JUDICATOR JANE 6 - CHAPTER 36

Purify the Ungodly

Pogg strode across the raised dais in the heart of Dawnskeep’s central plaza, his heavy steps echoing off wood and silence alike. Behind him stood over thirty criminals, dragged up from the castle’s dungeons—filthy, shackled, and blinking against the sudden exposure. In the courtyard below, hundreds more waited, delivered from every jail and prison across Arcadia, a sea of condemned souls packed shoulder to shoulder under the wary gaze of the guards. At his left stood Lord Tygal, arms folded, his eyes cold and calculating. At his right was Tiberius, stone-faced and unreadable, his attention fixed on the prisoners below.

Pogg turned to face the mass of gathered citizens, their expressions a mixture of hope, dread, and curiosity. “The times we face are perilous and grim,” he declared, his voice carrying across the square. “But as the Legendary Chosen One, I intend to lead both Arcadia and the Providencia through the nightmare that creeps from the east.” He spun slightly, thrusting a finger back toward the line of bound men and women. “There is no longer room for those who prey upon their brethren—not now, not when the undead claw at our gates.” His hand ignited with a glow, pulsing with holy energy. “Let each of them face the light. And if any can withstand its fire, let them be reforged—renewed and ready for the storm to come.”

A heavy silence followed, not out of reverence, but ritual. The words had become routine. This was not the first group Pogg had purged—and deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. It’s no different than when I was cleansing the wicked in the Providencia, he told himself, though the thought brought little comfort. His gaze settled on the first prisoner in line. Without another word, he triggered Righteous Perception.

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26)

Human

Class: Merchant (Uncommon)

Strength: 6

Agility: 9

Constitution: 8

Intelligence: 27

Luck: 4

Virtue: -4

Health: 90/90

“This woman was charged with fraud and conspiracy,” Lord Tygal declared, his voice cutting through the stillness of the square like a blade. “She knowingly acted as a fence, helping brigands offload goods stolen from the hardworking citizens of the eastern realm.”

Pogg gave a solemn nod, though inwardly, the specifics of the crime barely registered. It didn’t matter what she had done—not anymore. His gaze locked onto the numeric truth the System revealed in her stats: Virtue, negative four. Not low enough to guarantee destruction, but not high enough to inspire hope either. In other times, he might have passed her over. Back then, he’d set a line in the sand—only those with a Virtue score of negative fifty or worse would face judgment. He almost laughed at the memory. How arbitrary. How foolish. The world had changed, and with it, his tolerance.

Now, the light was judge and jury.

His eyes met hers, wide and wet with panic. She was trembling, her arms pulled tight by chains, her mouth open but silent. Pogg clenched his jaw, raised his hand, and called forth Purify.

Light surged from his palm, engulfing her in a brilliant, pulsing aura. For a heartbeat she shone like the sun itself. Then came the smoke. Pogg didn’t look away. His System logs lit up like a torrent—lines of text cascading in the corner of his vision, detailing every increase in Virtue.

He watched, waiting to see what the light would decide.

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26) has been cleansed!

You have received 100 experience!

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26) has received +1 Virtue!

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26) has received +1 Virtue!

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26) has received +1 Virtue!

…

Darcy Flamrock (Level 26) has been defeated!

You have received 4796 experience!

979372/977274

Excess experience has been discarded.

Pogg is Level 150!

You have gained +2 to Agility, Constitution and Intelligence!
You have gained +7 to Strength!

Pogg blinked as the last traces of ash drifted down, the wind carrying away what little remained of the woman. The light had judged, and she had not been found worthy. He stood motionless, the glow of his hand dimming, as conflicting emotions churned within him—regret, resolve, and something colder still. Another one lost. Her terrified face lingered in his mind, overlapping with the fading System readouts that still hovered before him.

“The Chosen One has gained another level,” Lord Tygal proclaimed, his tone clipped and emotionless. “Our chances against the coming darkness have improved.”

A ripple ran through the assembled crowd—scattered claps, murmurs of uncertainty, some heads bowed in prayer, others watching with hollow eyes. In these grim times, every bit of mirth was forced.

Meanwhile, the System messages continued to scroll. Pogg’s eyes flicked across them. A new skill… finally. The weight of what had just occurred dulled slightly, pushed to the edge of his awareness as the description demanded his attention. For a fleeting moment, the fate of the woman—the cost of that gain—was set aside.

Archangel (Legendary)

Select your champion to stand as a paragon of virtue. Choose wisely—the power of the light will flow through them.

Legendary… Only the second such skill he had ever received. The ominous text pulsed at the edge of his vision, radiant and unmistakable. Could this be the key to defeating Lord Melkit and stopping his relentless tide of undead? Perhaps not the final answer, but it was a beginning—a foothold in the dark. A surge of energy coursed through him, sharp and revitalizing. This was the path. A golden way forward, perhaps not one he could see as before, but filled with hope all the same.

The woman’s death—tragic though it was—had not been in vain. She had been level twenty-six, just a minor criminal, yet her sacrifice had gifted him strength beyond anything she could have achieved in battle herself. No sword or spell she wielded would have done as much. He exhaled, shoulders squaring, doubts falling away alongside the woman’s ash.

His attention turned to the next prisoner in line. Whether they survived or not, they too would serve a purpose. One way or another, these condemned souls would help save the realm.

***

Creeping through the shadowed hallways, Myra moved with practiced care, keeping just far enough behind to avoid detection as she trailed Princess Jasmine. Ever since she had reunited with her father—Lord Tygal—Myra had been unsettled by the eerie transformation overtaking the princess. It wasn’t just her voice, or her posture—it was something deeper, uncanny. A glassy kind of joy. Myra had encountered others in the castle grounds with the same unnerving demeanor: overly cheerful, relentlessly optimistic, and never so much as a whispered complaint or curse. If she hadn’t known what Jasmine was like before, she might have dismissed it. But the change was too drastic to ignore.

She watched as the princess drifted into the library, her movements graceful, deliberate—and oddly carefree. She was humming. Humming. Jasmine, who once scorned books, now glided through the rows of them like a content scholar. Eventually, she selected a thick tome from the shelves and settled into a chair by the window. Myra squinted from the hallway, unable to make out the title. The library at eight o’clock… she noted silently. It might have seemed innocent—if Jasmine had ever shown the slightest interest in reading before.

Flattening herself against the wall, Myra feigned nonchalance, checking her nails as two servants passed close by. Her thoughts were racing. She hasn’t even looked for her brother. Not once. That was the other oddity. With the young king’s tyrannic reputation, it wasn’t surprising most avoided speaking of him—but surely his own sister should show some concern. Yet Jasmine carried on as if he were merely elsewhere in the palace, perhaps just behind the next curtain.

And then there was Pogg.

What her father had told her about him was enough to keep Myra far away from the so-called Chosen One. Throwing Jane through a portal. Waging war against the demons. Purifying random people out of nowhere. Everything had changed—she had missed too much during her time with the Menadeen. By all accounts, an entire war had come and gone. The cryptic letter from Pimra to Jane made a lot more sense now. Jane is gone, and the eastern horizon blackened by calamity. Myra’s stomach knotted just thinking about it.

But there was one thing she hadn’t told anyone.

Pimra’s letter hadn’t ended in despair—it had promised hope. She recalled the words, clear as when she read them with Jane.

But then, like a dying ember rekindled, there you were. Eyes blazing with fire, a black crown of blades resting upon your brow, like the first star piercing the darkest night. You are the light at the end of a suffocating tunnel, the first glimmer of dawn after the blackest of nights.

If Jane survives her trials, she will return. Myra didn’t doubt it for a second. Jane would come back. The only question was—When? Pimra hadn’t said.

Movement caught her eye. Myra ducked quickly behind a corner as Princess Jasmine rose from her seat and drifted back into the corridor. She curtsied with mechanical grace as one of Lord Tygal’s advisors passed her. Myra narrowed her eyes and quickened her pace, silent as a shadow. Something was very wrong, and she intended to find out what.

The young woman turned left and slipped into one of the castle kitchens, chatting cheerfully with a white-haired chef as though she belonged there. Myra paused in the hallway, blinking in disbelief. The kitchen? Of all the places for Princess Jasmine to go, this was the last she would have expected. Jasmine, who once recoiled at the sight of raw vegetables, now rolled up her sleeves with practiced ease and hoisted a sack of flour from the pantry.

What in the world is she up to? Myra stepped inside quietly, blending in among the bustle. She took a seat at a scullery table near the corner, positioning her back to the prep area. Grabbing an apple from a basket, she bit into it absently, keeping one ear tuned to the exchange behind her.

“Do you think Pogg will like cookies?” Jasmine asked brightly, voice full of girlish excitement. “I was thinking chocolate, but I don’t know his favorite yet.”

“Who doesn’t like sweets?” the cook beside her laughed. “Can’t go wrong with a dessert, that’s what I always say.”

Myra nearly choked on her apple. Is she baking?! She craned her neck slightly to confirm it—yes, the princess was measuring flour with both care and enthusiasm. The world, it seemed, was tilting off its axis.

“Are you sure you don’t want help with that?” the cook offered gently.

Jasmine smiled, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “No, thank you. I think I’d like to do it myself. If there’s some small way I can contribute to the war effort, I’d like it to be this. Pogg has so many burdens… this might lift his spirits.”

The cook hesitated, surprised. “If I may say so, I never thought I’d see you in a kitchen, Your Majesty.”

“No? Why not?” Jasmine asked with genuine curiosity.

Myra lowered her apple and muttered under her breath, “Because you’re a murdering psychopath who tossed hundreds into the leveling chambers for your own ill-gotten gains.”

Then, clear as crystal, Jasmine’s voice rang out: “I decided to be a Cook. I’d love any advice you can give.”

Myra’s eyes widened and she dropped the apple with a clunk. A Cook?! Jasmine had just reached level five, and Myra had totally forgotten that she would likely have to pick a class again. She pinched her cheek just to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

The older woman beamed. “Of course, of course! Any time.”

Myra placed her head in her hands, groaning quietly. None of this made a lick of sense. And now, from what she’d heard, Pogg was purifying criminals across Arcadia—some survived, some didn’t. She shivered. What did his skill really do to people? 

She glanced back toward the princess, now humming softly while stirring a bowl of batter. Something about this felt very wrong.