JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 42

Price of Blood

“There,” Valrathian said, gesturing toward a plantation where men and women labored in the fields. “One of our farms.”

Jane followed his hand, shielding her eyes from the low western sun. Unlike the slave plantations she’d seen elsewhere—those strung with towering poles and radiating ropes like a carnival tent—this land was open, the workers unshackled, moving freely among the rows.

“Reminds me of the farmers from the valley,” she murmured to herself.

“If you’d come here fifty years ago, you’d have seen something very different,” the noble dragonkin said with a wistful sigh. “Likely no better than what you’ve witnessed in the other Mandalas. But the Mandala of Honor has changed. Though not without a great deal of effort.”

In the distance, the fieldworkers paused their toil to watch the unending procession of demons trudge past in solemn silence. Eyes wide, expressions unreadable.

Jane’s gaze lingered. “But you’re still using it, aren’t you? That melody, or whatever you call it. I can feel it pulling at me, competing with the resonance of Power.”

Valrathian inclined his head. “Yes. It’s still there. But the resonance no longer acts as shackles. It uplifts each of us—to honor ourselves, our labor, our families. Not just the dragonkin or undeserving lords.” He waved to a pair of farmers. They waved back without hesitation.

“Once, the dragonkin all lived together,” he went on, “in a single ancient city, not far from the Terrazene Labyrinth. Or so the stories say. I can hardly fathom it now—so many competing melodies, endless tension between competing resonances. A constant noise.” He chuckled, dry and distant. “In those days, Fortitude was dominant among the Resonances. Holding the Ancient Enemy at bay wasn’t just duty—it was sacred. Almost a religion for our kind.”

His tone darkened slightly. “But that was before the clans drifted south. Before we fractured into separate Mandalas.”

He turned to Jane, sharp eyes studying her. “Findarius says you come from across the Green Sea. Yet your armies march from northern wilds… from the Labyrinth itself if I have heard correctly. Forgive me if I find the contradiction hard to accept.”

Jane shook her head. “It’s… complicated. I’m a Legendary class holder. And I’m not the only one out there.” Her voice tightened. “That’s why I’m leading these demons south. I have others—friends, allies—who are in danger. We didn’t want to come here. None of us did. But this is the path in front of us.”

She urged her drake closer, her posture firm. “I'm sorry. I don’t have time for diplomacy. Not unless it gets me to my destination faster than brute force.”

“I see…” Valrathian murmured, his voice quiet but thoughtful. “In that case, I’m grateful you were willing to negotiate. I’ve only ever heard of Legendary class holders in stories—tales meant to awe or frighten. They say the Terrazene Labyrinth itself was carved by classes such as those. Then again…” He gave a faint shrug. “I’ve never laid eyes on it myself.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Jane replied distantly, her gaze drifting toward the horizon.

But her thoughts weren’t on the Labyrinth. A growing weight had been pressing down on her—the memory of the dragonkin she’d indirectly destroyed back in the valley. Witnessing the aftermath, she’d thought them an enemy, or at least, just another obstacle. Now, surrounded by amiable farmers and dragonkin like Valrathian, she wasn’t so sure. Whatever their flaws, they hadn’t all deserved what happened.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, hesitating.

Valrathian turned slightly in the saddle, sensing her shift in tone.

“I don’t know how to say this, exactly,” she went on. “But because of… misunderstandings, the dragonkin within the Mandala of Fortitude didn’t survive the demons’ arrival. They were wiped out. All of them.”

Her face flushed. She hadn’t given the order, not directly. But Gral’gor had been acting on her behalf. She couldn’t abide the demons being imprisoned within the Netherrealm, but—if it had been someone like Taltorius or the old Demon Lord Ur leading the escape… the dragonkin resistance might at least have been justified.

“I didn’t want to believe it was true,” Valrathian said softly. His voice remained level, but his jaw tightened. “That’s… unfortunate. I never knew Elder Viagdu personally, but he was always a moderating voice among the clans. A voice we’ll sorely miss.” He paused as the road narrowed ahead, shaded by high ridges and trees thick with twilight. “How did it happen?”

Jane exhaled. “As you’d expect. They tried to hold the Labyrinth. Tried to keep the demons sealed. They fought to the last. Or so I’ve been told.”

Valrathian gave a small nod. “Then at least they died with purpose. In service to what they believed.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” she muttered. More like they died needlessly. She swallowed the thought.

Around them, the column of demons continued its slow march. Jane spotted Balostroze pushing ahead, signaling to a cluster of descending Darkwing Skimmers preparing to scout the way forward.

“One thing you should know,” she continued, her tone hardening. “The demons aren’t going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. Right now my plan is to take them across the Green Sea—but if that’s not possible, they’ll need to find a place here. And another thing…” Her eyes locked with his. “I’m not a big fan of the dragonkin enslaving humanity.”

Valrathian studied her for a long moment, then gave a slow, solemn nod. “On that,” he said, “we agree.”

His gaze flicked toward a small clearing just off the road. The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, painting the land in hues of gold and pink.

“You’ve given me much to consider,” he added. “This would be a good location to rest for the night. By tomorrow, we’ll reach the border of the Mandala of Honor. To the south lies Beauty and Courage. Be warned—the Tempered Beauty is not of the same mind as I am. We’ll speak more of her when the time comes.”

Jane bit her lip, eyes drawn to the darkening south. Just one final push. After that… It’s a straight shot to Integra.

***

“Jane, Jane—wake up!”

The voice was distant, muffled, like it had traveled through water. Jane blinked groggily, disoriented, only to find Melindra shaking her arm with urgent force.

“What? What is it?” she mumbled, pushing herself upright. The world swayed around her, shadows shifting under the dim night sky.

“It’s the dragonkin delegation,” Melindra said. “The ones from the Mandala of Honor. They’re dead. All of them.”

“What?!” Jane shot to her feet, instincts flaring. Lashings of Penance and Mantle of Retribution surged to life around her on instinct, the steel gray battle robe materializing from nothing. Her head snapped from side to side, scanning for enemies, but the camp was silent—eerily so. To her left, Veralaktus stood motionless, statuesque as ever.

“I attempted to wake you,” Veralaktus said flatly, “but you were… rather adamant about sleep.” She nodded toward Melindra. “The Velnatari, however, was more… insistent.”

Jane’s jaw tightened. “What happened?”

Melindra closed her eyes a moment before answering. “The human slaves that joined with us—they coordinated an attack. The dragonkin from the Mandala of Honor were the only ones unguarded by demons. After their ambush, they attempted to flee, but were intercepted by the Dark Skimmers. None escaped. Balostroze is taking care of their retrieval now.”

A chill surged through Jane, settling like ice in her chest. She clenched her teeth, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You’re telling me Valrathian—who I just spoke to last night—Valrathian, who was over level two hundred… is dead?”

Melindra exchanged a look with Veralaktus, then gave a solemn nod. “I’m afraid so.”

Jane’s fists trembled at her sides. “How is that even possible? They were our guests. How could we let this happen?”

She spun on her heel, pacing furiously. “Bring me Boli and Yin. I want them questioned. Did they know anything about this?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. “Veralaktus. Take me to them. Now.”

The demoness obeyed without hesitation, gliding ahead of her.

Let a fox into the hen house, Jane thought bitterly, fury simmering beneath her skin. I never should have let those slaves travel with us. They’re just dead weight anyway.

Around her, the camp stirred—demons rising silently to their feet as her rage rippled through the Soul Binding, invisible but undeniable.

As they entered the human quarter of the camp, it became clear not everyone had been involved. Many of the former slaves were still sleeping, stretching beneath the early light or huddling together for warmth. If this had been an organized uprising, it hadn’t included everyone.

Near a worn stump, Jane spotted Boli and Yin curled in sleep—Boli snoring like a landslide. Jane’s eyes narrowed, but she let out a short breath. If they were involved, they’re putting on a heck of a show.

She crossed her arms and turned away. Reacting on rage wasn’t going to solve anything.

“What about the other human—Findarius? Is he alive?”

Veralaktus gave a slight nod. “Yes. He sustained injuries but survived. The only fatalities were the three dragonkin.”

Jane took a breath, slow and sharp. “Then we need to get control of this before it explodes. Have Findarius and the captured slaves brought to me immediately.”

Her voice dropped into a growl.

“So help me—we will get to the bottom of this.”

***

At the center of a broad clearing, with the first light of dawn creeping over the eastern hills, Jane stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the group of bound prisoners. Around thirty in total—every one of them involved in the ambush. And there, front and center, stood Tarik.

That guy.

Epic class Rageblade. All fire and fury, announcing his loyalty with grand declarations. Pledge yourself to my cause, he’d said. Yeah, right.

Nearby, Findarius leaned heavily on a Hellguard, one arm slung over its armored shoulder. Half his head was wrapped in bandages, his low Health total a grim reminder of how close he’d come to death. This was an unmitigated disaster. Just when she’d finally found dragonkin leaders willing to talk. Just when she’d secured safe passage across the Mandala of Honor.

She walked over to him slowly, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

“Findarius,” she said, voice tight. “I’m sorry about your friends. I need to hear it from you—exactly what happened.”

He looked dazed, eyes flicking between her and the prisoners like his mind was still struggling to process it. “It was dark,” he said at last, voice hollow. “We were asleep. I didn’t even realize what was happening until I was pinned, a hand over my mouth. But my eyes… I saw.”

He raised a shaky hand and pointed directly at Tarik.“That one. He was glowing. Wreathed in some kind of red fire—heatless, but searing in how fast it tore through my brothers.Valrathian was killed first. He didn’t even wake. And then—” He swallowed hard and his voice cracked. “Karavac and Erathmis were next. They never stood a chance. I’m… grateful they didn’t see what happened to Valrathian.”

He paused, collecting himself. “I tried to fight. Of course I did. But I’m a Doctor. I’m not built for that kind of battle. What you see on me—this—” he gestured to his wounds “—is what failure looks like.”

He looked away, pain tightening his features. “All the battles we fought. All the adventures. The grand quests and challenges we overcame. And it ends like this.”

Jane could feel the fury rising in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. But she swallowed it down, forcing herself to breathe—to think. Melindra stepped up beside her, gently motioning her away from the wounded man.

She gestured subtly to Tarik. “What class is that one? Can you tell?”

“Rageblade,” Jane said quietly. “Epic rarity.”

Melindra’s brow furrowed. She took a half-step back, shaking her head. “That explains it. I wish I had known sooner.”

“Does it?” Jane shot back. “He’s only level sixty-five. How does someone like that kill Valrathian in his sleep—without even a fight? He was Epic too, and had over three thousand Health!”

Melindra folded her arms. Her voice sharpened. “Do not underestimate Epic class holders, Jane. I know to a Legendary, the difference in power might seem vast. But our skills are nothing to scoff at. They can be devastating. Especially when used without warning. Furthermore, Valrathian was already injured from the battle with Balostroze.”

Jane felt her cheeks flush, and she glanced toward Tarik, who glared at her with naked hatred. That same simmering rage she’d once disregarded without a second thought now felt far more dangerous.

Have I taken Epic class holders for granted? She thought back to the ones she knew. Dyle—an Illusion Weaver—capable of throwing minds into nightmare and vanishing at will. The perfect assassin. Mint, just a boy, but with healing so potent he could keep an entire army alive. Not to mention healing anything, short of death itself. Tia’moth, her Firecaster demon, had just summoned a blazing orb like a miniature sun to cleave through the Mandala of Wisdom. Gral’gor, even now, stood stoically nearby, his sole task to keep Risthalak—a fellow Epic—contained. His perpetual vigilance now made a lot more sense.

Every single one of them, overpowered in their own terrifying way.

“Rageblade is clearly combat-oriented,” Melindra continued. “We never should’ve let him roam camp unchecked. I used to be able to identify classes easily, but since becoming a Demonic Instructor, that’s limited to demons. Please—alert me if you find any more Epic class holders, no matter their level.”

Jane exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Yeah… I see that now.”

Truthfully, she’d dismissed Tarik as irrelevant. Just a dramatic former slave, barking about blood and vengeance. She hadn’t seen him for what he was: a weapon, primed and ready. Valrathian might’ve bested him in face-to-face combat—but he hadn’t been given the chance. He’d trusted Jane. Trusted her that he wasn't in danger among her horde. Just about the least honorable way to die.

She returned to Findarius and met his gaze.

“Look,” she said quietly, “I know what I look like. Marching around with Hellguards and Tormentors, giving orders like a tyrant. You probably think I’ve got some class related to demons.”

Findarius blinked. “No?” he said faintly. “I did assume… Though I suppose you never said it explicitly.”

Jane turned toward the group of bound former slaves. Her expression hardened.

“Well, it’s Judicator,” she said. “And if you don’t know what that means…” She raised her hand, power crackling faintly at her fingertips. “…you’re about to find out.”