Chapter 344

When Jacob sees that the Book of Blade has gone up in ashes, he starts panicking.

“Wait a second, wait a second. Maybe I can do something here,” he says, putting a hand up toward Kamenev, the executioner. “Maybe I can fix this.”

He starts fiddling with the ashes of the book, trying to use the Grimoire to see if there is maybe a spell or anything that could rebuild the Book of Blade. But the more he fiddles with it, the more it looks like these are just very, very common, ordinary ashes that have nothing magical about them. And so he can’t just rebuild the Book of Blade.

It appears that Jacob has forever destroyed the Book of Blade — which, in his understanding, is the most valuable artifact that they have in the kingdom of Zamorye. And so he is about to have a fit, because if he actually destroyed the Book of Blade, there’s a good chance that Kamenev is about to kill him.

And in fact, the executioner starts walking menacingly toward Jacob while Jacob is disseminating the ashes everywhere in his attempt to coax them back into the shape of a book.

Count Myshkin and Princess Yekaterina are so shocked by what Jacob has done that they don’t even know what they could say that would stop Kamenev from actually killing Jacob. Count Myshkin racks his brain, trying his hardest to think of anything — an excuse, something, literally a law, a rule in the royal family — but there’s nothing. Jacob has just destroyed their greatest artifact. The Book of Blade is what allowed so many miners to advance their knowledge on how to mine Skill Crystals from Mana nodes. It is one of, if not the most important foundational artifact of their civilization. Even if he wanted to, he has no way to save Jacob.

But right when Kamenev is about to lunge and cut Jacob into mincemeat, all the windows of the large hall where Princess Yekaterina is sitting on the throne shatter.

And a voice booms, “Ha, ha, ha! Someone has finally awakened me.”

A translucent spirit appears between Jacob and Kamenev.

Jacob looks at the spirit. It’s a rather chubby man with a good-natured face. He thinks he looks like a sweet old uncle.

But when Kamenev sees the same figure, he has a completely different reaction. He throws himself to his knees, slamming his forehead on the ground, and says, “Your Majesty, you’re still alive.”

Putting his hands behind his back, the spirit turns toward Kamenev.

“Huh, look who it is? If it’s not the little boy. How are you doing, Kamenev?”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Were you the one who summoned me? Who managed to finally pass the trial? I was waiting for a long, long time. I’m starting to think that my whole family was made of incompetent bastards.”

Hearing those vulgar words, both Princess Yekaterina and Count Myshkin recoil. Kamenev had addressed this man as Your Majesty, but he talks like a peasant.

“So, Kamenev, who was it?”

Kamenev raises his head, speechless.

“Your Majesty, King Blade, I, I…” He stutters, not able to say anything.

And so King Blade turns toward Princess Yekaterina.

“Oh, I feel some thick Rafnovian blood from you, young lady. Was it you? So, how did you like my technique? The Wrath of Blade is a complex, complex piece of Primordial Magic. But I knew that if long enough passed, you guys would figure it out. And finally, someone did, right? So, what’s your name?”

Princess Yekaterina is shocked to hear that the man is King Blade himself, one of the legendary ancestors of Zamorye.

“Your Majesty, I— I am Princess Yekaterina, but…”

“Oh, what a nice name, Yekaterina. I had a grandniece named that. I’m glad you bear her name. You will make a wonderful queen. I will take you under my tutelage, and you will grow to be one of the greatest sovereigns of Zamorye. Finally, now that you have learned how to properly use my spell — and I imagine that most of the population has by now mastered at the very least a close-to-perfect version — we can finally kill Apocalypse.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

At this point, Kamenev the executioner cannot help but say, “Your Majesty, it wasn’t the princess.”

“Huh? What are you saying, Kamenev? Are you pulling my leg? Is it that guy? But the blood in him is thin,” King Blade says, pointing at Count Myshkin.

“No, Your Majesty, it’s not the count. He’s not part of the main branch of the royal family. Um, behind you.”

King Blade turns and wrinkles his nose a little, his giant mustache swinging left and right as he does so. When he turns, he finds a young man looking at him, close to a bunch of ashes. His hands are all dirty from fiddling with them, and King Blade asks, “What are you doing, kid? Why are you playing with those ashes? Is that the book?”

“Um, yes, Your Majesty, King Blade,” Jacob says tentatively. “I was trying to put it back together.”

Now, Kamenev is actually waiting for King Blade to lose his mind hearing that Jacob destroyed his book. Hearing such a thing, and knowing the real temper that King Blade would display when angered, Kamenev is anticipating Jacob getting exploded on the spot by a beam of Mana — or perhaps by the man’s titular Primordial Spell, the Wrath of Blade.

But what happens next stuns Kamenev.

“Well, finally, someone destroyed that old piece of shit. It took a long time. So it was you.”

“I…”

“Well, I sense a very powerful Skill in your soul, kid. You must be one of the true heirs of Rafnov. How many trials have you… You know what? I don’t need to know. Come here.”

King Blade gestures for Jacob to come closer, and Kamenev is still holding out hope that it is just a ruse — that King Blade will decapitate Jacob for destroying his priceless artifact. Instead, King Blade, who is a giant of a man, just puts a hand over Jacob’s shoulder and summons a beer out of nowhere.

“This is for you. A cold drink after a day in the mines is the best thing a man can wish for. So… how did you do it?”

“I saw that everybody was, um, using the flawed version to make sure they wouldn’t mess up too much. And I just thought, maybe I can fix this,” Jacob tries explaining.

But that explanation clearly gives pause to King Blade — his spirit, at the very least — who had summoned a spectral beer.

“What did you just say?”

“That… I tried to fix the flaws?”

“No, no, no, no,” King Blade says, the spectral glass of beer starting to crack. “What was the first part? The flaws?”

“Your Majesty,” Kamenev intervenes. “I— Your Primordial Spell was so complicated, and nobody was seemingly able to master it. And so it became commonplace to just try and learn enough to mine the Mana nodes, so that they could hope to learn more from your book. Everybody was trying just to—”

A sudden coldness spreads throughout the hall as King Blade looks at Kamenev.

“The lineage of Rafnov was content with learning a flawed Primordial Spell. A spell I couldn’t pass to anybody in full. Nobody was able to learn it without flaws. And so I had to put my hopes in the future, Kamenev. And in you. I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell you exactly how the book worked — or you might have interfered with Karma. But you’re telling me that you facilitated the usage of a flawed Primordial Spell all this time.”

Kamenev is speechless. How has this situation turned against him, when he was the one trying to preserve King Blade’s legacy?

“The book was just an artifact to contain my soul until someone worthy would show up in the royal family, so that I could teach them. I hoped that our civilization would advance far enough that our people would learn the Primordial Spell en masse, Kamenev, and therefore learn the basis upon which we would build the strongest weapon against Apocalypse. And you’re telling me you ruined my plan?”

Now the glass explodes into a million pieces.

But before King Blade can continue, Jacob says, “Your Majesty, I think that that was just a really bad plan. Like, why didn’t you give more precise instructions? To hell with Karma. That was stupid.”

Kamenev freezes. He feels so overwhelmed with terror that he doesn’t even have the energy to correct Jacob Cloud’s foolishness in addressing his own king. He expects King Blade to go crazy at such an insult.

Instead, the jolly man just asks, “Oh, and why do you think so?”

“Well, it was clearly more convenient, in order to mine Mana nodes, to just use a flawed version and focus on accumulating Skill Crystals. To learn a Skill for the sake of learning it is not something many people do when you’re facing a Primordial God, right? So I wouldn’t blame anybody here. It seems like the most sensible thing to do. I would have done the same if I was born here.”

“Eh. So you come from the outside world,” King Blade asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I come from Ytrial Academy. I don’t know if you—”

“That damn lizard,” King Blade mutters. “Are you one of his students?”

“Um, the Headmaster? I don’t know his name. No one does. We just all follow him, the Head—”

“Like in times past. Yes. He has visited me. So, you’re a student. But you also have raw— You have Rafnov’s blood in you.”

And King Blade tilts his head, looking at Jacob.

“What is this other blood I’m feeling?”

“Um, that is, uh, my father’s lineage. Um, he is a descendant of Rafnov’s disciple.”

“Oh my. You’re quite the mix, then.”

“Thank you, I guess?” Jacob replies.

“Don’t thank me yet. I will have to test you. What is your name?”

“I’m Jacob Cloud, Your Majesty.”

“And you learned and perfected the Wrath of Blade. So you must be a real and great artist.”

“Um, am I?” Jacob asks.

“Only an unparalleled artistic disposition would allow someone to master my Primordial Spell.”

Or a very good Rainbow Skill, Jacob thinks. But he’s not feeling like revealing everything to the man.

“Now, come with me, all of you. We will start with the first trial. Kamenev?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Summon the royal painter. I want to see what this young man is capable of.”

“Immediately, Your Majesty,” Kamenev says with a hint of schadenfreude, knowing that Jacob has no artistic ability to speak of.

“Are you ready to be tested, Jacob Cloud? Before I determine whether you usurped my power.”

Jacob swallows heavily.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”