Jacob’s main worry with the incoming fight is that he just saw the Passive Skills that the Minotaurs has.
[Analysis Completed.]
[The abilities’ descriptions have been summarized.]
[Steel Horsepower - Lv. 78 (Diamond)]
[Steel Horsepower vastly increases your speed and dexterity.]
[Fighting Spirit - Lv. 91 (Platinum)]
[Fighting Spirit increases your endurance as long as your fighting spirit is not broken.]
[Spring Tendons - Lv. 88 (Platinum)]
[Spring Tendons increases the elasticity of your tendons and the power they can generate and withstand.]
[Bullblood - Lv. 95 (Diamond)]
[Bullblood increases your power the longer the fight goes on.]
“Lancelot, he’s a pure physical fighter,” Jacob tells his Squire. “Be careful and try to make it quick.”
“Quick?” The Minotaur booms with laughter. “Who do you take me for? I’m the strongest of my generation! Let me show this overgrown lizard what true power is like!”
“Don’t worry, Boss,” the giant Dragonkin-like figure says, “I’m a physical fighter too.”
As the Minotaur springs forward and slashes at Lancelot, the bulky draconic figure sidesteps with the grace of a ballerina and the sword hits nothing.
“What the—”
The Minotaur frowns and raises his shield as Lancelot’s palm strikes out. The impact makes the Minotaur skid several feet back, leaving deep scratches on the street’s paved floor.
Not stopping and, actually, going even faster, so fast that Lancelot’s draconic form starts releasing steam, another attack reaches the Minotaur, another very simple palm.
Yet, now taking it seriously, the Minotaur dodges and slashes at Lancelot.
Jacob holds his breath as the large sword makes its way for Lancelot’s overextended arm. Yet, when the sword is about to reach his Squire, the hulking Dragonkin pivots and sweeps the Minotaur’s legs.
What the hell is that dexterity? Lancelot’s has always been very agile, even when he was fat. But now, despite the huge size, he keeps moving and twisting like he’s one tenth of his current weight.
“Have you seen that?! That Dragonkin is so fast!”
“That’s not a Dragonkin, idiot. That’s the Fake Champion’s Squire. He probably used some forbidden spell or something! Look at him!”
The Minotaur tries a roll, but Lancelot grabs an arm and uses it to throw his enemy onto the ground, cratering it and immediately making the Minotaur pass out.
A few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and they grow louder because people did not expect the fight to end like that.
“That Minotaur was at Diamond Rank power, wasn’t he?”
“He didn’t even use any flashy Skills. He just… folded him.”
“That Fake Champion has a monster at his side.”
Jacob exhales only after the Minotaur stops moving, and then he nods once as he looks at Lancelot.
“Good,” Jacob says. “This form is incredible.”
Lancelot straightens and steam keeps leaking from the seams of his draconic form while he rolls his shoulders as if he barely warmed up.
“Easy work. Does this warrant a celebratory lunch? Your treat, boss?”
Jacob is about to reply when the air changes.
He was about to go have more food alongside with Lancelot before he gathered all the Champions, but he can clearly feel the presence of someone problematic.
There are footsteps of metal boots on the stone amidst the chaos. An aura that lets out a terrific pressure mutes the sounds as an Infernal man steps forward.
He has deep-red skin and curled horn on his skull, but despite looking just like every other Infernal, his deep brown eyes lock onto Jacob and the aura keeps spreading.
That’s at the very least Intermediate Diamond Rank power.
“Lancelot, stand back,” Jacob says, frowning.
“Boss, I’ve got this,” Lancelot says and then turns to the Infernal. “Are you here to challenge my Boss?”
The Infernal looks in abject disgust at both, as if to wish they’d both immediately disappear into thin air.
“The master mocks Infernal, and the servant Dragonkins. How apt of two vermin.”
Stolen story; please report.
Jacob raises an eyebrow.
“What’s your name?” Jacob asks.
“I’m Lazerketh,” the man replies. “I’ve come here to humiliate you, Jacob Cloud. How do you dare claim you’re the disciple of the Mad King? What insult do you use to amuse yourself and humiliate my people?”
“King Baalrek was a man of honor. Your history books are wrong, Lazerketh. I know that you must have animosity with me, just like many of your people. But if you’re willing to listen.”
“I’m willing to break your Squire bones and then yours,” Lazerketh says, taking out a long, barbed whip.
Unconventional weapon. Strong aura. This is not going to be an easy fight for Lancelot.
“Lancelot, you’re not guaranteed to win against this guy,” Jacob says. “If you want me to take over—”
“Boss,” the eight-foot tall colossus says, “may I ask you whether I can take this fight first? I need to test myself.”
Jacob is nervous about this but still nods.
“Be careful.”
“Out of my way,” Lazerketh says to the onlookers and cracks his whip on the ground, dangerously close to those spectating.
“A member of the Three Great Races—an Infernal, no less!” Someone says. “The Fake Champion’s in trouble.”
“Look at that whip and his equipment… he looks incredibly strong.”
“He probably is—he’s still an Infernal. And he’s not a known face. If I had to guess, he made it all the way here just to take the spot as Champion! And if he does there’ll be two Infernal Champions!”
The fight starts, and, immediately, Jacob starts sweating.
“Field of Thorns,” the Infernal says as Lancelot dashes forward.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
Many barbed wines appear on the ground and impede the newly-minted Dragonkin’s movements.
He’s a battle-control specialist, Jacob inhales. Not a great matchup for Lancelot.
More steam comes out of the draconic man’s form as he pushes forward and finally gets in range to attack. Yet, the Infernal doesn’t even seem fazed.
“Wall of Bloody Roses,” he chants.
A giant wall of bleeding roses arises from the ground in front of him and Lancelot, feeling wary, steps back.
Good call. That Skill has a strong lifesteal effect.
And so, a dance starts with Lancelot trying to get close, but getting more and more minor injuries that soon start to pile up. The Infernal, instead, has too many Skills that make it hard for Lancelot to get close.
Right when it seems like Lancelot is about to blow him away with a palm, the whip cracks around the Dragonkin’s arm and redirects the blow. At the same time, Lazerketh’s weapon bites deep into Lancelot’s skin.
Lancelot grunts as blood hits the ground, and steam bursts harder from his body as pain finally reaches him. He pulls his arm back, but the whip does not let go right away, and the barbs tear loose only after ripping more flesh.
“Lancelot!” Jacob shouts.
The Dragonkin steps back, and he clenches his fist while his muscles tighten to stop the bleeding.
That’s when Jacob notices something.
Oh, I see.
He activates the Grimoire to double check.
[Analysis Completed]
[Dragon Soul’s - 138 Flaws have been found.]
That’s a whole lot of flaws. No Rank, a Class Skill.
[Dragon Soul Main Flaw - Due to the poor efficiency of the Skill, Dragon Soul requires a lot of energy to be extracted from the body of the user. To fix it…]
Jacob looks at Lancelot and sees the chubby frame starting to shrink visibly as his Squire heals.
He uses too much energy to fight and to heal. A battlefield-control specialist can stall him for as long as he wants.
The whip snaps again, and this time it wraps around Lancelot’s leg. Thorns rise from the ground at the same time, and they stab into his scales and slow him down even more. Lancelot roars and pulls hard. Yet, the battle keeps going in the same direction.
Jacob’s jaw tightens.
Lancelot is losing.
Lancelot takes a deep breath, and then he lowers his stance. The steam around him grows thicker.
“Boss,” Lancelot says without looking back, “don’t step in yet. Please.”
Then, the slimming Dragonkin starts shimmering.
“Water Dragon’s Claw.”
Lancelot’s hand shines and the Infernal’s eyes go wide as he erects several barriers in front of him.
Lancelot unleashes a devastating claw that tears up the air and launches three energy slashes toward the Infernal. The barriers block most of the attack, but in the end, even though he tries to parry with his whip, the attack leaves some deep gashes in his arms.
For a moment, Lazerketh’s eyes widen.
“Bastard,” the Infernal mutters with hate dripping from his mouth.
Lancelot sways on his feet as the light around his arm fades, and the steam pouring from his body thins out. His scales pull tighter to his bones, and his broad chest shrinks fast. In just a few breaths, he looks wrong, too thin, like something vital is being pulled out of him.
Jacob’s heart drops.
He’s reverting.
The crowd notices it too, and the whispers turn sharp.
“He’s shrinking.”
“That form is breaking.”
Lazerketh sees it and smiles wide. He does not back away. He steps forward.
“So this is the limit of your borrowed strength,” he says.
The whip snaps forward again, aimed straight for Lancelot’s legs.
“That Squire is done! He’s going to get crippled!”
“He’s going to tear him apart!”
“The Fake Champion’s cowardice is about to cripple his Squire!”
The whip never lands.
Metal rings through the street as a sword flashes into view—King Baalrek’s sword.
The blade catches the whip mid-air. Sparks fly as the force travels through Jacob’s arm, but his feet do not move.
At the same time, Jacob steps in and hooks one arm under Lancelot’s body before it falls to the ground, and he lifts him cleanly off while the whip slides off the sword and recoils.
The crowd goes silent.
Jacob lands lightly and holds Lancelot with one arm as if he weighs nothing. Lancelot blinks, then looks at Jacob’s face.
“Boss,” he says weakly, “did I earn my lunch?”
Jacob smiles.
“You did,” he says.
He lowers Lancelot carefully and helps him sit against the stone of a building at the side of the street, and he makes sure his Squire is steady before letting go. Lancelot exhales and rests his head back, smiling despite the pain.
Jacob straightens and turns.
He looks at Lazerketh, and his smile is gone.
“Drink a potion,” Jacob says calmly. “You’ll need it.”
