“My master’s son, Lavrev—King Lavrev,” the Mithril Golem says, “he was possibly the most benevolent King the world has ever witnessed. Yet, he was not a fool. He was a supreme judge of character among the greats in history. In this, even though it pains me to admit, he was even sharper than his own father.”

  The Mithril Golem points at the ground below, “you will undergo a test that King Lavrev designed to appoint trusted councilmen and men and women of state. Before he put someone in charge of others, he had to be absolutely sure that their heart was pure.”

  At that, the construct turns toward Jacob, “those like you, Jacob Cloud, the schemers, the strategists, those who were born without power and crave it above everything else—” The creature then turns toward Nimirea. “They’re not that different from damned souls enslaved by the Evil Gods… like her.”

  “You know nothing of me, creature,” Nimirea hisses. “Enslaved? I was liberated.”

  “Monsters will never understand what it’s like to have the real spark of life,” the Mithril Golem says, his words dripping with the most hate Jacob has heard so far. “But it does not matter. You will all fail. King Lavrev’s test was the reason the duration of his Kingdom marked the start and end of an entire era.”

  “So, how will we be tested?” Jacob asks.

  “Jump in the chamber below. In the magma,” the Mithril Golem says with a smile.

  Everyone looks at each other and Filr’etk shouts, “are you insane?! That’s Mana-rich magma! It will cook all of us—”

  He cuts himself short when he sees Nimirea walking past him and jumping into the hole in the floor without saying a word.

  The woman falls down into the magma and enters it with barely a splash, immediately sinking into it. Jacob follow closely behind without even batting an eye.

  Boomgar looks at Zibrek and then nods, walking forward.

  “Are you sure?” The Goblin asks him.

  “The lad is somehow always right on this stuff. If he jumps, I jump.”

  And so Boomgar too jumps into the hole, plunging straight toward the magma.

  Filr’etk watches horrified as everyone sinks in the magma with a large splash and disappears below its surface, with not even bubbles as witnesses to what he thinks marked their death.

  “I’m not going to give my life for a bunch of fools,” Filr’etk says. “Count me out.”

  “If you don’t join, even if Nimirea Arendor were to win, you wouldn’t receive any Star Metal.”

  “I’m not magma-proof,” Filr’etk says with a disgusted expression. “Just send me home. This is foolish.”

  Narfikara, moments after Filr’etk disappears into the dimensional magic of the Mithril Golem, walking to the hole with her eyes closed, and then jumps.

  Zibrek, hearing that, starts gathering her courage, whispering under her breath.

  “Jacob, if you kill me like this… if I die so stupidly, I swear on everything I hold dear…” she peers at the lake of magma down below and takes a deep breath. “I’ll haunt you in the afterlife and as many lives you’ll ever have after.”

  That said, Zibrek puts on her goggles, clamps her nose with two fingers, and jumps, praying to high heaven that this will not be her last day.

  She await for the impact with the magma, but suddenly, she feels the wind that had been howling around her and the terrifying heat suddenly disappear.

  “A nice trick, lass, isn’t it?”

  Zibrek opens her eyes to see Boomgar in front of her, and just a few feet beside him Jacob, examining a large marble sign with a bunch of golden text.

  “What was that?” The Goblin asks, removing her goggles and caressing her nose—she pinched it way too hard because the nerves. “Where the hell are we?”

  “The Labyrinth of Marble,” Jacob says, taking a step back so that Zibrek can take a look at the sign.

  “Welcome to the Labyrinth of Marble, friend,” Zibrek reads the sign out loud, “I, your liege, have the utmost trust in all my subjects. But I can’t afford the same trust on behalf of every other subject of mine. Therefore, I ask you that you kindly go through this labyrinth. At each intersection, you, and those with you, will see one normal path, your current fate and Karma, and a different one. If you’re to pass this trial, you shall always keep on the current fate.”

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  “That sounds easy enough,” Boomgar comments. “What’s the catch?”

  “This sign is alleging that it can change our damn future, Boomgar,” Zibrek hisses. “This certainly can’t be true, can it?”

  Zibrek turns to Jacob, who is looking pensive.

  “Jacob?” She prods him with a finger.

  “The Labyrinth can change the fate of those who walk it,” a slightly-familiar voice comes. “I’ve helped my son carve it myself.”

  “Master Rafnov,” Jacob suddenly says, bowing his head slightly.

  “Just a memory, child,” the voice comes with a laugh. “Enjoy the walk.”

  And just like that, the voice disappears.

  “That was not much information, but… if this really changes futures, we’res—I don’t know—in the most insane relic I’ve ever even heard of,” Boomgar says. “Lad, you and your damn luck, I swear.”

  “I suppose,” Jacob says. “Now, let’s go. The rules are pretty clear.”

  As soon as all three get close to the sign, a wall opens to reveal a smooth, white marbled corridor.

  “This place is spotless,” Boomgar says, examining the marble in the first few steps of the corridor. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s brimming with Mana. It’s… I can feel my own Mana being nourished just by being here.”

  “If the amount of power in this labyrinth is indication of anything, it’s definitely legit,” Zibrek nods.

  Soon, barely a couple of yards into the first corridor, they see the first intersection.

  Zibrek’s eyes go wide as one of the two corridors has a projection, which she supposes only she’s seeing in this current form.

  It’s her with her family smiling at her choice of having become a gunslinger.

  “Shit,” Boomgar suddenly says. “I’m seeing myself growing in height, with my body changing, becoming better as soon as it touches the Star Metal. Shit on a Goblin’s pike, this is…”

  “I can see why this would be a challenging thing,” Jacob suddenly says. “The reward at the end of the path is a bunch of responsibility for those who pass.”

  “Not for us,” Zibrek says, frowning. “Jacob, this is huge. Do you realize what this corridor is? We could literally have just one person go on and two others would be able to change their life forever.”

  “Lads,” Boomgar says. “If this is the first crossroad, I’m scared.”

  Zibrek ignores Boomgar and asks Jacob, “what are you seeing?”

  Jacob looks at the image of him and his mother fighting inside in a Dungeon—he’s grown and the images shift to several scenes of him spending time with his mother in every possible occasion.

  “Nothing. Let’s just move on. I don’t think it’s a good idea for any of us to meddle with fate, Zibrek.”

  After a brief pause, they go through the standard corridor and end up in front of another crossroad.

  This time, Boomgar swears.

  “It’s the same, it’s just better. Here I get a perfect Constitution Skill somehow, which synergizes perfectly with my current Rainbow Skill.”

  “We don’t know how long this labyrinth is,” Zibrek realizes. “This means…”

  “This means that every single crossroad could be the last,” Jacob says, looking at the moving images of him and his mother together, this time with his father as well. “So, every single future you have in front of you could very well be the last. This is devious.”

  Zibrek looks at herself receiving honors upon honors in her kingdom for her achievements.

  “Let’s… just move on,” she says, slightly hesitating.

  “Yeah,” Boomgar says, feeling depressed. “This is really bad.”

  Jacob’s eyes linger for a moment on the image and then they make their way through the standard corridor and to the next crossroad.

  For a few more intersections, the future get better and better, but it’s still manageable. However, once they choose the standard corridor for the sixth time, the seventh corridor is lined with gold at the edge of the marbled floor.

  No one says anything, anticipating the worst.

  Well, the best.

  When Zibrek looks at the image in the corridor with a different fate, her ears heat up.

  There’s her with a Mithril crown on her head, a bunch of beautiful women—her wives—by her side. She has a giant hand-rifle connected to her arm, fused with it. She emanates the kind of aura she’s only seen in painting, and, clearly, she’s achieved the greatest status she could have ever gotten. Not to talk about the—

  No. No. I’m not a lustful woman, Zibrek says, not peeling her eyes away from the beautiful women in the fate—all of different races. No. No. No. I don’t want this. I don’t want this!

  Boomgar is looking at the image of his own future and he is standing so still he thinks even his heart stopped beating.

  In this future, he’s not a Dwarf. He’s an Elf.

  I mean, it’s technically possible through some extremely rare inheritances. Look at the lad, Boomgar whispers to himself. He becomes half-Infernal… in time, he could become a full-Infernal. And his own Squire can turn into a Dragonkin… so, I could, at least theoretically turn into an Elf.

  Yet, what makes Boomgar stand so still is not the feasibility of this future, which one single inheritance could very well influence. It’s the shame. This is not even something he’s ever wished upon himself out loud.

  This is not me. This couldn’t be me… right?

  On the side, unnoticed by either of them, Jacob is shedding tears.