Paragon of Skills

Chapter 272

Baal duels a girl.

“Square your hips before you thrust, like this.”

He parries a thrust before she can even fully extend it, then appears behind her and adjusts her hips gently. “That’s where you generate the power. If your hips are misplaced, the thrust loses all its power.”

The girl, with two eyes, two legs, and two arms, nods swiftly and attacks again.

They are on top of a giant rock in the middle of the sea, a few miles out of the Academy.

Baal could have chosen any other place for their lessons, but she demanded, ‘somewhere pretty.’ And, for some reason, he has always been fascinated by the sea. There is something in it, a kind of freedom, of impenetrable strength, that has always called to him. And so, he trains Cecilia there until she is fully out of breath.

She is now Bronze-Rank, after two weeks of grueling training.

She sits on the ground, wheezing, and shakes her head. He, as always, expects her to finally give up, to renounce the idea of training to become a warrior after she experiences how hard it is. But that is not what she is thinking at all. In fact, what comes out of her mouth is, “this is so cool!”

Baal finds her happiness refreshing.

“Let’s go back now. I have a meeting with the Headmaster soon.”

Cecilia nods excitedly and jumps up in Baal’s arms. He takes her up in a Princess carry and extends his two angelic wings, flying back to the Academy. Seeing her starstruck visage, just like the first time he carried her like this, he lowers them both close to the top of the waves, grazing the foamy peaks of the sea and letting her laughter be a balm for his soul.

***

Baal enters the office of the Headmaster and bows deeply before dropping to one knee, “Sir.”

The Headmaster adjusts his golden spectacles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not Maelthra Drazhal, Baal. I’ve told you several times not to kneel. I would think that after all this time under her Oaths, you would have been tired of acting like this.”

Baal smiles, “I am not afraid of showing my gratitude, Headmaster. Only a slave who’s not been freed completely is afraid of taking the knee. I do this because of what you’ve done for me.”

“For you?” The Headmaster removes his glasses and rubs his face. “How’s the girl? Are the new limbs…”

“They work perfectly, sir.”

“Alright, alright,” the Headmaster sighs again and dons his spectacles once more. “Can you please rise, now?”

Baal does as told and raises an eyebrow at the absolute mess around the Headmaster’s office, “Sir, if you need it, I might help you with the—“

“Please, don’t even mention it,” the Headmaster groans. “Vice Principal John is the same. Can’t you people see that I prefer it like this?”

Baal looks at the scattered treasures around the office, many of them probably able to level an entire Kingdom, and notes to himself.

It’s a Hoard.

With the capital H.

Baal has seen treasure chambers in the Infernal courts that were guarded more carefully than royal heirs, yet even those feel poorer than this office. The desk is invisible under six months of unsorted correspondence. What looks like a cursed crown sits on top of a stack of student evaluations, but the Headmaster does not appear to have noticed its malicious aura.

“What did you want to see me for? Cecilia?” Baal asks. “I will repay the debt—“

“The girl has been tortured for so long in her life that regrowing her limbs is not creating any residual Karmic Bond with me, Baal,” the Headmaster shakes his head. “She’s fine. As are you.”

“Then…” Baal’s words trail. He enjoys this little manner of disrespect now, even though he does indeed respect the man very much. But the freedom in speaking however he wants is, surprisingly, more than exhilarating. It feels extremely mischievous, which he ashamedly finds himself enjoying quite a bit.

“I’ve meddled,” the Headmaster says, reclining in his chair and joining his hands. “I’ve meddled a bit. Do you know how Karma works?”

Baal is a Devil. His race can feel Karma on their very skin.

Stolen story; please report.

“My instruction covered a lot of it.”

The Headmaster waves his hand dismissively, “don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it was a good education, Baal.” The man gets up from his chair and turns to the massive library shelves behind his desk, pointing at one of them. “Elven genealogies,” he says. “Elves are… tricky. Lesser than the Three Great Races, but above many others in talent. Their true blood was lost many, many years ago. Before even I walked through life.”

Baal listens attentively. This is likely going to be the kind of information that is near priceless. And he has not discarded his training. Even as a free student of the Academy, he needs as much power and influence as he can in order to stay free and grow without masters.

“The Arendor Family was once a Royal Lineage,” the Headmaster says, tapping the book. “Then, fallen from grace, it was inglobated in one of the many rising Kingdoms. I could have flattened those stupid idiots to the ground, but the Karma that would have rippled from it… I do not make a sport of ruining people’s Karma like that.”

The Headmaster turns and smiles.

Baal has assumed a very serious expression.

“I must say,” the Headmaster looks at him from head to toe, “there’s a perverse pleasure in talking to you. I understand why the Infernals fear your kind so much. Blood that cannot be diluted. Unfathomable power. Natural control over Primordial Magic and, most importantly… you feel ancient.”

Baal frowns at that.

“You’re a young, young child in my eyes,” the Headmaster clarifies. “But the way you scrutinize your surroundings, the way you pay attention to my words. I don’t think half of the other Champions would have noticed. Iskara, perhaps, before dying. Asterion, I suppose. But not Vyrrak. Maybe Sabrina Margrave—that is one scary Champion. Well, and of course, our Leader of Champions. But you…” The Headmaster trails off once again and loses himself in thought.

“Headmaster,” Baal says. ”Nimirea Arendor’s father, Sir Renquell Arendor, the Elven Wandering Knight, was spotted on the island three days ago. He has not come out once from wherever he went. And since you’re mentioning Elven family trees, you must have used Old Laws to clear his sin. If Sir Renquell was royalty, his decision to slaughter the men under him who committed atrocities during the Blue Rose War, which caused Elves devastating losses but also saved millions of lives, was revoked. Elves follow the Old Laws. And they must not have known about Sir Renquell’s background.”

The Headmaster, who has been staring at the ceiling, turns toward Baal with a large smile.

“Scary. Just like Jacob Cloud. Go on.”

“Nimirea Arendor has been staying in the Red Tower, closed off from everybody else in the Academy. The Champions, aside from Jacob, who staked his life and honor on her permanence and any crime she might commit, hate that she’s still alive. It’s almost universal.”

“She was the Leader of the Dark Champions,” the Headmaster says, turning away and giving Baal his back, once again looking at the library.

Baal hesitates to speak his mind next.

“What’s happening?” The Headmaster laughs. “What do you know?”

“Jacob Cloud destroyed my Oath when he dispelled Nimirea Arendor’s chains. I know the debt of gratitude she must be feeling toward him.”

“Oh? Why? Isn’t she evil?” The Headmaster asks.

“She killed innocents,” Baal confirms. “And so did I.”

“But you were under Oath,” the Headmaster teases.

“She did so under Divine Oath.”

“And so, are you both excused of your crimes? Or neither?” The Headmaster turns and his golden spectacles catch the light and shine from over his shoulder.

“It does not matter,” Baal says.

“Because a war started and the Dungeons all across the world are awakening?”

“Because of Jacob Cloud, sir.”

The Headmaster’s eyes now shine brighter than his glasses.

“How so?”

“Before departing for his Special Quest, I visited Jacob Cloud. I wanted to know what he expected Nimirea to do. Without divine bindings and the allure of giving her life away to Asmodeus, she might have become a much more fearsome warrior than before.”

Baal pauses.

“I must admit that Jacob Cloud is… wise.”

“Because?” The Headmaster barely speaks now, raptly listening to the Devil.

“Asmodeus and the Evil Gods provide deals. Your Soul in exchange for power. The Academy provides a similar deal, your loyalty in exchange for power and protection. Every country, kingdom, and family has a similar deal in place. Protection in exchange for work. Safety in exchange for laws.”

“First, bold of you to compare us with an Evil God, Baal. But anyway… we are not executing Nimirea like many are asking for,” the Headmaster says. “Do you think it’s unfair?”

“All these systems,” Baal says, “Jacob Cloud believes are predicated on ledgers. Nimirea Arendor committed heinous crimes, indeed. Yet, one can just ignore the ledger and move on.”

“There’s a word for that,” the Headmaster says slowly, finally turning. He has a sad expression on his face. “A word that those like me have trouble understanding, I fear. It is a very non-Immortal concept.”

“Mercy,” Baal says, feeling his veins boil. “Mercy for the wicked.”

“What do you think of it?” The Headmaster asks.

“If it wasn’t for it, perhaps, outside of a utilitarian view of what I could have been useful for, I should be put to death as well.”

The Headmaster sighs again and nods.

“Apparently, only mortals can fully understand it. I trust Jacob Cloud’s design. Now, then, can you fathom what Special Quest you’re about to receive?”

Baal nods.

“I shall convince Nimirea Arendor,” Baal kneels on the ground. “She shall be the eleventh Champion, sir.”

“Very well,” the Headmaster smiles. “You can go, now.”

Baal nods and leaves.

The Headmaster turns one last time toward the book and smiles, “damn smart Human. I can feel the Karma of the Generation of Legends… it’s…”

The Headmaster laughs to himself.

“Let me be reincarnated as a Jacob Cloud in a next life,” the powerful creature says to Karma. “It must be fun.”