JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 31 (Patreon)

Through the Edge

Finishing off one of the pre-packed meals prepared by Ahn from the valley, Jane leaned back and let out a contented sigh. Across from her, Boli and Yin sat stiffly, barely picking at their food.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not hungry?”

Boli blinked, snapping out of his daze, and hastily took a bite. “N-no, we’re hungry.” He nudged Yin, who quickly followed suit and tore off a piece of bread, chewing it with forced focus.

Jane sighed, setting her bowl aside. “Okay, okay, I get it. You probably haven’t seen me cut loose before. I know it can be a little… overwhelming. Don’t sweat it, though—you’ll get used to it.”

Boli swallowed his bite and studied her warily. “What class did you say you were again?”

“Judicator,” Jane replied casually.

“Right. And that’s… Legendary?” His tone made it clear he was still trying to wrap his head around all of this. “And you’re taking the demons to battle the Dirthians?”

Jane shook her head. “No, not battling them. I just need access to their tunnels. I’ve got business across the Green Sea. That’s all.”

“I see… so you’re not planning to conquer Kalidor?”

“Nope. The Mandalas, or whatever they are, are just a speed bump. I’m not here to take over anything—I just need to get through.”

“The Mandalas… just a bump.” Boli repeated it like he was trying to convince himself.

Then it hit her. A sudden wave of wrongness pressed into her chest, like trying to breathe in smog. Jane winced, a sharp headache blooming behind her eyes. What the—? She glanced sideways and saw Ixcaralith, the crab-like demon, lumbering over with one of the dragonkin captives in tow.

Is this… Harmony? That dragonkin stat? She tried shaking it off, but the discomfort was growing worse with every step closer the dragonkin took. Still, aside from the pounding in her skull and a roiling nausea, she didn’t feel any actual compulsions to act or behave a certain way.

“Well, anyway,” she said, pushing through it. “There’s something I want to show you.” She checked behind Ixcaralith, confused. “Hey—where’s the other one? I thought I said to bring two over.”

Ixcaralith bowed. “Apologies, mistress. The one called Ristharak is gone. I have ordered the demons assigned to guard him punished—”

Jane cut him off with a raised hand. “No. Don’t. There’s no need for that.” She let out a breath. “Gone? What does that mean? Where? How?”

“He has vanished without a trace. Only scorched grass remains where he was last seen, and a ring of black ash. The Darkwing Skimmers are out searching, but thus far there is no trace of him.”

Jane groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Great. Probably used some kind of dragonkin class skill or something. Okay. For now, just bring over the other one.”

Ixcaralith shoved the captive forward, then yanked the bag from her head.

The moment her face, clad in the gold mask, was revealed, Yin recoiled, hissing sharply. His hands flashed frantically.

That’s Sharik! he signed. Ruler of the Mandala of Humility—the very one who took my tongue!

Jane’s eyes darted between them. Sharik’s face remained hidden beneath her golden mask. Without another word, Jane stepped forward and flipped it off.

The dragonkin snarled, instinctively shielding her face with her bound hands.

“The ‘masters’ you spoke of?” Jane said, glancing back at Boli and Yin. “They’re not even human. They’re dragonkin. Go on—check her with your skills.”

As Boli hesitated, Jane triggered Piercing Gaze, her vision narrowing and sharpening as the dragonkin female’s details came into focus.

Sharik Valentria (Level 237)

Dragonkin

Class: Songstress (Rare)

Strength: 66

Agility: 125

Constitution: 80

Intelligence: 167

Harmony: 341

Resonance: Humility

Health: 800/800

Fun Fact:

Remember that horror movie your friends begged you to watch—the one you instantly regretted, not because of ghosts, but because your stomach tried to evacuate the building halfway through? The kind you wish you’d just skimmed on Wikipedia with the lights on? Yeah. Sharik lives that cinematic meat grinder daily. And plot twist—she’s the lead actress, director, and more times than not, the one holding the chainsaw.

Jeez, that sounds pretty grim, Jane thought as the System details faded. Well, I guess I’ll find out the rest soon enough.

“By the Maker,” Boli murmured, lifting a hand to his forehead. “Not human? I always suspected the Masters weren’t like us because of their cruelty, but I didn’t expect that to be literal.”

Jane exhaled sharply and rubbed her temples. The Resonance of Power had been like an energy drink in the bloodstream—but this one, Humility, was awful. It felt like her spine was trying to slouch on its own, like her pulse was trying to slow.

“Alright, give me a second,” she finally said, raising her hand. “I’ve got another skill—one that doesn’t care about masks or titles. If she’s as awful as you say, there’s no hiding it from me.”

Her fingers stretched outward, energy gathering as she invoked the skill. A cold shimmer descended across her vision as the air thickened with judgment.

“Sharik,” Jane said firmly, her voice echoing with authority, “enter the Halls of Justice.”

And The Gray Inquisition began.

***

Boli braced himself, heart pounding, unsure what cataclysm might follow after the terrifying young woman unleashed her skill. Dinner had already been a tense affair—Jane, Melindra, and the imposing female demoness Veralaktus made for uneasy company—and now, with the air thick from the aftermath of the preceding battles, Boli stood frozen in place. Two things happened almost simultaneously: Jane lowered her arm, and Sharik flashed with a burst of light, her form solidifying into a glittering statue of Arcanite. Boli stumbled back, eyes wide, struggling to process what had just occurred.

Jane didn’t say a word. She turned, doubled over, and vomited into the dirt. Boli instinctively looked to his companion, but Yin’s eyes were locked on the petrified Sharik, his expression unreadable, his gaze cold as winter steel.

After a long moment, Jane wiped her mouth, rose on shaky legs, and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Jesus,” she muttered, taking a deep breath, her eyes briefly fluttering shut. “You weren’t kidding about these Masters…” She dragged a hand down her face, then crossed the space between her and the statue, peering into Sharik’s frozen eyes.

“Hey. You in there? Can you hear me?” she asked, tone low but threatening. No response. “Don’t play dumb. I know you can still talk. Unless you want to spend the rest of your miserable existence at the bottom of the Green Sea or buried a hundred feet under the ground, you’d better start answering when I speak to you.”

For a beat, nothing. Then a faint, metallic voice echoed from within the stone. “What have you done to me?”

Jane tilted her head, arms crossed. “I think it’s pretty obvious. Check your System log. You’re a statue now—pretty much forever—so you might want to let that sink in.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and waved Melindra over.

Boli took a hesitant step forward, still struggling to believe what he was seeing. Yin had rarely spoken about his time as a Mandala slave in Humility, but what little he had shared was enough to haunt Boli’s dreams. He gave silent thanks to the Maker that he’d been born in the northern wilds, just out of their reach.

From where he stood, he could just make out murmured fragments of the conversation between Jane and Melindra.
”...didn’t think it would be that bad.”
”Does what you saw change anything?”
”I… No. We keep moving forward.”

Cautiously, Boli reached out and rapped his knuckles against Sharik’s stone form. The statue was frozen mid-motion, hands raised to her face, her head slightly bowed. In the firelight, her true features stood revealed—inhuman, with a flattened face, shallow slits for nostrils, and narrow, angled eyes like that of a snake. A golden mask lay discarded at her feet. He picked it up, but his General Identification skill didn’t trigger. Whatever it was, the System couldn’t—or wouldn’t—classify it. He quickly tossed it aside.

Jane returned, one hand still pressed to her temple, fatigue evident in her step. “Alright. So the Harmony and Resonance is still active, even like this. Sharik, is that something you can control? Can you shut it off? What was it called again?” She glanced at Boli.

“The melody,” he answered. “It’s what the Masters use to enforce their dominion.”

“Right. That. Can you stop it?”

Silence.

Jane exhaled slowly and shook her head. “Ixcaralith, start digging a hole. Ten feet deep should be enough for now. Let’s see how she likes spending the night underground.”

“As you wish, mistress,” came the gravelly reply.

A group of Hellguards and Tormentors rushed forward and started hacking into the ground. Veralaktus stepped beside Jane and whispered something into her ear. Whatever it was made Jane frown.

“Huh. Okay, busy night,” she said with a small shake of her head. Then, turning back to Boli and Yin, her voice carried a tone of grim resolve. “Come on, you two. Looks like we’ve got some visitors.”

***

Despite every nerve in his body trembling, Tarik forced himself to appear composed. The demon army had made camp for the night, the world around them washed in the ominous glow of a full purple moon. Shadows stretched long across the ground, cast by the towering forms that moved around them, not a firepit in sight. Though he and the other slaves had been spared—for now—there was no telling if that mercy would last. Even so, this was the path they had chosen. There was no turning back.

Ahead of him, four demons—each a hulking nightmare of muscle, sinew, and armor, and all well over level seventy—marched in grim silence, guiding Tarik and the other slave division leaders deeper into the camp. All around them, demons ate in brooding silence or slept like predators conserving their strength. No laughter, no idle chatter. Just the weight of discipline and latent violence hanging in the air like smoke. Most seemed more beast than man, twisted and terrifying in ways Tarik could barely comprehend. The very idea that anyone could command such a host sent a chill down his spine.

“Ever seen a demon before?” Tarik muttered, glancing sidelong at Karidor.

Karidor shook his head, lips pressed in a tight line. “Never. Only heard about them in stories. Like that one about the unlucky Demonologist.”

Tarik nodded faintly. Jofer the Demonologist. A foolish scholar who summoned a demon named Erzael and saw his life turned to ruin. The tale was a children’s warning, told with humor and a tidy moral lesson. Nothing in that story—not a single part—could have prepared them for this: a legion of horrors pulled straight from the most dreadful corners of the mind.

He lingered too long, his gaze fixed on a group of captured Masters—bound, kneeling, heads lowered in defeat. 

“By the Maker,” Hoth muttered beside him, awe and satisfaction laced in his voice. “That sight alone is worth the trip.”

Tarik nodded, it was a sight he only ever dreamed of seeing. Even now the competing melodies of Power and Humility were thick in the air. If the demons were affected, they didn't show it. A heavy shove came from behind, a demon prodding him forward with a clawed hand.

And then, the crowd parted.

Countless demons formed a ring, and at the center, the one figure who undoubtedly commanded all this madness. No need for introductions. Standing before them was the leader of the demons—every instinct he had screamed that they were in the presence of something utterly beyond their reckoning. 

Balostroze (Level 363)

Demon

Strength: 527

Constitution: 728

Health: 7280/7280

The towering demon was a monstrous fusion of man and beast—its upper body broad and muscular, its lower half equine, six hooves striking the earth with unsettling finality. Balostroze. The name alone sent shivers through him. Tarik found himself questioning every step that had led him here. The demon’s sheer presence was enough to unmake a man’s courage. Still, he forced down the rising tide of dread, jaw clenched, spine straight. No matter how fearsome this creature was, Tarik had seen worse—atrocities committed by the Masters that still haunted his dreams. Compared to them, even dark monsters such as these might be preferable.

He took a breath. “I greet you, noble demon,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “My brothers and I are grateful—”

But before he could finish, the demon lord stepped aside with unexpected grace, bowing its head slightly—not in acknowledgement, but in deference. Tarik blinked in surprise as a human woman emerged from behind the hulking figure, striding forward with the easy confidence of someone utterly in control.

She was small in stature but radiated command, wrapped in a gown as black as midnight, the fabric catching the moonlight with the faint shimmer of embers. Her short brown hair framed a face both sharp and unreadable, and as she came to a stop before him, hands resting on her hips, she looked him over with a quiet intensity.

Tarik, caught off guard, returned the gesture—his eyes scanning her details quickly, uncertain of what to make of this unexpected authority. Of all the possibilities, another human was the last thing he had expected to find.

Jane King (Level 139)

Human

Strength: 276

Constitution: 276

Health: 2740/2740

“So… Tarik,” the woman said, arms still planted on her hips. “What exactly are you doing here?”

Tarik opened his mouth to answer, but his thoughts scattered as a new realization struck him—she was stunning. Not in the cold, distant manner of the free women in Garontal, but in a way that stole his breath. Confidence radiated from her like heat from a forge, framed by that inky-black dress that seemed spun from shadows themselves. Suddenly, he felt the dirt on his skin, the dried blood on his rags, the stares of the other disheveled men behind him. He didn’t belong here. None of them did. Nobility was something he had only ever glimpsed from afar—he never imagined standing face to face with someone who embodied it, and certainly not under circumstances such as these.

But it wasn’t just her presence. Her Strength, Constitution and Health—he’d caught a flash of them, and they were all wrong. Far too high, despite her level. The ratio made no sense. She couldn’t be a Common or Uncommon class holder, and even Rare seemed implausible. An Epic class holder? No—even that doesn’t make sense. Could it be—

A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “Get a hold of yourself,” Karidor muttered under his breath.

Tarik blinked back to the moment. “Uh, right. We were…” His gaze drifted to the towering demon behind her. Is he the leader of this army, or she?

“Hey!” the woman barked, snapping her fingers once. “Focus. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

He swallowed hard, then straightened. “My brothers and I seek to repay our debt to… the ones who rescued us. We’ve come to pledge our service to your cause.” His eyes flicked to Balostroze, who gave a small, knowing nod of approval. “If you’re waging war against the Masters, then we would consider it an honor to help you destroy every last one of them.”

The woman brought a hand to her forehead and let out a long, tired sigh. That was when Tarik noticed the others behind her—more humans. One of them tapped her shoulder, prompting a quick exchange of hand gestures. Strange and fast. Tarik had seen something like it before—hand-speak, used by slaves when whispers were too risky. He couldn’t follow it in the darkness, but he understood enough to know they were discussing him.

Then she turned back. “Hey, do me a favor—turn around for a second.” She gave a lazy twirl of her finger.

A blush crept into Tarik’s face, but he obeyed, rotating slowly. She wanted to see his mark—what Master had once laid claim to him. With all his battle scars, it might not be easy to read, but she was clearly looking. More silence.

“Okay, you can turn back. Sorry about that,” she said a moment later.

He turned to find her arms crossed now, her tone firmer. “I get it now. So, you’re all slaves from the Mandala of Power. Let me be blunt—we’re not here to topple the Masters. We’re also not waging some grand war or leading a rebellion. We’re heading south. That’s it. If we free a few slaves along the way, that’s a bonus. But if you’re looking for revenge or revolution, you’ve come to the wrong place. I suggest you walk away while you still can. I don’t intend for us to stay on this continent a moment longer than necessary.”

Tarik’s mouth went dry. That wasn’t what he had expected. These were the ones who had crushed two of the Mandala’s strongest armies. The Masters themselves had been captured, reduced to powerless trophies of their conquest. Behind him, he heard the uncertain whispers of the other division leaders—they were just as bewildered as he was. No, this could only be a test. Some strange rite to measure their resolve.

Still, he found his voice. “Be that as it may… During whatever time you remain in this land, we would be honored to assist you in any way we can. To us, our freedom is worth something. To accept it without paying its due would be a shame none of us could bear.”

More whispers. More sideways glances. Tarik forced himself to ignore the demons nearby, even as every instinct in him screamed to watch them instead. He kept his eyes locked on the woman in black.

At last, she gave a resigned sigh and nodded. “Alright. Fine. You can come with us. But let me make something clear—we don’t stop. Not for anyone. Not unless it’s for sleep. I don’t know how much help you’ll be, but I guess having a few more people familiar with this place won’t hurt.”

She extended a hand toward him. “Name’s Jane. I’m the boss around here, if you haven’t figured that out yet. Nice to meet you.”

Tarik stared at the hand, unsure for a moment what to do. Slowly, awkwardly, he mirrored the gesture. She grasped his hand and gave it two firm, confident shakes. He let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Thank you,” he said softly, lowering his voice. “Jane King.”