attributes) Intelligence (INT): 780 → 1000 (+132 Free Attributes) Spirit (SPI): 780 → 1000 (+132 Free Attributes) Wisdom (WIS): 635 → 701 Charisma (CHA): 18 → 18 Luck (LCK): 10 → 10 Unassigned Points: 0

Other Skills:

Minor Cookery – Lv. 34 (Iron)

Greater Night Vision – Lv. 92 → 100 (Gold)

Light – Lv. 67 → 79 (Bronze)

Expert Pickaxe Mastery – Lv. 91 → 100 (Platinum)

Greater Mineral Sense – Lv. 94 → 100 (Platinum)

Mana Well – Lv. 100 (Gold)

Vibrational Hyperawareness – Lv. 100 (Platinum)

Heavenly Intuition – Lv. 89 → 100 (Platinum)

Platinum Grip – Lv. 42 → 88 (Platinum)

Expert Endurance – Lv. 87 → 100 (Platinum)

Expert Strength – Lv. 77 → 90 (Platinum)

Infernal Wings of Ash – Lv. 100 (Gold)

Web of Withering – Lv. 100 (Gold)

Dark Blade Lv. 50 → 94 (Gold)

Diavolo Draw – Lv. 78 → 91 (Gold)

Black Flame – Lv. 35 → 44 (Fusion Skill – Platinum)

Blood of the Ancients – Lv. 58 → 79 (Platinum)

Tribulation of the Damned – Lv. 26 → 44 (Platinum)

First Step of Mephistus – Lv. 22 → 39 (Platinum)

Sigil of Baal – Lv. 16 → 34 (Platinum)

Hellish Reversal – Lv. 1 → 20 (Diamond)

Greater Fire Resistance – Lv. 100 (Platinum)

Shard Dominion – Lv. 94 → 100 (Platinum)

Greater Striking Rhythm – Lv. 100 (Platinum)

Quake Balance – Lv. 100 (Gold)

Greater Fault Line Instinct – Lv. 100 (Platinum)

* * *

Orrivane stands under the dorm arch as he ponders what to do next.

He has been thinking all day of a way to thank Jacob. Yet, nothing really came to his mind.

The day will not leave him. Gratitude sits in his chest and has no words. Now, he walks toward Jacob's building because walking feels like a way to think.

Moonlight spills across the campus, and shadows stretch long from the dorm walls. Orrivane's boots crunch on the gravel path as he moves toward the noise. His mind churns with thoughts of Jacob. Jacob saved him, pulled him from the edge.

From my soul being shattered…

Jacob's not the strongest, but he's clever, and he knows about his Rainbow Skill. Orrivane clenches his fists as he walks. He wants to help Jacob, maybe in a Dungeon, maybe somewhere else. Jacob will need someone, and Orrivane owes him that much.

Sound rolls out from the practice field behind the dorm.

Strikes? At this hour? Who's training? Orrivane thinks.

A dull boom lifts dust from the ground.

Another boom answers it.

Then a flurry of thuds.

The sounds grow louder, sharper. Booms echo through the night, and the ground trembles under his feet. Orrivane tilts his head.

He turns the corner and sees the field lit by a few training lamps, dummies set in a ring. Some lean, some lie split, some hang on ropes.

He squints into the dark, but the moonlight only shows shapes moving fast. Who's out here? The Academy's on break, and most students are gone. Only a few stay behind, and none train this late. Orrivane's heart picks up. The booms sound wrong, too heavy. Powerful, for sure, but too heavy.

Like someone just gained a massive increase in power but can't control their strength.

He steps off the path and moves toward the field.

His thoughts keep circling back to Jacob. Orrivane's never been good with words, but the gratitude in his chest feels like a weight he cannot carry alone. He tried all day to find a way to say it, to show it. Nothing fits. He thought about offering to spar, but Jacob's not built for that. He thought about sharing loot from a Dungeon run, but that feels cheap. Jacob deserves more, something real. Orrivane's fingers twitch as he walks.

The booms grow deafening, and Orrivane crouches behind a low wall near the practice field. He peers over the edge. Training dummies stand in rows, some splintered, some smoking. A massive figure moves among them, fast and precise. Orrivane narrows his eyes. The figure's huge, broader than any student he knows. It weaves between the dummies, striking with force that shakes the ground. Each hit sends a boom rolling across the field, and Orrivane's breath catches. He knows that shape. It's Lancelot, Jacob's Squire.

Lancelot's fat frame moves with impossible speed. He spins, and his fist crashes into a dummy, splitting it in half. Wood shards fly, and the ground quakes again. Orrivane's jaw tightens. Lancelot's not supposed to move like that.

He has seen Lancelot fight in the Tomb of Fate, but he wasn't this fast. Nor even close to this strong.

He's heavy, slow, a wall of muscle meant to block, not dance. Yet, here he is, dodging and striking with a grace that makes no sense. Lancelot pivots, and his foot slams into another dummy, sending it toppling. The boom echoes, and Orrivane's heart pounds. He edges closer, staying low.

Lancelot pauses, chest heaving, and turns toward the dorm. Moonlight catches his face, and Orrivane sees focus there, sharp and unyielding.

How's Lancelot doing this? Is it magic? Training? Something Jacob did? Orrivane's gratitude twists into confusion. He came to help Jacob, but now he's watching Jacob's Squire move like a Knight.

A strong one, too.

But right when Orrivane thinks that this is the full-extent of Lancelot's power, the large-sized Squire is bathed in a golden light.

Three practice dummies walk on their own.

Wait, those are Diamond Rank dummies. Early Diamond Rank, but still. What the hell is he doing?

Orrivane is about to intervene before Lancelot hurts himself, but…

BOOM!

Lancelot throws a palm at one and it just…

Orrivane cannot believe his own eyes.

The dummy has just been pulverized!

Who the hell is Jacob's Squire?!

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