JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 29 (Patreon)

A New Challenger Enters the Ring

Ristharak stood atop the steel pavilion, the metal warm beneath his feet as he watched with anticipation. Below, his most elite forces surged forward, closing in from the rear, ready to tear into the Mandala of Humility’s exposed flanks like wolves descending on a crippled herd. The arrival of those two youths from the Mandala of Fortitude—naïve, breathless, desperate—had been a gift in disguise. Their tale of demons spilling from the ancient and forgotten Terrazene Labyrinth had reeked of delusion. It was no wonder an elder came to retrieve them.

But Ristharak never doubted they would spread their warning far and wide, and of course, Humility had listened first. Perfect. But Sharik wasn't scrambling to answer the call—no, she hoped to catch him unaware, an opportunity to exploit. Just as he’d hoped, Humility took the bait.

Sharik, you always did underestimate me. Now you’ll pay the price.

He grinned inwardly. A few slave battalions lost was a small cost for capturing Sharik and changing her melody to the Resonance of Power. Even now, the equations clicked through his mind—the balance tipping, shifting. Kaldara would be his. Not in months, not in years—but now. An expansion of one Resonance in a way not seen since the age of Bashrimuth the Charmer.

He turned slightly, meaning to ask Basra for his standing with the Tempered Beauty—but scowled. The man was absent. Still gone… His many years of service were the only thing keeping Ristharak’s rage in check. Right on the cusp of glory? Fool.

Ristharak turned back to the battlefield, the clash of steel and smoke stretching across the plains. Sharik’s gaudy palanquin, glinting beneath the sun, stood out like a beacon—hoisted on the backs of five hundred slaves. An arrogant display. Your hubris will be your undoing.

Then, a sudden pulse of red light erupted from the distant battlefield, followed by a low, resonant tone—deep, ancient, and foreboding.

Ristharak flinched, stepping back, eyes narrowing. What was that? A trick? A signal? It was too far to see clearly—but something had changed. Did Sharik find an Epic class wielder? That could change everything.

“Hashiro!” he barked to the Cull commander up ahead. “Double pace! We enter the fray now!”

Without hesitation, Hashiro wheeled his mount and bellowed the call to charge. It was all or nothing—this battle would decide who carried the strongest Resonance in the north.

***

Astride her Emerald Drake, Jane surged forward, eyes wide in awe as the larger demons carved a path through the battlefield like a snowplow through winter drifts. There was no resistance—none that could act, at least. Her Minor Law skill blanketed the area, silencing combat entirely. No blades clashed, no arrows flew. The enemy stood frozen in confusion or panic, unable to raise a hand in violence. And her demons? They weren’t fighting—they were marching. Bulldozing. It looked less like a battle and more like the forest clearing effort all over again.

To her right, Gral’gor blinked into view, keeping pace with her drake. They had spent the last few days testing the Minor Law skill’s boundaries, and by now she had a firm grasp of how it worked. She could set laws—rules that governed a defined space. But the parameters had limits. No more than one square mile, fixed to the spot where the law was invoked. And duration? Twenty-four hours at most. After that, she couldn’t use it again until twice that time had passed.

But the true power wasn’t in the law itself—it was in the punishment.

That was where Gral’gor came in.

Many of her skills had temporal effects—The Gray Inquisition, Pinpoint Judgment, even The Drawn Veil all toyed with time to amplify her power. Minor Law followed the same logic. Gral’gor, now Lawbound to her as an Executioner, received a System notification whenever someone violated a law. And when that happened, the System yanked him across time and space, teleporting him instantly to the offender. What happened next was as brutal as it was efficient. Better still, every enforcement gave them both experience—Jane as the lawmaker, Gral’gor as the hand of judgment.

Just as he blinked away once more, a new System message appeared into her log.

Lieu Xantic (Level 43) has violated a law!

Punishment delivered!

You have received 1000 experience!

512000/704141 

Just one of many messages that had streamed in since the march began. Jane shook her head and looked ahead, the wind tugging at her black ember gown as the field opened wide before her. The skill had proven effective—maybe too effective. One thing was clear: Minor Law was brutally impartial. It didn’t care who broke the rule—enemy, ally, or innocent bystander. Violate the law, and punishment would come.

This was certainly on a scale far grander than what she'd tested before. She made a mental note to watch what exactly triggered the violations and when. Well, it seems to be working at least. Nothing was slipping through the cracks. The System was merciless. So was Gral’gor. Lucky for me, the demons under my command follow orders with perfect clarity.

Taltorius (Level 1816) has violated a law!

Punishment delivered!

You have received 0 experience!

512000/704141

Jane slapped her forehead and let out a weary sigh. Well, at least I didn’t get punished for it personally. Still, it confirmed what she’d suspected—having her own demons intentionally violate her laws wouldn’t grant her experience. The System wasn’t that easy to game.

Balostroze fell back beside her, his black armor streaked with blood and dust. “Mistress, as instructed, any humans found chained or collared are being freed. The dragonkin are being captured and carried along with the horde.”

“Good,” Jane replied. “Keep them blindfolded and bound separately—no contact between the dragonkin. I don’t want a repeat of last time. I’ll deal with them after we make camp for the night.”

Suddenly, the earth erupted ahead. An enormous golden palanquin launched skyward in a spray of shattered dirt, scattering soldiers and debris like leaves in a storm. Over the swarm of demons, Jane caught a glimpse of Yiw’drog—hurtling through the air with tentacles flailing before vanishing beneath the churned battlefield once more.

“Not sure I’m ever going to get used to that," she muttered to herself with a shake of her head. "Are we breaking through yet?!”

Balostroze didn’t miss a step. “We are nearing the edge of the melee. However, the Darkwing Skimmers report a third force advancing from the south. These seem better equipped. At our current pace, we will collide with them just beyond the reach of your law. Do you wish to hold back within its perimeter?”

Jane scowled. “We’re not stopping. No way. There’s more than one way to handle an army.”

She gripped the reins tighter. “Just open a path for me when we break through the last of these guys.”

Saluting sharply, Balostroze galloped back into the fray, his massive black spear cutting through the front lines like a machete through underbrush—shell-shocked warriors flying in all directions as he carved a path.

Moments later, Melindra pulled up beside Jane atop her own Emerald Drake, her crimson robes catching the wind. “Did I hear correctly? There’s a third army approaching?”

Jane gave a tight nod. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

Melindra’s eyes narrowed. “If we push beyond your law’s perimeter, it won’t be the same kind of fight. We’ve been pushing through stunned soldiers. That won’t last.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jane replied, teeth gritted. “I’ve got a plan.”

Melindra arched an eyebrow. “A plan? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“Uh… because it’s kind of still in development,” Jane admitted. “But don’t worry—it’ll work. Probably.”

The timing wasn’t great. Two battles this size back-to-back wasn’t in the plans when they started the charge, and her Minor Law skill couldn’t be used again that quickly. She glanced ahead—beyond the churned battlefield, the land flattened into a vast collection of fields. And there, arrayed like an ocean of steel, was another force. Even from this distance, Jane could tell: it was bigger. Almost the size of both previous armies combined. Where the heck did they come from?

A System message flickered across her vision.

You have left the boundaries of the law: No fighting

She swallowed hard. There it goes. That meant no more easy mode. And yet… Gral’gor was still flickering in and out nearby, a blur of teleportation and inevitability. At least that part still works for the people still in range of the law.

Snapping the reins, Jane surged forward and shouted to Balostroze. “Hey! When I give the word, I want you to chuck me—far as you can!”

Balostroze blinked. “Chuck you?”

“Yeah, like your spear. Just throw me high in the sky, right toward the enemy line. You’ll know when.”

A pause, then a deep nod. “As you command, mistress. Say the word.”

The horde thundered forward like a runaway train, hell-bent on collision. Jane steadied herself in the saddle, then activated her Mantle of Retribution and Lashings of Penance. That wasn’t her plan, but a little insurance wouldn’t hurt.

This time, she was counting on a different skill. One she hadn’t really put through the paces.

Her heart pounded. “Alright—just about there… Get ready!”

She stood up on the drake’s back, arms out, eyes locked on the enemy lines.

“Three… two… one—go!”

***

Blood surged through Ristharak’s veins as he stared, bristling, at the chaos unraveling beyond. Moments ago, Sharik’s grand palanquin had erupted into the air like a shattered relic, its occupants hurled like debris across the battlefield. That couldn’t be right. Direct conflict between dragonkin was strictly forbidden. He certainly hadn’t given any such order. Had rogue slaves somehow launched an assault? An Epic rarity class human who the Mandala of Humility had foolishly failed to account for?

Then he saw it. A line—a dark mass—racing forward at impossible speed, kicking up dust like a stampede of maddened bulls. From within it, something launched skyward. It soared like a bolt from a ballista, catching the sunlight as it arced high overhead. Ristharak raised a hand to shield his eyes.

“What in the blazes is that?”

The figure twisted midair, then dove downward. And then—without warning—a colossal hammer materialized above it, eclipsing the sun. He had no time to react. The hammer slammed down just ahead of his front lines, faster than anything Ristharak had ever seen.

The earth convulsed. The impact wasn’t sound—it was sensation: a world-shaking roar that tore through the air and ground alike. Stone, soil, and men were hurled skyward in a pillar of annihilation. Riders were blown from their saddles. Screams vanished beneath the thunderclap. Formations crumbled.

Where moments ago his vanguard had stood, there was now only a yawning crater the size of a fortress. Shockwaves rippled outward in visible waves, lifting the dirt in surges, tossing bodies and equipment like toys. Hundreds of feet away, soldiers collapsed as the ground buckled and sagged beneath them.

Ristharak staggered backward, arms raised, dust blasting into his face as his palanquin teetered under the strain, the Culls below groaning in pain. The sky dimmed under the choking veil of debris. And at the epicenter of it all, the hammer—massive, nearly fifty feet tall, humming with residual force—raised high over the scorched earth like an artifact dropped by the Maker himself. Then, it vanished.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Around him, a dreadful hush fell. Only the groans of the injured and the crumbling collapse of shattered formations broke the silence.

And then—something stirred.

A shape rose through the haze, backlit by the fractured sunlight bleeding through the smoke. Not debris. Not flame. A figure—a woman, garbed in a flowing gray armored robe, rising above the carnage with sharp steel wings. A nightmare made flesh.

Ristharak’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He couldn’t look away. Her eyes were blindfolded, yet it felt as though she was staring into his very soul.

“TELL ME YOUR GREATEST FEAR.”

The voice thundered across the battlefield, vast and commanding—a sound that felt less like words and more like a decree from the Maker himself. Ristharak’s balance wavered as the steel pavilion beneath him shuddered, groaned, and then crumbled away. The metal warped and split beneath his boots, dropping him abruptly—yet he didn’t fall. His feet struck something else, something rising beneath him, solid and seamless.

At that same instant, the forces locking his head in place vanished. The compulsion to look lifted, his thoughts snapped back into place—and the figure… was gone. The ghastly silhouette, the floating terror that had emerged from smoke and ruin, had vanished as if it had never been at all.

My greatest fear?! 

He glanced around—and froze. The battlefield was utterly transformed. Jagged stone pillars jutted from the earth, each one rising beneath a soldier, lifting them off the ground like grim pedestals. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Encircling every pillar were black spears—sleek, unnatural things—angled inward, inching forward with agonizing slowness. Like the jaws of some ancient trap tightening around its prey.

Then his head snapped forward.

A ring of spears was closing in around him too.

Grunting, Ristharak reacted without thought. Ascension of Flame! he triggered the skill—nothing. His feet remained anchored, bound to the stone beneath him.

Panic beat in his chest. His breath quickened. He pulled up his System log. Something was terribly wrong.

INQUIRY: Tell me your greatest fear.

TIME REMAINING: 58

Ristharak flinched. The timer was ticking down fast—each second dragging the black spears closer, their sharpened tips now only feet away. His mind spun. Amid the chaos and devastation, focusing on anything—let alone some nonsensical question—was nearly impossible.

Beyond the ring of weapons, he caught movement: a tide of dark figures, surging forward in an avalanche of carnage. His eyes locked onto them. By the Maker... what is that? A cold wave of dread rippled through him. No. It can’t be—

The hiss of the spears snapped him back to the moment.

No matter what was coming in the distance, the immediate threat of the deadly spears was closing in. The ring tightened. I need to escape this trap—now.

Then, movement to his right. A man was released—the spears retracted, the pillar beneath him sinking into the earth. Another followed. One by one, the Culls around him were being freed.

Relief flickered—followed instantly by dread.

Why them? Why not me?

You have received piercing damage!

-10 HP

He flinched as the first spear grazed his neck, a thin line of blood tracing down his scales. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air. Do I have to answer it? Is that the key?

He bared his teeth, growling through clenched jaws. “Fear? I fear nothing!”

The spears ignored his defiance, inching closer still. The timer in his vision ticked down without mercy, each second a countdown to doom.

You have received piercing damage!

-20 HP

He froze, not daring to move. It didn't take much to guess what the result would be when the timer hit zero.

Ristharak’s thoughts raced. Most of his skills were built for battle, not survival. Ascension of Flame was his only chance of escape—but it was useless, nullified by whatever force bound him to the pillar below.

He clenched his fists, heart pounding. Trapped. 

You have received piercing damage!

-50 HP

He gasped, pain pulsing with every heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. No… this can’t be my end! His vision blurred, panic rising—until clarity struck like a blade.

The words tore from his throat. “The spears! These flaming spears are my greatest fear!”

Instantly, they retracted. The black shafts vanished, the stone pillar beneath him dissolving into the earth. Ristharak collapsed to his knees, choking on air, one hand pressed to his bleeding neck.

Then the light dimmed.

A shadow loomed over him, vast and unshakable. He looked up—and froze.

Towering above him stood a dark-spiked behemoth, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not one of the monsters from the northern wilds—no, this was something else. A terror reminiscent of stories once told to him as a child.

Even before the thought finished forming, he knew. The dread in his gut confirmed it.

The ancient enemy has returned.

Balostroze (Level 363)

Demon 

“You’re coming with me, dragonkin,” the giant rumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction—like the crumbling of a boulder, final and inescapable.