The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 51: The Stone Muse (11)

“Doublecast,” Belzemine intoned, “Aegis.”

Simon immediately sensed her magic empowering him, reinforcing him with invisible barriers, sharpening his speed, and healing his wounds. Leonard also received a similar blessing; the bloody gash in his chest he had taken on in his master’s place slowly closed.

“Step away, Your Majesty!” Belzemine shouted at him as another song echoed from inside the summoned cage. Simon followed her advice, allowing her to chain it up with another attack as she switched Class from Healer to Pyromancer. “Contagious Human Combustion!"

“Death X,” Duchar added while snapping his fingers.

Her magic immolated Thalas and Antonine right as the former shattered the summoned cage with a brutal swing of his axe. Duchar followed that up with a spell of his own, a ghastly, ghostly skull appearing over the two like a dark omen.

Whatever it was supposed to do, it failed. Thalas and Antonine walked out from the flames unharmed, the former slicing his palm and showering his war axe with his own blood to power it up, the second dancing by swaying her hips left to right. Fire halos glowed over their heads, the outline of a vermillion bird briefly flashing in the flames. That had to be Norbelle’s Phoenix shielding them from both fire and instant death spells.

Of course those two came prepared to fight Belzemine. Most of her offensive abilities lay in her Pyromancer Class’ fire spells, which were now shut down tight.

“Once we kill him, we can rule as Overlord,” Antonine said, smiling at Simon as if the Class was something that could somehow be shared.

“We kill them all,” her boyfriend replied with murder on his mind. Thalas went on the offensive again, his already monstrous speed turning nightmarish thanks to whatever buff Antonine provided him with. Simon struggled to follow his movements—since his own buffs didn’t increase his perception—but Belzemine reacted in time to intercept him. She changed outfits again, the Pyromancer robes transforming into a metal chest plate, armored leggings, and a brutish, horned helmet. An axe materialized in her hands.

The Gladiator Class.

Their weapons clashed, the resulting shockwave blasting back crates and causing the metal floor to crack beneath their feet. Belzemine was pushed a bit, yet managed to remain on her feet.

“Listen to me,” Simon informed his retainers through telepathy so their foes could not overhear them. “Duchar, Cassandra, constantly debuff Thalas. Leonard, Belzemine, keep Thalas occupied in melee. Meredith, help me take out his support.”

“You think you can beat me with my own Vassal Class, leaf-ears?!” Thalas snapped angrily as he followed through with a wide swing. Belzemine moved back to dodge while Duchar and Cassandra cast various curses to weaken the Berserker, leeching off his strength and causing the floor beneath him to turn to mud again. Leonard used the brief moment of opportunity to strike him in the chest and drew blood.

True to her orders, Meredith leaped across the room and aimed for Antonine with her spear. Simon assisted her by casting Shadowchain to keep the Dancer bound by the ankle and prevent her from dodging.

“Blade Dance,” Antonine said, her daggers lengthening into swords. “Dimension Step.”

She disappeared in a teleportation flash, and Meredith’s spear only struck empty air.

Simon expected an attack, but Antonine instead reappeared behind their front line next to Cassandra and Duchar. Her speed took the spellcasters aback, and she rammed her two swords through their throats. Cassandra’s neck erupted into a fountain of blood, her hands dropping her staff, while Duchar coughed up blackened fluids.

No, no! Simon ran back to his allies in panic as Cassandra collapsed to the ground and began to bleed out. He attempted to reach them, but Thalas promptly tossed Leonard back at him while his axe danced with Belzemine’s.

Antonine’s gleeful smile faded away the moment a withered hand caught her by the throat.

“Putrefy,” Duchar said coldly, his sliced throat and the sword stuck in his flesh failing to slow him down in the slightest. There was no anger in his voice, not the kind that the Berserker embraced at least; only merciless retribution.

Antonine’s pristine white skin blackened, and then melted off her flesh. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords dissolved far too fast for that. An infernal rot spread across her face and chest, devouring all in its path until naught but bones remained.

Antonine de Shax had rotted to death.

“Antonine!” An unbelievable pressure came off from Thalas like a halo of searing heat, his eyes growing bloodshot with fury. “You’ll pay for this… Primal Regression!”

A wave of power erupted from Thalas as he shed his armor like a snake.

A spectacular transformation followed. His body more than doubled in size while his muscle mass greatly increased to the point it seemed to rupture the skin in some parts, exposing his own muscles. His hands became big enough to crush skulls within their fingers, and his shoulders were wide enough to put a bull to shame. A crimson aura smelling of fresh blood floated around Thalas, and his irises vanished in a sea of white. The curses affecting him were instantly dispelled.

Thalas lunged at Simon with a monstrous roar, fist first.

Only Belzemine’s buff granted Simon the speed to dodge the attack in time, and even then the shockwave that resulted from Thalas’ fist striking the floor sent him flying into a wall. The blow smashed through the metal floor and caused the entire room—maybe the entire airship—to shake.

“Blind!” Simon immediately cast, only for his spell to fizzle out. He sensed an invisible barrier disrupting his magic the moment he attempted to affect Thalas.

Spell negated by Primal Regression!

“Magic can no longer affect him in this state, but he takes double damage!” Belzemine warned Simon through telepathy as she slightly crouched. Her slim frame tensed up, her muscles becoming like steel. “No Guard, Sanguine Blow.”

Belzemine lunged forward with immense strength, putting all of her focus in one attack at the exclusion of all defense. She closed the gap with Thalas and then struck with everything she had. Her axe cut through the chiseled, steel-strong muscles of the Berserker and disemboweled him in a single strike that spilled out his entrails all over the floor. It should have been a fatal wound.

It wasn’t.

Thalas neither flinched nor even attempted to defend himself. His belly was wide open, and he showed neither pain nor care. He simply backhanded Belzemine with a roar, the blow so violent it threw her across the room and through the metal wall.

No wonder Thalas only waited for his ally to die to use this ability. He had cast off reason, sanity, and purpose for pure power. Only bestial, bloodthirsty, volcanic rage remained. He probably couldn’t even use whatever teleportation gem he and Antonine intended to use to escape the airship.

Or maybe he was foolish enough to believe he could survive it all.

In spite of the Berserker’s fearsome new transformation, both Meredith and Leonard continued their assault without fear. Meredith jumped at the titan’s back, landed on his shoulder, and drove her spear through the back of his skull while Leonard attempted to finish what Belzemine had started by cutting into his chest. Thalas didn’t bother avoiding either attack, but neither did they make him budge.

“Duchar, take Cassandra to Lauriane for healing and call for reinforcements!” Simon mentally ordered as he held his morning star and prepared to join the desperate melee… only to be answered with silence. “Duchar?”

Duchar had grabbed his bleeding daughter with one hand and held a gemstone with the other. Simon immediately recognized the same type of teleporting crystal Lauriane had given him in a previous reign for his own safety.

“Duchar, don’t you dare!” Simon threatened him.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but we cannot die yet with so much left to accomplish,” the old warlock apologized, though there was no remorse in his voice. “I suggest you retreat as well.”

He crushed the gem and disappeared with Cassandra, abandoning the fight.

Simon’s anger at the betrayal was swiftly replaced with horror as the enraged Thalas grabbed Meredith off his shoulders while her spear was still stuck through his skull, then smashed her against the floor like a ragdoll, her body splattered into a puddle of bones and blood. He then roared at Simon and lunged at him like a rabid tiger.

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“Impcan–”

Thalas rammed Simon before he could even finish the thought.

Leonard once again took the burden of the damage on himself, but Simon barely caught a glimpse of his retainer exploding in a shower of blood and entrails before he and Thalas pulverized the wall, then the next, and the one after.

The pain of steel hitting his back gave way to the sensation of wind blowing on his face, and the ceiling turned into a burning sky.

Simon blinked as he and Thalas fell into the void, the Wisdom looming over them like a great bird as it traded blasts with the Phoenix. The Legendary was sinking below the clouds and drowning in smoke on the horizon, yet both of Norbelle’s Eidolons continued the fight.

Thalas’ arms grabbed Simon in midfall in a vicious bearhug, his berserk state blinding him to the fact that they were both seconds away from death. A rush of pain traveled down Simon’s spine as his half-brother began to crush it.

“Lord of the Demon Castle!” Simon snarled in an attempt to teleport back to his Dungeon, only for his magic to fizzle out alongside all of his buffs.

Teleportation disrupted by Primal Regression!

Even touching Thalas interfered with Simon’s magic!

Simon frantically smashed Thalas’ face with his morning star again and again, breaking his nose and destroying an eye. The enraged Berserker responded by biting Simon’s arm, his teeth digging past the Overlord's armor and crushing his bones. Simon snarled in pain as Thalas ripped off his forearm, right as the Overlord’s poisonous blood started melting off his half-brother’s cheeks.

With no other choice left, Simon struck Thalas’ face with his bloody stump. The poison within proved effective enough at melting the Berserker’s flesh, and Simon kept pressing even as his vision went white with sheer pain. Agonizing pain erupted in his stomach as his entrails burst from within and he stopped feeling his legs.

Yet Simon powered through. He pushed and pushed his poisonous, acidic stump through Thalas’ face, his flesh and brains melting off until Simon reached the tip of Meredith’s spear still stuck in his skull. The acid devoured this brutish beast of a man until his inhuman vitality finally gave up. The Berserker breathed his last with a half-melted skull, his death granting Simon a rush greater than anything he had ever felt.

Level 30 Overlord Perk: Miasmic Archmage III (passive): You can learn and cast spells up to Tier III, but only those fueled by miasma.

Level 31 Overlord Perk: Warmonger IV (passive): You can wield all weapons with advanced proficiency (x2 damage, +10% crit).

Level 32 Overlord Perk: Devil Forgemaster II (Passive): You have learned to brew potions and slime creatures, but they must be infus–

The ground kissed him in the face mid-notification, ending his life in a flash of red.

The notifications continued to flow into his soul even in the darkness between life and death.

Level 32 Overlord Perk: Devil Forgemaster II (Passive): You have learned to brew potions and slime creatures, but they must be infused with miasma.

Level 33 Overlord Perk: Land of Darkness II (Passive): Your power twists plants within your domain. Plants within your Dungeon are corrupted with miasma and will slowly turn into monsters under your control.

Level 34 Overlord Perk: Dreadful Aura III (Active): Your aura can induce bloodthirst rather than fear. You can change the ailment inflicted by your aura from Terror to Berserk at will.

Level 35 Overlord Perk: Devil Brand IV (Active): You can mark a willing target with the Brand of Greed, granting them a Luck bonus, supernatural good fortune in matters of gambling and commerce, and the ability to turn lead into gold. In return, part of their wealth teleports to you on the first day of each month; if they cannot pay the tribute, they are cursed to turn everything they touch to gold until they can. This is a curse effect.

Killing Thalas and Antonine had been a six-person job that cost over half the party their lives, but even the fractioned exp share had been enough to grant Simon multiple levels at once.

Would his half-brother have been happy with this outcome? Ending one of Simon’s reigns and finally murdering him in exchange for giving him six levels in death? Would Thalas have considered it an even trade?

Simon wasn’t happy in the slightest, however. He had already engineered Thalas’ death once at the hands of Vouivre, and though he had landed the final blow this time, it came at too high a cost and left him feeling hollow. Whatever pride he took in his victory dimmed when considering the pile of corpses it took to get there, his own included.

Only the Crimson Throne was happy with this outcome. Simon could sense its delight as it bestowed a new title upon him.

This is the eleventh of your Hundred Reigns.

You have earned the title of Simon the Embraced.

The Embraced: You and a sworn enemy fell into death’s embrace together. Isn’t that romantic? Self-destruction spells or abilities leave you on the verge of death rather than killing you outright.

“Curse you,” Simon told his father as his spirit glared at the Crimson Throne. “Some rotten piece of you is still in there, isn’t it?”

He could have sworn the Crimson Throne smiled back at him with all of its rotten dragon fangs.

Simon woke up again in his bed, alone and with an intact skull. The phantom pain of his previously chewed off arm and broken back frayed his nerves for an instant. He stared at the ceiling as he recalled his death and the vast power Noble Class users could bring to bear.

Simon was sick of being killed, sick of watching his retainers getting killed again and again while he had to rely on them to survive, sick of living at the mercy of higher forces, sick of the pointless civil war tearing his homeland apart when it needed unity the most. A sense of rising disgust—towards himself or the world, he wasn’t sure—continued to build up inside his chest the more he replayed that final clash with Thalas in his head.

Something had to change.

Would anything change even if he put an end to the elven plot? It had fizzled out on its own in the reigns where Belzemine stayed at the castle, yet it didn’t stop Louis from sending his airships to bombard the Berwick Islands when he learned the Overlord was hiding there. Euphemia had also ordered Norbelle to push on with the Goetia Research Center’s attack in spite of Lauriane’s attempts to de-escalate.

The two imperial parties wanted a conflict, or at least the other’s subjugation. Frightwall’s destruction had only accelerated the inevitable. Only a powerful Overlord’s presence could keep them in check by design.

How will things unfold if I’m not here to change anything? Simon wondered. Who would win the civil war then?Would it somehow allow the White Unicorn to retake the west, or would one of the sides end it quickly enough to keep the empire in one piece in time to stop the Zodiac Parade? Perhaps letting this war unfold will help me understand how to stop it in the future.

Even then, knowledge without power could only do so much. The elves were a problem, as was Vouivre, but the reign had put into perspective what kind of power each member of House Magnos could bring to bear and how few of them were willing to compromise. The more strength Simon himself could bring to bear, the better he could shape his ideal future.

One day, he would help Belzemine heal from her wounds, reward Leonard and Meredith for their loyalty, befriend Eole, protect Anna and Lauriane, and keep millions from perishing in an utterly pointless war.

But that would be in the future.

At that moment, Simon Magnos decided to disappear from the annals of history. He knew a place beneath everyone’s notice, and where he could level up the Overlord Class the way it was meant to be used. He would swallow his disgust for the cruelty his Class demanded for the sake of gaining the strength to do good in a future reign.

His family needed an Overlord to keep in check?

They would get it in time.

“A trip to Telluria?” Lady Shabram asked with a frown once he finished explaining his plans. “Isn’t Your Majesty planning to go there in a few weeks?”

“Time is of the essence, and most importantly, I do not want anyone to track me down,” Simon replied. “I must meet with people I require there, then travel to Magvolia undetected.”

Duchar’s last-minute betrayal stung. Part of Simon couldn’t entirely hold it against the dark mage to prioritize his daughter’s safety over his employer, and he understood that not everyone could be as loyal as Leonard and Meredith, but bitterness still swelled in his heart. While he couldn’t call Duchar a friend, Simon did somewhat trust him.

Duchar had served him well and Simon still needed him, so he would simply keep in mind how much he could push the mage and adapt accordingly… but he would not forget either. He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking their alliance was little more than a business transaction from now on, the same way he wouldn’t trust Lorimor to be on his own ever again.

“I see,” Lady Shabram said upon sitting on her desk. “I must warn Your Majesty against taking their assigned retainers with them if they intend to stay anonymous, however. They won’t be able to resist the urge to contact friends or family forever.”

“I know.” Simon also feared that someone might try to cast a divination spell on those two. The Overlord was immune to detection, but not his followers. Meredith and Leonard were nobles, but the likes of Duchar or Cassandra wouldn’t register on anybody’s mind. “I’ll only take two slaves with me, and release one before leaving for Telluria anyway.”

Like in the last reign, Simon had declared Casval Ashmodai heir in the testament again to ensure Vouivre would find herself on the backfoot—she was the only side of the conflict Simon wanted dead at all costs—and had given himself slaves as an inheritance.

Simon intended to release Eole and send her on her way, since he knew she would never agree to go along with his plan and would be better off returning home. Lorimor would serve in another capacity. Simon had already grilled him on Crestone creation, and his usefulness would come to an end with the Vernal Equinox.

He would be sure to bind and gag him this time.

“Good. I do have one last cause for concern.” Lady Shabram crossed her legs. “I admit that my failure to identify the Malphas as agents of the White Unicorn fills me with shame, but is Your Majesty certain I shouldn’t arrest them? Taking Elaine Malphas by surprise will be easier than taking down her father, and feeding her to Gourmand would let us glean useful information.”

“I have taken other measures to ensure that the Malphas problem will solve itself on its own, so you are not to interfere with those two directly in any way.” It frustrated Simon to leave Belzemine behind in Castle Frightwall, but it was the only way to ensure the elf attack failed until they figured out how to neutralize the spell. Moreover, she wouldn’t heal where he intended to go. “Instead, I want you to keep a very close watch on them and all their warehouses. I want to map out their entire network and find out how they can telegraph their castle-destruction spell. We will keep in touch through my Brand of Sloth.”

“If Your Majesty wills it. I will ensure you disappear without a trace until your return. Lady Lauriane will no doubt ask questions, but I can convince her I sent you away for your own safety.” Lady Shabram raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t mind me asking, why leave for Magvolia specifically?”

“There is a great evil slumbering there, and I intend to put it in its proper place,” Simon replied with determination. “Under my heel.”

And he would do that without ‘killing’ anyone.