JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 4 (Patreon)

Foreign Shores

Standing at the bow of the Trader vessel, Dyle watched the coastal city rise on the horizon, the ship slicing through the waves. Cloaked in his Vanish skill, he moved unseen among the crew, free to observe without hindrance. He needed a Demonologist to open a portal to the Netherrealm—Jane’s rescue depended on it. That search had driven him across the Green Sea.

But mid-voyage, he uncovered a darker truth. The Traders weren’t just moving cargo. They were trafficking lives. Once we make landfall, I’ll find a way to free the captives, he vowed.

Below, in the cargo hold, men, women, and children sat shackled in the dim, sweltering darkness. He had spoken with them in hushed whispers, learning they came from all across Arcadia and the Providencia. Many had been captured by mercenary companies, but those from the Providencia had suffered a different fate—raided from their coastal villages by the Traders themselves.

The ship eased into the dock. Dyle scanned the city with quiet fascination, despite the grim circumstances. From his vantage point, he saw squat clay buildings clustered tightly together, their sunbaked walls cracked and weathered. But beyond them, opulent palaces rose like jewels in the dust, their gilded spires twisting high above the hazy skyline.

The docks bustled with activity, workers shouting, carts rolling, and gulls crying overhead. Yet something struck him as odd—all of the ships moored nearby were smaller. Just as in Rockspire, there were no other Traders in sight.

A gangplank thumped onto the dock, and the ship’s captain strode down to meet a waiting trio. One figure stood tall, wrapped in a flowing white robe that concealed his entire form—except for the golden mask covering his face. The other two were shorter, their heads bowed.

Dyle slipped down the gangplank, careful to remain unnoticed, straining to catch their words. 

The Trader tongue. Dyle understood only fragments, mostly words he’d picked up from overheard gambling games during the voyage. It sounded like they were confirming a price.

The golden-masked figure gave a subtle gesture, prompting one of his attendants to step forward with a heavy sack. The captain inspected the contents, nodded, and turned back toward the ship, transaction complete.

Dyle lingered, watching the masked man—or woman—it was impossible to tell. Silently, he activated General Identification and examined the figure more closely.

Verdant Flower (Level 87)

What an odd name… Dyle blinked. Where was the race moniker? Is that even a person? Could it be a Companion? 

Frowning, he shifted his focus and inspected the other two.

Jinra Foonra (Level 20)

Human

Ordu (Level 18)

Human

At least they’re normal. Dyle flinched as a sudden headache pulsed behind his eyes. When he looked up again, the group of three had disappeared, swallowed by the bustling dock crowds. He pressed a hand to his temple as a wave of nausea rolled through him. Too long at sea. Must not be used to solid ground.

A sound from the ship snapped his focus back. Footsteps. The captives. The Traders were wasting no time.

One, two, three… He silently counted as they passed, ensuring none were left behind. When the last one stepped off the ship, Dyle followed, creeping along as the Traders led them toward the end of the dock, where a column of elegantly garbed guards awaited. A brief exchange took place, the captives handed off like cargo.

As the Traders returned past him, Dyle clenched his fists, biting back the urge to end them right here. But the guards were already leading the prisoners away. There was no time to spare.

Following closely, the city swallowed them up. The streets were thick with people, bustling with life. His Vanish skill was no longer practical. He picked a random passerby and triggered Face in the Crowd, shifting into an unremarkable, middle-aged man.

Unfamiliar spices laced the air, mingling with the scent of clay, sweat, and the sea. The city was a maze of squat, brown buildings made of brick and tile, the clothing of its people equally muted—browns, whites, and grays. Despite his curiosity, Dyle focused on the line of captives, tracking their every step.

At the front, the guards barely needed to push through the crowd; people shifted aside, as if this were an everyday occurrence. At the rear, another set of guards kept the prisoners moving. Their chains were cruelly efficient—each captive bound by a collar linked to their wrists and then to the person ahead of them.

Dyle moved in close to a woman near the middle of the line.

“Mera, it’s Dyle,” he murmured. “I’m still here. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Once we get where they’re taking you, I’ll find a way to get everyone free.”

The wide-eyed woman twitched at the sound of his voice, momentarily confused before she gave the barest nod.

Satisfied, he fell back, trailing them as the streets twisted and turned. This city wasn’t laid out like the broad, structured roads of Dawnskeep. It was dense, dirty, and disorienting. Almost like Bolgrador, he mused. But where Bolgrador was lively and chaotic, this place felt muted, monotonous—one building blending into the next.

“…seven copper, and not a piece more,” a shawled woman haggled with a vendor.

The man held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, but this is the last time!”

Dyle’s ears pricked up. The words were accented, the cadence slightly off, but his Alur Language Comprehension skill still picked it up. 

That’s something. One of his greatest worries about crossing the Green Sea had been the language barrier. The Traders spoke in their own tongue, but at least here, it seemed he could understand people. That would make inquiring about a Demonologist easier.

First things first—get these people to safety.

The line of captives finally arrived at a gated wall, ten feet tall and pristine white, its surface unmarred by time or filth. An ornate golden fringe lined the top. The gate itself was an intricate weave of silver and gold, delicate and shimmering in the light.

Dyle frowned. Looks more like a work of art than a defensive structure.

Beyond the gate, one of the gilded spires he’d seen from the ship rose into the sky. As the guards ushered the captives inside, Dyle re-triggered Vanish and slipped in with them.

The city’s grimy aura vanished the moment he stepped through. Inside the walls, perfectly manicured grassy grounds stretched before him, lush and green. A single tiled path led toward the towering structure, flanked by vibrant flowerbeds. The guards kept the captives moving, veering left down a branching walkway toward a separate building—less ornate than the main tower, but still far grander than anything outside the gates.

A sharp throb pulsed in Dyle’s head. That headache again. How long does sea sickness take to wear off? He gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

Dyle watched as the captives were ushered inside. The building stood apart from the palace, isolated. He kept low, circling its perimeter, noting the details. The walls were lined with glass windows, clear and without defect. Peering in, he saw the guards handing over the prisoners to a man in a white robe embroidered with blue flowers.

Dyle moved along the side. Two entrances—one front, one back. No additional guards. Not too worried about security, are they?

Through another set of narrow windows, he observed the captives being led into a large bathing chamber. Attendants in white robes unshackled them one by one, washing away the grime of their journey. Dyle averted his gaze as they worked on the women and children, instead focusing on what came next.

Cleaned and changed into simple white garments, the captives were guided toward a caged chamber lined with beds. After being handed small bowls of food, they were locked inside.

Once the attendants had left, Dyle crept up to the bars and tapped them three times.

Mera hurried over.

“I’m still here,” he whispered.

She exhaled, relief flashing across her face. “Thank you, Sir Dyle. They told us we belong to the Tempered Beauty now—what does that mean?”

Dyle’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t mean anything. Tell the others—when night falls, I’m getting you all out of here.” 

***

As the purple moon cast its glow over the city, Dyle waited in the shadows, carefully tracking the movements of the guards and attendants. So far, there was no sign of the golden-masked figure he saw at the docks.

He glanced up at the palace spire. Its balconies curved upward at various heights, some so high they vanished into the night sky. At times, he thought he saw people moving on them, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell. Over a hundred feet tall… and no means to enter except the locked doors at the front. Whatever was inside would have to wait for another time. He returned his attention to the squat structure beside it.

Right. Here we go.

Get these people into the streets, then either find a way out of the city or hole up in one of the buildings beyond the walls of this palace. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do for now.

Moving with practiced silence, Dyle slipped into the captives’ building. No guards. He passed a side chamber where attendants lay sleeping, their breath slow and steady, before pressing on.

At the end of the corridor, the captives’ chamber stood behind a single caged door, set between two pristine white walls. He ran a hand over the lock. Iron. A key would make things easier, but he had another solution.

Drawing one of his Arcanite blades, he slid it between the door and the frame, setting it flush against the bolt. With a sharp downward motion, he severed it cleanly.

The door swung open.

Dyle stepped inside, letting his Vanish skill fade. Half the Arcadians and Providencians were asleep; the rest sat huddled in small groups. At the sound of the door opening, they turned toward him.

“Everyone,” he whispered. “Now is the time—we’re leaving.”

Mera moved first, shaking the others awake. The elderly stirred, the children rubbing their eyes, stifling any noise. Within moments, they were ready.

Dyle checked that the corridor was clear, then motioned them forward, guiding them toward the back exit.

Then—a shadow moved in the doorway.

Another figure followed. Then another. And another.

Dyle froze. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Was I detected? But how?

Most of the guards he had seen weren’t above level thirty—none should have been able to sense him. Yet here they were.

He exhaled slowly and triggered General Identification on the one in front.

Anith (Level 80)

Human

Higher level than the others—but that name. It wasn’t like the others he had checked. Arcadian, perhaps? Something about it felt familiar.

Dyle exhaled sharply and stretched out one hand, ready to cast them into their nightmares. His other hand rested on the hilt of his Arcanite blade, Dark Spine.

The shadowy figures hesitated, exchanging wary glances. Their leader, Anith, stepped forward.

“Err… who in the blazes are you?”

Dyle kept his focus locked on them. “I’m getting these people out of here. You’d do well to stand aside.”

Anith narrowed his eyes but held up a hand, signaling the others behind him to lower their weapons. “Right. Escape is it? Makes our job easier. If you want to get out of here alive, shut up and follow us.” Without another word, he turned and strode out of the building.

Dyle hesitated, then cautiously followed, unsure of what to expect. Outside, the shadowy figures were gathered near one of the outer walls, where a black net hung down to the ground like a makeshift ladder.

Anith motioned toward the net. “This way. We came to pull you lot out, though it looks like your gracious hosts bit off more than they could chew with this batch.” His gaze flicked to Dyle, sizing him up.

“Rescue?” Dyle whispered. “You’re from Arcadia?”

Anith gave a curt nod, steadying a captive as they climbed. “That’s right. But stow the questions—we need to be gone before dawn.”

There was no more discussion. Dyle assisted where he could, though the dark-clad warriors moved with precise efficiency. It was clear this wasn’t their first time.

Beyond the gilded wall, Anith led them through the city, his men signaling at various intersections. The city lay shrouded in night, silent but for the occasional murmur of the rescued and the distant, warbling call of crickets.

Anith abruptly raised a hand, halting the group as a patrol of ten guards passed by, engaged in casual conversation. They waited, breath held. When the way was clear, Anith nodded, and they pressed on.

Turn after turn, alley after alley, until at last, they emerged beyond the suffocating density of the city. No walls for the city itself, Dyle noted with relief.

At the sight of open skies, Dyle inhaled deeply, the oppressive pain in his skull finally easing, the nausea fading. Maybe I just needed some fresh air. Stretching out before them were vast fields, bathed in moonlight, rows of crops rustling faintly in the night breeze.

Anith guided them down an incline and onto a narrow dirt road. When they were far enough from the city, he cut right, leading them into a field where strange crops, taller than Dyle’s head, concealed their presence.

After clearing a small patch of ground, Anith yanked open a wooden hatch hidden beneath the foliage. A ladder descended into darkness, a faint glow flickering below.

“In here,” he directed.

One of his men went down first, followed by the captives, one by one. Dyle was the last to descend.

The ladder stretched about twenty feet, leading into a large, earthen chamber. Torches flickered along the rough dirt walls, casting dancing shadows over piles of supplies, weapons, and other provisions. The scent of damp soil filled the air.

Above, the hatch thudded shut, followed by the metallic clang of a latch locking into place.

Anith dropped down, murmuring instructions to his men before turning to address the group. His voice was rough and commanding.

“You lot, listen here. We’re staying put for the next three days. After that, we move south. Get some rest. Don’t let the runts make any noise.” Without waiting for questions, he turned away, tossing his sword haphazardly to the ground.

Murmurs rippled through the group.

“Wait a minute.” The woman—Mera—stepped forward, arms crossed. “Where are we? What is this place? And who are you? Are you taking us home?”

Anith let out an exasperated sigh. “Always with the questions. We just pulled you out of a nightmare, and you want a story too? Fine. You’re in the Mandala of Beauty. You were dragged across the Green Sea to be sold as slaves. Home? Don’t make me laugh.” He shook his head. “Now sleep.” With that, he strode to a wall, sat down, and shut his eyes.

Dyle exhaled, scanning the room. The men with Anith were all level fifty or higher. Two stood watch by the ladder while the rest had already settled in, asleep. Despite their hardened appearances and gruff nature, he sensed no malice—only exhaustion. Even their leader, Anith, was snoring within moments.

Slinging his bag to the ground, Dyle used it as a pillow. Despite the circumstances, his thoughts were elsewhere. Jane.

She needs me. There was no doubt.

No more Demonologists remained in Arcadia or the Providencia. But here? Here, there had to be. Demonologists could open portals to the Netherrealm—and when he found one, he would step through without hesitation.

The journey across the Green Sea had been grueling, but it was nothing compared to what Jane had endured. The trials of the Dying Desert, the horrors of the Great Woods… and for what? To be cast into yet another nightmare—the Netherrealm.

He couldn’t begin to fathom what torments she faced.

No matter the cost, he would find her and carry her out—just as he had in the Great Woods before. Critch or demons be damned.

I’m coming, Jane.