The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 122: The Overlord of Crime (6)

Renal called in his favor the next morning, demanding that Simon join him at the butcher shop for immediate departure.

Since he was warned the assignment might take a few days and didn’t want to leave Eole without protection, Simon sent Belzemine to escort his friend and Voltobauta to Mount Colt to commune with the kish people. He found it unlikely that the Cobweb would try anything this time since it would risk angering the Necromancer, and they also wouldn’t want to risk alienating Simon while he remained useful… but the organization had betrayed him so often he would take no chances. Simon had ordered Belzemine to summon him immediately should an issue pop up and had given Eole a handful of magical items to defend herself with should the need arise.

He also took a moment to ask Belzemine about Chrom Cruak before their departure, in case the name rang a bell for her… and it did.

“It is an elven legend,” Belzemine explained. “Long before the Doom, Chrom Cruak was one of the elven people’s greatest warriors: a caretaker and dragonslayer who defended his manatree from monsters and received acclaim. However, as his fame and skills grew, so did his pride. As men and warriors began to flock to his banner, he declared himself their protector, then their guide, then their king. He carved out a great kingdom in what used to be Navarre, and took a human woman he loved dearly for a wife.”

Interesting. Simon knew continental elven communities were relatively autonomous from Illusea and mostly answered to their local dryad, but he didn’t know of any elf calling himself a king. “What happened after that?”

“The queen died of an illness. Chrom Cruak was beset with grief, and asked his kingdom’s dryad to return her soul to life rather than reincarnate her, which she refused… for it would have condemned her to undeath. Enraged, Cruak ordered his mages to commit the unthinkable: to displace the dryad’s soul from the manatree and replace it with that of his dead lover’s.”

Well, Simon had to applaud this man’s mad ambition if nothing else. “Is such a thing possible?”

“No, it is not… but they tried anyway,” Belzemine replied. “The dryad was slain during the ritual and her manatree perished, leaving only a desert of Cruak’s once prosperous kingdom. The dryads then punished Chrom Cruak for their sister’s murder with the first case of Severance in history.

“The first Severance?” Simon didn’t recognize the term. “This sounds ominous.”

“It is,” Belzemine confirmed, though she showed no emotion when discussing the matter. Simon guessed it was a mere legend to her rather than factual reality. “An elf who undergoes the Severance curse is ritually cut from the Worldsoul. They can no longer recover mana nor reincarnate, condemning their body to waste away and for their soul to wander the world eternally. Our elders used to say Chrom Cruak is still forced to walk the earth to this day.”

They were right. He just stuck around as a rotting corpse rather than a lost soul. If that was indeed the same Chrom Cruak as in the legends. Simon wondered if he and Elios Magnos had crossed paths. That mummy might be one of the few people ‘alive’ who witnessed my ancestor’s fall and the Overlord Class’ creation… He must have a mighty grudge against his kin, too.

Did he plan to unleash demons against Illusea in vengeance? Simon guessed he would learn more once he worked his way into the mummy’s favor.

After settling his affairs, Simon traveled to the butcher shop to find Renal waiting for him with his back against a wall. The ninja skipped all pleasantries.

“Silk told me you already know about the doorways, so that eases matters,” he said upon inviting him inside the Attic. “What’s your level? Since you can cast Tier V spells, I assume it must be forty or so?”

This one is all business, Simon thought. He noticed that Renal was assuming the Overlord Class followed a spellcasting tier progression similar to that of the Mage. “As if I would tell you. I can tell you don’t trust me, and the feeling is mutual.”

“Hmph. That’s true, I don’t trust you or your skills, but here’s your opportunity to prove me wrong.” A smiling fetch guided him and Renal through a door to the right, which led to a second hallway full of nearly identical portals. “Let’s phrase it another way: do you think you can take on a small squad of level forty plus martial Classes?”

Well, I can take you on. “Yes, without issue.”

Renal nodded in satisfaction. Three times they walked through multiple corridors of identical doors until the last threshold led them into some kind of workshop full of various shelves and tables strewn with weapons, books, and maps. This hammered down the Attic’s mazelike nature to Simon. He could barely recall which doors to take to return to Rosanne. He would need either a guide like the smilers or a map to find his way to another location.

“Where are we?” Simon asked as Renal took him outside into a small fishing village of roughly two dozen thatched palm huts packed on the shore, near a pier hosting five or so strange wooden ships that matched the description he’d heard of Fablan ‘junks.’ Most importantly, he noticed that the sky was dark and full of stars, while the sun was high in the heavens when they left Rosanne. “The other side of the world?”

“We’re in a pirate den in Fablan,” Renal explained curtly. “We use the area to smuggle assets into the country undetected. It’s close to our targets’ location in the Spirit Mountains.”

“The Spirit Mountains?” Simon had spent enough time discussing Fablan art with Remedia to pick up a few things about the country. “Aren’t those goblin-infested peaks separating Fablan’s civilized lands from its savage north?”

“Aren’t you well-learned?” Renal sounded cautiously appreciative. “You’re right. Those are bad grounds, but I figured the Overlord should have no troubles with the local critters, unlike my men.”

From what Simon read and learned from Remedia, Fablan’s northern side—the Yamimakai region—was infested with monsters, spirits, and goblinoid tribes that had threatened human settlers since time immemorial. An orc or ogre warlord managed to unite them every few decades or so to threaten the south, which fostered a martial culture among the locals. The Spirit Mountains served as a natural border and a good place for the nation’s defenders to level-up.

“You have three targets.” Renal searched under his ninja coat and brought out three small cards. Each showcased a human’s detailed portrait—two men, one woman—with detailed text written beneath. “The Monk’s three disciples.”

Simon’s head perked up in interest as he examined the cards. The contents reminded him of Dassein’s bounty posters, except far more detailed in that they included details like the targets’ Class levels, known Perks, tidbits of personal history, and even tactical suggestions on how to take them on.

Reiko Yuzuhara, the ‘Bamboo Bandit Princess,’ level 48 Deathclaw, unknown number of Ninja levels; ‘Golden Fist’ Masaru Ito, level 44 Godhand; and Yashamaru Vepar, level 45 Kineticist.

“We usually post open bounties for lesser targets, letting other criminals do the deed and simply pay them for it,” Renal explained, “We Fangs directly intervene when the target is too important or powerful to be left to common bounty hunters, or when we don’t want the hit tracked back to the Cobweb. Cards like these are usually what we distribute to our operatives prior to a mission.”

“This one is one of the viceroy’s relatives,” Simon said, pointing at Yashamaru’s card. The former royal line of Fablan had been incorporated as House Vepar when they bent the knee to Endymion.

“He’s the Monk’s nephew, and the most magically talented of the three,” Renal said. “These three train in the Spirit Mountains to cull local goblinoids and level-up. We’ve ensured that the Monk is busy elsewhere, so now’s a perfect opportunity to kill them all without his interference. Make it look like a monster hunt gone wrong, and leave no witnesses.”

In spite of his clear dislike of Simon, Renal proved to be a professional employer who provided detailed intel and support to his new ‘freelancer.’ A boatsman would ferry Simon to the foot of the peak where the trio was rumored to train, at which point he would be on his own to find and slay them. Simon also received a scroll containing a bestiary of creatures he might encounter, a rough map stolen from border patrols, and a teleport gem to return to the smuggler hideout once the task was complete.

“The Monk might have taught them rare or specialized techniques outside their core Class’ common abilities, so treat our intel as incomplete when considering your plan of attack and assume they’ll punch above their assessed levels,” Renal concluded. “Bring back a body part from each so we can confirm they’re dead. A finger or a tooth will do.”

“Why kill them?” Simon inquired. “Did they cross the Cobweb somehow?”

“I have no clue,” Renal replied with a shrug. “We Fangs handle the hits, not the politics. The Prince marked those three for death, and that’s all either of us needs to know.”

“Understood.” Simon guessed he would have to ask Shabram. He had the sneaking suspicion this might play into the Prince’s plan for the Zodiac Fiends, considering one of the demonbarrows was located in Fablan itself. “How long do I have?”

“Their excursions tend to last four to five days, so the sooner the better.” Renal crossed his arms. “Come back victorious, or not at all.”

“You make it sound like the outcome is in doubt,” Simon replied with a smile. “I don’t bring back news, I bring obituaries.”

A few hours later, Simon boarded a small river boat traveling towards the Spirit Mountains under the cover of the night. He spent the trip familiarizing himself with his quarry. All of them used a Monk Vassal Class—probably to ensure they could transfer levels should they inherit the Noble Crestone—with a few variants.

Simon immediately knew Masaru Ito would be the most dangerous target in spite of having the lowest level of the three. A bald martial artist who spent his entire life training in a monastery to serve in Fablan’s royal guard, he was apparently selected as a disciple by the Monk after winning multiple martial art tournaments in a row. His Godfist Class focused on demonslaying and Light-aligned techniques, which meant he might hit Simon as hard as the Paladin.

The only girl of the three, Reiko Yuzuhara—a young woman with a rather noticeable scar on her left cheek—was a former bandit from the Spirit Mountains’ region, ironically enough, and who used to rob both local travelers and goblinoids alike. She ended up trying to steal from the Monk during one of his training sessions without knowing his identity, and her moxie impressed him so much that he took her under her wing. Her Deathclaw Class focused more on speed, Soul-aligned elemental effects, and instadeath attacks, which likely made her the least dangerous foe to Simon personally. However, she knew the region like the back of her hand and apparently used an enchanted sword of some kind.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Finally, Yashamaru Vepar was a nephew of the viceroy whose father had been slain after trying to overthrow his brother. Although he had been spared, on account of his age, he had been treated with suspicion and kept away from power. His apprenticeship was his chance to regain his honor and prestige. His Kineticist Class focused on channeling raw elements rather than pure hand-to-hand techniques, making him a threat at range.

All in all, they shouldn’t be too much of a threat to Simon on paper on account of their Vassal Classes and lower levels, at least so long as he avoided getting into melee combat with them, since Monk Vassal Classes excelled in close-combat. However, they all covered each other’s weaknesses and Renal’s warnings rang true. He had to assume they could punch above their weight.

At least it would be an occasion to recover their Crestones. Renal said nothing about them, after all…

Shabram also provided him with much-needed insight on why the Prince of Spiders wanted them dead.

“A short-lived palace coup broke out when Fablan bent the knee to Endymion, with the current Monk having to put down his brothers and their families,” Shabram explained. “Since he had no living children, Viceroy Koryu Vepar decided to break the tradition by taking disciples among the best martial artists in Fablan. One of them will become his successor as Monk.”

Simon immediately caught on to the plan. “Does one of the rejected candidates have criminal ties?”

“Indeed. The fourth in line, a powerful martial arts sect guru called Moryo, was accused of loaning his disciples as enforcers to local crime syndicates, though nothing was ever proved.”

Remedia learned from Renal that the Cobweb had been expending considerable resources into establishing a foothold in Fablan’s underworld. Simon supposed that this plan tied into it. The Prince of Spiders must have offered Moryo their support in securing an apprenticeship by taking out his rivals in return for future favors. Killing off the Monk’s disciples would make the ploy obvious, but a full on massacre would muddy the waters enough for the traitor to slip in with the newest batch of recruits.

It was a devious plan. In the best case scenario, the Cobweb might obtain access to the Monk Noble Crestone or Fablan’s throne in the near future; at worst, they would place a like-minded ally near the viceroy.

You spin a big web, spider, Simon thought. I'll let you add more strands this time around… so I can better burn them the next.

After arriving at a cove near the mountains as dawn rose from the east, Simon disembarked and called his spectral horse to ride the winds.

His newest Warmonger Perk let him share any spell he cast on himself with his mount, so his Nightveil and Energumen turned him and his steed into flying shadows gliding among the clouds. The Spirit Mountains were quite beautiful from on high, with stone peaks rising from a sea of pines shrouded in mist. He looked for any sign of smoke or campfire in the hope of locating his prey.

The first sight of smoke he spotted guided him to a goblinoid camp housing half a dozen orcs, twice as many goblins, and an ogre. They reached out for their spears and maces the moment Simon showed up, but it only took a look at the shadowy rider rolling down from the sky for them to scream, ‘Dullahan! Dullahan!’ and try running away rather than fight him. Simon blocked their path with a well-placed Hellfrost ice barrier.

“Please, Lord Dullahan!” they begged in their native tongue as they either threw their weapons on the ground in surrender, or shook in abject fear, even the ogre. “Please don’t kill us!”

A dullahan? Simon knew those creatures to be powerful, beheaded undead riders feared across the world, but he still had his head on his shoulders. He guessed Nightveil’s obscuring effect—and Unquestionable Ruler—could cause some confusion.

“Enough!” Simon snapped with a booming voice as his steed landed on the ground, the wind smothering the campfire. “Lower your heads or lose them!”

They all bowed, the ogre outright slamming his head into the campfire’s embers in a sign of submission. Simon waited a few seconds, the tension in the air growing palpable, before grabbing his cards.

“Those three souls are my quarry,” Simon declared. “Help me in my hunt for their souls, and I shall not harm you.”

The goblinoids all spat and grumbled when they saw the portraits. “Those three… we were looking for them too, Lord Dullahan,” one of the orcs grunted. “Hunting them down by smell, yes!”

“They killed many of Lord Onishogun’s men,” a goblin added with a shrill, mousy voice. “He promised riches to anyone bringing him their heads!”

“Onishogun?” Simon inquired. “Who’s this?”

“Lord Onishogun is the future demon king!” one of the orcs boasted. “The greatest ogre-mage in all of Yamimakai!”

“Once all the other warlords have bent the knee, we’ll cross the mountains and slaughter the humans!” the ogre added eagerly while licking his lips. “I can already taste them on my tongue… the flesh of women and children, salted with tears…”

Beyond his disgust for these creatures, Simon had to admit he was curious. Yamimakai was a backwater’s backwater for Endymion, to the point someone like Shabram likely never heard of this Onishogun.

This land might be a good place to level-up as Overlord one day, now that I think of it. Simon had progressed quite a bit by running a cult in the Darkwood; carving out a small goblinoid kingdom in Yamimakai ought to provide a similar influx of experience. Fablan remained neutral during the civil war, if I remember right. News of my presence in its outlands might never reach the mainland…

Simon had grown so strong that levels were getting harder and harder to get. It wasn’t like he had the strength to claim the Crimson Throne for now, so openly ruling a distant fief as warlord might give him some much needed experience and let him investigate the local demonbarrow.

He had his hands full with the Cobweb for now, but it could be an option for a future reign.

Either way, the ogre had apparently caught the trio’s scent a few hours’ walk away from here. The goblinoids had planned to confront the disciples in an ambush, but Simon knew they would be slaughtered in minutes. They had no Classes, and he was single-handedly massacring their kind in Valne before he even hit level thirty. They couldn’t win.

Not without a little push.

“It seems we share a common enemy,” Simon declared as he opened his hand and summoned his Devil Brands. “How about getting a spice of infernal power to go along with the taste of blood?”

It would be a good occasion to test just how much of a boost the Brand of Wrath provided in combat…

He found the three disciples training atop a cliff.

Simon had his phantom steed fly in circles above them while using Hellwind to shape the clouds in a way that would shroud his movements. The massive bluff overlooked a valley shrouded in mist where tall stone spires covered in foliage rose from a sea of trees. The trio was busy punching an enormous rock with their bare fists. Were they trying to reinforce their base stats through training?

Simon’s increasing Perception stat had sharpened his senses, and though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he had a good view of them. Masaru was a tall, thirty-something man with bulging muscles and a bald head so smooth it almost shone in the sunlight, thick eyebrows, and brown eyes. He went shirtless and barefoot, with his pants held up by a sash.

Meanwhile, Yashamaru’s familial resemblance to the imperial admiral Mizuko Vepar was unmistakable. Same black hair tied into a ponytail, same cold, dark eyes, same poised and refined movements. His Class outfit was some strange garment, including a blue shirt and a black surcoat, with black pleats covering his trousers. He kept his arms crossed and brooded in a corner.

Finally, Reiko was a tall and slim young woman with long brown hair done in two braids, dark eyes, and a claw-scar on her right cheek. She dressed in a red, ninja-like attire with armor plates covering her shoulders, ankles, and chest. She was no great beauty nor felt intimidating like Vouivre, but there was ruggedness about her, like a sheathed blade ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Masaru said something that caused Reiko to chuckle, then bent her back in an imitation of an old person. Whatever she answered, it caused Masaru to explode while Yashamaru rolled his eyes with a thin smile. They seemed to get along well.

It’s a shame they have to die, Simon thought with a dash of guilt. These three reminded him of Alphonse’s party. It’s the Darkwood all over again.

He told himself it would be a necessary evil to wipe out a greater one, and that he would spare them the next time around. He had deceived and betrayed Elaine, Mastemo, and so many others. What were a few more strangers to the count?

“Proceed,” Simon ordered with a telepathic call.

A volley of fireballs coursed across the sky straight for the bluff.

The three disciples reacted in an instant. Ectoplasmic, greenish flames swirled around Reiko’s hands, Masaru’s skin turned into gold, and Yashamaru instantly leaped in the air with a lateral kick. The very wind appeared to bend and follow his movement, creating a wall of air that absorbed the fiery blasts.

Simon’s troops advanced onto the cliff, sandwiching the disciples between them and the void below. The Brand of Wrath had transformed them all. The goblins’ skin had become magma and their hands flickered with flames; the orcs had grown horns in the middle of their faces and gained a few feet in height; and the ogre had doubled in size until it rivaled a troll in bulk, with bulging muscles, black horns, and porcine tusks. He had also traded his mace for an uprooted tree trunk. All in all, they looked more like a demonic warband than a goblinoid raiding party now.

“Goblins, stay in the second line and support your allies with fireballs while they engage in melee,” Simon ordered his troops. “Target the bald one first.”

His soldiers advanced with a roar that sent nearby birds flying away, spears and blades raised for the kill… only for a wall of stone spikes to rise from the ground and halt their charge before it could truly begin. Yashamaru had struck the ground with a kick that rippled through the cliff and caused obstacles to intercept the orcs.

His two allies engaged the enemy in close combat at impressive speed, though Reiko was the quicker of the two. The ghostflames around her hands reshaped themselves into sharp claws that beheaded an orc and lacerated another’s chest to the point of death. The others attempted to flank her with their spears, but she moved nearly as fast as Renal when Simon fought the Ninja in Cocagne, leaving a trail of pink petal blossoms in her wake. Meanwhile, Masaru had shattered the ogre’s makeshift weapon with a kick and began to brawl with the much larger foe, his fists matching the demonic goblinoid's stone-shattering blows.

Those three fight well together. Simon noted that Yashamaru redirected the winds to not only deflect the goblins’ fireballs, but also deflected them back at their senders. The critters had to run around to avoid being blasted by their own attacks. Strength, speed, and magic. A balanced composition.

The Brand of Wrath had burned away his soldiers’ fears with demonic fury, so they fought relentlessly in spite of being clearly outmatched. The ogre exchanged a few blows with Masaru and shrugged off punches before the Godfist grabbed his arm and tossed him over the cliff; Reiko had to stay on the move to avoid orcish spears; and the goblins switched to climbing up the stone spikes to claw at Yashamaru, forcing him to punch and kick them away.

Simon assessed that the Brand of Wrath granted its wielder the equivalent of nine, maybe ten levels worth of a power boost; enough to multiply a creature’s strength, but unfortunately for the horde below, not enough to close the gap in skill with the Monk’s disciples. While lasting more than a few minutes against a group of powerful Class users was already a feat in itself, the battle’s outcome was already decided.

I should look into a self-destruction spell, Simon thought as he watched Yashamaru unleash a fireball from his palm. Besides the fact that one of his Titles would let him survive it, which could give anyone pushing him to his limits one last nasty surprise, he could then teach it to minions doomed to die in battle. I’ll ask Belzemine when I return. Perhaps I can customize an existing spell with Adaptive Spellcasting.

It didn’t take long until the dozen or so-strong goblinoid warband had shrunk to a handful of doomed survivors. Reiko’s head snapped up to the clouds after slaying the last orc, her eyes searching for something unseen.

Does she sense me watching them? Simon had heard the Monk had extremely high Perception, to the point they could pluck off a fly’s wings with their fingers according to rumors. Either way, I have seen enough.

Simon had his horse dive down closer to the ground and then swerve the second the trio was within range of a certain spell.

“Countdown.”

Numbers appeared over all the disciples, dooming them to death.

Reiko shouted something and pointed at the sky, likely to warn her teammates of the enemy above, but Simon already had his steed move away from the cliff. Now that he had cursed the three with Countdown, his best strategy would be to simply deny them a battle and wait for his magic to kill them unless they somehow managed to free themselves from his spell.

He avoided air blasts thrown by Yashamaru and spotted Masaru running along the cliff as if to take a leap and catch Simon. It was a doomed effort. Simon was over a hundred meters above them. Not even the Berserker could jump that high–

Masaru jumped, the very ground cracking beneath his feet with a booming noise. Simon barely had time to blink as a golden blur crossed the void and caught up to him.

“Hi there,” Masaru said with a smirk.

He punched Simon’s horse and shattered its ghostly skull in a single blow.