“Liuthkrav,” an ancient voice calls an almost equally ancient name, making the Mithril Golem immediately drop to one knee. During their last encounter, the construct had not been addressed by name.

  “Master,” the Mithril Golem says, keeping his eyes on the ground, “what brings you here?”

  “You subjected this young man to my son’s device.”

  It’s not a question.

  The voice is immaterial, but the Mithril Golem, faced with his own action and the all-understanding nature of his master, can’t do anything other than nod.

  “I hope I have not failed you, master.”

  “Liuthkrav,” the voice sounds weary. “You do not. However, there are many steps this young man could have taken before facing this Trial. This was unnecessary cruel.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, master,” the Mithril Golem clenches his fists, furious with himself for having disappointed his master.

  “Liuthkrav, rise.”

  Immediately, the Mithril Golem feels a magnificent force lifting his body up until he’s standing straight. This is his master’s Mana even after his departure from this world.

  “Master, please do not consume this vessel’s reserves. Your Mana can only be created ever so slowly. I’m not worthy of—”

  “Liuthkrav,” Rafnov says sternly. “Stop. You’re not a mindless servant. You’re my first ever magnus opus. You’re far from a mindless slave and it irks me when you act like one.”

  The Mithril Golem feels like apologizing again, but even an idiot like Jacob Cloud could have inferred that that would anger Master Rafnov.

  “What would you like me to do, Master?”

  “If he survives,” Rafnov voice says in a more relaxed tone, “stop this cruelty, Liuthkrav. You’re here to guide him as a potential inheritor. He would have still had to face this sooner or later, I just hope for him that his heart was always in the right place.”

  “Yes, Master,” Liuthkrav nods, uncertain.

  “I know that your devotion and love to me are immense, Liuthkrav. And no one will ever take your place in my heart. But, at some point, with no more of my blood walking around, you’ll have to help me pick someone worthy of my inheritance—and, you’ll have to treat them with respect.”

  * * *

  In front of Jacob, there’s King Baalrek.

  It’s the same King Baalrek that he saw when he killed the curse of the Mad God.

  And there’s Jacob, fully turned into an Infernal by his side—his son.

  It’s not written anywhere, it’s not spelled out by the figures that move. But there are King Baalrek and an Infernal Jacob fighting a horde of monsters, with a distant, malignant presence in the background. Jacob keeps in the shadow of King Baalrek, sweeping every monster that his Master’s sword doesn’t take.

  Most importantly, not only he gets the distinct feeling that he’s a son—or perhaps, just like one—to King Baalrek, but there’s a strong sensation of relief. Jacob doesn’t have to charge head-down alone against the horde, not like he would have to do now, he is lead by the man he respects more than anybody.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Jacob feels a few tears running on his face before taking the sleeve of his shirt and drying them up. He notices that Boomgar and Zibrek are still fully absorbed into this maladaptive daydream.

  Jacob slaps the back of Zibrek and Boomgar’s neck, snapping them out of their reverie.

  “Lad,” Boomgar coughs, embarrassed. “What are you doing? The lass said that two of us could—”

  “Jacob, this is perhaps the right—”

  “You two, let me explain before you say something you’d regret. This is the most interesting thing I’ve seen so far today. The other projections are desirable futures, which lets you believe, I suppose, that this is a desirable future as well. But, in reality, this is just one’s surrender to their own worst fears. This is not a desirable future, this is a nightmare.”

  “What?” Boomgar looks confused. “Lad, I don’t know what you’re seeing in yours, but mine… I’m ashamed to say, but it’s a very tempting offer. It could change my life forever.”

  Zibrek, too, looks ashamed and puts her eyes to the ground, saying nothing.

  “This is not the best future, Boomgar. This is a version of your future where only your fears shape you. I’ve seen myself stripped of agency, acting only as second-fiddle to my Master. It touched a deeper chord than I’d like to admit. I’m sure the rest of this future also shows me in other situations that feel like ‘I’m too afraid to admit to myself but are the real deal.’ In reality, this is just what an uncontrolled spiral of fear would have you become. Fate is not something you decide based on what you fear you’re not. Fate is something you strive for based on whom you want to become. If either of you really wants to become what you just saw, go ahead. I have a Trial to win.”

  Jacob walks through the standard corridor and leaves them both behind.

  Zibrek looks at the future where she's a powerful Queen with many concubines once again.

  “He’s right,” she realizes, feeling a deep shame. “This is… just the worst future I could ever wish upon myself, Boomgar.”

  Boomgar looks wistfully at the future where he’s something he’s not and will never be and nods, “guess you have to make do with what you have, don’t ya? Heh, I’ll miss those long legs.”

  “Eew,” Zibrek frowns. “I don’t want to be part of whatever sexual fantasies you were just witnessing, Boomgar.”

  “WHAT?!” Boomgar almost trips. “Sexual fantasies?! Wait. What are you seeing in your damn future, lass?!”

  Zibrek’s eyes widen slightly and then straightens and coughs in her closed fist, “nothing. Let’s go. It’s time to win this thing.”

  When they reach the last room, they see only one corridor and Jacob staring at a sign above it.

  “You two took your sweet time,” Jacob comments.

  “Sorry, lad, but I’ve found out against my will that the lass was apparently engaged in some high-level sexual debauchery in her future.”

  “IT’S NOT TRUE!” Zibrek shouts at the top of her lungs, becoming red as a cherry. “SHUT UP!”

  “Really?” Jacob says, with a raised eyebrow in Zibrek’s direction.

  “Just explain whatever that sign is! I don’t want to hear anything else about this!”

  “You wouldn’t get so mad if you hadn’t seen some pretty insane stuff,” Boomgar says with a disappointed shake of his head. “And to think I’ve been your teammate for so long.”

  “Jacob,” Zibrek says, taking out her gun, “if I hear another word from him, I’m putting a bullet through his head.”

  “Sure,” Jacob says, “I have bad news. Apparently, only two of us can go through this door. And the one who stays behind has a fifty-fifty chance of not receiving any Star Metal.”

  Boomgar and Zibrek step up to read the sign which says in more words what Jacob just explained to them.

  “This is unfair,” Zibrek frowns. “Why do this? And why have a chance of not getting Star Metal at all? Doesn’t this conflict with the Mithril Golem’s explanation?”

  “I also think that this is not the last crossroad.”

  “What do you mean?” Boomgar asks. “Are you sure?”

  “I can’t be sure, but it would only make sense that there’s a next room. First, because this one would otherwise mention the fact that it’s the last. Which, by the way, leads me to believe that the next room will make sure that one of us doesn’t get any Star Metal.”

  “What?!”

  “Lad, are you sure—”

  Before Boomgar can ask the question, Jacob steps into the corridor.

  “I’m the Leader of the Champions. You two need Star Metal more than I do. I’m still a Champion despite the fact that I could really use the Star Metal. One of us will have to risk a fifty percent choice, but I’ll take the fall.”