Judicator Jane
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JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 50
🕑 Added 2025-07-09 19:01:01 +0000 UTCReunited
“And then this Loremaster guy just looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘Nope, nothing I can do about it.’ Just like that.” Jane lifted her hands and wiggled her thumbs with theatrical exasperation. “So unless I somehow free every last slave on the continent within the next year, I can kiss these suckers goodbye.” She shook her head and let out a heavy sigh, the weight of it all briefly breaking through her light demeanor.
Beside her, Dyle had a hand to his mouth, eyes tight with concern. “Well… that’s terrible.”
“And don’t even get me started on the sea monster,” she went on, rolling her eyes. “That was a whole other disaster. And this was all before we even started heading south to chase down this ancient Dirthian city. You wouldn’t believe the things we ran into along the way.”
Jane shook her head, she could hardly believe so much had happened since the last time she saw Dyle in Hargrove. Meanwhile, their march pressed on, now unopposed. From the latest reports, the path ahead was eerily clear—no sign of enemy forces, no resistance, not even scattered groups of civilians. The land felt hollow. Farms stood abandoned, fields half-harvested and left to rot under the sun. No dragonkin, no humans, no slaves—just silence.
Jane glanced over and noticed Dyle staring into the distance, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. “You okay?”
“What?” He blinked, snapping back to the present. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just… all of this. It’s a lot to take in. I thought I still had a long road ahead to find you. And now, here you are.” His face flushed. “I came to… well, rescue you, but I suppose I wasn’t really needed after all.”
The three Velnatari demons glided by to their right, each towering nearly twelve feet tall, their expressions a strange blend of idle curiosity and thinly veiled contempt for the world around them.
Jane hesitated, then bit her lip. “Well, I do need you. And I’m really glad you’re okay.” She pivoted, not sure of what else to say. “But enough about me. What happened, Dyle? How are you even here? And what about everyone else—back in Arcadia?”
Dyle gave a slight shrug. “I’m not entirely sure about the others. But after your… disappearance, I devoted myself to learning everything I could about the Netherrealm. I started with the Great Library—its archives hold extensive records on Demonologists. Dozens of tomes, tracing the lineages, their skills, the strange patterns of power that marked their lives. A lot of it focused on portals and summoning—how they didn’t just call demons from the Netherrealm, but could travel there themselves.”
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Armed with that, I searched all across Arcadia and the Providencia, hoping to find a way in. But I came up empty. That failure pushed me farther—across the Green Sea, to lands I’d only read about. And that’s where I found out the Demonologist class no longer existed. I think… we have to assume it’s connected to what you did—bringing the demons out of the Netherrealm.”
He paused, gaze drifting. “As for Arcadia… well, I’m not sure how much I can tell you that Gral’gor hasn’t already. Last I heard, Gareth was trying to sway Pogg from within. Lord Tygal has seized the throne, and the whole kingdom’s teetering on the edge. Everything else is rumor—wild, contradictory, and not worth mentioning.” He glanced to the left, eyes narrowing as he took in the distant figure of the Voidwalker-turned-Executioner striding with calm purpose. “Is that really Gral’gor? He looks… completely different.”
“Uh huh,” Jane murmured, still processing everything he’d said. Lord Tygal took the throne? According to Gral’gor, Grandia had been on the verge of collapse when he left. Yet somehow, everyone seemed to still be alive—at least, that’s what her Luck kept suggesting. But demons in her horde had been dying in the conflict. Was that still the case? At this distance she wouldn’t be able to sense it. Is there a connection with Lord Tygal? What kind of politics are happening over there? It was maddening not knowing the details.
She pushed the thoughts down. For now, she needed to focus on what was in front of her. Dyle had come—through hardship and across oceans—to find her. She followed his gaze to Gral’gor and felt a pang of something strange. Gratitude, maybe. Since her mother died, no one had really gone out of their way for her in her old life. Certainly not like this. Back home, she couldn’t imagine anyone even trying. At least not more than superficially. But here? People were fighting for her, suffering for her. It left a weight in her chest—equal parts warm and uncomfortable.
“Has he… adapted to being human?” Dyle asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.
“Oh, Gral’gor?” Jane gave a small laugh. “Well, he looks human, sure—but he’s still classified as Demon by the System. Just… dressed up in a more human-like package now.” Gral’gor strode ahead of them, bare-chested, violet hair fluttering in the breeze, bare feet crunching on the treaded farmland crops, his expression unreadably calm. His physical form had changed, yes—but it was more than that. There was a quiet peace in him now, a depth that hadn’t been there before. Jane couldn’t begin to guess what thoughts occupied his mind these days. “He’s adapting, I suppose. I offered him a shirt—but he passed. Pants, though…” She jabbed a finger forward. “That’s where I drew the line.”
Dyle blinked, clearly thrown. “Oh. Right. Yes. Pants are… very important.”
Before the awkwardness could deepen, Balostroze thundered up beside them. The demon reined in smoothly, his hooved feet kicking up dust as he gave a slight bow.
“Mistress,” he rumbled, “Yiw’drogg reports the demons from the north have nearly completed their final return from the valley. Though the influence of your powerful skill has faded, the results appear to have dissuaded the Mandala of Honor’s forces from attempting further engagement. I regret to inform you, there were no slaves discovered, and per your orders, we took no prisoners.”
Jane nodded without slowing. “Good. Make sure Yiw’drogg gets everyone back in one piece. No more losses, understood?”
Balostroze gave a firm nod, then closed his eyes for a brief moment—perhaps communicating across the Soul Binding—before galloping off.
Dyle watched him go, momentarily frozen, then glanced back at her. “You’ve gotten… more comfortable with leading demons.”
Jane tracked Balostroze’s path, noting how he passed Veralaktus—her arms folded, her stare like frost. “Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “Not sure I’d call it leading. Feels more like I’m riding a wave and trying not to fall off.”
She turned to Dyle, her tone shifting. “Hey, what happened to those two dragonkin that were with you? Weren’t they from the Mandala of Fortitude?”
Dyle nodded slowly. “Yes. They were the ones trying to warn everyone about your, uh… your invasion from the north.” His eyes swept the area. “I’m not exactly sure where they’ve ended up.”
Jane sighed, the sound long and weary. She was more or less responsible for the deaths of all the dragonkin they might know. “Alright. Let’s go find them, then.”
***
Jane weaved her way back through the trudging mass of demons, keeping stride with Veralaktus as they made their way toward the location where the dragonkin were being held. As far as she recalled, her last order had simply been to keep them separated and closely watched. Now she saw what that actually meant in practice.
Each dragonkin was flanked by two towering escorts—either Hellguards or Tormentors, depending on the perceived threat they posed. Their arms were bound tightly behind their backs, robes torn and stained from the march. Their masks had long since been stripped away. The way the demons drove them forward—relentless and impersonal—made it difficult to tell where the prisoners ended and the army began.
“These… are your captives?” Dyle asked, his voice edged with unease.
“Uh, yeah. I mean… I had all the dragonkin from the various Mandalas we passed through rounded up,” Jane said, trying to justify it mid-step. “Most of them were like slavers or at least benefited from the system. And, well, we’ve had a few incidents since, so keeping them under tight guard seemed like the best option.”
Ahead, one of the dragonkin staggered and collapsed to his knees. The two demons behind him didn’t hesitate—hauling him up without a word and shoving him back into step like a piece of broken machinery.
Jane winced. “Okay, yeah, maybe the demons are a bit... heavy handed with their methods. But honestly? After what I’ve seen of the dragonkin, I’m not exactly losing sleep. They’ve lived fat and comfortable off the backs of others for centuries. A little hardship won’t kill them. Builds character, right?”
“I… suppose so,” Dyle said cautiously, clearly weighing every word.
Veralaktus came to a halt and gave a brief signal. A pair of Hellguards stepped forward, revealing the two dragonkin Jane had been most curious about—one trembling and wide-eyed, the other thin but holding her chin high in brittle defiance. With a flick of her wrist, Veralaktus dismissed the guards, who withdrew with silent discipline.
Jane studied the pair for a moment, then focused on the smaller, nervous one. With a sharp breath, she activated Piercing Gaze.
Nyxor (Level 7)
Dragonkin
Class: Archivist (Rare)
Strength: 8
Agility: 7
Constitution: 6
Intelligence: 11
Harmony: 12
Resonance: Fortitude
Health: 58/60
Fun Fact:
When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. But what if you’re the lemon?! Nyxor found out the hard way that being citrus in a demon-infested blender of doom is a terrible life choice. His entire community got turned into meat confetti by one of the very monstrosities they were trying to contain! Thankfully, Nyxor had the good sense to nope out faster than a cat at bath time. Because when a stampede of frothing, shrieking demons is clawing at your front door, you don’t ask questions—you grab your carry-on and pray your flight to Cancún hasn’t been downgraded to a one-way ticket to the afterlife.
Frothing and shrieking, huh? That’s not how I remember it. Jane exhaled slowly, steadying herself, then turned her attention to the one beside him, narrowing her eyes as she prepared to take a closer look.
Fascia (Level 12)
Dragonkin
Class: Haze Whisperer (Rare)
Strength: 9
Agility: 10
Constitution: 13
Intelligence: 64
Harmony: 18
Resonance: Fortitude
Health: 130/130
Fun Fact:
Fascia was cruising toward a cushy promotion—next in line to be Elder of the Mandala of Fortitude. Good news: the job’s open! Bad news: it opened because the last guy got turned into lizard roadkill. And now Fascia might be next on the chopping block—or the buffet table. So grab your popcorn, maybe a stress ball, and buckle up! Will she outwit her worst enemy in a dramatic twist worthy of late-night soap operas? Or will she end up as just another crispy footnote in Mandala history? Stay tuned—same devilish time, same devilish channel!
Jane pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a long sigh. The System clearly had its own interpretation of her return to Alur—one that wasn’t exactly flattering. Whether that was good, bad, or utterly irrelevant, she couldn’t say. Either way, it didn’t change what was in front of her now. What she needed to say. Perhaps it wasn’t critical in the grand scheme of things, but to her, it mattered.
She studied the two dragonkin, hands bound behind their backs. Even as a different race, it was clear they were young—barely past adolescence, by the look of them.
“Cut them loose,” she said.
The female, Fascia, was the first to move. Cautiously, she stepped forward, her eyes flicking from Jane to Veralaktus and the other demons—calculating, wary. Finally, her gaze landed on the man beside her.
“…Dyle? Is that really you?” Her voice was tight, uncertain. She raised her hands, rubbing at her raw wrists without realizing it. “W-What’s going on here? Who is this woman? Why are the demons obeying her? And why in the Maker’s name aren’t you tied up like the rest of us? Why—”
“Calm yourself,” Dyle said gently, cutting her off before the questions tumbled out any faster. “The situation has changed. Things are not as they appear.” He stepped forward, voice firm but warm. “This is Jane King. A friend. She’s the one leading the demons—and the person I’ve been searching for all this time.”
Fascia recoiled slightly, her expression darkening. “Leading the demons? A… Cull?!”
This again, Jane thought, suppressing the urge to summon something absurd—her giant mallet, or one of the more over-the-top skills that would end all debate. But no. They’d been through enough already. No need to traumatize them further just to prove a point.
Instead, she stepped forward and gently took Fascia’s hand.
“Fascia… I’m so sorry for what happened in the Mandala of Fortitude. I never wanted your people to meet the end that they did. I don’t even know if it could’ve been avoided… but it doesn’t make what happened any less terrible.”
Fascia stiffened, then yanked her hand away. Her eyes widened.
“You… you know? About the Elders?”
Jane closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath. “Yes. Because it was me who led the demons out of the Netherrealm. And it was my ally who fought to free them. I didn’t ask him to do it—but he acted on what he believed was right, what he thought was necessary. I know that might not mean much to you. But that’s the truth.”
Fascia staggered back, her eyes wide and unfocused, searching the world for something that made sense. “No… that’s impossible. A Cull—a human—would never free the demons. The stories say it was humans who begged for our help against the Faceless Dark in the past! None of this adds up! This is some kind of trick!” Her voice cracked as she buried her face in her hands, trembling.
Jane stepped forward. “Look—”
But a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“Not now, Jane,” Dyle said gently. “It’s a lot to take in. Give her time.”
In the pause that followed, it was the other dragonkin, Nyxor, who broke the silence. He stepped forward cautiously, voice soft. “Then… the Culls, back in the valley… are they dead too?”
Jane let out a long, steady breath. “No. Everyone else in the valley is safe. Confused, sure—wondering where all their so-called ‘Masters’ went—but alive. As far as I know, their lives are continuing on more or less the same as before.”
Nyxor exhaled in relief, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, thank the Maker…” But then his gaze sharpened. “But… what are you doing here? If your goal was to unleash the demons, are you planning to enslave us now?”
Jane ran both hands down her face. “No. I’m not trying to enslave anyone, alright?” She tried to find the words, though they felt clumsy and inadequate. “I’ve got places to be. The demons do too. And none of it involves staying here. So don’t worry about it.”
She turned to Veralaktus. “Move these two away from the main group. Keep them guarded—but not imprisoned. For their safety, not ours. Take them to Melindra. She’ll know what to do. She’s… better at this kind of stuff.”
Veralaktus gave a slight bow. “As you wish, Jane.” She stepped forward and gestured for the dragonkin to follow. “Come along. You have the mistress’s favor—be thankful for it.”
As the two were led off, Dyle watched them go, his expression tight with guilt. “I feel bad now. I was pretty harsh with them. They’ve been through a lot.”
Jane nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess the dragonkin from the Mandala of Fortitude weren’t really so different from Gareth or the others who defended Grandia and the Great Barrier. It’s just… a shame it had to end the way it did.”
Her gaze lingered on Fascia, still dazed, moving only when Veralaktus gave a mechanical push. Could it have ended differently? Could I have saved them, too? The question hung in silence. Though she already knew the answer, it didn’t make the weight of it any easier to carry.
Then, with a slow breath, she turned her eyes south. “Come on. We’ve still got a few more days of travel, if the map’s accurate. God, I hope this was all worth it.”
