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 you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“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.
