He takes a sip from the freshly squeezed juice he ordered at the inn. It’s good—very refreshing. It definitely doesn’t compare to the plain rations he’s used to while on normal missions on behalf of the crown.

  He takes a hand to his blonde lock that falls forward and combs it back. If it was up to him, he would have cut it a long time ago. But, as part of his training dictates, he has to cure his outward appearance as much as he has done his martial training. He’s not just a honed weapon on the battlefield, but also at court or on diplomatic missions.

  This one, however, is a very particular one.

  “Is that The Sacrifice?” Someone whispers in the inn, barely even catching his attention.

  “Oh my, I think it is, isn’t it?”

  It.

  The Sacrifice takes a normal breath not to give away his annoyance and resettles, eliminating any distracting thought from his mind.

  It’s time to eat for sustenance. I let my mind slip.

  He has been trained not to get distracted, to always be laser focused on whatever he’s doing—no matter how trivial. And so, he focuses on the food, on the drink. On eating at a normal pace that looks leisurely and elegant from the outside. He doesn’t use the same stiff manners that are required at Royal-hosted banquets, however. It would alienate people here.

  “Is he really a Devil?”

  “He has the blood of them, I believe. But why doesn’t he look like Infernals, then? He looks perfectly Human.”

  As he eats, he goes over the details of this mission.

  I am here to wait and stalk Jacob Cloud once he gets expelled. The Matriarch told me to start imparting fear in him and to then hunt him down once the Princess is done with him. I am also to look out for potential allies and enemies, therefore I have to establish a routine of being seen eating out in public, walking among the crowds, and, to an extent, attract attention.

  That, to be honest, was something that bothers him.

  Receiving orders to stalk and kill someone never upsets him. No matter if he’s someone he knew, someone he’s trained with, or even one of his teachers. No one knows how to be good at killing better than him. But this? This spectacle? This circus he’ll have to be at the center of?

  The Sacrifice has never been ordered to stand out, to receive admiration, to attract political favor. He’s a weapon meant to scare, to unsettle, to make sure that the enemies of the Infernals will always cower in fear at the thought of waking up with him smiling at them in their own bed, at the thought that his blade might be the last thing they see in their miserable lives.

  “HEY!”

  The Sacrifice startles as he stiffens and straightens up. He was eating mechanically and immersed in his own thoughts about the mission. He hasn’t noticed a girl approached him.

  When he raises his eyes, he knows why.

  “Would you like more juice?”

  A brunette with an eyepatch is staring at him.

  A cripple. She’s too weak for me to register as a threat.

  It’s the inn’s maid. She only has one leg, one arm, and somehow also lost one eye. Whoever did that, the Sacrifice reasons, must have not enjoyed symmetry to the fullest.

  Left arm. Right leg. Left eye.

  If it had been up to him, he would have taken everything from one side only.

  “Sir, would you like more juice or not? You have finished yours. You have been drinking from an empty cup.”

  The Sacrifice turns his eyes at the cup in his right hand—it is, in fact, empty.

  How very observant.

  “Oh my,” the Sacrifice lets out a warm laugh. “Look at me, how silly. Sure, miss, I would love some.”

  The girl shrugs and fills up his cup. He takes a sip and smiles at her, nodding. “Delicious.”

  When she doesn’t leave, he cranes his neck a little, “yes, milady?”

  “Milady?” She snorts. “Is it true that you’re a Devil?”

  “Not exactly,” he replies. “Why, would you like to speak to a Devil? They were famous for being very tricky to deal with.”

  “You look like you don’t even use your mind much, at least while eating,” the girl says, cocking both her eyebrows. “You don’t look very tricky to deal with.”

  He doesn’t take offense from the cripple. If anything, he’s slightly amused at her behavior.

  “Then, what could I help you with?”

  “I’m fifteen. I’m training to enter the Academy. They say that you’re super strong and you almost killed the Fake Champion. Now, I don’t know how strong the Fake Champion is, but he must be decent. So, I need some pointers.”

  The Sacrifice quietly uses one of his Perception Skills to check on her Mana and is confused at the question.

  “You don’t seem to have trained much in your life and to possess much in terms of Skills, milady. I doubt my training would help you much. May I, in fact, suggest that you look for another profession? Knights… it’s not a great world.”

  “You just joined the Academy. You’re going to be a Knight,” she states matter-of-factly.

  Once Jacob Cloud is dead, I will go back and take the rest of my Oaths. I will never be a Knight. I am a weapon.

  “Right,” he nods. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I have the time, then.”

  He’s curious to see how she’s going to take his refusal.

  But still, how peculiar that she thinks that a cripple like her, with no Skills, no bloodline, no apparent talent, could be a Knight. Will she cry, now? I do have some trinkets on me. Perhaps, I could—

  “Oh, so are you weak? And what’s your name? They say you don’t have a name.”

  The Sacrifice almost makes the mistake of frowning. Instead, he smiles warmly again.

  “I’m not the strongest, I suppose. And I don’t have a name. It’s customary in my line of work not to have names.”

  “Why?” She asks with a non-committal expression.

  “It’s just tradition.”

  “It sounds like a very stupid tradition.”

  “Are you insulting Infernal customs? That would be rude,” The Sacrifice says in a sweet tone that makes all the other people in the inn stop breathing.

  “We’ve been talking for a while and you still haven’t asked my name, despite calling me a lady,” the maid says with a shrug. “You are quite rude.”

  The Sacrifice snorts, not being able to help himself.

  He’s used to many things.

  Contempt, fear, flattery.

  This?

  This is mildly amusing to him.

  “Cecilia, stop bothering him!” A cook comes out of the kitchen, a woman.

  “I’m not bothering him,” Cecilia, the crippled maid, says. “He’s not that scary, you know? He doesn’t even have horns.”

  Once again, the Sacrifice snorts in amusement.

  “The Blood of the Devil doesn’t come with horns,” the Sacrifice says.

  “But does it come with power?” Cecilia frowns at him.

  “Oh, yes, it very much does.”

  Everyone turns to the entrance and a few people immediately recognize the young man who just entered.

  “That’s the Fake Champion!”

  “Didn’t the Blood of the Devils almost kill him?”

  “Maybe he came for revenge!”

  “Oh my, this is might get bloody! Oh no! I’m not done eating!”

  Now, the Sacrifice slowly changes his posture, ready to attack Jacob Cloud, the Fake Champion. However, he notices that Cecilia, curious, turns and moves in-between them.

  You stupid girl, you’re going to get injured if he does something and I have to attack! MOVE!

  But he’s been trained not to show emotions and he has to stay still.

  Jacob Cloud, however, just strolls lightly to the table, picks a stool, and sits in front of him.

  “Hi,” Jacob says to the maid and points to the plate in front of the Sacrifice. “Nice eyepatch. Could I have a plate of that myself?”

  The Sacrifice gets instantly irritated by Jacob’s behavior. And, honestly, he doesn’t even know why.

  “Sure,” the maid nods. “Is he actually strong, then?” She points back at him.

  “Oh, very strong. Possibly, the strongest first-year student.”

  “Huh,” Cecilia now looks impressed.

  Why is that so pleasing? The Sacrifice frowns, feeling satisfied at Cecilia’s reaction.

  However, he forces coldness back in place when the girl is gone.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit? If this is a visit.”

  Jacob Cloud looks at him and smiles lightly.

  “Curiosity,” Jacob smiles.

  That’s a lie. The Sacrifice immediately spots thanks to his training.

  “Really? For what?”

  “You’re young,” the Fake Champion tells him.

  “Am I?” He replies. “And how would you even—”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Seventeen, right?”

  The Sacrifice is suddenly stumped and frozen.

  How does he—this must be a Skill. A very powerful one for it to tell my age. Rainbow?

  “You have interesting means,” the Sacrifice replies.

  “You’re only two years older than me?” Cecilia has come back with a hot plate and juice,balancing them both with one hand and dexterously moving them in front of Jacob. “You’re a kid.”

  “Very powerful kid,” Jacob Cloud says. “We’re the same age, though.”

  “Cecilia,” the Sacrifice says slowly, “I would like for you to take a few steps back.”

  The maid looks curious and moves back with her wooden leg clacking against the floor.

  A barrier Skill suddenly surrounds them both and cuts off the sound from the rest of the room, also partially obscuring them from the outside. This is one of the many Skills he had to learn in his line of work.

  “Why are you here?” The Sacrifice says, not willing to entertain the Fake Champion. “I don’t like being bothered.”

  “I mean, you’re here for me,” Jacob says.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “It’s not very flattering to be a target for murder.”

  “Murder?” He asks.

  “I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out, right?” Jacob takes a sip from the juice and starts eating, apparently waiting for the Sacrifice to say something else.

  Measuring his words, he starts talking in an piqued voice, “if you think I’m here for your life, did you come to beg?”

  Jacob snorts and hits himself on the chest a few times to have the food go down.

  “I have a Skill that lets me see very far into the future.”

  Lie.

  “And it tells me that you’re not going to kill me.”

  Lie—no, he believes that. Why is he here?

  “What does it tell you?”

  “That you’re an interesting guy. Anyway, is it true that Sacrifices, as they’re called, sign away everything in their Oaths? I asked a few friends about it. That seems to be the understanding.”

  “Would you like to pity me? That seems like something up your alley.”

  He bothers me a lot. I can’t wait to take your head, Jacob Cloud.

  “Pity you?” Jacob Cloud smiles. “I think you pity me, in a way. I do wonder, though, about something.”

  “Speak your mind, freely.”

  “What if someone could break those oaths? Right, that’s an interesting hypothetical. If you could have your oaths broken, would you still want to be a slave?”

  The Sacrifice looks deeply into the Fake Champion’s eyes.

  “Do you think this is the first time someone tries to insult me by calling me a slave?”

  “I don’t think you heard my question right. But then, you seem like a fella who likes to keep a lot of anger inside. So, who knows, maybe you like this slavery, right? Lets you kill people, I believe.”

  “What is this nonsense? Would you like for me to show you real power?”

  “No, no. I just came to have some food. Plus, if you did, unless you want the Champion’s spot, which you don’t because it would bind you more to the Academy, you can’t really randomly lay your hands on me. It’s against the rules.”

  Right. He’s a sharp man.

  “I will underestimate you, Jacob Cloud.”

  “I know,” the other replies. “Drop the barrier now. We’re done with confidentiality. I also have to go soon. I have to pay a few visits around today.”

  The Sacrifice waits for a moment and then nods, dropping the barrier.

  The sounds of the inn come back for a moment, before people realize they can hear the two again and go silent.

  Jacob Cloud drops a golden coin in the hands of the maid, Cecilia, which makes the Sacrifice almost frown. He has lots of funds for his missions, but he doesn’t love to spend them recklessly to show off just like the Fake Champion just did.

  “The rest is your tip, darling,” Jacob Cloud smiles at the maid.

  “You’re the Fake Champion, really?” Cecilia asks Jacob, putting the pitcher under her stump and taking the gold coin with her good hand and giving it a bite.

  “Yeah, that’s me. I’m, like, sort of his enemy. He wants to kill me.”

  “Why?” Cecilia frowns.

  If I could, Jacob Cloud, I would take your life right now.

  “My master, King Baalrek, offends his people.”

  They’re not my people.

  “Oh,” Cecilia shrugs. “Ok.”

  Then, the Fake Champion leaves.

  “That’s a cool name, you know?” Cecilia suddenly says, making him turn to her.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “King Baalrek. You don’t have a name, right?”

  “I don’t like where you’re going with this,” the Sacrifice says. “It’s a supremely offending character to Infernals the one you’re speaking of.”

  “Ok,” Cecilia shrugs. “Then, Baal. If you come back again, that’s what I’m calling you. It’s exhausting talking to someone without a name.”

  * * *

  Jacob gets out of the inn to find a trembling Lancelot who dramatically sighs in relief when he sees him.

  “Oh my, Boss,” Lancelot places his hands on Jacob’s shoulder. “I thought he would kill you. Why are we here again? What plan is this?”

  “Heh,” Jacob scratches his head. “I think he really wants me dead, now. But, there’s a decent chance that, in time, this could all turn in our favor, my friend.”

  “The fact that he wants to… kill you?”

  “My plans are too complicated to explain,” Jacob says with a nod.

  “Is there a chance he actually kill you?” Lancelot asks.

  “A good one, I reckon,” Jacob replies pensively.

  “That doesn’t sound like a great plan.”

  “Oh, my friend, it’s the best. Now, next, we have a Princess to visit.”

  Chapter 203

  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.

  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?”