Paragon of Skills

Chapter 242

King Skaernex crosses his massive, scaled arms, a deep frown creasing his snout as he observes the scene unfolding below. He watches the Blackmere kid and the Fake Champion with calculating eyes. It’s not actually that dangerous for the boy to reveal his secret here, he reasons.

Even if word gets out, his father—the Headmaster—would undoubtedly protect the kid. The Kingdom of Seredain is formidable in its own right, boasting vast armies and ancient defenses, but it’s nothing absolute.

To the Academy, to a powerhouse like one of their Vice-Principals, Seredain is just another territory. They could raze it to the ground overnight if they truly wished to, as things currently stand. Safety isn't the real issue here.

Yet, King Skaernex thinks, his reptilian eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, I've met Stark Blackmere. He remembers the sheer, unfathomable presence of that man. If the kid has truly gotten his hands on his Rainbow Skill...

Before King Skaernex can dive deeper into that consideration, another thought strikes him. This revelation will most likely backfire spectacularly for his father's grand designs. The Headmaster wants unity, but with the kid suddenly possessing a Rainbow Skill, it’s going to create a massive disconnect with the ordinary masses. It's an unreachable height.

Yet, as the Royal pureblood Dragonkin tears his gaze away from the arena to look around the stands, he freezes. He realizes no one has even flinched at the revelation. There is no resentment, no sudden chasm of alienation. If anything, the students leaning over the railings are even more enraptured by the scene playing out before them.

***

Garros feels all the strength instantly drain from his legs the moment he hears Jacob say those words. His knees wobble, and the splintered log beneath him suddenly feels like the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Jacob knows that he has a Rainbow Skill. It is his absolute greatest fear brought to life—the terrifying nightmare that this specific secret would be revealed to the world. He knows exactly how his family operates.

They would probably do anything—commit any atrocity, pay any price—for literally anybody else in their bloodline to have inherited Stark Blackmere's Skill. Yet, by some cosmic joke, it so happened that it was him. Garros. The most useless, cowardly member of their entire family, who stumbled upon it.

Garros swallows hard, his throat dry as sandpaper.

“W—who told you?” he stammers, his voice cracking midway through the question.

“Nobody had to,” Jacob smiles, a calm, unwavering expression on his face that completely ignores Garros's rising panic. “I know things. It's my specialty.”

Under any other circumstance, Garros would have called Jacob Cloud hopelessly arrogant. It's a bold claim to make. But the accusation dies in his mind because his greatest secret—a Rainbow Skill he has never once used in combat—has just been casually revealed by the man standing in front of him.

“You can't tell anybody,” Garros says, his tone tipping into frantic pleading as he grips the edge of the wood. “Please, Jacob. It doesn't matter that I have this Skill. I'm weak! My family would kill me and then—”

Jacob’s smile fades, replaced by a heavy, piercing stare. He looks straight into Garros’s panicked eyes, refusing to let the apprentice Knight look away.

“Garros,” Jacob says, his voice cutting cleanly through the boy's spiraling terror. “Did you hear what I said before?”

“That I'm determined, sure,” Garros replies defensively, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the situation. “Jacob, you don't understand, if they knew what I had—”

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“Garros,” Jacob interrupts, speaking slowly and deliberately, anchoring every word. “There are monsters—real monsters coming. You have an incredibly powerful Rainbow Skill on your hands. When the hordes of the God of Monsters—when his lackeys are finally coming to knock on our doors—would you rather fight like Stark Blackmere fought the God of Shadows? Or would you rather cower away?”

Garros opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish out of water. He expects Jacob to say something else—he desperately hopes he will offer some sort of tactical workaround, an excuse he can use.

“Maybe if I was stronger—” Garros tries to deflect.

“Power is the cheapest good in the world, Garros,” Jacob states flatly, his words ringing out with absolute conviction. “I am asking if you have the most expensive quality a Knight needs.”

“Which one?” Garros frowns, his brows knitting together in utter confusion.

“Integrity.”

***

“Integrity?” King Skaernex scoffs aloud from his vantage point.

He watches the two Humans down below and slowly shakes his massive scaly head.

That Jacob Cloud is genuinely insane. The most expensive good in the world is power. Period. Even as one of the strongest warriors present in the Academy today, a Royal Dragonkin of supreme lineage, King Skaernex has felt the desperate, clawing need for more power more times than he can count in his long, battle-hardened life. And those two? Two puny, short-lived Humans standing in the dirt, actually think that power is cheap?

The crowd around the arena doesn't laugh at the ridiculous sentiment. Instead, they seem to suddenly start clamoring. The noise builds, swelling from a murmur into a wave.

“Go Garros!” a voice cuts through the ambient noise, echoing across the stone seating. It’s a first-year student from the looks of it, leaning over the barrier with his fists clenched tight.

“Garros, go win!” another chimes in from a different section.

“Garros!”

“What—” King Skaernex mutters, his reptilian eyes wide with genuine bewilderment. He simply doesn't understand. Why are they not jealous that the kid has a Rainbow Skill? The boy was handed the ultimate unfair advantage. Sure, maybe Garros Blackmere has a shot at getting stronger now. But then what? It doesn't mean that anyone else sitting in these stands has the same opportunity. They should be envious. They should be furious.

King Skaernex knows that he would have been in their shoes.

Yet, the collective voice of the students only grows louder, unifying into a rhythmic, thundering chant that shakes the foundations of the arena.

“Garros! Garros! Garros!”

***

Garros looks up at Jacob.

The young man feels the weight of Jacob's unyielding gaze, and finally gets it.

Slowly, still trembling on his legs, the apprentice Knight pushes himself off the splintered tree, standing up straighter.

“I—I never thought about it,” Garros starts, his voice barely a mumble. “But, in reality... I was ready to die at any point on my way here, and during my training. I never really valued my life that much.”

Garros slowly reaches down and grips the hilt of his weapon. He draws the sword from his side, the metal rasping softly against the scabbard, and looks down at the blade, frowning deeply.

“I heard about the first Special Quest the Champions embarked upon,” Garros says, his reflection warped in the steel. “A bunch of civilians were slaughtered by the Cult of Asmodeus in order to gather Blood Magic, or something like that. They took the weak, those who couldn't really defend themselves, and then used them as bait to reel in even more people.”

Jacob looks up at Garros from his seated position and gives a single, solemn nod.

“That is all true.”

“I guess I never had to think about it, really,” Garros continues. “My family's problem was always about trying to spawn another Stark Blackmere. They're utterly obsessed with bringing our lineage back to 'where it's supposed to be.'”

Garros looks away from the blade and meets Jacob's eyes, his lips curled in genuine disgust.

“If I think about that,” Garros says, averting his eyes, “I feel ashamed that I had to be the one to find the Rainbow Skill. I was so shocked that day that I absorbed it purely by mistake. I wished so many times I had just handed it over and told one of my brothers—it could have been a good thing to do before parting with my family forever, so I could perhaps just hide in some remote corner of the world in peace.”

“And now?” Jacob asks.

“N—now,” Garros says, trembling but with his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword as he looks at Jacob. “I—I don't mind as much. I don't mind wielding this if it's to kill those monsters. Please, Jacob, sir, teach me again.”