The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 33: Simon the Adventurer (3)

Reading Louis’ file in the dining car proved to be an interesting experience.

The eldest of the imperial princes at twenty-six years of age and the first child of Balzam and Eleanor Magnos, Louis had learned to wield a sword and cast a spell almost as soon as he began to walk. He received his Hellblade Crestone at eight and was knighted at fourteen during the Scaland Conquest, where he distinguished himself for his keen strategic mind, combat mastery, and spellcrafting. His father raised him to the rank of Marshal of the Empire at sixteen, a position he had held on to since. He would then spend four years meticulously planning the conquest of Magvolia, which he spearheaded by slaying its crown prince in single combat and taking the Warrior Noble Crestone off his corpse at the tender age of twenty. He mastered the Class over six years of relentless warfare against Tellurian beastmen, insurrectionists, and hostile foreign states alike.

Imperial Intelligence’s most recent reports estimated his level at roughly eighty, the third highest in all of House Magnos, behind Euphemia and the late Balzam Magnos. At no point had he been reported to lose a fight. Ever.

As Leonard had put it in a past reign, Louis Magnos was a god of war.

More than thriving in strife, Louis craved it. When the empire’s expansion slowed down after dominating most of the eastern continent and it began to focus inward, he founded the War Party to push for world domination through continued militarization. This put him on a crash course with Euphemia’s already established Church Party, with the two having been bitter political rivals since. Tensions between them further escalated due to Louis’ push to incorporate ‘demihuman’ tribes—like goblinoids, beastmen, and scalefolk—into the army to fuel the soldier shortage in exchange for citizen rights, which the Church Party opposed for fear of destabilizing the current imperial power structures.

Ironically enough, while Louis had been gathering private resources in preparation for a civil war, the airship fleet that devastated the Berwick Islands wasn’t one of them. Its construction was actually the result of a secret imperial decree signed by Balzam Magnos himself, ordering the construction of thirty dreadnought-class vessels to provide a ‘permanent solution to the elven problem.’ The airships were currently assembled in a secret Magvolian facility, with twenty having been completed according to the latest report, which Louis conveniently staffed with loyalists.

It seemed Balzam Magnos had been planning a surprise campaign against Illusea before he kicked the bucket. Simon wondered if his assassination had something to do with that. The Illusean Oracle might have foreseen a fleet of imperial airships destroying their lands and acted to nip the threat in the bud.

Imperial Intelligence’s report also included a psychological profile describing the crown-prince as a ‘megalomaniacal warmonger with delusions of world domination, and the skills to carry it out,’ along with an advanced description of his Perks. While it had a few holes and some of the Warrior’s abilities remained unknown, they included Perfect Proficiency in all weapons, the ability to summon legendary artifacts from a pocket inventory dimension, elemental versatility… not to mention he still retained his Hellblade Vassal Crestone to fall back on should the Warrior Class fail him in some way.

In short, fighting Louis in battle would be assisted suicide.

No wonder so many bet on him inheriting the Crimson Throne, Simon thought as his hand reached out for his coffee cup, only to find it empty. Oh, I’ll have to ask the waiter for more–

Agnes Firewand, who had been sitting next to him, immediately poured coffee into his cup before he could raise his hand. The liquid let out a small cloud of steam, when it should have grown cold by now. Firewand must have heated it up with a spell.

“Is it hot enough for you, Master Simon?” Agnes asked.

She had resorted to this title since she could neither call him Your Highness nor Your Majesty in public, but it still managed to unsettle him.

Simon briefly glanced around him to check if anybody was listening in. The dining car was only half full in the morning, and everyone was too busy with their breakfast to pay attention to them… with the exception of the third person at their table.

Eole hadn’t said a word for the entire morning, her eyes constantly darting from Simon to Agnes. Simon could almost feel the weight of her silent judgment.

Great, now she thinks I tormented Firewand somehow, Simon thought grimly as he answered Agnes’ query. “It is… it is good.”

“Would you want croissants to go along with it?” The tone, though calm, carried a slight edge of needy desperation. “Or entertainment?”

Eole’s gaze was becoming downright unbearable. She had noticed it too.

Agnes Firewand’s behavior had changed for the worse since yesterday. Although she had regained some of her near-mechanical composure, having the slave mark stripped from her had clearly shaken her to her core. Her every action and movement betrayed a slight sense of unease, an eagerness to please that was almost saddening. She hung to Simon’s words like a dog waiting for a command.

In short, she now feared that he would discard her unless she continuously proved her usefulness.

“Actually, I forgot my books on magical ring crafting in my cabin,” Simon lied. The books were indeed there, but he had planned to study them later. “Can you bring them to me?”

“Yes, Master.” Agnes rose from the seat so fast it was almost rude and immediately left the dining car with haste.

“What did you do to her?” Eole asked the moment Firewand left, a dangerous edge to her tone. She clearly suspected foul play.

“I emancipated her,” Simon replied with a heavy sigh. “She… didn’t take it well. Believe me or not, but she outright begged me to put the slave mark back on her. I had to put a token brand on her to stop her screaming and crying.”

Eole studied his face for a moment, biting her lip. It seemed she did

believe him. “How long has she been a slave?”“She has served the Overlords for nearly four hundred years.” Simon couldn’t even imagine what kind of horrors she had seen during that period. “She’s older than the empire.”

“She must have been a slave longer than she was free.” Eole looked to the landscape passing them by beyond the window. “I have met shifters like her in Telluria. I sought to help them break their chains, to free them from slavery, yet they would spit on my assistance. Chains no longer feel like a burden once you wear them too long, but as part of yourself… and their absence becomes a disturbing change.”

Simon looked at his reflection in his coffee. “What am I supposed to do, Eole? I want to help her, but how do you melt through four hundred years worth of ice?”

Eole pondered her answer for a moment before responding, “We could bring her to my home to recover.”

“The kish sanctuary?”

“Yes. A small elf community lives there, near our manatree. They can heal her scars, physical or otherwise.”

Simon pondered the plan before quickly rejecting it. “I need to travel west, and I don’t think she will react well should we split. Unless your sanctuary is located on the western continent–”

“It is not.” Eole shook her head. “Then we must proceed with patience and gentle guidance. We need to remind her of the joy of freedom, that life is all the more beautiful without shackles, that she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

“You think she’ll eventually recover if we do that?”

“I do,” Eole replied with deep, calm confidence. “It will take time, but everyone yearns for freedom once they conquer their fear and pain.”

Simon hoped she was correct. The sight of Firewand collapsing to her knees and begging for slavery would haunt him for many reigns. He just couldn’t look at the elf without thinking about it, nor stand her misery.

“Her true elven name is Belzemine,” Simon said. “Agnes Firewand is a pet name the Overlords gave her.”

“Then let us call her by her free name from now on.”

“Yes. It’s not much, but it will be a start.”

“You are wrong; it will be a very consequential step,” Eole replied as Agnes returned with the books. She then addressed the elf in a tongue that Simon didn’t recognize. “What kind of games do you enjoy playing, Belzemine?”

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Agne–Belzemine’s head perked up at the kish in slight surprise. “You speak Elven?”

“A bit,” Eole replied. “There is an elf community near my homeland.”

“I see.” Instead of answering the previous query, Agn–Belzemine–it would take a while for that mental change to stick–turned to Simon, silently waiting for his permission to engage in conversation.

“Eole will be our companion going forward, Belzemine.” The elf clearly suppressed a wince when Simon called her by her real name. “You may treat her as such.”

“Understood.” Ag–Belzemine nodded and then answered Eole in Elven. “I like any game my master asks me to play.”

Eole and Simon exchanged a glance simultaneously, and he could have sworn the same thought crossed their mind.

This would be a very, very long road to recovery.

Simon spent most of the trip west practicing his crafting. Thankfully, Belzemine–the name finally stuck mentally after a few dozen times–had a wealth of expertise on the subject due to her age and proximity to the previous Overlords and eagerly assisted him.

According to the books Simon had gathered, crafting magical items required three things: crafting knowledge, which his Class now provided; components like raw material or the finished item ready to be enchanted; and the spells or enchantments needed to be woven into the object.

It was the last part that bothered Simon. “So if I understand this right, all I can craft are items imbued with the few miasma spells I already know? Like a ring empowering my weapons with my Dark Saber or a brooch allowing me to summon Shadowchains? Even if I learn mana spells, I won’t be able to weave them into items.”

“Yes and no,” Belzemine replied. She seemed to have regained some of her stoic confidence now that she could settle on the role of useful tutor. Or perhaps she actually enjoyed teaching. “Your Majesty can indeed imbue mana spells into their accessories; they simply need to add a curse on top of that.”

“A curse? Like the petrification spell Father used to build his trophy gallery?”

“Yes. The vast majority of miasma spells are curses that negatively impact the target, with the most powerful of them requiring an escape clause to function at all. Weaker ones fade away with time.”

“I see.” Simon guessed that was where the stories of cursed treasures bringing doom to their owners came from. “I don’t see much use for cursed items besides using them as weapons or poisoned gifts.”

“There is one,” Belzemine replied before opening her palms. She conjured a wisp of mana in one hand and miasma in the other, then pressed them together; Simon could have sworn this resulted in the mana becoming more visible and the miasma even darker. “Due to complex interactions between mana and miasma, weaving a curse into a magical object that includes mana spells creates a resonance that empowers both. In short, the positive effects of the objects are enhanced at the cost of the user suffering more from the curse.”

“The two spells make the sum greater than its parts.” Simon stroked his chin, an idea coming to mind. “How much are they enhanced?”

“To give Your Majesty an example, let us take a ring of invisibility. Most of them allow their wearers to gain the Invisibility Status, making them difficult to detect without magical sight. A ring of invisibility including a curse compelling the user to become obsessively covetous about the object would strengthen the effect to hide the target from magical detection too; maybe even make them invisible to death itself and thus lengthening their lifespan so long as they wear it.”

Simon quickly caught on to the implications. “Since I am immune to curses, it would make sense for me to craft cursed objects if I intend to use them myself, since I will reap the enhanced benefits with none of the drawbacks.”

“Your Majesty is wise.” Belzemine almost sounded sincere rather than needy for a second. “The higher the rank of the curse woven into the object, the more the beneficial effects will be enhanced. What spellcasting rank has Your Majesty reached?”

“I can cast up to Tier II miasma spells.” Come to think of it, Devour Crestone would let him bypass that miasma-only limitation if he absorbed a spellcasting-focused Class Perk… “Do you know one?”

“Of course.” A thin smile briefly stretched on Belzmine’s lips. Simon finally gathered that the more she felt he needed her, the more confident she felt. “I have attended Your Majesty’s predecessors for years, and while I may not be able to cast all of their spells, I have learned a few and understand how the others function. Is there a particular spell Your Majesty would like to learn?”

Simon didn’t even hesitate. “Fire immunity.”

This bothered Belzemine, whose feeble smile faded away in an instant. Her voice became a little quieter all of a sudden. “I know no Tier II or below spell that can produce such an effect. The closest I can teach Your Majesty is Elemental Imbalance, which grants resistance to an element in return for inflicting a crippling vulnerability to the opposite; in this case, Fire and Frost.”

“Resistance is still better than nothing,” Simon reassured her. If anything, it would come in handy should he cross paths with Casval or Vouivre again.

“Alternatively, I can cooperate with Your Majesty by crafting a ring,” Belzemine said, her eyes lighting up. “As a Pyromancer, I know a spell that grants temporary Fire Immunity to the target; if Your Majesty joins it with a curse like Elemental Imbalance, then the effect should become permanent.”

“Wait, more than one spellcaster can participate in the crafting of a magical item?”

Belzemine nodded abruptly. “Yes, multiple crafters and casters can pool their expertise and talents into a single work. Shall we proceed this way, Your Majesty?”

Simon nodded, after which he spent the next hour learning the Elemental Imbalance curse. It came relatively easily to him, like Shadowchain, and would synergize well with his own Elemental Saber, since he could apply a weakness he would be capable of exploiting. Fire opposed Frost, Lightning opposed Water, Earth opposed Wind, Darkness opposed Light, and so on.

Once he had mastered the curse, the two of them then proceeded with the crafting. Simon had thankfully brought a simple golden ring decorated with House Magnos’ emblem—a birthday gift from Lauriane—and while Belzemine informed him that layering spells during the forging itself made the process easier, Simon’s gut told him they could do it. His crafting Perk was like having a voice in the back of his mind telling him what he needed to do, an instinct that whispered to him what he had to do. It worked similarly to his weapon proficiency, subtly guiding him along the right path.

It took him until the end of the train trip to master the process, at which point the spells finally stuck. The manticore emblem began to glow with an otherworldly fire, its eyes glaring back at Simon with malice. He could almost taste the curse and warmth that now suffused the metal once he put it on his finger.

A stat screen immediately appeared, alongside a ‘curse negated’ notice.

Ring of Cursed Flames

Category: Accessory (Ring)

Quality: B

Effect: Fire Immunity: Grants permanent Fire immunity to the wearer.

Curse: Frost Vulnerability: Inflicts permanent Frost Vulnerability on the wearer.

“Excellent work,” Simon commented. No more dying by fire. “I wonder if we could create one for each elemental type…”

“I would strongly warn Your Majesty against wearing more than two magical accessories at a time,” Belzemine replied, which took Simon by surprise since she had otherwise never voiced her opinion uninvited. “The energies inside magical objects resonate and often conflict together, especially if they are of the same type. This may cause issues such as disruption or deadly magical backlash.”

She fears for my safety, and thus her purpose, Simon thought. The interference part was disappointing, but hardly unsurprising. Everyone of high status would wear ten magical rings at all times if there were no drawback. Simon would settle on forging stronger and better rings over time, and focus on quality rather than quantity.

“Thank you for your help, Belzemine,” Simon said. The way she briefly beamed at his comment disturbed him. Was he doing her a disservice by praising her work, since it reinforced her belief she was better off as a tool?

“I live to serve.” Belzemine scowled slightly. “If I may beg Your Majesty to reapply the Brand of Pride to me? The current one is insufficient.”

“The Brand of Pride?” Simon frowned, being unfamiliar with the term. “Is that the mark I removed earlier?”

“Yes. I can sense Your Majesty’s presence in my mind through the Brand of Sloth, but your orders are no longer absolute. I can disobey them.”

“And that is good.”

“It is not,” Belzemine replied, her voice full of distress. “I have to think about Your Majesty’s commands, and I do not wish to.”

What did the Overlords do to this poor woman to make free will unbearable? “I have not yet unlocked this brand, Belzemine, even if I wanted to apply it to you.”

“I see…” Belzemine didn’t hide her disappointment. “Once Your Majesty unlocks it again–”

“Belzemine, I do not–”

“Please, Your Majesty, it hurts when you call me that.” She held her skull with both hands, as if struggling against a headache. “That girl died in the forest with all the others. I am Agnes now, Agnes Firewand. I live to serve. That is all I wish.”

A horrible wave of guilt struck Simon. This woman’s scars ran deep, and he had no idea how to soothe them.

Eole’s suggestion rang true. Perhaps they should visit her people’s sanctuary once he had obtained the Crestone he sought.

He just couldn’t bear to look at Belzemine suffering like this.

Their journey on the train ended in the imperial port of Amenadiel, at the extreme western end of what used to be the Kingdom of Magvolia; Simon knew it used to be called another name once, until the empire renamed it during the conquest.

The group had no time to tour it. They arrived at night, and with the train station being a stone's throw away from the port, they followed Lady Shabram’s instructions by reaching a ship called the Wanderer. They presented their papers to the captain, boarded the vessel, and then departed at dawn without any issue. Simon wondered how many imperial spies had followed this same procedure to infiltrate the western continent.

And so began their journey through the Dragonsea—named as such because Gargauth had forced flocks of dragons to cross it to escape his wrath—separating the empire from what some called the ‘free world.’ Simon watched the coast shrink in the sunlight with a mix of apprehension and excitement. On one hand, he had little idea what awaited them from now on; but on the other hand, they were beyond his family’s reach and the upcoming civil war.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Simon Magnos was free.

“You’ll be able to drop your disguise once we’ve finished crossing the Dragonsea,” Simon informed Eole, who sat on the railguard with her oud in hands. The sight of the waters appeared to inspire her. “I do not know how shifters are treated in the west, but you shouldn’t fear slavery or pogroms.”

“I look forward to stretching my wings,” Eole admitted, having been forced to keep them folded beneath her robes for days. “What next?”

“We’re moving to the port of Rosanne, in the League of Valne,” Simon explained. “It is a loose confederation of city-states that have formed a military alliance to deter Endymion. Someone there should be able to help us settle in.”

His father’s notes in Duchar’s archives had marked down a potential ‘mentor’ living there. Someone with high influence, and who could hopefully help him obtain the Crestone he was looking for. Some ‘Prince of Spiders,’ whatever the title meant.

With luck, they would be more stable than Duchar.