Iskara takes a deep breath before entering the room belonging to one of the most well-trained assassins, spies, and martial artists in her country. Perhaps, relative to age, the absolute best.

  “Your Highness,” the Sacrifice stands up from his wooden chair and turns to look at her from a book he was perusing. “What may I help you with?”

  The attitude of a servant, the power of a Devil.

  That’s what Sacrifice are. When people say ‘Blood of the Devils,’ they might not fully know that it is a factual statement. The Infernals imprisoned the few remaining ancestors they had and forced them into forever servitude with the same kind of oaths, contracts, and binding spells that the ancestors had taught them in the first place.

  “Jacob came to see you. I have questions.”

  “Of course,” the Sacrifice says, closing the book. “What would you like to know?”

  “Why did he come to you?”

  “I cannot know for certain,” the Sacrifice replies, keeping a very straight face. “He mostly provoked me. If I had to guess, it’s because he fears me.”

  Iskara doesn’t know it, but that’s a lie.

  To enter the Academy the Headmaster himself checked which oaths bound him. The golden-spectacled man made sure that the Queen-Matriarch removed the most binding that would ensure unilateral obedience and an absolute servitude—akin to slavery—to their people. He still serves them, of course; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been allowed to come here. Many of his oaths still bind him to his masters.

  Yet, they had to remove the one that compelled him to always answer truthfully. The Headmaster did not tolerate that, for reasons that the Sacrifice still struggles to comprehend.

  Terrifying creature, that man, he briefly thinks before reassessing Iskara’s stance. She’s doubtful—afraid, too. There’s a lot of agitation that runs deep in her core. That she would come here, a Princess, and inquire—if I reported to your mother, Princess, she would not take kindly to your behavior.

  The Headmaster is not really allowed to check the soul of everybody at the Academy—well, not randomly, at least. That means that Iskara has enough time to complete her Mission and have all the geas and oaths removed before an inspection.

  I wonder if she feels any kinship with me because of what her mother did.

  The Sacrifice—this one, at least, among quite a number of them—is privy to information that most would never qualify for. And that’s because he’s been selectively bred and raised to be one of the sharpest weapons of the Infernals.

  “After what you showed him, it makes sense,” Iskara says, looking at the floor, trying to figure out something in-between the wooden planks. “What do you think of him?”

  “Why do you ask?” The Sacrifice questions her. “My opinion is not very relevant, your Highness.”

  “You’re a Devil, Sacrifice. What do you think of Jacob Cloud? Answer your Princess.”

  The Sacrifice feels one of the oaths twisting his bones and opening internal wounds. It’s not a compulsion to say the truth—it’s just a punitive one. Yet, he barely reacts to it.

  “I’m not a Devil, Your Highness. I am the Blood of the Devils. You should know the difference. But I’ll answer you, despite the fact that I don’t have much to offer. Jacob Cloud, the Fake Champion, has one very dangerous trait. I could feel his Karmic Presence reacting with my blood. His Class is veering toward Devils—not Infernals.”

  Iskara frowns, “we have already assessed that. Why would that be important now? His fighting capabilities improved, but he’s not a threat. Not for me and much less for you.”

  “True,” the Sacrifice nods slowly. “I just think it’s dangerous.”

  “He is,” Iskara says under her breath before shaking her head and turning toward the room.

  “Might you need anything else, Your Highness?”

  Iskara turns toward him wiht a slightly disgusted expression.

  “Just focus on your part of the Mission, Sacrifice. I’m done talking to you. Hopefully, the next time we’ll have to interact I’ll be your Queen.”

  “A most pleasant outcome,” the Sacrifice says with a bow.

  After Iskara leaves, the Sacrifice does something he’s not used to—indulging in his own thoughts and schemes.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Foolish. They don’t understand that this madman they’re waging a war against should be cut down immediately, damn the consequences. Him having a Class that starts having a Devil’s influence matters. His Squire has a Draconic Inheritance of sorts—that makes his body, his magic, every single sinew and muscle… everything in his body slowly but continuously evolving.

  The Sacrifice sits slowly in his chair.

  That’s what happens to someone with a Draconic inheritance—something close to Dragonkins. But that Jacob Cloud is not getting closer to Infernals but Devils. Therefore, he will slowly receive boons to his body, his magic, his ability to craft arrays and runes… but most importantly…

  The Sacrifice allows himself one little smirk.

  Devils had many names. One of them was Fate Spinners. Those who can arrange Fate. He might be starting to get a grip on that capability to see through the many strands of Fate that govern the world beyond Karma. He probably doesn’t even notice it—so very few know about this, even among Infernals. My heritage is what informed me of this. So, the longer Jacob Cloud lives and the longer he keeps spinning his Fate into plans…

  “Amusing.”

  * * *

  “Jacob Cloud,” Princess Naar’ethra says, looking surprised, from the couch she had placed in her villa’s garden.

  “Your Highness,” Jacob smiles. “Nice to meet you again. Thank you for allowing me to visit.”

  Princess Naar’ethra is Zibrek’s most fervent suitor and a very influential figure among the many Goblin Kingdoms. She narrows her eyes as she gestures for Jacob to sit and the servants to disperse.

  “I suppose you might like some privacy.”

  “I do,” Jacob nods.

  “I thought this day might come.”

  “Huh?” Jacob looks confused.

  “If you’re here to sell me secrets on Zibrek, I will pay whatever price you might consider fair. In fact, if you could slip her this little potion here in a cup—”

  “Your Highness,” Jacob coughs multiple times, almost choking on his own saliva. “I’m not here for that!”

  “Oh,” Princess Naar’ethra says, disappointed, putting a vial back into her sleeve. “I misunderstood, then.”

  “You most likely did,” Jacob sighs. “I did come for Zibrek, but not because I wanted to drug her on your behalf—”

  “The offer is still open. It’s just a very light love potion. Very mild. Barely anything.”

  “As I was saying,” Jacob resumes. “I’m not here to drug my fellow Champion. I came because I would like to know more about her. I’m about to undertake a trial alongside her and Boomgar Blackpowder, but I fear I understand her very little.”

  “Oh,” Princess Naar’ethra says. “And you come to me?”

  “From my understanding, you have spoken multiple times to her parents and met the rest of her family. You most definitely have heard more about her than me. She’s a very secretive person. I don’t like having to do this, but I have asked her about herself in the past and she has revealed very little. If I want to triumph over the Dark Champions, I need to know more.”

  “Zibrek is a very fierce girl,” Princess Naar’ethra says, taking out an already-filled glass of wine from her Interspatial Ring, a clear sign of opulence.

  “I know that much,” Jacob nods. “But I’m looking for something that could allow me to help her out. Right now, I’m lost.”

  “Have your parents ever placed many hopes on you, Jacob Cloud?” Princess Naar’ethra asks.

  “Not really. My father barely bothered. He taught me what he knew about mining and I decided to go figure it out on my own at a very young age.”

  “I will then explain something that will not be familiar to you,” the Princess says. “Zibrek comes from a rather wealthy family, but no one in her lineage ever had any significant talent—Champion-level talent, let’s call it. Her parents always had her and her siblings compete and dream of one day leading the Champions. She is the most talented Goblin that I’ve ever witnessed with my own eyes. Without a doubt, more talented than myself, too. I’m just older than her, therefore stronger. But, in time, Zibrek might surpass me.”

  Jacob, hearing the phrasing, frowns.

  “You say that she’s way more talented but then you say that it ‘might’ surpass you?”

  “What I’m about to say is considered beyond rude, a very grave offense in many societies, Jacob Cloud,” Princess Naar’ethra says with a very grave tone. “I saw how much you care about her and I know how much she’s hurt after losing her spot as Champion. I believe you might help her get it back. This is the only reason I will ever speak of something like this. In any other context, it would just invite supremely bad luck.”

  What is she even saying? Jacob thinks, confused. What could be so bad?

  “Zibrek’s talents,” Princess Naar’ethra drops her voice to a whisper. “Might not reflect the Class that she got.”

  The Princess looks at Jacob almost as if she expects him to clutch his pearls, but Jacob just frowns, “ok, and…”

  “What?”

  “What’s the bad thing?”

  “I just suggested that the System made the wrong choice for her.”

  “Ok? So… her Class doesn’t fit her?”

  “Don’t say that out loud!”

  Jacob is stunned.

  Is it so offensive?

  “Anyway,” Princess Naar’ethra looks agitated. “That’s enough. You should go now.”

  “Huh… ok?”

  * * *

  Lancelot sees Jacob come out of Princess Naar’ethra’s village and asks, “so, Boss, another wicked plan in motion?”

  But then, Lancelot notices the confused brow on Jacob’s face.

  “Actually? I haven’t really got much. We’ll have to… figure it out, I guess.”

  “Another flawless plan,” Lancelot nods wisely. “Can we eat now before we go to the scary handsome golem?”