JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 24 (Patreon)

An Unexpected Delivery

Shifting through the shadows beneath the trees, Crakkis the Infiltrator moved swiftly despite the heavy sack slung over his shoulder. Each step was a careful balance between speed and stealth, carefully avoiding any unnecessary confrontations with wild beasts. After departing the city of Garontal, he now wound his way back toward the valley. The city’s sights, sounds, and peculiar energies still echoed through his body. This world… it’s a marvel. Ripe for exploitation.

Already, ideas slithered through his mind—schemes, manipulations, cruel machinations honed over centuries. The same cunning that had once allowed him to enslave high-level demons in the Netherrealm could work just as well here. Possibly better. Each step through the underbrush discarded one plot and refined another. The chaos he might unleash upon this unsuspecting world seemed limitless. Deliciously so.

And yet, amid his excitement, a kernel of unease pulsed in his thoughts. The Mandala of Power—their leader’s words weighed heavier than he had anticipated. What he had learned there was troubling. No doubt the mistress will want to take action immediately once she hears what’s stirring in the south.

A break in the trees opened before him, revealing the edge of the valley. Even at a glance, it was clear the other demons had been busy. Structures had risen. The ground itself had been moved. The war machine was already being assembled. Splendid, he noted. They have already begun.

He paused briefly, focusing inward. A subtle current confirmed what he suspected—She’s returned. That was good. His timing was perfect.

A muffled squirm from the sack snapped him back to the present. He delivered a few swift, dull thuds with his fist, silencing what was inside.

In the distance, he spotted Balostroze—massive, disciplined, towering. Jane’s second in command. For now.

That will change soon enough.

Brute strength had its place, but it paled next to intellect sharpened by centuries of rule. Crakkis had once governed Jaridume for over three hundred years. He had crushed other collectives with a word, broken the strongest demons with a whisper. His was the long game. And now, the board was once again set for play.

To Balostroze’s left stood the mistress herself, arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

Crakkis approached, his gait smooth, confident. As he neared, he dipped his head in a slow, deliberate bow.

“Jane,” he said, voice honeyed with both reverence and ambition. “I have returned.”

***

“Great, glad you’re back,” Jane replied, barely suppressing her eagerness. Crakkis was the first of the Infiltrators to return, and according to Balostroze, the others weren’t far behind. His arrival brought with it a strange, inexplicable surge of invigoration—like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. She wasn’t sure why, but as soon as she saw him, something in her just felt right. Finally.

“What’s the news?” she asked. “Did you find any cities?”

Crakkis nodded smoothly, his expression serene and calculating. “Indeed. South of here lies a large city—Garontal. Ruled, quite discreetly, by dragonkin. The humans seem completely unaware of it. They walk beside their rulers without suspicion, thanks to the golden masks.” He allowed himself a sly grin. “The artifact is effective. Masked individuals only have their name and level revealed—not their race. It’s all very… devious. I approve.”

He reached for the sack on his shoulder and heaved it to the ground with a heavy thud, like a butcher tossing meat onto a counter.

“But rather than hear it all from me,” he added, stepping aside with a theatrical sweep of his arm, “why not ask one of them yourself?”

Jane’s eyes narrowed as she yanked the sack open. Inside, a tall figure tumbled out—draped in crimson and dark gray robes, a golden mask gleaming on his face. The captive flinched at the sudden light, scrambling backward, one hand raised defensively as if expecting a blow.

Now we’re talking, Jane thought. She triggered Piercing Gaze.

Basra (Level 152)

(Dragonkin)

Class: Regulator (Rare)

Strength: 41

Agility: 33

Constitution: 102

Intelligence: 191

Harmony: 121

Wisdom: 5

Resonance: Power

Health: 910/1020

Mana: 50/50

Fun Fact:

With the personality of a statue and all the warmth of a tax audit, Basra has lived a life of soul-numbing monotony. Just the way he likes it. When his mother offered to read him bedtime stories, he requested Grammatical Rules and Best Practices—then corrected her pronunciation with a tut and a sigh. Adventure? The one word he might fail to spell at the spelling bee. He organizes his sock drawer alphabetically and considers jaywalking a felony. But like it or not, this living snooze button is about to get dragged—kicking and screaming—into a life of chaos he can’t spreadsheet his way out of!

Jane let out a low whistle, rubbing her chin as she crouched beside the captive. Whatever the mask did, it was ineffective against her Piercing Gaze skill. Without hesitation, she snapped forward and tore the golden mask from his face.

Beneath it was a smooth, scaled visage—yellow eyes wide with panic. The dragonkin’s skin started a pale bronze shade, but the color drained fast.

“Gotcha,” Jane muttered.

The moment the mask came off, the figure crumbled. “No!” Basra whimpered, burying his face in his hands and curling inward like a dying leaf.

Jane straightened and turned toward Crakkis. “So, who’s this?”

Crakkis stepped forward with calm precision. “Basra. Advisor to Ristharak, the leader of Garontal—and to the Mandala of Power itself.” He gave a short, unapologetic shrug. “Regrettably, I was unable to capture the leader in the short time I had available. He is a level two hundred and fifty two dragonkin.”

Jane crossed her arms. “That’s alright. This one will do just fine.” She gave a small, devious smile. “Give me a minute. I’m going to milk this guy for every drop.”

She stretched out her hand, calling upon The Gray Inquisition. “Basra,” she said, voice ringing with power, “enter the Halls of Justice.”

Time stretched, then stopped.

The world faded to gray, then bled into black.

Jane now stood at the edge of a long, stone walkway suspended in nothingness. At its far end sat a raised platform, swarming with a globe of her gray specters. No time to waste. She began her walk forward, the clack of her feet echoing through the void.

With a blink, the first vision overtook her.

She stood in a dome-shaped metal room, looking down on six dragonkin children—humanoid, varied colors and young. Around the edges stood three unmasked adult dragonkin. The children charged one of the adults with loud, chaotic shouts—not to attack, but to encircle him. Jane watched as they hummed a strange melody, over and over. She couldn’t tell which child was Basra.

Another step.

Now she was following a golden-masked figure—this time Basra, no doubt—flanked by two well-armored humans. They walked a dirt road past a sprawling agricultural estate. Jane’s breath caught.

The fields were full of human laborers. Dirty, ragged, sun-scorched. Chains trailed from their necks to tall iron poles planted in endless rows across the horizon. Basra didn’t spare them a glance.

Another step forward.

Now she stood in a grand chamber, sparsely decorated but richly furnished. A massive bed dominated the space. On it lay an older dragonkin, wheezing—clearly dying. Basra stood nearby, watching in silence. The elder lifted a trembling hand toward him, then dropped it as his last breath rattled out.

Basra didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He simply turned and walked out.

Sheesh, Jane thought grimly. This guy…

More scenes followed—each one steeped in detachment, passivity, or calculated apathy. They painted a clear picture: not of a monster, but of someone who never cared enough not to avoid becoming one.

As she reached the end of the walkway, the circular platform came back into view.

Ghostly specters floated in a circle. Almost all of them were gray. A scattering of black ones stood out, but not a single one showed white.

Jane looked down.

In her left hand, the familiar iron scales, heavy and cold.

But in her right, gripped a towering, serrated blade, obsidian-black, wicked and nearly ten feet tall.

Her clothes had shifted too. Gray robes, lined with black inseams that felt like rivers of darkness. Leaning that way, are we? So… what to ask?

Her time here was limited. She’d seen pieces of his life, but not enough to pull detailed answers from memory alone. Still, he was the advisor to the Mandala of Power’s leader.

Better stick to the basics—for now.

“BASRA, ARE THERE ANY LEGENDARY CLASS HOLDERS AMONG THE DRAGONKIN?”

Her voice thundered across the chamber like a rolling storm, crashing down in a wave of absolute authority. The force of it made Basra flinch hard, his shoulders curling inward, his scaled hands gripping his head as though to shield himself from the sound.

He remained huddled on the floor, eyes averted, trembling. Jane waited silently.

She didn’t need to repeat herself. No one could resist the System’s compulsion within the Gray Inquisition. Not for long. Here, the truth was wrenched out, one way or the other.

Seconds passed like minutes.

Finally, his voice cracked through the silence.

“L-Legendary class holders?” he stammered, barely audible. “N-no... none that I’m aware of.” He shook his head violently, as if trying to dispel the very idea. “None. I swear it.”

“WHY ARE THE DRAGONKIN HIDING THEIR IDENTITIES?”

“It’s forbidden!” Basra cried, panic rising like bile in his throat. “Revealing our race to the others—it’s a death sentence! If they find out I’ve been unmasked, I’m doomed!”

His words tumbled over each other, fear eclipsing any final restraint.

Jane nodded, then felt a shift—cold metal beginning to rise around her feet, flowing like liquid steel. Her time was running out. Across from her, the effect on Basra was far more dramatic. The metallic liquid curled up around him solidifying with ominous finality as he remained balled on the ground, helpless and pleading.

Gotta move fast, Jane thought, eyes narrowing. The window for questioning was closing.

“ARE THE DRAGONKIN PREPARING FOR WAR AGAINST THE DEMONS?”

Basra began to tremble violently. “What’s happening to me? I… I can’t move my legs!” he gasped, terror mounting in his voice. Then his eyes lifted—and froze.

They widened in horror as they landed on Jane, standing tall and terrible, draped in the gray-and-black robes of the Judicator, her towering dark blade in one hand, the scales in the other. In that moment, she was no longer just a woman—she was judgement incarnate.

“A war against the demons? W-Why?” was all he managed, voice cracking.

With a final hiss of crackling metal, the black steel encased him fully—transforming him into a statue, only his darting eyes visible within.

Jane exhaled through her nose. Hmph. Not much of an answer, she thought, stepping back a pace. But still... better than nothing. We'll have to do the rest of the questioning outside of here.

She paused, weighing the blade in her hand. Basra hadn’t been evil—at least not overtly. But he’d turned a blind eye to the suffering all around him. He’d stood in the center of a cruel system and let it flourish without a moments pity.

Not evil, she thought. Just indifferent.

Jane shrugged. Well, I got a quest. Let’s give you one too.

She plucked the punishment out of the void, set a few parameters, and with a low voice of authority, she pronounced her judgment.

“BASRA, I FIND YOU GUILTY!”

The globe of gray and black specters turned their hollow gazes toward her—just for a moment—acknowledging the sentence. Then, without a sound, they scattered in all directions, vanishing into the void like ashes on a storm wind.

The platform beneath her feet began to dissolve, the oppressive stillness lifting. The dark, suspended world of the Gray Inquisition unraveled around her as time resumed its natural flow—first slow, then quickly accelerating back to normal.

Jane blinked.

She was once again standing in the clearing, the gold-masked dragonkin still kneeling before her in the waking world as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Without a word, she opened her System logs and checked the results.

Basra has been Quest Bound!

Help Jane King Rescue All the Slaves on Kaldara!

Quest: Free all of the human slaves on the continent of Kaldara.

Reward: A taco birthday party every year for life

Failure Penalty: Lose 100 Levels

Duration: 1 Year

You have received 10000 experience!

10000/792783

Nodding in satisfaction, Jane closed the System log. Can’t give everyone a death sentence for failing a quest… she reasoned. But hopefully this’ll motivate him to do something useful for once. And who doesn't like tacos?

She turned back to the others. “Right. I didn’t get much out of him. At least he’s not aware of any Legendary class holders among the dragonkin, and it doesn’t seem like they’re gearing up for a demon invasion.”

She glanced at Crakkis. “Anything to add?”

Crakkis gulped, eyes darting. “Err... well. That is true. Possibly.” He fidgeted. “In my audience with the leader—Ristharak—I did learn something else. It seems... two dragonkin escaped the valley before we exited the labyrinth.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Escaped?”

“I managed to convince Ristharak that they were just two runaways,” Crakkis said quickly, “but... they were already gone. Heading to the other Mandalas to report the breach of the Terrazene Labyrinth.”

Jane slapped her forehead with a groan. “Right. Of course.”

She gestured toward the dragonkin prisoner. “Keep an eye on this one for now. Maybe take him into the human village inside the valley—see what else he knows, and how the others react to him.”

Then she turned to Balostroze. “Spread the word—we march south as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Balostroze said, standing taller. “I look forward to subjugating this land in your name. Let us show these paltry dragonkin the might of the horde.”

He gestured toward the trees. “Ah—and it appears several other Infiltrators have just returned.”

Jane looked up.

Three figures were approaching the clearing—each shouldering a heavy sack.

She blinked. Then shrugged, shaking her head.

“Well,” she said, arms crossed, “I guess great minds think alike.”