The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 53: The Season of the Minotaur (2)

Simon spent the trip to Whispermire learning his first Tier III spell: Cursebound.

It was by far the most spell versatile yet, and the one that would take the longest to master. Whereas previous curse spells focused on inflicting a temporary ailment or debuff, Cursebound applied a permanent malediction at the cost of the caster being forced to include an escape clause. It also required touching the victim, which could make it impractical in combat.

In return, Cursebound was extremely versatile and could induce a multitude of nefarious effects, from massively debuffing stats, inflicting a horrifying hunger for human flesh, turning people blind or sterile, wracking them with pain, inciting animals to hate them, or even applying Anti-Heal effects. In fact, it was so versatile that dark mages had compiled entire books of potential curses.

“And you say I can forgo the escape clause if I weave the curse into an object?” Simon asked his teachers during the carriage trip. He, Cassandra, Duchar, and Lorimor all shared one, while a second carried most of their belongings and Hector’s coffin.

“Technically, there is one: getting rid of the object,” Duchar explained. “It is quite the clever loophole, I’m sure Your Majesty will agree.”

“Indeed it is,” Simon replied as he considered the applications. “And since Cursebound weaves stronger curses, this will let me empower items even further.”

Cassandra nodded. “And Your Majesty’s crafting Perk is already much stronger than most crafting Classes.”

“How so?” Simon asked in confusion. “I thought the Witch Class let you brew potions as well.”

“Crafted items are usually classified by the System into different ranks of quality and power from E to S, with E being non-magical objects and S being artifacts of immense power,” Cassandra explained. “Most crafting-related Classes, my Witch Class included, unlock those tiers over time. My knowledge is currently limited to C-rank potions or fetishes, for example.”

“But my Perks don't mention anything about rank limits,” Simon replied before quickly catching on. “Ah, I see how it is. I can craft items of any rank or quality, but at the cost of them requiring miasma. I have traded versatility for depth and power.”

“You are the Lord of Dark,” Lorimor praised him obsequiously. “I cannot wait to see the Dark artifacts you will forge in pain and sorrow.”

“There is another thing I wish to test out.” Simon opened his palm and manifested the Brand of Greed. “This particular mark will bring luck, good fortune in commerce, and the ability to turn lead to gold on the person I bestow it upon, at the cost of a fraction of their wealth being teleported to me on the first day of each month. Those who cannot pay the tribute will be cursed to turn all that they touch into gold until they gather the necessary funds.”

Duchar immediately noticed the obvious issue. “How much wealth are we talking about?” he asked with curiosity. “Would it be a fraction of the total wealth? Would it only claim money, or do other assets also count? How would the curse even determine their worth?”

“I do not know, and I would like to find out,” Simon replied, his gaze focused on Cassandra. “I was told you financed your household by selling potions and items.”

“I would gladly test out the brand for Your Majesty,” Cassandra replied, anticipating his demand by raising her sleeve. “I have already accepted three of your marks. One more won’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” Simon said as he marked her. “I will remove it should it prove a burden.”

“If I may ask, Your Majesty…” Cassandra cleared her throat. “If you didn’t kill your father, how is it that you seem to have so many Perks?”

Simon scowled. Her question raised a new issue: how could he explain his sudden jump in strength? From their point of view, he had become rather powerful in the Overlord Class mere days after his predecessor perished. Anathemic Secrecy could hide his stats, but anyone with a brain could somewhat assess his level from circumstantial evidence.

“My father left me with victims to slay to level-up quickly,” Simon replied, which wasn’t even a lie considering Lorimor had been one of them. “However, my Class can only thrive in a particular environment. I require a seat of power, lordship, and subjects, which this place ought to provide.”

Speaking of subjects, they had come close enough to the Darkwood that he could feel the Muse’s caress in his mind.

“I sense you… you scion of the Minotaur,” she said through telepathy, causing Cassandra and Lorimor to perk up; the former with surprise, the latter with zeal.

“I am no scion, cursed muse of the woods,” Simon replied imperiously, his response taking the corrupted dryad aback. “I am the Lord of Dark, who has come to answer your call. Your freedom I shall grant, and your vassalage I demand.”

His words echoed through the brands he had placed upon his retainers, his power reverberating until it shocked the Muse into spooked submission.

“You… you have come for me? To free me from these stone shackles?” she asked, her surprise swiftly turning to joy and enthusiasm. “How sweet, how delightful! Come to me, my lord, to behold my beauty, and unto marriage we shall be joined!”

“Gather your creatures in your hall, so I may bestow upon them gifts and powers worthy of their new master,” Simon ordered. “These times of idleness are at an end. Our labor will begin as soon as I arrive.”

“Yes, my lord wrapped in shadows! I cannot wait to see you, my twisted love!”

“I heard her in my mind,” Cassandra muttered to herself. “She sounds so… old and worn.”

“Her vessel is rotten, but soon she will rise again, with barkskin fresh with blood!” Lorimor ranted, to Duchar’s annoyance. “What a day it will be once she blesses us all with her radiance again!”

“You will be an instrumental part of that, I assure you,” Simon said before bestowing him with an item he had crafted on the way here. “This is a Ring of Fiendmask I have crafted for you. It would do us no good if you were recognized around town, Lorimor, so this will help you hide easily enough. You will also lend me your Crestone. I have an urgent need for it, and I will have you craft others anyway.”

“Your Dark Majesty honors me beyond words,” Lorimor replied obsequiously as he traded away his Crestone. While it reduced his overall usefulness, it would also mostly defang him and ensure he didn’t do anything overly stupid.

Duchar observed everything with a cool, calculating gaze. He knew exactly who would be their first sacrifice.

“I have a question, Duchar,” Simon said. “The ritual only requires the death of the sacrifice, am I right? Not his soul.”

“No, not at all. The ritual feeds on the mana released from the victim’s body on expiration and the symbolic energies harnessed from the act itself.” Duchar stroked his chin as he assessed Lorimor. “Oh, I believe I see what Your Majesty has in mind.”

“Would it work?”

“Mayhaps,” Duchar replied hesitantly. “Such a workaround has never been attempted to my knowledge, and we cannot exactly check Your Majesty’s theory in a controlled environment until the equinox, but I suspect respecting the letter of the ritual matters more than its spirit. The power is, after all, in the act itself.”

Excellent. If all went according to plan, Simon might find himself eating his cake without having to pay for it.

A suitable outcome when dealing with demons.

Simon immediately went to meet with Odette Kano once they arrived at Whispermire. Lady Shabram had arranged the meeting and Simon arrived cloaked in a Fiendmask, changing his blonde hair to black and the family’s telltale grey eyes to green. It might have been paranoid to change his appearance so much, but it was better to be safe than sorry since Lauriane might investigate this area.

“Greetings, Mr… Belias, was it?” Odette asked once she had invited him to her office and shook his hand. “An odd name.”

“I come from a place very far away,” Simon lied easily as he sat down. “Thank you for seeing me today. I am sure your schedule must be packed, especially with that Valne-run consortium pressing down on you.”

“Quite so.” Odette’s gaze sharpened immediately as she sat behind her desk. “A trusted contact of mine in the Historical Artifact Collection Department in the central government told me you were a man of influence with a business proposal? What brings you to Whispermire?”

Simon placed Lorimor’s Crestone on the desk.

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Odette gazed at it for a moment. Although she didn't touch it, she clearly recognized it and tensed up.

“Is he dead?” she asked warily.

“Not yet.” She looked disappointed to hear that. “I have come to tell you that my thrall’s cultists will stop all attempts to kidnap your son as a gesture of goodwill.”

Odette’s expression turned into one of pure disgust. “You’re that thing’s emissary?”

“No,” Simon replied calmly. “I am her superior.”

She blinked. “Her superior?”

“Surely you humans understand the concept of hierarchy. If she were the equivalent of a marquise… I would be a duke.” Which wasn’t that far off from the truth. “My thrall has acted a little out of bounds lately, I won’t deny it, but I will personally put an end to her foolish indiscretions. I run a tight ship.”

Odette held his gaze, searching for any hint of deceit. “Prove it.”

Simon immediately activated his Fiendmask to transform into the same parody of demonic power he had worn in Valne to intimidate Septic. He grew wings, horns, and scales, and smirked at her with a ghastly smile of fangs.

Simon had considered how to introduce himself to Kano, having briefly toyed with appearing to her as a member of Imperial Intelligence or a mere wizard seeking to study the area… but he knew those lies would have been unsustainable. The civil war would cause Odette to wonder which side Simon was on, and the reports she would receive about the Darkwood would bring too many questions. He had decided he was better off being mostly honest and approaching her with a mix of honeyed promises and intimidation.

Odette hid her fear well. She was crafted from steel and was much more composed than the likes of Septic. “Powerful demons cannot survive long without ambient miasma.”

“Are you humans so foolish as to believe we wouldn’t find workarounds?” Simon shapeshifted back into his ‘human form.’ “Worry not, Miss Kano. If I wished to rip you apart limb from limb, I would have already done so. I am a civilized creature.”

“There is no such thing as a nice demon.”

“I never said nice, I said civilized. I prefer to settle things with a minimal amount of bloodshed, if any.” Simon clasped his hands. “Hence my presence here. I have a proposition for you.”

Odette scoffed. “My husband thought he could deal with a demon as well, see where that led him.”

“He was a fool and paid the price for it. I can tell you shall be a more useful partner.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Odette’s jaw clenched tight. “I am not dealing with a demon.”

“Then why did you sign on with the Cobweb to supply them with elven artifacts? Or why did you close your eyes when your husband used your unsanctioned manalith mine to craft Crestones on your behalf?” Her stoic composure broke for a second. “Oh yes, Odette, I know everything. You are not afraid to deal with the Prince of Spiders, so why act so skittish with an archfiend? Unlike humans, we are actually compelled to honor the deals we make.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “What do you want?”

“A partnership. I have plans for these woods, and I need Whispermire’s authorities to cooperate. You can still play the adventurer-sponsor and pillar of your community so long as you remember to look the other way on occasion.” Simon leaned forward. “On any occasion I choose.”

“What plans?” she asked cautiously. She was a sharper knife than Septic.

“Nothing that will threaten your position and income,” Simon reassured her. He had a feeling that was what she cared about the most. “Yes, a few people will disappear now and then, and rumors might reach your ears, but surely this is nothing out of the norm here. Perhaps once we grow to trust each other more, I shall tell you the gory details and how you may profit from this endeavor.”

Odette considered his words thoughtfully. She was smart. Even if she thought she could survive a direct confrontation, she knew it would only take the truth about her dealings with the Cobweb and her unregistered manalith mine to come out for the authorities to shut down her operations. Demon or not, he held her by the throat and could force her into cooperation anyway.

She might as well profit from the situation.

“What’s in it for me?” she asked cautiously.

I have her. “I can offer plenty. Wealth, immortality, pleasure, foresight… even the secrets of the Crestones, so you can put that mine of yours and the Cobweb to work. I do not expect an answer now.” Though he already knew what it would be. “For now, take this Crestone as a token of my esteem, and an apology for the trouble my servant caused you. A businesswoman like you should benefit from Scholar Perks.”

Odette glanced at the Crestone, and then back at him. “How do I contact you?”

“You’ll just have to walk down your stairs. Some of my agents are going to rent rooms here for the foreseeable future, with access to a private workshop. All paid in full, of course.” Simon hoped to brand her in time to ease communications, but Odette Kano was no desperate old man on death’s door. She needed a little more time to think this through. “For now, all I ask is that you do not speak of my presence here to anyone… though I hope to be introduced to your Cobweb associates in due time. We can discuss future favors and payments later.”

Odette’s Midnight Market catered to every adventurer looking to conquer the Darkwood. Once he had her in his pocket, Simon would receive advance warning of any invaders seeking to conquer his halls and disturb his ritual. He just had to wait for her to come around to it.

Odette nodded sharply, her gloved hand warily seizing the Crestone and examining it. “My husband.”

“Yes?

“I want to be there when you kill him,” she said, so calmly. “I want to be sure.”

Simon smiled back. “That one will be on the house.”

Simon proceeded to rent a workshop and rooms for his retainers, mostly Cassandra. She wouldn’t set foot in the Darkwood—he didn’t trust the Muse not to try to take over her body if given the chance—and would serve as his main contact in Whispermire until he could find local recruits or earn Kano’s trust.

Simon entered the Darkwood with only Duchar, Lorimor, and a small cart holding Hector’s casket. It proved so heavy that Simon had to summon a few imps to drag it around to Carrock’s fairy ring. He then teleported into the Hall of the Minotaur, clad in the Overlord armor, to be greeted by a court of beasts, monsters, and demons.

“I have been waiting for you, my love,” the Stone Muse greeted him from inside her prison. The sanctum was more welcoming than last time, and a good three dozen monsters had gathered in her sanctuary to greet their new master. “Behold my court!”

Simon glanced at the creatures present, who all bowed in fear and awe from a combination of his Dreadful Aura

and Unquestioned Ruler Perks. Simon had to admit he was less than impressed. Besides the gargoyles, wraiths, and Carrock the treant—who was obviously unable to make the trip to the Halls of the Minotaur—most of the Stone Muse’s servants appeared to be mutated animals like direwolves and toadmen, shambling masses of vines, and even local imps. Hardly a mighty retinue, but Duchar had told him that the Darkwood’s local creatures would grow in power as months passed and more would settle into the area.

“I have come to claim you as my vassal in all things, and this place as my dominion,” Simon said as he walked up to the Muse, Duchar following closely behind with eyes full of curiosity. “In return for your complete and utter loyalty, I shall grant you your freedom, restore your faith, and break the seal that binds you.”

“Such a magnanimous trade I accept, oh Serpent-Bearer,” the Muse replied, her glare turning to Lorimor. “A sacrifice I already spy, a traitor who dares to stand in my presence!”

“Forgive me, Muse!” Lorimor begged for forgiveness on his knees, inviting the laughter of a few monsters in the crowd. “I offer my blood and flesh, nay, my very soul to your service!”

“Then redemption may still be within your grasp,” the Muse replied, maliciously leading him on. She patently refused to officially forgive him, so he could serve as a valid sacrifice.

“Our deal is sealed,” Simon said as he clenched his hand. The moment of truth had come. “Land of Darkness, the Abyss be my witness, I claim this land as my own dominion!”

The miasma in the air rippled like the sea when struck by a storm as an ebony crystal formed in his palm, rippling with power. The Minotaur’s stone shone brightly in response, resonating with its influence and causing the Muse to shudder. The creatures in the audience cowered and shrank in awe.

For a brief moment, Simon feared that his crystal would either shatter or destroy the seal holding back the Stone Muse… but that instant passed quickly as his will proved greater and the seal prevented its captive from interfering. A wave of darkness erupted from his newly formed Dungeon’s core and swiftly enveloped the Halls of the Minotaur in their entirety.

He immediately sensed old elven bones and adventurer corpses rising from their graves to serve him while his stats were bolstered. Hector’s casket stirred as its occupant appeared to briefly wake up, but his father whispered a few words that put him back into slumber. Spirits otherwise swirled around his floating crystal like moths to a flame.

This place would serve him, and him alone.

Claiming the Halls of the Minotaur as his Dungeon would serve multiple purposes. First of all, it would provide him with a mighty stat boost and improved defenses; second, it would let him teleport back here in a pinch; and third, the Land of Darkness Perk would slowly twist the plant life in the area into creatures under his control. With some luck, this would allow Simon to influence the Muse through her corrupted manatree in case the Seasonal Key ritual was ever disrupted.

“This place belongs to me now,” Simon declared before turning to Duchar. “Any change in the seal?”

“None that I can see,” Duchar replied after examining it with deep curiosity. “It appears to prevent Your Majesty’s crystal from interfering with the captive creature.”

“What frustration it is, to feel your power’s caress from inside this stony shell, yet be unable to embrace it!” the Muse complained.

Good, I suppose, Simon thought. He had feared the stat boost granted by his Perk would have resonated with the Minotaur or allowed the Muse to break free. We can proceed with the ritual then.

Dozens of shambling skeletons and other undead animated by his power soon walked up the stairs to the sanctuary, each of them hungry for blood. Simon stopped them with a wave of his hand, then gazed at his gathered assembly of servants. A household of monsters and undead for a crumbling temple.

It’s a start, I suppose, Simon thought as he opened his palm and summoned his Devil Brands. “These are my marks, which shall identify you and others as my vassals, and bestow upon you powers worthy of my service,” he explained to his new troops. “Anyone who ventures close to these halls without one must be either captured or slain, preferably the former.”

Simon had spoken with Duchar and learned that each Seasonal Key sacrifice would likely produce a surge in miasma from the weakening seal, which meant outsiders were bound to investigate sooner or later. While the civil war ought to keep House Magnos occupied with other matters, they or other forces might turn their gaze to these woods.

In short, there would come a time when they would have to defend this fortress by force of arms. Marking multiple creatures with the Brand of Sloth would let him keep an eye on the entire Darkwood and gain an advanced warning system.

“You will dig up every corpse you can find in the woods and bring them here for immediate reanimation,” Simon continued. “Furthermore, you shall also begin repairing this crumbling ruin back to its former glory. I want all facilities to be functional by the time the Vernal Equinox comes around.”

And finally… There was something that bothered the Overlord in him about this sanctum. His Class’ instinct told him that a detail was missing about this place before he could truly call it his seat of power and gain experience from ruling it.

What more does it want? I have a castle-temple in the middle of cursed woods, a monstrous retinue, even an official demon consort. What else would an Overlord need to call this place home? Simon froze as the answer came to him in a flash of insight. Ah, I see. Yes, that’s indeed missing.

“One last thing.” Simon chuckled to himself at the irony of the situation. “Go fetch me a throne.”