Chương 125: Chapter 124

"That's your brother?" Jacob asks Iskara, who's now trembling.

"Where have you been?" she demands, her voice sharp but cracking underneath.

"Why are you wearing that robe? What have you done?!" Azrakel spreads his arms as if presenting himself to the world. The black veins across his skin flare brighter, his horns catching the twilight.

"What I had to," he says.

"While you were handed gifts from birth, I was clawing through stone and bleeding my veins dry for scraps. Do you know what it feels like, sister? To watch you inherit Lucifer's Veins while I shattered myself on worthless Skills?" Iskara shakes her head, almost disbelieving.

"You trained beside me. You were strong. Father—""Father?" Azrakel snaps, his smirk curdling into a snarl.

"Father looked at me and saw a failure. He looked at you and saw a perfect heir. And you… you accepted it. You embraced their chains. The royal parasite, leeching Skill Crystals when you were already born greater than all of us." Sabrina tilts her head, eyes glittering with interest.

"So the Cult of Asmodeus claimed an Infernal Royal. Fascinating."

"Silence, Champion," Azrakel says, his voice like stone grinding on stone. Whatever warmth had colored his greeting to Iskara vanishes as his gaze sweeps over the rest of us.

"I'm not here for your commentary. I'm here to finish the job Malrik and Toran were too weak to complete. I shall complete this sacred mission." The Champions bristle. Asterion lowers his spear into a ready stance, the point aimed straight at Azrakel's chest.

"You murdered our attendants. You bind our Squires like cattle. Do not pretend you have come in honor." Azrakel doesn't even flinch.

"Honor? That word belongs to your crumbling academies, your broken bloodlines, your false crowns. I don't need honor. I need freedom." His eyes flash orange as he turns back to Iskara.

"And I'll tear it out of your veins if I must." Iskara steps forward, fire already dancing in her palms.

"You dare call yourself free while you wear the chains of Asmodeus? You betrayed your own people. You betrayed me." Asterion steps forward, spear in hand but lowered.

"Why the Cult of Asmodeus, Prince? Why abandon your own blood for them?" Azrakel's laugh is low and bitter.

"Because they're the only ones who understand. They don't kneel to Skill Crystals or the tyranny of royal veins. They see the truth: your system is nothing but shackles dressed as glory." His gaze cuts back to Iskara, sharp as a blade.

"And you, sister, are the perfect slave. You wear your heritage like a crown but still cling to Crystals. You call yourself free, but you're the most bound of all. You took mother's beatings and lashes just to be called the perfect child over and over. Yet, you still carry the marks of our parents' love. Tell me, sister, why don't you tell me how proud you are of being a Champion, of being a little lapdog for the Academy?

Because that's what you are—a little faithful dog on a leash of our parents and those bastards at the Academy." Iskara's face twists with fury, flames dancing in her palms.

"Don't you dare call me that." Azrakel only smiles wider, feeding on her rage.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Vyrrak bares his teeth in a cruel grin.

"Sibling rivalry. How touching." His eyes flick to me, then back to Azrakel.

"But if you think we'll stand here and watch you rant—" Azrakel cuts him off with a flick of his hand. A pulse of dark Mana ripples outward, rattling the wetland reeds and bending the air.

"You'll stand here because I allow it. The only one I came for is her." His finger jabs toward Iskara like a spear. Iskara's lips curl into a snarl.

"Then you should have stayed dead, Azrakel."

"Do you think that this pitiful power of yours scares me? The power of a Champion and a Rainbow Skill?" At the mention of the Rainbow Skill everyone turns curiously toward Iskara. Everyone here knows any one of the Champions might own a Rainbow Skill—they wouldn't be Champions otherwise. Yet, hearing it said out loud makes everyone raise an eyebrow. Iskara doesn't seem happy with her business being revealed.

While nobody knows about Lucifer's Veins—not among the present here, at least—this is a straight revelation that exposes her greatest trump card. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Iskara's jaw tightens.

"You've said enough." The fire in her hands burns hotter, the glow casting sharp shadows across her face. Azrakel chuckles, low and sharp, his horns glinting in the fading light.

"Struck a nerve again. You always hated when people saw you for what you are. You carry the rainbow, the mark of our house, yet you keep hiding it as though the shame will vanish if you don't speak it aloud." Asterion's brow furrows, spear still raised.

"So it's true. Princess Iskara holds a Rainbow Skill." His tone is equal parts wonder and suspicion, like the revelation explains much and raises even more questions. Sabrina smirks, folding her arms.

"Well, well. The perfect heir keeps more secrets than she lets on. I suppose we should all be honored you've chosen to grace us with the truth, even if it comes from your traitor brother's mouth."

"Shut up," Iskara snaps, her eyes never leaving Azrakel. But Azrakel only steps forward, shadows curling around his feet like smoke.

"Do you see them now, sister? They stare at you like you're a prize horse with a new trick. This is what the Crystals and crowns do—they turn you into an object, not a person. You wear your chains proudly, and they clap." His voice drops into a growl.

"You disgust me."

"Can I ask a question?" Everyone, including Azrakel, turns toward Jacob.

"You must be the Fake Champion. I heard you're the most resourceful of the Champions here, that you stole Skills from my people."

"I mean, first of all, you're siding with a literal Evil God, so I wouldn't go around pointing fingers at me for wanting to learn Infernal Skills," Jacob says with a deadpan. Azrakel, who's committed a slaughter and bound the Squires of the Champions in order to rattle them, is taken aback by the words of the one he considers a Fake Champion.

"Excuse me?" the Infernal asks, stunned and angry.

"Did I stutter?" Jacob says again.

"You killed our friends and spared a few to… give us a show? Wow. The Cult of Asmodeus must be made of absolute geniuses. It's not surprising that your own father didn't love you and preferred your younger sister. She clearly is ready to sacrifice way more than you."

"What do you know about my sacrifices?!" Azrakel shouts, his eyes now bloodshot.

"I was born a commoner out of a mine," Jacob explains slowly and calmly.

"You were born a Royal and you still talk about Iskara being more privileged than you? You did what? You mentioned hurting your veins trying to push your Skills, right? Is that it? Is that the story? You half‑crippled yourself and then you went to cry to the Cult of Asmodeus? What else? Did you also fake a pathetic, little death, all angsty and sad about your little daddy not loving you enough?"

"Jacob…" Iskara says in a low voice.

"Don't provoke him."

"Provoke?" Jacob replies, stepping forward.

"Who said anything about provoking? I'm simply stating the truth. Tell me, Prince Azrakel, before we kill you, what did the Cult of Asmodeus give you that your parents and sister couldn't? Was it attentions? Did they make you feel important?"

"They loved me more than my parents ever did. They recognized my real potential, and their mission is pure. We want to break the world free from the tyranny of the System and Skill Crystals."

"What a noble soul," Jacob replies coldly.

"So noble that he kills innocents. Is that part of the plan? Please, enlighten me. How do you justify that?" Jacob looks at the remains of the three Elves who have been chopped up and feels his blood boil. He also sees Kaelric and a few others look at their own Squires with pure rage running through their veins.

"These people are not innocent. They serve the true evil that reigns supreme at the Academy, one of the most tenacious emissaries of the System, your bastard of a Headmaster." Azrakel holds Jacob's stare as if Jacob proves his point.

"You're pathetic," the weakest of the Champions replies.

"You're killing those who couldn't even make a real decision for them. Do you think that an attendant or a noble with barely anything to their name can really decide which side they're on? You think there's anything they've decided consciously? You're a bloodthirsty pig who's justifying their bloodlust with this crusade of yours. If you're such a great faithful of Asmodeus, you should have come after us directly. Not after them."

Azrakel starts walking forward and Iskara moves in front of Jacob, who simply moves her slightly to the side.

"You used to be a child who lashed out at some perceived injustice. Oh no, you couldn't be the heir of everything. What a sad life. And now you kill people to make yourself feel better since you can't kill those whom you really intended to."

"Stop talking, Jacob," Iskara hisses.

"He's strong."

"I know what he's about to do. And I know we can win," Jacob says, turning back and, after being a miner for so long, resumes his role as guide.

"Orrivane, get ready to use it." Orrivane's eyes widen, as if he's already understood. Azrakel finally stops, only a few steps from Iskara. His smile is cruel, but his eyes are cold.

"Soon, sister, I'll free you from those chains—whether you beg for it or not." In the next moment, a Peak Diamond Rank aura unfurls from Azrakel, making everyone's hair stand on end.