Final Boss - Chapter 4

Jason didn't return to the Throne Room.

Instead, he found himself walking back toward the Black Gate, drawn by questions he couldn't shake. The entity in the Sealed Wing was a problem for later, when he had more information and, apparently, more power. But Korveth's words kept circling through his mind.

That remains to be seen, my Sovereign. I will be watching.

The knight had served Jaxarion for over six centuries. He'd held the Black Gate against seventeen attempted invasions. He'd rebuilt himself from the ashes of catastrophic failure into something that would never fail again.

And he didn't trust Jason.

That was fair, honestly. Jason didn't entirely trust himself either. But if he was going to survive the next five months, he needed his lieutenants on his side. Not just obedient, but genuinely allied with him.

Starting with the one who'd just admitted to evaluating whether he should be protected or eliminated.

Korveth stood exactly where Jason had left him, motionless before the massive gate like a statue carved from shadow and steel. The violet light in his helm flickered as Jason approached, the only indication that he was aware of the Sovereign's return.

"You have returned, my Sovereign." It wasn't a question. "The Sealed Wing proved... uninviting?"

"Something like that." Jason stopped a few feet from the knight, close enough for conversation but far enough to avoid seeming confrontational. "I have questions, Korveth. About the world beyond these walls."

"Then ask them." The knight's helm tilted slightly. "It is my duty to serve. Information is a form of service."

Jason considered where to begin. He knew the broad strokes of the world he'd designed, the kingdoms and conflicts and power structures that formed the backdrop of Void Throne Online's narrative. But knowing what he'd written wasn't the same as understanding what had actually happened over three centuries of Jaxarion's rule.

"The mortal kingdoms," he said. "Thessaly mentioned they've grown bold during my... slumber. Tell me about them."

Korveth was silent for a moment, and Jason got the impression the knight was organizing his thoughts with the same precision he applied to everything else.

"Seven major powers remain, my Sovereign. The Solarian Empire, diminished but not destroyed. The Merchant Confederation of the Eastern Shores. The Theocracy of the Radiant Dawn. The Northern Clans, united under their current warmaster. The Kingdom of Thornwall. The Free Cities of the River Delta. And the Arcane Collective, though they prefer to be considered above such mundane classifications."

Seven. Jason had designed twelve major kingdoms for the game's world map, but that had been before Jaxarion's rise to power. It made sense that some would have fallen during the Void Sovereign's reign of conquest.

"The Solarian Empire," he said, latching onto the name. "That's where Aelindra comes from. The Dawn Knight."

"You remember." Something shifted in Korveth's voice, though Jason couldn't identify what. "Yes. The Solarian capital fell during your last emergence. Their royal family was eliminated. Their armies were broken. They retreated to their eastern provinces and have spent the past three centuries rebuilding." A pause. "They have not forgotten what you took from them."

What you took from them. Not "we" or "the Sanctum." Korveth placed the responsibility squarely on Jaxarion's shoulders.

On Jason's shoulders, now.

"The other kingdoms," Jason said, pushing past the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. "How do they view the Sanctum?"

"With fear. With hatred. With grudging respect." Korveth's gauntlet tightened on his warhammer. "The Theocracy considers you an abomination to be purged from existence. The Merchant Confederation cares only for profit and would trade with devils if the margins were favorable. The Northern Clans respect strength above all else, and you have demonstrated strength beyond their ability to match. The others fall somewhere between these extremes."

"And the Arcane Collective?"

"They study you." A note of distaste crept into Korveth's voice. "Mages have no loyalty beyond their pursuit of knowledge. They would dissect Lady Thessaly if given the chance, simply to understand how her sight functions. Your existence represents a magical phenomenon they cannot explain, and that vexes them greatly."

Jason filed that information away. The Arcane Collective might be useful allies if approached correctly, or they might try to experiment on him. Probably best to avoid them until he understood more about his situation.

"You mentioned seventeen attempted invasions," he said. "Tell me about the most recent one."

Korveth's posture shifted, becoming somehow even more rigid. "The Coalition of Light. One hundred and twelve years ago. A unified force from the Theocracy, the Solarian remnant, and three of the Free Cities. Twenty thousand soldiers. Forty siege engines. A hundred mages working in concert." Those violet eyes burned brighter. "They believed numbers would carry them where previous attempts had failed."

"And?"

"They reached the Black Gate." The words came slowly, weighted with memory. "I held the passage for nineteen days. Lady Veyra conducted strikes against their supply lines. Sir Malachar led counterattacks against their flanks. Lady Thessaly provided intelligence on their movements and weaknesses." A pause. "On the twentieth day, you emerged from the Sanctum."

Jason's stomach knotted. "What happened?"

"You ended it." Korveth's voice held no judgment, only a statement of fact. "In less than an hour, the Coalition of Light ceased to exist as a fighting force. Those who survived the initial assault fled. Those who could not flee... did not survive."

Twenty thousand soldiers. An hour. Jason thought about the skills listed in his ability menu, the devastating attacks he'd designed for a raid boss who was supposed to challenge forty coordinated players. Against ordinary soldiers, even thousands of them...

"How many?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"The Coalition withdrew with approximately three thousand survivors." Korveth's helm tilted. "You were thorough."

Seventeen thousand people. Jaxarion, the character Jason had designed to be an ultimate challenge for players, had killed seventeen thousand people in a single afternoon.

And now Jason was wearing that character's body, wielding that character's power, carrying that character's history.

"You seem disturbed, my Sovereign." Korveth's observation cut through Jason's spiraling thoughts. "This is... unusual. Previously, such matters did not trouble you."

Jason forced himself to meet those burning violet eyes. "Perhaps they should have."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with implications. Korveth studied him with an intensity that made Jason want to fidget, but he held himself still. This was the moment. Either the knight would accept this new direction, or he would decide that Jason was unfit to rule.

"I told you," Korveth finally said, "that I see change as something to be evaluated. Weighed. Judged."

"You did."

"A sovereign who does not question is a sovereign who does not grow." The knight's voice softened, just slightly. "I served a paladin order once. Before. They taught that the greatest leaders were those who carried the weight of their decisions, who understood that power demands wisdom, not merely strength."

Jason blinked. This was more than Korveth had said about his past in any of the game's lore entries. Those documents mentioned his failure, his fall, his transformation into the Void's guardian. They never mentioned what he believed before all of that.

"What happened to that order?" Jason asked carefully.

"They died. Along with everyone else, I failed to protect. Twelve thousand, eight hundred, and forty-seven souls. I speak their names each night so they are not forgotten."

Jason's throat felt tight. He'd written that detail, the nightly recitation of names, as flavor text for a lore entry. A tragic quirk to make the boss feel more sympathetic. Now he was hearing it from the man himself, and it wasn't flavor text anymore. It was a ritual of grief that had continued for six centuries without pause.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For your loss."

Korveth went still in a way that had nothing to do with his usual stoic demeanor. For several seconds, he said nothing at all.

"In six hundred and forty-three years of service," the knight finally said, "you have never expressed sympathy for my past. Not once." Those violet eyes searched Jason's face with something that might have been wonder. "You have changed, my Sovereign. Profoundly. I do not understand how, or why." A pause. "But I begin to believe it may be for the better."

It wasn't trust. Not yet. But it was a step toward something that might become trust, given time.

"The heroes," Jason said, steering the conversation back to practical matters before the moment could become too raw. "When they come, and they will come, they'll have to fight through the same defenses that broke the Coalition. The soldiers. The lieutenants." He met Korveth's gaze. "You."

"Yes."

"I don't want that to happen."

Another stretch of silence, longer than the last. Korveth's massive frame seemed to hum with tension, as if Jason had said something impossible.

"My Sovereign," he said slowly, "with respect, I do not understand. The heroes exist to destroy you. That is their purpose. The Void Sovereign and the chosen champions are destined enemies. It has always been thus."

"Has it?" Jason thought about the Event Timeline, the scheduled progression of conflicts leading inevitably to this room, this throne, this final confrontation. Someone had designed that timeline. In the game, it had been him and his development team.

Here, in this world that had become real, who was writing the script?

"Destiny is a convenient excuse," he said, testing the words as he spoke them. "A way to avoid responsibility for the choices we make. The heroes will grow strong. They'll clear the raids, gather the artifacts, and follow the path laid out for them. But at the end of that path, there's supposed to be a war. A final battle. Thousands dead on both sides." He shook his head. "I'm not interested in playing out that script."

Korveth was quiet for a very long time.

"You speak," he said at last, "as if you know what the script contains. As if you have read the ending before it was written."

Jason's heart hammered. That was dangerously close to the truth.

"Let's say I have... intuitions," he said carefully. "About how these things tend to play out. And I don't like what my intuitions are telling me."

The knight considered this, that massive helm turning slightly as if he were looking at something only he could see.

"I once believed in scripts," Korveth said. "Prophecies. The will of the gods. I believed that if I fought hard enough, stood firm enough, the powers above would ensure victory." His gauntlet tightened on his warhammer until the metal creaked. "I learned otherwise. The gods do not intervene. Prophecies are lies dressed in pretty language. And scripts..." A sound that might have been a bitter laugh. "Scripts are written by those with the power to write them. They can be rewritten by those with the will to try."

It was the closest thing to hope Jason had heard since waking up in this world.

"Then help me rewrite it," he said. "You and the other lieutenants. Thessaly, Veyra, Malachar. We have five months before the heroes reach a point where they can challenge us. Five months to find another way."

"Another way." Korveth tested the phrase like it were a foreign concept. "And if no other way exists?"

"Then we'll have tried. And maybe the trying will matter, even if we fail." Jason smiled grimly. "That's more than most people get."

The knight was silent again, but it was a different kind of silence. Contemplative rather than evaluative. When he spoke, his voice had changed, losing some of its formal rigidity.

"I have held this gate for six hundred years, my Sovereign. I have stood against armies, against heroes of ages past, against the dying fury of civilizations. I have never questioned my purpose, only my ability to fulfill it." He turned to face Jason fully, and there was something new in those burning eyes. "You ask me to question the purpose itself. To consider that the battle I have prepared for my entire existence might not need to be fought."

"Is that a problem?"

"It is... unfamiliar." The helm dipped slightly, almost a bow. "But I find that I am not opposed to unfamiliar things. Not anymore." A pause. "I will consider your words, my Sovereign. I will watch, and I will weigh. And when the time comes to choose, I will choose based on what I have seen."

It wasn't a commitment. Not yet. But it was the first step toward one, and Jason would take what he could get.

"That's all I ask," he said.

Korveth nodded once, then turned back to face the Black Gate, resuming his eternal vigil. But something had shifted between them. The evaluation wasn't over, but it had moved in a direction that felt like progress.

Jason stood beside him for a moment longer, looking at the massive gate and thinking about what lay beyond it. Kingdoms that remembered Jaxarion's cruelty. Heroes destined to bring him down. A world that had every reason to want him dead.

Five months to change the story. Five months to find a path that didn't end in blood and ashes.

He turned to leave, his mind already moving to the next task. He had two more lieutenants to meet. Veyra, the spymaster who watched everything and trusted nothing. Malachar, the young knight who trained too hard and pushed himself too far.

Thessaly had been curious. Korveth was cautiously evaluating. How would the other two react to his changes?

There was only one way to find out.