Chapter 56: Preparations, the Origins of Demons, and the 72 Pillars
"Miracle. Wake up, miracle."
Jakob groaned softly at the persistent voice, reluctantly stirring from a sleep he'd barely begun. For a moment, he considered ignoring the summons entirely and letting his exhaustion drag him back under, but the insistent clearing of a throat nearby made him reluctantly open his eyes.
Godfrey stood behind him with his arms crossed comfortably over his broad chest, wearing a patient smile. Behind him stood Raymond, still wary as ever, and another man Jakob didn't recognise, a priest by the look of the robes.
"Rise, Jakob," Godfrey prodded gently. "The Lord expects us to do our part today."
Jakob suppressed a groan and slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep roughly from his eyes. "I trust your sleep was better than mine, Lord Godfrey?" he muttered dryly, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Sleep is wasted on old men like me," Godfrey chuckled warmly, clearly amused by Jakob's grumbling. "Watching over young miracles is far more entertaining."
Jakob sighed, pushing himself off the makeshift bed with visible reluctance. He straightened, stretching his stiff back before eyeing the newcomer curiously.
Sensing his unspoken question, Godfrey stepped aside, motioning toward the priest who had been silently observing the exchange. "This is the boy I spoke of, Father. Our miracle: Jakob Quade."
The priest slowly stepped forward. His presence carried an air of quiet authority, but Jakob's attention was drawn immediately to the crosses adorning him: a large, ornate silver cross rested against his chest, another simpler one hung from a worn leather belt at his waist, and a third small emblem was clasped tightly around his wrist.
Sharp, pale eyes studied Jakob carefully, taking their time as if searching for something hidden in his features. Finally, the older man gave a thoughtful nod as his eyes softened slightly with recognition.
"You carry our chin, boy," he said with a quiet yet powerful tone. "And our nose, too, is unmistakably a Quade one." He paused, studying Jakob's face again, more critically this time. "But the rest of you must come from another branch. Still, there is no doubt—you're kin."
Jakob hesitated briefly before stepping forward and politely extending his hand. "It's an honour, sir… Father?"
The priest grasped Jakob's hand firmly, returning a composed nod. Behind his calm exterior, however, Jakob caught a fleeting hint of curiosity, perhaps even pride.
"You may call me Father Geoffrey," the priest answered with a friendly nod. "Lord Godfrey tells me you're the miracle sent by god. It seems my bloodline still holds some surprises."
Godfrey clapped Jakob lightly on the shoulder, nodding approvingly. As I said, Father, he is the answer to our prayers."
Father Quade released Jakob's hand and gestured toward the tent flap. "Come, young Quade. Walk with me. I'd like to hear more about your branch of the family."
As the two stepped out into the morning sunlight, Godfrey and Raymond returned to their maps, starting their planning and strategy for the day.
The priest guided Jakob slowly through the crowded encampment, clasping his hands neatly behind his back and letting his robes gently stir dust with every step.
The camp had already begun waking up, soldiers and knights sitting around small fires and eating their porridge in weary silence. They barely raised their heads as the two Quades passed, their tired faces illuminated by the faint glow of sunrise.
Jakob walked beside the priest in silence, unsure how to start a conversation with a man he'd just discovered who shared his bloodline. Occasionally, he glanced sideways at his ancestor, studying him discreetly and wondering what to make of the older man's calm demeanour.
"I met your two companions last night," Father Quade spoke suddenly, breaking the silence with a thoughtful tone. "They've been quite helpful tending the wounded."
Jakob's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he swiftly composed himself, his expression settling back into a mask of polite curiosity. "Are they alright?"
Father Quade gave him a mildly amused look. "They are unharmed, although your dark-haired companion seems far more accustomed to handling death than your red-haired one."
Jakob rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, suppressing a slight smile. "Yeah, Ivy has had a comfortable life."
They fell back into silence, broken only by the occasional respectful greetings from passing soldiers who bowed their heads or briefly paused, quietly seeking a blessing from the man of god. Jakob watched curiously, noting that the reverence shown to Father Quade surpassed even the respect given to some of the high-ranking nobles he'd encountered.
"You seem very popular," Jakob noted casually after another young soldier hastily bowed and murmured his gratitude. "Does everyone here know who you are?"
"No more than the usual priest," Geoffrey replied lightly, though his eyes slid subtly toward Jakob with a brief, cautious suspicion that went unnoticed.
They continued their walk, leaving the heart of the camp behind them, the towering walls of Jerusalem rising to their left, casting long shadows over their path.
"Godfrey truly believes you were sent here by God," Father Quade started in a calm voice but carrying an undercurrent of quiet intensity. "He was very vivid when he described your arrival. Even I find it difficult not to see the hand of the Almighty in this."
Jakob frowned slightly, sensing the priest's true intentions hadn't yet surfaced. "But I don't think that's really what you wanted to discuss with me, especially not this far from the encampment."
Father Quade slowed his steps, eventually stopping altogether. He turned toward the teen, narrowing his eyes as if searching for something hidden beneath the boy's composed expression.
"These people may not notice the enchantments sewn into your robes or the invisible holster strapped to your right arm, but I'm not blind," he said quietly. "I see more than you realise."
Jakob held the man's gaze, uncertain whether this distant ancestor was a threat or an ally.
"I won't lie," Jakob began cautiously. "You're of my blood. Quade is my name. But I'm curious, how do you see through all this?"
The priest's lips twitched into something that might have been amusement. "Magic runs through my veins as well," he answered simply. "Though the lord's gifts that are bestowed onto me are only served to those who honour him."
"You truly believe in him, then?" Jakob asked, not being able to hide the scepticism in his tone.
Father Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. "He's far more than a man. But if you have to ask, then perhaps belief doesn't run deeply enough in you yet." His voice hardened slightly. "As we share blood, I'll give you one chance. Tell me honestly why you're here."
Jakob knew honesty wasn't an option; he couldn't just admit he'd travelled from the future to steal the sand. Instead, he crafted a careful half-truth.
"I've heard stories of your religion and wanted to see it for myself," Jakob said calmly. "My family would disapprove, so my friends and I came secretly. We didn't realise we'd find the city under siege, but we're willing to help."
Geoffrey watched him silently for a moment longer before his expression softened.
"You might be a convincing liar," Geoffrey murmured. "But your offered aid speaks louder than my suspicion for the moment. Perhaps there's truth hidden somewhere in your story."
He turned, gesturing for Jakob to follow as they resumed their walk.
"So," Geoffrey asked, "what interests you most about our Lord? His miracles? Perhaps when he walked on water, or when he rose a man from death, or casting out demons and caging them to pigs?"
Jakob stopped short. "Demons? You actually know about them?"
Geoffrey gave him a cautious side glance. "Why do demons catch your attention?"
"I've crossed paths with them before," Jakob admitted tightly. "And I've no idea how to protect myself, or better, how to kill them."
At this, Geoffrey visibly relaxed, offering Jakob a faint smile.
From a distance, two knights stood watching the pair.
"What do you reckon he's telling the lad?" asked one knight, leaning lazily on his sword.
The other chuckled and shook his head. "Knowing Father Quade? Probably lecturing him till he begs to go home." He paused briefly before smirking, turning to his friend. "Remember the beating he gave us when we nicked those apples?"
His friend laughed openly, nodding. "Couldn't sit for days, and mother—"
Their conversation ended abruptly when their captain barked an order, prompting them to hurry off, leaving Jakob and Geoffrey unnoticed once more.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey turned back toward Jakob before lowering his voice.
"There is a book that I can show you. And having a bit of knowledge myself, I could teach you while we are here. If that is something you wish, of course."
Jakob met Geoffrey's eyes and nodded with a grateful yet curious gaze.
"Father," he began carefully, "I appreciate your help, but why are you doing all this?"
Geoffrey gave a soft chuckle before he turned to watch the rising sun with a distant look in his eyes.
"I never had children myself," he said quietly. "Only a younger brother and sister. My sister died from dragon pox when we were young, and my brother, well, he chose to distance himself once I began aiding the non-magical folk and found faith." Geoffrey's smile faded slightly. "When Godfrey spoke of you, he told me you were sent by god himself, here to help us win this war. Perhaps you're proof that faith is rewarded, after all."
They strolled back toward the encampment, agreeing to begin their lessons the following morning.
"I'll send someone to guide you back to your friends tonight," Geoffrey said warmly, waving goodbye.
Jakob returned a slight bow before turning toward the tent entrance, where two knights stood, stiff and still in their full armour, staring at him through a narrow sloth in their helmets.
Jakob stepped closer, examining the heavy metal plates. The armour looked impossibly uncomfortable with the sun climbing higher and hotter overhead. He hesitated before clearing his throat.
"Um," Jakob began, snapping his fingers as he tried recalling the correct French phrase, closing his eyes in concentration. "Chaud... à l'intérieur?"
The knights glanced at each other before they simultaneously broke off into soft laughter.
"Your French is awful," the knight on the right answered with a grin. "But yes. Feels like I'm getting cooked alive in here."
Jakob frowned slightly. Of course, it was awful; he'd only started learning it yesterday.
"I'll find something cold for you both," he said, stepping inside the tent and noting the knights dipping their heads gratefully as he passed.
"Ah, monsieur Quade! We've been waiting eagerly for your return," Godfrey greeted him with a relieved sigh. "I trust the priest treated you kindly? No beatings?"
Jakob smiled briefly, noting the tension that seemed to drain from the older man's posture.
"He was very good to me," Jakob replied calmly, stepping closer to the table. "Although you might want someone to bring water to your guards outside, they're roasting alive in their armour."
Godfrey raised his eyebrows in surprise, then he smiled warmly and turned toward a young servant standing nearby. "Tremper les gardes dans l'eau, ils ont mérité les louanges de notre miracle."
The boy hurried off immediately while Godfrey shifted his attention back to Jakob, who now stood beside the table, examining the newly placed pieces on the map.
"We've done as you suggested," Raymond of Normandy announced with newfound pride, stepping forward to address Jakob directly. "If God wills it, we shall have two siege towers and a battering ram ready within two days."
Jakob glanced toward Godfrey, seeking direction for the next step. The older man approached and pointed decisively toward the city's main gate on the map.
"Our primary attack will focus here," Godfrey explained. "We'll position the siege towers on either side of the gate."
Jakob studied the faces around him, all of them eagerly awaiting his approval. Feeling a sudden weariness settle in his bones, he hesitated. He had already provided them with unexpected success by telling them about the ships, but he wasn't a miracle worker, despite what they believed.
"You have three legions at your command," Jakob began carefully, meeting each man's eyes in turn. "Yet you're placing all your hopes on breaching the most heavily guarded point of the city. Have your scouts not identified any weaker sections?"
Silence stretched for a moment before a younger man—barely eighteen by Jakob's estimation—cleared his throat and cautiously raised a hand. He glanced briefly toward the older knight beside him, who shared his features, before speaking.
"Our scouts noticed a vulnerable section here," the youth explained, pointing to the northern side of the city wall. "It's not as heavily fortified as the southern gate."
Jakob nodded thoughtfully, encouraging him to continue.
"We believe their defences on that side are weaker," the young man finished, briefly glancing at the elder beside him for support.
Raymond of Normandy gave a thoughtful nod, but another nobleman quickly interjected. "It's too risky. Dividing our forces will alert them—"
Jakob silenced the man with a sharp glare. The speaker halted mid-sentence before glancing around nervously and sinking back into his seat.
"Then we create a distraction," Jakob continued, in a calculated, steady tone."Split your forces. Move the main army under the cover of night toward the weaker northern side while openly preparing for an assault on the southern gate. Jerusalem will focus their defences there, leaving your northern force free to strike at dawn."
Silence stretched for a moment. The gathered men exchanged uncertain glances, but Godfrey merely shook his head.
"A clever suggestion, but we won't have enough time. The sun will rise before we even reach position."
Jakob sighed as he observed the map; this was going to take a while. Hours passed as the nobles, the self-proclaimed ruler, and Jakob pored over maps, debating tactics, and offering ideas, yet none were satisfactory. Every plan crumbled over some large or small detail; every strategy always seemed to hit a dead end.
Godfrey finally sighed, rubbing his right temple. "Perhaps wisdom will come after the service at the Mount of Olives."
Jakob, who had been absently tracing his fingers over the map, stilled, and his gaze snapped up.
"Wait—what did you just say?"
Godfrey frowned at him. "The service at the Mount of Olives?"
Jakob's eyes narrowed. "Yes. When is it?" He gestured for Godfrey to continue.
"In two days. Father Quade is leading it. We'll gather for the final prayer in the evening."
Jakob laughed in victory and leaned down over the table.
"That's it! We will gather there and perform the service. Then, when night falls, half of the army will light two torches each and return to the southern side," he said excitedly, pointing toward the south wall.
"The rest of us move in darkness to the northern side, and when sunrise commences, so does our attack."
The men stared at him again, then turned to their leader. Godfrey, however, had looked at the map with wide eyes as if he was silently going over the plan to see if it was bulletproof before slowly turning his gaze to Jakob. A wide smile appeared as he opened his arms and embraced the young wizard.
"Superbe! You are truly sent from god!"
They remained in the tent a while longer, and dinner was brought in as they continued refining strategies, finding the best way to move the army past the watchful eyes along the walls.
When the meeting finally ended, the noblemen filtered out one by one, leaving Jakob to sink into his chair, closing his eyes, entirely mentally drained. Godfrey had patted his shoulder on the way out, and Jakob sighed in relief. It could work. If it did, he would finally have his damned sand.
Then, a sudden movement caught his attention. A man entered the tent, carrying something heavy. He moved toward the confused Quade heir with steady steps.
"Ils m'ont dit de t'aider avec ça," spoke the armoured, bearded man, now standing in front of Jakob before dropping the heavy armour and white tunic with the red cross onto the floor.
Jakob's eyes widened in shock, and he immediately raised his hands in protest.
"No. I'm not wearing that."
The man huffed in frustration, picking up the chainmail and pressing it against Jakob's chest as if dealing with a complete fool.
The two immediately fell into a heated argument, their words overlapping in different languages. Jakob's sharp English clashed against the soldier's rapid French, neither willing to back down. As the minutes passed, the exchange grew more agitated, and slight shoves began to mix into their disagreement.
Jakob's frustration only deepened as he caught the swearing spilling from the Frenchman's mouth.
"I will end you. I have done worse for less. No, get the fuck off me!" He shoved the soldier back, but the man only chuckled darkly, saying something else in French before flipping the chainmail upside down with a look that sent a clear message. Whether Jakob liked it or not, he was going to wear the armour, even if he had to put it on him with force.
"That's it, you are getting cursed," Jakob snapped, shoving the immovable wall of a man once more to clear some space between them. His hand darted toward his wand, ready to put an end to this nonsense right then and there.
"You are a part of this crusade now, son. It's time you look the part."
Jakob's head jerked toward the entrance. Father Quade had stepped inside with an unreadable expression as he nodded toward the angry man. Without hesitation, the knight gave a slight bow and left the tent.
Jakob sighed. "This is your doing?"
The priest walked up to him, hunched down, and picked up the shirt of metal rings.
"You will not be fighting in those clothes. You will be at the front with Godfrey, and god will at least be humbled by you showing him some respect."
Father Quade glanced around, then waved his cross over the armour, mumbling something under his breath before handing it to Jakob. Jakob's reluctant expression turned to one of surprise to find that it felt light, almost like a simple hoodie.
"Is that cross your—"
"Connection to God? Yes, it is. And we will never speak of this again. Get dressed and meet me outside when you are done, son."
Jakob sighed as he watched the priest step outside.
"Being teleported a thousand years back in time, and I still have a father that calls me 'son' the same way," he mumbled irritably, shaking his head as he pulled off the black dress gifted to him by Ravenclaw.
He reached for the first layer—a long, white linen under a tunic that felt rough against his skin. The fabric was thick and slightly stiff and was designed more for practicality than comfort. Slipping it over his head, he adjusted it over his shoulders, the loose sleeves waving slightly as he moved.
The matching striped and tight chausses were the next piece. Jakob had to fiddle with some unfamiliar leggings before securing it with a simple cord belt at his waist. His gaze landed on the accompanying hat, a soft, coif-like head covering meant to be worn under the helmet.
"Nope. Not wearing that."
Without hesitation, he tossed it aside and moved on, not thinking in the slightest why he had a problem with hats as he reached for the padded gambeson. The thick quilted fabric felt heavier than it looked, designed to absorb the shock of blows beneath the armour. As he slid it on, he winced at the stiffness, the material restricting his movements slightly as he fastened the endless ties running down the front and sleeves. It was hot, unbearably so, but necessary.
Next came the chainmail. An interwoven mesh of metal rings that was cold to the touch. He lifted the now almost weightless armour and silently thanked Father Quade for making it so before slipping it over his head. It settled on his shoulders, draping down to mid-thigh with the sleeves ending just before his wrists. Jakob shifted his arms, adjusting to the unfamiliar pressure and hearing the links clink softly with each movement. The mail coif that was still lying on the chair was quickly disregarded with the same disdain as the hat.
Over the chainmail, he donned the white surcoat, a sleeveless tunic bearing the bold red cross on its chest. It was lightweight, meant to protect the mail from the sun's heat, though it did little to ease the discomfort. The matching white cloak, embroidered with the same crimson symbol, was the final layer, fastened at his shoulder with a silver brooch.
The fit was surprisingly perfect. He moved experimentally, testing his weight and flexibility. Though it was a foreign feeling, it wasn't entirely unmanageable. The weight settled over him like a second skin, and despite the stiffness, there was something strangely fitting about it. Almost like he was born to wear it.
"Everything for a chance of finding the sand," he sighed, stepping over to his bag. Carefully folding the black dress, he placed it inside before reaching for the sword Gryffindor gifted him. The steel caught the dim candlelight as he lifted it, the weight far more familiar than the armour he now wore. Tying the hilt to his belt, he sighed, glancing down at himself. It wasn't what he was used to, but it would do.
When he walked out of the tent, Godfrey turned and looked at him, clearly impressed by the outfit.
"The colour of light suits you. And you fill out the armour nicely. It would have been a shame if you looked like a walking stick."
Jakob rolled his shoulders, still adjusting to the unfamiliar feel of the chainmail. "Not sure if I should be insulted or flattered."
Geoffrey, who had been standing nearby, smirked as he eyed Jakob's attire. "You look the part, at least. Perhaps with some divine intervention, you might even act the part and pray with me this evening."
Jakob scoffed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Father; there is still much preparation at hand."
Godfrey chuckled. "No faith in miracles, then?"
"Oh, I believe in miracles," Jakob said dryly, adjusting the sword at his hip. "I just think they're a bit more selective than you lot give them credit for."
Geoffrey let out a short laugh before stepping closer, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Before we go, I need a moment of your time, Jakob."
Godfrey glanced between them before nodding. "Don't take too long. I need my miracle before we head out."
Geoffrey acknowledged the request before turning and walking out of the camp with Jakob walking beside him.
"This bloody armour is unpleasant and cooking me from the inside," Jakob mumbled, adjusting it roughly as he walked, feeling the heat pressing in on him like an oven.
Geoffrey chuckled and stopped in his tracks, taking his cross in hand. He murmured a prayer in Latin, the words rolling off his tongue in a steady rhythm before pressing the cross firmly against Jakob's chest.
Jakob frowned at first, but his eyes fluttered shut as a sudden wave of cold washed over him, spreading from the point of contact like a bucket of pleasantly chilled water poured over his body. He sighed as his earlier discomfort eased, making the suffocating heat more bearable now.
Geoffrey finished the incantation and slowly pulled the cross back. Jakob opened his eyes, glancing down curiously before looking at the priest.
"A cooling charm?"
Geoffrey shook his head. "No, I use prayers to make the Lord bless the armour, as you can see." He tapped the spot where the cross had just been.
Jakob looked down, his eyebrows raising slightly as he noticed a faint cross-like symbol now imprinted on the white tabard. His mind instantly analysed it. Had the priest just created a rune?
He wanted to ask more but resisted, already knowing that Geoffrey would only reply with a cryptic answer, likely woven with faith for good measure. So, instead, Jakob settled on another question as they continued their walk.
Jakob kicked a loose stone, creating a small cloud of dust from the dry and cracked ground beneath.
A warm breeze stirred the air and lightly shifted his hair, carrying the faint scent of burning wood and distant smells from the bustling camp ahead.
"Where are we going?" Jakob questioned, glancing toward the camp further in the distance, noticing the banners swaying lazily in the heat.
"They say you are smarter than ten grown men. Refrain from doing something so obvious as asking that question to prove them wrong," Godfrey said dryly. "I told you we would meet your companions earlier, and I am a man of my word."
Jakob turned his gaze forward, now understanding that they were heading toward the follower camp. He glanced down at the armour again as an understanding frown made its appearance.
"You did this on purpose," he deadpanned. "You think this will make my friends start believing in your God, which in turn will turn me too."
The priest chuckled, amused that Jakob had caught on to his little stunt.
"You know what? You might be smarter than five of them."
Jakob shot him an unimpressed look.
"What actually says that your God is different from the other ones?" Jakob asked casually, though his eyes held something else behind them. "Someone told me that the old gods were just demons hiding and adapting to our world."
Geoffrey halted, turning to face him, his expression suddenly turning more serious.
"You are correct in your assumptions of the older gods," he said in a low but firm voice. "They have many faces and bring cloaked gifts to those who worship them. The difference between them and the true god is straightforward. Can you guess what that is?"
Jakob considered the question before shaking his head.
Geoffrey resumed walking, but slower this time, as if giving him space to think. "Then we will start our first lesson now. What is it that demons crave more than anything else?"
Jakob stepped over a patch of uneven ground, his boots crunching against the dry earth. "Souls?" he answered, though it came out more as a question.
The priest nodded. "Good. Now tell me, how would a demon go about receiving as many souls as possible while doing as little work as possible?"
Jakob thought momentarily, his eyes drifting to the torches burning in the distance. The dry wind carried the distant sounds of flickering flames and murmuring voices from the camps. The evening had fully settled, the heat of the day lingering but no longer suffocating.
"Sacrifices."
The priest hummed in amusement, giving an approving smile. "Maybe six full-grown men."
Jakob raised an eyebrow, shooting the man beside him a glance. Geoffrey seemed as calm and relaxed as ever as if discussing the simplest of matters. He gave the younger wizard a smirk before continuing.
"So, knowing this, it's hard for someone like you and me to have faith in any god, correct?"
Jakob mulled over the words before shrugging, then nodded, focusing entirely on the priest.
"So what would the true God have to prove to us to not be discarded as another demon?"
Jakob frowned at the question. Was there really anything a 'god' could do to prove he wasn't just another demon? Geoffrey waited patiently as he saw the teen working through the thought.
With each step, Jakob's sword and armour let out a dull, rhythmic clatter, blending into the quiet hum of the evening. Finally, he spoke.
"That he didn't require any sacrifices."
Geoffrey clapped his hands once, the sharp sound breaking through the still air, making Jakob nearly flinch.
"Exactly, son! You are sure as smart as seven grown men."
Jakob gave a quick smile in appreciation but then fell into deep thought. Geoffrey watched him with a knowing glint in his eye.
"Let me guess, you're wondering what the catch is?"
Jakob turned to him, slightly surprised, which only made Father Quade chuckle.
"I have asked that question myself once. A god with no hidden agenda? That only wants us to have faith and repent for our sins?" Geoffrey shook his head, still smiling as if amused by the very idea.
"But you see, son, that is harder than taking any life. To still have faith when your prayers aren't answered, when a loved one is needlessly killed, or when you are tempted by other powers. To still stand strong and believe in Jesus and God, that is what he truly wants."
"He wants endless loyalty?" Jakob questioned.
"It's hard to describe what faith is like. You might believe it's loyalty, love, and devotion, but it's more than that. It's like describing a colour to a man who has been blind his whole life."
Jakob frowned; he wanted to understand, but the concept of believing in something that he had no proof of existing was something the young teen only thought absurd.
"You are pretty good at talking, Father, but I'm afraid I must disappoint you." His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. "We might have the same enemy, but I will never kneel before anyone. Not to god and not to this man you call Jesus. To rely on someone or something for safety is the very reason demons have such control over humanity. It's a weakness."
Geoffrey remained unbothered, his expression still as calm as ever. "I won't expect you to turn to our saviour in a day, son. You might not ever, but understanding is always a great source of power. But know this, there is no sin that god won't forgive. Faith is the light that guides you through the darkness."
Jakob frowned at that last sentence, his mind immediately catching on to the word darkness. There was something about the way the priest said it; it was too deliberate and too knowing.
Did he know something he shouldn't?
His green eyes flicked to Geoffrey's face, searching for any sign of intention, but the priest remained unreadable as if he hadn't just said something that made Jakob's skin prickle.
Instead of pressing further, Jakob turned his gaze forward. The follower camp loomed closer, the sounds of people moving, speaking, laughing, and mingling with the wind. His attention shifted, narrowing in on two figures just ahead with their backs turned toward him. Two girls.
Jakob smiled as he recognised the red-haired and dark-haired girl sitting in front of a fire, surrounded by four other women. They were eating and laughing, seemingly unaware of the two approaching figures.
As Jakob and Geoffrey walked up, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. The four women nearest to the fire fell silent, their eyes widening as they took in the knight clad in white and red standing beside the priest.
Pansy and Ivy, noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, turned around. Their expressions shifted instantly, a mixture of shock and curiosity crossing their faces as they took in the armoured figure before them.
Jakob smirked. "You're alive and behaving. That's a plus."
His voice seemed to shake them from their daze, and the moment true recognition hit, Ivy's mouth fell open. A deep red blush spread across her face, and to her surprise, she lost her grip on her bowl of stew.
"Shit," she whispered, hurriedly bending down to scoop up the mess as the other women giggled at her reaction.
Pansy, on the other hand, didn't waste time on embarrassment. She stood up, ignoring Ivy's flustered state as she stepped toward Jakob. Her eyes scanned his armour, taking in the way it fit him, the way it changed his entire presence.
A small blush, one identical to Ivy's, crept onto her face. "You look… nice."
Jakob gave her an amused glance, with one brow slightly raised as if teasing her without words.
Beside him, Geoffrey cleared his throat.
Jakob bit back a chuckle before turning his attention to Ivy. "Right. Um, Ivy, forget about the bowl and come here."
The redhead hesitated for half a second before standing up, still looking as though she was processing the sight in front of her. Her steps were hesitant, her gaze flicking from his armour to his face like she was trying to reconcile the image of the man now with the teen she had known before.
"I believe that you have met my relative, Father Quade?" Jakob said, gesturing toward the priest beside him.
The two girls glanced at Geoffrey, exchanging a quick look before giving him a respectful nod.
"Um, yeah, he's been keeping an eye on us, helping us a lot," Ivy answered, offering the older man a small grateful smile.
"You two ladies have been of great aid here," Geoffrey replied warmly. "Without you, I'm sure half our wounded would have perished."
Jakob turned to the girls, surprised at hearing the praise. "You have helped them?" His eyes flicked toward Pansy, his confusion deepening. "You both helped the… men?"
Pansy nodded without hesitation. "We do what we can to help." There was a knowing look in her eyes as if silently telling him that she wasn't enjoying herself and that he had better hurry up.
Jakob studied her for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Good job, you two. That makes one less thing to think about."
Ivy caught the subtle relief in his tone. She had heard enough from Pansy before about how much responsibility was constantly weighing on Jakob's shoulders. Her lips pressed together slightly before she spoke.
"What have you been doing? We haven't heard a word from you since we arrived." There was a faint edge of concern in her voice.
"Nothing much. Just giving some aid to Godfrey about—"
"Nothing much?" Geoffrey interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the boy beside him.
Jakob sighed again, turning toward the priest. "Right now, I have only given some aid in the strategic plans for the coming assault. In three days, we will actually see if it works or not. Until then, I have done nothing much, like I said before."
Father Quade gave him a long look but chose not to press further.
"Can you manage two more days here?" Jakob asked, turning to the two girls.
Pansy and Ivy exchanged a quick glance. They both knew these next two days would be exhausting, demanding even more from them than they had already given. And though neither said it aloud, a part of them had secretly hoped that Jakob had come to take them back to the main camp.
But when they turned back to him, both girls hid their disappointment well under his careful gaze as they nodded in unison.
Jakob gave them a small smile before his eyes flickered over their worn clothes. Then, his gaze settled on Ivy. Unlike Pansy, he knew the Gryffindor girl hadn't been around death as much.
"Being in a place like this can break someone," he said in a quieter voice.
Ivy met his eyes, reading the concern he didn't voice outright. She offered a reassuring smile despite the weight she felt over the situation.
"I won't break, and even if I wanted to, Pansy wouldn't let me. We're fine. I promise."
Jakob studied her for a moment before nodding. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and pulled both of them into a brief but firm hug.
Lowering his voice so only they could hear, he murmured, "If you feel any danger or sense that something isn't right, I am in the royal tent. Leave everything and run to me. Don't nod or give any confirmation that I said anything. Just remember and act."
He released them before either could respond.
"Quade, we need to return. You will see them again when the crusade is finished."
Jakob gave the two girls one final nod before returning to the darkness with the priest beside him.
Pansy and Ivy remained where they stood, watching as he disappeared into the night, swallowed by the shadows beyond the firelight.
When they turned and sat down by the fire again, the other women exchanged knowing smiles, and one of the younger girls even giggled behind her hand.
"Un chevalier en armure brillante," said a blonde older woman, throwing the two girls a playful wink.
Pansy rolled her eyes and picked up her bowl, resuming her meal as if ignoring the comment would make it go away.
Ivy, however, confusedly glanced between the blonde and Pansy. "What did she say?"
Pansy snorted into her food, trying and failing to suppress her blush. "She called him a knight in shining armour."
Ivy turned back to the fire, the flickering flames dancing in her green eyes.
"Yeah…" She mouthed discreetly to herself. "He is."
The morning after, Jakob sat among the knights, eating breakfast in one of the large tents Godfrey had personally led him to. His presence had not gone unnoticed. More than a few men had cast glances his way, some curious, others merely observing.
At the moment, however, Jakob was focused on ignoring the man sitting across from him, who seemed to be in an exceptionally chatty mood. He had no interest in idle conversation this early in the day, especially not with a muggle who didn't even speak his language. Instead, Jakob concentrated on his breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of thick porridge, a boiled egg, and a serving of yoghurt.
Once he was finished, he stepped out of the tent and into the blistering sun. Immediately, the heat settled over him like a thick, suffocating cloak, digging into his skin now that he wasn't wearing his charmed armour.
Stretching his arms, he rolled his shoulders, preparing for his morning run, but a voice called out behind him before he could take a single step.
"You are not running in this weather, and certainly not with Jerusalem's might watching you. They will use you as a practice target."
Jakob closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. One little curse. Just one.
Instead, he turned around, slipping on his most charming smile. "Oh? And here I thought you encouraged discipline, Father Quade."
"We will start our second class today, as you did so well last night."
Jakob raised an eyebrow but merely shrugged. He had been made to do worse things before, and at least this seemed to require nothing more than listening. Holding back his complaints, he followed Father Quade through the camp until they arrived at a modest tent with a simple cross-stitched at the top of its entrance.
As they stepped inside, Jakob let his eyes sweep across the interior. There wasn't much to speak of.
The priest's bed sat in the far corner, the thin mattress looking anything but comfortable. A closed wooden chest rested at its foot. A chamber pot was tucked beneath the frame, and beside the bed stood a small stool holding a tray of water. To the left stood a modest desk with a single chair, its surface mostly clear, save for a few scattered parchments.
Jakob might have found the simplicity admirable if it weren't for one very particular object.
Lying atop the priest's bed was a book.
Not just any book.
The cover was made of black, cracked leather, and its surface was aged but still sturdy. But it was the inscription that caught Jakob's eye, the lettering almost calling to him as he read the title.
Clavicula Salomonis.
The priest picked up the book and gestured for Jakob to sit in the chair. As he opened the aged text, its worn pages crackled slightly under his touch.
"Do you recognise this book?" Geoffrey asked.
Jakob frowned slightly and shook his head. "No."
Geoffrey showed a faint smile. "This is a very special book. The man who wrote it was a king and a powerful one at that. His name was Solomon, and he built the first temple in the Holy City." He patted the book before resting his fingers on the ancient leather cover.
"This," he continued, "is his grimoire. The Key of Solomon, a book he wrote for his son. But god seemed to have other plans for it. And now, it rests with me."
Jakob's interest deepened. His green eyes flicked to the book with a spark of intrigue.
"And you're going to let me study it?"
Geoffrey met his gaze with his own unreadable expression. "Under my supervision, yes. Solomon was great, but greatness does not always mean good." Je said in a firm tone.
Jakob leaned back slightly, noting the warning woven into the priest's words.
"There are five different segments in this book," Geoffrey continued. "We don't have enough time to go through them all, so we will begin with understanding who god is. Then, we will continue with the creation of everything, the New Testament, and—" he paused, flipping a page before his eyes locked onto Jakob's, "the seventy-two demons that rule Hell."
Geoffrey picked up the book and gestured for Jakob to take a seat on the chair. As the teenager obeyed, the priest pulled a long, thin stick from his robes and held it loosely in his fingers.
"Wait, did you say seventy-two? Are there only seventy-two demons in Hell? Would that even—"
"Don't interrupt your teacher, son. Take out your hands."
Jakob frowned, slightly confused by the sudden command, but did as he was told and extended his hands.
"Turn them so that the palms face the table."
He had no idea what was happening, but Geoffrey had the knowledge he needed, so once again, he complied.
Without hesitation, the priest slammed the stick down onto Jakob's fingers with enough force to make him yelp in a mix of surprise, pain, and rage.
He yanked his hands back, staring at the fresh red mark forming across his skin before lifting his gaze to the priest. His expression was a dangerous mix of a smirk and pure loathing.
"Oh, you are a dead man walking, alright," Jakob said in a dark, amused tone, dripping with venom as he stood, ready to make the priest suffer before finishing him.
But Geoffrey didn't so much as flinch. His expression remained as calm and steady as ever, utterly unaffected by the threat before him.
"You won't hurt me, son," he said evenly. "But you do need discipline. I can tell your former teachers failed in that regard, so I will take up the responsibility. You will do as I say, and to start, you will sit down."
Jakob's fingers flexed at his sides, itching to grab his wand.
"You think your God is going to save you?" He asked in a laughable tone. "No one will be able to look at you when I'm done."
Geoffrey simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk as his eyes drifted to the book's open page.
Jakob followed his gaze, and in an instant, realisation struck. His face stiffened slightly, the fire behind his eyes dimming just enough to show that he understood exactly why the priest wasn't afraid.
"What the hell is that?" he asked in a resigned, almost hopeless voice.
"It's Hebrew," Geoffrey answered smoothly. "And not many can read it. That is why you won't hurt me."
Jakob clenched his jaw but remained silent.
"And," Geoffrey continued, tapping the stick against his palm, "you will receive two more slaps for those threats."
Jakob glared at the priest but slowly put his hands back on the table. He impatiently tapped his foot as he sat back in his chair, locking his eyes on Geoffrey with a silent promise of future revenge.
The priest raised the stick again, delivering two more sharp strikes. This time, Jakob didn't flinch, only letting out low, controlled grunts, his fists curling tightly against the pain.
"More threats, or are we going to begin the lesson?" Geoffrey asked, watching him closely.
Jakob flexed his fingers, the fresh red welts forming against his already bruised skin. A few tiny droplets of blood beaded on his knuckles, but he ignored them. He gave a curt nod.
"If you have any questions, you will raise your hand and await my approval before speaking. Now, let's begin from the start."
Geoffrey cleared his throat before speaking in a steady, measured tone as if reciting words that had been spoken for centuries.
"In the beginning, there was only darkness. Then god said, 'Let there be light,' and the light was made."
Jakob listened as the priest spoke, noting the difference between his tone and the usual one that his former teachers had. Geoffrey's lecture carried a weight of scripture rather than an openness that invited questions and arguments.
"God, in His wisdom, shaped the heavens and the earth. He forged the angels to serve Him, beings of pure light, each with their role in the divine order. Among them was Lucifer Morningstar, the most radiant and the most gifted. Morning Star was beloved above all others. But with beauty and power comes pride, and pride… is a dangerous thing."
Geoffrey's eyes darkened as he continued, giving Jakob a meaningful look as if the next part was something he wanted the younger wizard to take note of.
"Lucifer, in his pride, refused to serve mankind. He saw them as lesser, unworthy, and so he rebelled. He turned against his Creator and was cast down for this sin. Stripped of his former radiance, he fell from heaven like a blazing star, exiled to the realm of Hell, where he would rule not as a prince of light but as the first archdemon, the adversary of all that was holy."
Jakob frowned as he listened but withheld his thoughts. He already had his own opinion. Lucifer was right. Why should an angel bow to a man? It was no different than a powerful wizard bowing to a Muggle. The very idea was absurd. But he kept those thoughts to himself as Geoffrey continued.
"But Hell is vast, its fires endless, and its demons too numerous for one fallen angel to rule alone. Lucifer was not cast down alone. With him fell seventy-two others, once angels, now lords of the damned. They are known as the Ars Goetia or the Seventy-Two Pillars."
Jakob listened with rapt attention, the priest's words commanding his full attention in a way no professor at Hogwarts ever had.
"These seventy-two are the strongest Hell has to offer. In his wisdom, King Solomon sought to understand them, to record their names and nature so that their power could be known and, if needed, controlled. He wrote of them here, in this very book." Geoffrey tapped the Clavicula Salomonis, holding it like a beautiful weapon now instead of the cradling way he had before.
"Each demon holds dominion over certain abilities. They vary in strength, influence, and rank; some are mere counts or dukes, and others hold titles of presidents, princes, and even kings."
Jakob raised his hand. The priest gestured for him to speak.
"What is Lucifer if there are already kings?" Jakob asked curiously.
Geoffrey clasped his hands together, knowing that this question would come as it had every time he told this story. "The first of the fallen. The most wicked of them all. He is an Emperor. Everyone answers to him, but Morningstar has given the Seventy-Two Pillars control over the residing demons in the form of legions. He trusts his brothers and sisters fully to carry out his will."
The priest leaned back slightly, watching Jakob's thoughtful expression with amusement.
"You might be wondering why the Emperor isn't more involved."
Jakob nodded as his mind worked through the question, but when he couldn't settle on an answer, he gestured for Father Quade to continue.
Geoffrey smiled. "Satan has his own ambition and is very cunning."
Jakob cringed slightly at hearing those two words in the same sentence. It felt too familiar, too close to home.
"His ambition was never to rule Hell," Geoffrey continued, observing the boy. "He was cast out of his home, exiled to another world by his father, whom he loved dearly. And for what? For refusing to obey? For not bowing to those lesser than himself? He wants two things."
The priest lifted a single finger. "He wants to return home and be with his Father, brothers, and sisters again."
Then he lifted a second. "And he wants to take revenge on the reason he was cast out. So, he left the ruling to his siblings, interfering only when something major happened. Beyond that, he plans and schemes, searching for a way back."
Jakob mulled over the idea, lowering his gaze. Lucifer was doing only what he needed to return. He didn't seek power for its own sake, but he understood what had to be done and acted accordingly to ensure that he and his kin could one day go home.
That didn't sound evil at all.
Another thought struck him.
"Do demons have souls?"
Geoffrey blinked, momentarily surprised. He had never been asked that question in all his years as a priest. He had to search his mind for an answer for a brief second. Then, he sighed, settling his gaze on the boy before him.
"No. Or not in the way humans do, at least." His voice took on the same tone as Hermione's when answering a question in class, as she did when she almost recited the text. "The Book of Solomon tells us that demons were once angels, created as messengers of god, but when they fell, they were stripped of their divine grace. Their souls, once pure, were darkened and corrupted. What remains is not a soul as we understand it, but something twisted, an existence bound by sin and suffering, incapable of redemption."
Geoffrey glanced toward the open book in front of them, running a finger over the ancient pages. "That is why they seek the souls of men. They have lost their own and crave what they can never have again."
That day, Jakob learned everything about the Emperor of Hell, the birth and death of Jesus Christ, and the foundations of the Christian faith. The lesson moved along steadily until they reached the concept of the Trinity, where things quickly unravelled.
"So you're telling me that he is god's son… but also god himself? And what do you even mean by the Holy Spirit? Aren't spirits evil?"
Even the usually composed priest found himself rubbing his temples, dragging a hand through his hair more times than he cared to admit. Every answer he gave seemed to spark another question, demanding an entirely new explanation. Sharp as ever, Jakob caught every contradiction and nuance that required clarification, and he refused to move on until he understood.
By the time the discussion finally ended, Jakob leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Alright. I think I understand now."
Geoffrey gave him a long, doubtful look but decided against pressing the issue.
The two shared dinner that evening, their conversation shifting back to the book and the knowledge it contained. By the time night fell, they had covered everything necessary to understand the foundation of the text itself.
Before leaving, Jakob assured the priest, "I'll be back in the morning. We'll start as early as possible on the information in the book."
Geoffrey had assured Jakob that they didn't have to stress the lecture and that they would have time to continue after the siege, but the time traveller was insistent. Jakob knew there was no guarantee he would even get to say goodbye once he had collected the sand.
The priest sighed, watching the boy disappear into the night, already knowing tomorrow would bring just as many questions.
When morning arrived, Geoffrey stepped out of his tent, hoping to take his morning piss in peace, only to nearly jump as he spotted Jakob standing there, waiting with two plates of breakfast in his hands and a charming smile.
"Go inside and wait for me," sighed the priest, rubbing his temple, feeling for the first time that perhaps his age was catching up to him.
Once Geoffrey had returned, they resumed their lessons, diving into the study of the different demons. Jakob listened intently, his sharp mind working to commit each one to memory.
"There was Agares," Geoffrey began, turning the page, "who was originally an angel of learning but now teaches languages to those who summon him. He is known to cause earthquakes and can make runaways return to their masters."
"Then there was Valefor," he continued. "Once a guardian of knowledge, now the patron of thieves. He lures men into deception with promises of wisdom, only for them to find themselves trapped in their own lies."
Jakob leaned forward, becoming increasingly fascinated as the priest continued, absorbing every word.
"And then there is Marbas," Geoffrey added, "a demon who holds knowledge of all things hidden. Originally a healer, now a bringer of disease and corruption. He can reveal any secret, but his price is high."
The priest turned another page. "And Baal—one of the mightiest of the seventy-two. He was once a high prince among angels, now a king of Hell, ruling over legions with his three heads, a man, a cat, and a toad. His presence commands absolute obedience."
Jakob, who had been listening intently, suddenly frowned.
"Baal… that sounds very similar to a Norse god I heard about. His name was—"
"Thor? The god of thunder?" Geoffrey interrupted knowingly. "Yes, that would be him. He is also Zeus, the god of lightning by the Greeks. And now you see it."
Geoffrey leaned back with a victorious smile as Jakob processed the revelation.
Jakob's frown deepened. "So some of them are already here? Isn't Baal a king? How did he escape?"
It baffled him; centuries of people had sacrificed in different parts of the world to this archdemon, thinking they would be welcomed into the heavens, which he had deceived them into believing in. Instead, they had been damned for eternity.
Geoffrey simply shrugged. "There are no records of how some of them have been summoned. But summoning a lesser demon? That is simple. The stronger the demon, the harder it becomes. Summoning a king would require a sacrifice so large that an entire city would need to be wiped out." He paused, then added, "But these are only theories, ones backed by the Church, of course."
Jakob nodded, his mind whirring as they pressed on, covering demon after demon. When dinner arrived, Geoffrey surprised himself by continuing to teach while eating, something he hadn't done since his days as a scholar.
By the time their meal was finished, Jakob had memorised all seventy-two Pillars of Hell.
"Now, let's get to the good part." Geoffrey smiled, tapping a finger against the pages of the ancient text.
"To understand how to defeat a demon, you must first understand what a demon actually is."
Jakob unknowingly leaned in, giving the priest his full attention.
"There are different kinds of power in this world," Geoffrey continued. "Non-magicals cannot wield any of them on their own. However, they can borrow magic from us through blessed or cursed objects. A man can wield a sacred sword but cannot renew it once its charm is drained."
Jakob already knew this. He had seen it firsthand in Salem when Modesty had used the cursed book against him, borrowing power that was never indeed hers.
Geoffrey lifted his left hand, palm facing upward as if presenting something.
"There is light. Light is pure and good—it exists within us all."
Then, he raised his right hand.
"And then there is darkness."
Jakob listened carefully, sensing the weight behind the priest's words.
"Darkness is the light's natural enemy," Geoffrey explained, "but it can also become its ally. Where there is light, there is darkness; where there is darkness, there is light. They are two halves of the same whole."
He let those words settle before his voice lowered slightly, becoming more serious.
"But demons… demons are not made of light, nor darkness. They might have started out as beings of light, but they twisted it, defiled it, and now they wield a power Christians call Fel. And then there is the fourth power, which we simply call magic."
Jakob's brow furrowed, and he raised his hand. "So you're telling me that darkness has nothing to do with demons?"
Geoffrey nodded.
"Demons that already reside in Hell have their own power, separate from both light and dark. They might not call it fel, but that is the only word we have to describe their unnatural abilities."
This only raised even more questions.
Geoffrey sighed as he caught the flicker of confusion on the boy's face. "I know. It is difficult to learn all this in two days, son, but that is how it is."
Geoffrey slowed his words, sensing the boy's struggle to fully grasp the concept.
"Like I said, demons are neither light nor dark. They lost their light when they fell, and something else was created in its place. How Fel came into existence, I do not know, but it is the most horrible of forces."
Jakob narrowed his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around it.
The Seventy-Two Pillars command and control the rest of Hell's demons, but they were initially made of light. They fell and lost their light? How does someone lose their power?
Filing that thought away for another time, Jakob instead asked a question that had been lingering in the back of his mind for a while now.
"So how do I destroy them? Both the demons and the Seventy-Two Pillars?"
Geoffrey leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with excitement as if he had been waiting for Jakob to ask that very question.
"To kill the flesh and cast one of the Seventy-Two back into Hell, you can use any means you see fit if you are lucky enough. But to obliterate them, to ensure they never return, you must use the force that is the complete opposite of their core."
Jakob mulled over that for a moment, and then his eyes widened slightly as the answer struck him.
"Light?"
Geoffrey laughed, shaking his head.
"You answer the same as I did, the same as everyone who has ever been asked this question. But it is wrong."
Jakob's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Geoffrey leaned back with a calm and patient expression. " the Seventy-Two pillars might wield the power of fel, but as I've told you before, they are fallen angels. Darkness is the only thing that can truly destroy them. If you wish to do the same to lesser demons, you must use the opposite of fel."
"Children's laughs?" Jakob asked in annoyance, rubbing his temples.
Geoffrey let out a hearty laugh. "That would be the day. No, son, the power opposite to Fel is magic. But know this—just as you wield the very thing that can destroy them, they, too, wield the same weapon against you."
Jakob frowned. "But if I die, what difference does it make whether I'm stabbed by a sword or destroyed by this Fel you speak of?"
Geoffrey's expression turned solemn. "You have a soul, don't you? Evil will make sure that your soul never reaches the afterlife."
Jakob considered that, his mind flickering back to something he had once read, the gift Morgan had received from a demon. It made no sense.
"I've seen a fallen angel use darkness. If it can destroy them, why would the Seventy-Two wield it themselves? Why even show everyone that it exists?"
Geoffrey chuckled, leaning back in his seat. Jakob's question was a familiar one, one the priest himself had asked when he was younger.
"That is Morningstar's doing. He is the master of cunning and deceit. He has shown this kind of behaviour before. Tell me—if you knew of a weapon so mighty, so strong, that only that particular weapon could end your life… what would you do to ensure your enemies never discovered it was your weakness?"
Jakob opened his mouth, a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, but then he paused. His mind clicked into place, and a slow smirk grew on his lips.
"I would make them all think it couldn't hurt me… and I would use it as my own."
Geoffrey nodded, satisfied. "Exactly. They can wield it, even gift it to some. But they don't tell you that it is also the only thing that can destroy them.
A frown appeared on Jakob's face.
"So what is darkness, then? Light has angels. Fel has demons. Magic has us. But what about darkness? And while we're at it, why are Muggles even here? Seems like a waste for your god to create people with nothing."
Geoffrey tilted his head, considering the question before giving a slight shrug.
"As for darkness, no one truly knows. We only understand that it exists within everyone, growing stronger when left unchecked. But beyond that, knowledge on the subject is... scarce."
Jakob nodded, filing the thought away. Ekrizdis could touch the sphere, just like himself. If that was the case, then whatever the dark sickness was, it hadn't just altered his physical self; it had changed something deeper.
Geoffrey continued, unaware of the teen's thoughts.
"As for Muggles, they're what you'd call blank slates. I told you before that power can be borrowed or even added to some extent like oil or water added to the same container. But Muggles are the only ones who can become something else if they choose, an empty cup that can truly be filled. That's why both Heaven and Hell want them so badly. A Muggle's soul doesn't just vanish; it's taken. Either they become righteous warriors for the heaven, or they're claimed, defiled and turned into demons."
Jakob's mind raced. That explanation alone opened up even more questions, four, at least, but before he could voice them, Geoffrey let out a long yawn, stretching his arms as if shaking off the weight of the day's discussion.
He glanced toward the window flap, seeing how dark the night had become.
"That's enough for today. If you survive the siege the day after tomorrow, we'll continue. But for now, I'd say you have enough to think about."
Jakob frowned, feeling a twinge of disappointment that the study had come to an end.
They exchanged brief goodbyes before he stepped out of the tent, letting the cool night air wash over him. Instead of heading straight back to his own tent, he wandered, his mind too full to settle just yet.
"So I can destroy the Seventy-Two Pillars and demons because of my darkness and magic…" he muttered under his breath, clasping his hands behind his back as he strolled through the camp. "I wonder what else I need to know about them. I still didn't get any answers about the orange-eyed demon that Morgan summoned. And if the old gods are demons, then what does that mean for the history we know?"
The Slytherin boy walked aimlessly, his boots kicking up small puffs of dust as he moved through the maze of tents. The sounds of chatter and laughter echoed from the fires where soldiers rested, and the distant hum of the army behind Jerusalem's walls lingered in the background.
But Jakob barely noticed any of it.
His mind turned like a machine, slotting this new information into the countless unanswered questions he had carried for years. Piece by piece, a picture was forming, but it was far from complete. There was still so much he didn't know, and if he had learned anything from this lesson, it was that half-truths could be more dangerous than ignorance.
When the final day of preparation arrived, Jakob stood inside the tent with the other men gathered around the map-covered table. They had reviewed the exact strategy, refining each step of the assault and ensuring that every detail of their entry into the city was accounted for.
As evening fell, Jakob found himself standing atop the Mount of Olives with the rest of the army. He was positioned near the nobles and Godfrey, watching as the long parade of soldiers concluded. The sheer size of the gathering was overwhelming. Thousands of men stood shoulder to shoulder, their armour gleaming in the fading sunlight.
Father Quade's voice carried over the crowd as he led the army in prayer. Jakob stood still, sweeping his eyes over the kneeling mass and the way they bowed their heads. Some were almost frantic in their devotion, whispering desperate pleas for victory.
It was… fascinating.
"Not even Tom could make his followers this loyal," Jakob muttered, watching as twenty thousand men poured their faith into the heavens, begging for triumph in the siege to come.
When the ceremony ended, Raymond nodded and commanded a third of the army. The men silently gathered their gear and gripped their torches as they began their long march back toward the southern wall. The torches burned brightly against the night, their flickering glow stretching across the landscape like a river of fire. It was a deliberate display, the first stage of their deception, designed to convince the enemy that the bulk of the army was repositioning for an expected assault.
Jakob remained where he stood with a fixed gaze on the moving soldiers. The steady rhythm of their footsteps, the occasional clank of armour, and the low murmur of commands carried through the air.
Everything depended on this illusion.
If the ruse held, the defenders of Jerusalem would focus their attention on the southern wall, leaving the northern side vulnerable when dawn arrived. If it failed, their forces would be walking into a slaughter.
One way or another, Jakob thought, watching the last of the torchbearers disappear into the distance, we'll know soon enough.
Jakob and Godfrey led the main force forward, moving in near silence through the darkness with the rest of the nobles. The quiet march toward the northern wall felt endless, their path shrouded in the stillness of anticipation. In just a few hours, the final assault would begin.
When they reached their designated position, the army settled in, some attempting to steal a few moments of rest before sunrise. But Jakob, despite his discipline, found sleep impossible. His blood thrummed with excitement. This was something new, something he had never experienced before. The thought of breaching the city walls, of stepping inside a fortress that had stood defiant for so long, made his fingers twitch in anticipation.
By the time the first rays of light stretched over the horizon, the army stood ready, the siege tower looming over them like a beast waiting to be unleashed.
Jakob sat atop a horse for the first time, adjusting quickly to its movements as he stared ahead at the city's walls. Even through the thick stone, he could hear the distant toll of bells, the call to war.
Shouts in a foreign language echoed from the city, their urgency and confusion clear even if their words were not.
"Are you ready, Quade?"
Jakob turned his head to see Godfrey atop a white horse, a golden crown resting on his brow. The self-proclaimed king of Jerusalem looked at him with a feral grin.
"If this assault succeeds, you will be rewarded for aiding the rightful ruler of the kingdom of Jerusalem."
Jakob's gaze swept over the men around him.
They were shifting restlessly, armour almost blinding under the rising sun, their faces twisted with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. They looked like bloodthirsty animals, their eyes burning with the fire of the coming battle.
And he felt it, too.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, his heartbeat syncing with the raw energy pulsing through the gathered army. A slow, unnatural smirk spread across his lips as he turned back to Godfrey and gave a single nod.
Godfrey's grin widened. He turned toward the walls of Jerusalem, drawing his sword in a slow, deliberate motion before raising it high into the air.
"Today, we take the holy city! Today, we write history! Today, we show the world the might of the crusade! Deus vult!" he roared.
"Deus vult!"
The cry erupted from the sea of red-crossed soldiers, a deafening battle cry that shook the ground beneath them.
And with that, the assault began.