JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 25 (Patreon)

Pragmatism

The sky above the southern city of Talantis stretched cloudless and brilliant, the sun casting a golden glow across the alabaster rooftops. Suspended high above the pristine city, Pogg hovered in silence—his radiant wings spread wide, light trailing from their feathers like divine fire.

At his sides, his Seraphic Angels floated in formation, armor gleaming, faces stern and still. Every gaze in the city below had turned skyward. He was no longer a rumor or a symbol—he was present, in the flesh.

Without a word, Pogg raised both hands. Twin weapons—each forged of light so bright it hurt to look at—flashed into existence in his grip.

Then he triggered Clarion Call.

"PEOPLE OF THE SOUTH, A TIDE OF DARKNESS FROM THE EAST THREATENS TO OVERTAKE THE LAND. EACH DAY IT PUSHES FURTHER INTO ARCADIA. THE SACRED OATH HAS BEEN INVOKED, THE CALL MADE. WHO AMONG YOU WILL ANSWER? WILL WE LIE DOWN AND DIE? OR RISE AND FIGHT FOR THE FUTURE? THE TIME IS NOW, THE NEED IS GREAT. SEARCH WITHIN YOURSELVES FOR THE COURAGE TO FACE THIS LOOMING THREAT WITH DIGNITY, AND JOIN ME IN THE GREATEST TRIAL OF OUR AGE!"

Thrusting a sword skyward, Pogg activated Boon of Light. A radiant burst shimmered outward, blanketing the city of Talantis below in a warm, golden glow. The people looked up as strength surged through their bones—every stat increased by fifty points, bodies and spirits alike invigorated by his Epic skill.

A resounding cheer rose up from the streets, echoing between rooftops and towers like a triumphant hymn.

Pogg let out a long breath.

From this height, they couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders, nor the tired lines behind his eyes. Another city roused. Another people inspired. His role, for now, was done. Lord Tygal and Elontis’s men would handle the logistics, the strategy, the actual coordination of any who answered the call. He was simply the banner. The voice.

He drifted downward, wings glinting in the sunlight, landing near a grassy rise at the city’s outskirts where a cluster of tents had been pitched. Waiting for him were Enel and a small mix of Arcadian and Providencian soldiers, their armor contrasting but their stances unified.

“That went well,” Enel greeted him, offering a clap on the shoulder as Pogg touched down. “Inspirational as ever. You’ve come a long way since those first speeches back along the southern coasts.” He chuckled. “Of course, your new skills don’t exactly hurt either.”

Pogg managed a half-smile, shoulders sagging. “I suppose.”

“That takes care of the southern realm,” Enel continued. “If we head west, we can trace the Golden Coast before finishing in the north.” He shook his head. "Never thought I'd step foot in Arcadia. Now look at me, speaking so casually about traveling this strange kingdom of realms."

Pogg took a wooden cup of water from a nearby soldier, drinking slowly as he considered. Flying from one city to the next, raising spirits, delivering speeches—it was exhausting in ways combat never had been. For now his place wasn't on the front lines. Tiberius and the other Arcadian lords wanted a symbol. A rallying cry. Something for frightened farmers and skeptical nobles alike to cling to.

Pogg didn’t believe they could win the coming war. Not when faced with a monster like Lord Melkit. But this much at least, he could do. So, he would do it.

Still… his mind was elsewhere. Traveling to the coast could wait.

“No,” he said at last. “I’m returning to Dawnskeep.”

Enel blinked. “Now?”

“You can keep moving. I’ll meet you in the west in a few days.”

Enel nodded solemnly and clasped Pogg’s hand. “Alright. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to stay the night? Tara was looking forward to making you dinner.”

Pogg gave him a grateful look. “No... but give her my thanks.”

With that, he launched back into the sky, soaring northeast in a gleaming streak of light.

His skill, Wings of Prophecy, had evolved. It was now Soaring Light that carried him freely through the sky—now no longer bound to thirty minutes a day, but nearly eight hours. And that was only one of its boons. From this height, the King’s Road was visible far to the north, winding like a pale ribbon through green hills and distant forests.

It would lead him back to Dawnskeep.

Back to Princess Jasmine.

Is she alright? Has she gained any more levels?

Lately, thoughts of the gentle princess consumed him. She was delicate, almost breakable—not like Jane had been. Pogg still couldn’t fathom what might have justified such a brutal punishment. From everything he had seen, Jasmine was a paragon of virtue. Whatever Gareth had claimed must have been lies.

More than that, she didn’t seem capable of deception.

His mind flashed to Fiona—the woman who’d tried to seduce him in Valtoris, acting on orders from the High Auger and the clergy of the Sons of Unity. Jasmine was her polar opposite in every way. She could never deceive me.

She had even survived his Purify skill—surely, a sign of a pure spirit.

High above the rolling hills, he exhaled slowly. Aside from Jasmine, he had been reluctant to use Righteous Perception on anyone, not sure whether to trust it or not. Maybe I shouldn’t abandon the Virtue stat entirely. There had been anomalies, yes, but more often than not, it had steered him true. I just need to take it with a grain of salt.

At the very least, it was better than walking blind.

***

Striding through the grand halls of Dawnskeep, Pogg scanned the corridors in search of Princess Jasmine. The two remaining lords of Arcadia, along with Tiberius, had urged him to sound the call across the realm. But it wasn’t their voices that swayed him. It was hers. Not with words, but with her helplessness. Who would protect her, if not him? Now that he had returned from the south, his reward wouldn’t be gold or title—but the softness of Princess Jasmine's smile.

She isn’t in the gardens. Is she here?
He pushed open the heavy doors to the audience chamber, hoping to find her inside.

Instead, Lord Tygal sat on the throne, listening to a line of petitioners stretching across the room.

“…the refugees from Bolgrador are stealing food from my fields—what is the King’s Army going to do about that?” a farmer demanded.

Lord Tygal looked up at Pogg’s entrance, then signaled to a nearby guard. “That will be all for today.”

At his gesture, the guards began ushering the citizens out a side door, leaving the vast chamber quiet, save for a few lingering servants and the sentries at each exit.

“Pogg, you’ve returned,” Tygal said, his expression brightening. “How fares the southern realm? Convincing Lord Emir to let you spread the call there was no small feat, I’ll have you know.”

Pogg’s gaze swept the chamber. The voice echoed unnaturally in the cavernous space, and a strange weight settled over him—the burden of legacy, of duty. Tattered banners and faded murals loomed from the walls, the painted eyes of long-dead kings staring down with silent judgment. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Lord Tygal. I never did test him with Righteous Perception.
Better to be sure.

Tygal Elontis (Level 84)

Human

Class: Surveyor (Rare)

Strength: 12

Agility: 87

Constitution: 32

Intelligence: 63

Luck: 10

Virtue: -137

Health: 320/320

Pogg gasped, eyes flaring wide. The man's Virtue was far below the threshold—well within the range for Purification. That familiar, icy certainty surged through him. Whatever sins this man had buried beneath his charming facade, they could not be hidden.

He stepped forward, each stride laced with grim purpose. Let’s put your noble intentions to the test of fire.

Lord Tygal, sensing danger, backed away until he bumped against the throne. “W-What? Pogg, wait—just a moment!”

Pogg extended his hand, ready to invoke Purify—

The chamber doors slammed open.

“Father!”

The voice, high and urgent, cracked through the tension like a whip.

Pogg froze, arm suspended mid-air.

Lord Tygal’s expression shifted in an instant, sidestepping Pogg. “By the Maker… Myra—is that you?”

A young woman sprinted past Pogg and threw herself into Lord Tygal’s arms, the impact forcing him back a step.

Still caught between action and restraint, Pogg instinctively triggered Righteous Perception on the woman.

Myra Elontis (Level 35)

Human

Class: Swashbuckler (Uncommon)

Strength: 12

Agility: 55

Constitution: 23

Intelligence: 15

Luck: 7

Virtue: 89

Health: 230/230

“Goodness, Myra—” Lord Tygal struggled to recover. “Where did you come from? And your levels—you’ve gained so many.”

Myra took a step back, smiling. “Oh, Father, I’ve so much to tell you. I’ve been with the Menadeen—you wouldn’t believe what they’ve done with the trees. They shape them into incredible structures! It’s the most unbelievable thing I’ve ever seen. Well, not the most—but it’s absolutely awe inspiring.”

She paused, glancing past him. Her expression shifted with surprise. “Oh—who’s this?”

Lord Tygal straightened, stepping slightly in front of her. “This is Pogg. He holds a Legendary class—The Chosen One.”

Pogg lowered his raised hand, caught off guard. He gave a small bow. “Uh—hello. That’s right. I’m Pogg.”

Myra thrust out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Pogg. I’m Myra.” Then she tilted her head. “Legendary?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, wait—I think I recognize that name! Because Ja—”

“Myra,” Lord Tygal cut in, “you’ve only just returned from a long journey, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But, Father, I didn’t expect to find you in Dawnskeep. What’s going on? Have you seen Ja—”

“Please.” He interrupted again, firmer this time. “Much has happened since you were last in the capital.” He turned and snapped his fingers at a nearby servant. “We’ll speak soon. But for now, allow Maizy to escort you to the baths. Pogg and I have matters of great urgency to finish discussing.”

Myra folded her arms, glancing between them, then shrugged. “Fine. I guess a bath wouldn’t hurt. I suppose I do look a bit travel-worn.” She gave Pogg a soft smile and bowed slightly. “It was nice meeting you. I hope Father hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Pogg swallowed. “Uh—n-no. He’s been… very helpful.”

With a wave, Myra followed Maizy out the side door.

Once she was gone, Lord Tygal stepped forward slowly, both hands raised in a placating gesture. “Pogg… What happened? That fire in your eyes—something’s changed.”

Pogg hesitated. Myra’s sudden arrival, her embrace—it had unbalanced him. “I… I don’t know.”

“No,” Tygal said quietly. “I think you do know. What did you see?”

The words came without thinking. “Your Virtue stat. It’s… very low.”

“Virtue stat?” Tygal’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Pogg took a breath and began, speaking more to reason it out himself than to Tygal. He told him everything—how his Righteous Perception skill revealed the Virtue stat, how it seemed to reflect a person’s deeds. But he admitted he didn’t always understand its readings—why it judged some harshly and others not at all.

Lord Tygal stroked his chin. “I see…” He gave a small, humorless chuckle. “It’s no secret I’ve crossed many lines in my life—for the good of the kingdom. I’m sure you’ve heard the tavern songs. The gossip. The tales.” His eyes turned hard. “But that is leadership, Pogg. Real leadership. Sacrifices must be made. Sometimes one must die to save ten. Or ten to save a hundred.”

He gestured toward a faded mural—an ancient warrior-king standing alone against a host of mounted enemies.

“Does making those decisions make me good or evil? I couldn’t tell you. But if I have to wear the mantle of the villain to save my people—I’ll do it. A hundred times over. Perhaps that’s what your Virtue stat sees. Not cruelty. Not malice. Just… the price of choosing the greater good.”

Pogg said nothing. The image of Myra throwing her arms around her father lingered in his mind. She had quite a high Virtue stat herself. Could the father of such a woman truly be evil? Perhaps this is one of those times to judge a man more thoroughly, he decided.

“There’s more,” Tygal said, lowering his voice. “News from the east. Commander Gareth attempted contact with this… Lord Melkit—and failed. I regret to inform you that the city of Glavenholm has fallen under the dark cloud of night and its undead denizens.”

Pogg froze. Glavenholm was massive. The closest city to Grandia. It was there he, Jane, and Reyla had first rendezvoused with the red sorceress, Melindra.

“And the people?” he asked quietly.

“Most were evacuated,” Tygal said. “Gareth and the King’s Army managed that much, even without the benefits of a proper Administrator. But they couldn’t stop the tide of undead. Bolgrador will fall next. The eastern realm is in chaos, it is far more disorganized than the north. We should expect heavy casualties—most just common folk.”

Pogg’s breath caught. His heart thundered.

Tygal placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me. The King’s Army, the Pathbound Army—none of us can stand against what’s coming. Not without you. Another Legendary class holder, one who can turn battles with a single skill? We need that. Arcadia needs that. Your Boon of Light—it’s a miracle. But it’s only a glimmer of your potential power. We need you stronger. More levels. More skills.”

Pogg nodded slowly. It was a cold truth. Without him, many of their early victories against the demons would never have happened.

“I understand,” he said. “But leveling isn’t easy anymore. It takes… so much.”

“As it should,” Tygal replied. “But there are… ways around that. You are on the path of heroes now, not common soldiers. And that path demands more. Feeding the levels of your enemies with half-hearted attacks doomed to fail is a losing strategy. If experience is to be gained, but should go to you, our greatest hope. And make no mistake, if we fail—if that darkness swallows Arcadia—no one survives. Not a single man, woman, or child. Sacrifices must be made. You know that.”

Pogg looked up at the mural again—past kings and long-dead heroes faded by time. What sacrifices had they made to keep Arcadia standing? What price had Augustus the Lightbringer paid?

If his campaign in the Providencia had taught him anything it was this—the cost of peace was written in blood. That much, he understood.

***

Storming down the corridor, Myra let out a long, frustrated sigh. She’d come straight from the Menadeen settlement deep in the heart of the Trilling Forest, cutting westward across the realm to reach Dawnskeep as quickly as possible. The Menadeen Mother—Pimra the Celestial Sorceress—had given her a dire warning: leave for the city at once; your father’s fate depends on it.

But instead of some grim revelation or bloodstained throne, she’d found him… thriving. Just as healthy and commanding as usual. In fact, from what she’d heard whispered in the streets, amidst rumors of a missing king, it sounded like her father was effectively ruling Dawnskeep.

Another one of his games, she sighed inwardly.

And more puzzling—Jane was nowhere to be found. No whispers, no sightings, no mentions of demons or the fiery Judicator. It was as if she’d vanished entirely from the face of Alur. And where are Serous and Dyle? Their names were absent from the tavern chatter as well.

Now the only topic on anyone’s lips was the spreading darkness from Grandia. She shook her head. That’s what you get for being out of the loop for nearly a year, she scolded herself.

Still, Pimra’s letter to Jane haunted her. Have her words already come to pass? Nothing about this situation made sense. Father had better explain everything later, she thought with a sniff.

And that man, Pogg—was he the same one Jane had told her about? The other Legendary class holder? But Jane described him as a bumbling level five klutz, not someone knocking on the door of level 150. There’s no way that’s the same guy… right?

She shrugged, trying not to overthink it. What she really needed was a bath. That was one thing the Menadeen absolutely lacked—hot water and soap. How long has it been since I've bathed? Over a year, easily. Even after escaping the Great Woods, she hadn’t visited Grandia, her thoughts consumed with the fate of the elves.

Well, she smiled, this is going to feel amazing.

She entered the palace bath hall with rising anticipation. It wasn’t quite The Ocean’s Pearl in the city proper, but it was still grand—marble tile, gilded fixtures, and a ceiling high enough to disappear into steam. She changed near a wooden screen, handed her travel-worn clothes to the waiting servant, and stepped barefoot into the main bathhouse.

And froze.

A figure waded deeply in the far pool, partially obscured by mist and flickering torchlight.

“Princess… Jasmine?”

Reflexively, Myra triggered General Identification.

Jasmine Arctavian (Level 4)

Human

Princess Jasmine looked up, her face lighting with a radiant smile. “Myra! Is that you? It’s so good to see you again.”

Myra hesitated at the water’s edge, then waded in slowly, lowering herself to the neck. “Uh… right. It’s… good to see you too.”

Calling their relationship rocky was generous. The sharp edges between Jasmine’s royal pedigree and Myra’s father’s political ambitions had put them at odds since childhood—and things hadn’t exactly softened over time. If she recalled correctly, Jane told her she judged Jasmine and stripped her levels. Myra tried to remember the details, something about egregious use of leveling machines.

“So… I see you lost a few levels?” she asked carefully.

Jasmine gave a light, almost whimsical smile. “I did. I was reduced to level one. But thanks to that brave hero, Pogg, I can progress again. Have you met him?”

Myra raised an eyebrow. “Briefly. Huh… What about your brother? Where’s the king?”

“My brother? Jeric?” Jasmine’s smile didn’t fade. “I… I don’t know. I imagine he’s out there somewhere, isn’t he?”

“Right. Somewhere,” Myra replied, watching her closely.

Something was off. No biting remarks, no clever quips. Princess Jasmine had always had a tongue like a whip and wasn’t shy about using it. But now? She was acting like a dreamy debutante at a garden party. 

Sliding closer, Myra tried another angle. “Have you seen Jane King? You know, the demon lord? I’ve been looking for her. I heard you two have some history.”

Jasmine looked away, her expression wilting. “Oh, Myra, I don’t know why you’d want to find her. She’s trouble.”

“I heard she judged you. She said you were sacrificing people in the leveling chambers to gain experience. That true?”

Jasmine gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Me? That doesn’t sound like something I’d do. That sounds like something a bad person would do. Maybe it was Jane—she was so angry the last time I saw her. I would never do something so awful.”

“Uh huh,” Myra murmured, narrowing her eyes.

Is she lying? Myra couldn’t tell. Her face was placid, serene—even innocent. But this wasn't the Jasmine she remembered. Not by a long shot. Something had changed about her… or she was putting on one heck of an act.

“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said suddenly, fanning her face. “I feel a bit faint. You’ll have to excuse me.”

She stood quickly and hurried out, leaving Myra alone in the steaming waters.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Jasmine, all sweetness and light? Her father ruling Dawnskeep? A random Legendary class holder appearing out of nowhere? No demons—but undead instead?

And where the blazes is Jane?