JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 7 (Patreon)

The Chosen Fool

Gareth stood within the marble halls of Dawnskeep, the capital of Arcadia. Around him gathered a motley assembly of the most powerful figures west of the Green Sea. Lord Tygal, Lord of the West and self-proclaimed King of Arcadia. Tiberius Centallis, commander of the Pathbound Army and a reluctant envoy from the Providencia. Lord Emir, Lord of the South—and bitter adversary of Tiberius and the Providencia.
 Even Saria, the elderly Dalrazi matriarch, stood among them. Gareth had never met her before, but she stood as confident as any man here.

Together, they observed the gardens through tall glass panes, where a lone young man sat in silence, eyes distant.

Pogg—the Legendary Chosen One.

Since his crushing defeat at the hands of Lord Melkit in Grandia, he’d been moved to Dawnskeep to recover. Gareth had been swept up in the aftermath, carried along with the Providencian host. If any good had come of it, it had been growing closer with Tiberius. The Providencian commander had heeded Gareth's warning, and kept his troops out of Grandia, saving many lives. Now, the two of them often shared dinners together.

“So, this is what he’s been reduced to,” Lord Emir muttered with a derisive snort. “What a waste.”

Lord Tygal’s voice cut through the tension. “Gentlemen, let us speak elsewhere. Grave matters demand our attention.”

They moved into one of the larger chambers—stone-walled, firelit, centered around a broad wooden table, scarred by time and endless debates.

Tygal took his place at the head, hands clasped behind his back. “The time for petty rivalries is over. A darkness festers in Grandia—unlike anything we’ve ever seen. It spreads daily. If we do not unite, both Arcadia and the Providencia will fall.”

Lord Emir grunted. “And you expect to lead us? You, the traitor?”

Tygal’s eyes narrowed. “Times such as these demand difficult choices. I did what needed doing. King Jeric was not fit to lead.” He shrugged. “As for Duncan... we all reap what we sow.”

"I don't recall you being so concerned about the kingdom when Jeric reigned," Lord Emir shot back. "Weren't you the first to deride that old wizard, Belgoth?"

Lord Tygal brushed it off. "Times have changed, the darkness growing in the east is plain to any man. It will swallow us one and all if we ignore it."

"No." Gareth stepped forward. “You’re wrong. Lord Melkit isn’t some malevolent warlord. He came out of his fortress to put an end to Pogg’s reckless campaign—nothing more. ”

"If that is true, why does the darkness continue to grow? The monsters within have no qualms with slaying the living. We must band together to stop it while we still can," Lord Tygal urged.

"Maybe." Tiberius crossed his arms. “Perhaps it will only overtake Arcadia, and if so, it's no problem of ours. The Providencia is here under the Purifier’s orders—if he is done with this place, so are we.” 

"It shows no indication of slowing," Lord Tygal responded. "Ignore it at your peril—if you do so, when it arrives at your border, your odds will be halved."

"And you claim fitness to lead this coalition?" Tiberius turned away. “Your squabbling has already brought your kingdom to the brink. If you want our help, you’ll follow our lead. This is a military operation, nothing more. Our forces are better trained, better equipped—and reinforced daily. If there is any hope for success, it will be by Unity's will. And my command.”

“Your command?!” Lord Emir shot back. “You’re lucky I haven’t cut your supply lines at the border already. Perhaps you'd like to test your claim against my warriors from the south.” He snorted. "That's a test they've failed time and time again."

Tiberius’s jaw tensed. “Maybe once. But with the Purifier—”

Crack. The sound of a staff striking the table silenced him.

“You men and your pride,” said Saria, voice steady and sharp. The Dalrazi elder stepped forward, eyes gleaming with conviction.

“Your armies are piss in the wind. There is only one who can save us—Pogg the Purifier. He is the Chosen One. He is the light. If darkness spreads, he will be the one to banish it. Squabble all you want. The Dalrazi stand with Pogg—and Pogg alone.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode from the chamber, her staff tapping a steady rhythm down the corridor.

Silence hung heavy in her wake.

Lord Tygal broke it. “The old mother speaks some truth. Rallying the people requires more than a simple Administrator command. I doubt even the Sacred Oath itself would stir their hearts after the confusion of the last year. Pogg is a Legendary-class holder. His name alone could summon every man and woman to rise. Let him lead this coalition—in name, if not in deed.”

"And you." He turned to Gareth. “This is a moment for heroes, not bureaucrats. I'm sure you will be please to know, Stillgot Arrowlyte no longer commands the King’s Army. One of Duncan’s lackeys is the last one who should hold that position. I ask you to take your rightful place at its head.”

Gareth’s jaw tightened. “I serve Jane King. I won’t betray her.”

“Jane King is no enemy of mine,” Tygal replied quietly. “I owe the life of my daughter, Myra, to her. But this is no longer about demons—and whether she ever returns remains to be seen. Already, the eastern villages fall, one by one, swallowed by shadow and the dead things that come with it. Will you turn your back on Arcadia in her hour of need?”

Gareth turned away, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Darkness blanketed the sky creeping westward, village by village. The young king was missing. Lord Tygal now ostensibly controlled Dawnskeep, but only by thread. Chaos and uncertainty stirred in every corner of the land. Perhaps this was the only way to impose a semblance of order—before it all unraveled. Banished… and now this. 

He exhaled slowly. “Very well. But… if Pogg objects—”

“I’ll speak to him,” Tiberius said, raising a hand. “You’re a good man, Gareth. He’ll understand. The circumstances have changed. I think we'd all feel more comfortable with a seasoned and reasonable man leading Arcadia's largest army.”

Tygal turned to the southern lord. “And you, Emir? Will you stand with us?”

Lord Emir gave a dismissive snort. “Pogg may have power—but power without wisdom is wasted. He needs to heed counsel. Will he even listen?” He shook his head. "You all know him better than I." He eyed Gareth. “But I will say one thing—if Gareth Artuvian commands the King’s Army once more… that, I can accept.”

***

Listening to the birds chirp, Pogg basked in the rejuvenating warmth of the sun. After his bitter defeat, he had awoken here—in the palace of Dawnskeep. They told me I was unconscious for nearly a week.
 His Health bar was full, yet the ghostly sensation of his life force being drained still clung to him. Never before had he come so close to death—not even after awakening in the High Auger's dungeon beneath the Sanctum Imperium. The sight of those who pledge themselves to him melting away and turning into skeletons plagued his nightmares every night now.

He rose to his feet and wandered through the palace gardens. The weather was flawless, the sun brilliant—a cruel contrast to the true state of the world. As he strolled past rows of flowers, he noticed a young woman escorted by attendants, her gaze vacant and far away. Pogg didn’t bother to inspect her. What was the point?

The Virtue stat remained a mystery. Monsters like Jane and the demons had catastrophic scores in the negative millions—yet that man, Vario, who defended them, held the highest Virtue Pogg had ever seen. The same could be said for the terrifying Lord Melkit. His Virtue stat was nearly one hundred itself. What am I missing? It didn’t make sense. He attempted to comb through all the past inconsistencies. What was that demon, Gral'gor's, Virtue? In the heat of battle, he realized he never checked.

He was The Chosen One—yet against the rising tide of darkness, against monsters like the Lord Melkit the Blood Reaper, what chance did he really have? What chance does anyone have? The forces of evil had aligned: an unholy union of demons and the undead. What could possibly stop it? And if he couldn't stop it—what was he doing here?

He activated his Wings of Prophecy skill, and in a burst of light, soared into the sky. Below sprawled the city of Dawnskeep, gleaming like a jewel. Outside its walls, armies were gathered on all sides. To the east, the banners of the Providencia fluttered over a sea of tents—the Pathbound Army. Supplicants continued to arrive by the day, a winding column from the south. And among them, a separate camp: the Dalrazi.

Gliding past the outer walls, Pogg descended into the Dalrazi camp. They had been with him the longest, following him from the poisonous southern coasts. All they had ever wanted was a home. Children played among the tents. Women chatted as they worked, carrying water or preparing food. Ignorant of the terrors that lay in wait.

Have I taken on too much? Nearby, a Dalrazi man sat reading Path From Unity. Once it held all the answers for him, providing him a path forward. Now, the words rang hollow in the overwhelming seas of darkness. Maybe I was never meant to save the world. Maybe I was only meant to save the Dalrazi. If so, should he lead them away from here? Away from the growing shadow?

Pogg dropped to the ground, head in hands. The golden path had always guided him. But now? Now, it was silent. And the darkness he faced wasn’t just rising from the east. It was here—inside him.
Uncertainty.