The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 60: The Season of the Minotaur (9)

There were five creatures in the imperial bestiary that troops were allowed to flee from on sight: archfiends, dragons, dryads, liches, and Eidolons.

Simon had used Anathemic Secrecy to present himself as the first of these creatures, but Leonard and his soldiers were no local adventurer or criminal group he could intimidate easily. Standard procedure meant they would immediately report his presence, and that might bring complications.

Instead, he altered his stats to fit his disguise of the Old Man in the Woods, appearing as an ancient fey creature that, while powerful, didn’t represent a potentially existential threat to the War Party’s interests in the region. The hounds sensed his approach as he stepped out of Duchar’s fog, the dogs whining and prostrating themselves at his approach. Leonard’s group instantly tightened their ranks, weapons raised; although Simon noticed that the orc among them lagged behind, his spine struggling against the urge to bend downwards.

His Unquestionable Ruler Perk had grown powerful enough to affect goblinoids. Interesting.

“You may lay down your weapons,” Simon declared, trying his best to ‘age-up’ his voice behind the Fiendmask disguise. “I come to you as an envoy of the forest, who wishes you no harm.”

“You can speak our language?” Leonard asked, though he didn’t lower his sword. “Now that is a surprise. Are you a fiend?”

“I am no demon, young Leonard, though some call this place their home now.” Leonard hid his surprise well, but Simon had spent enough time around him to recognize that being called out by name had rattled him. “I have been observing your group for a while, and I believe you are a sensible soul. Hence why I have chosen to come to you, bearing peace’s banner.”

Leonard glanced at his mage. “Threat estimation.”

“Level sixty or so,” the mage replied, squinting at Simon. He must have had a stat-reading Perk or spell of some kind. “A fey creature. A dryad’s emissary.”

“A dryad?” Leonard looked up at the manatree’s shadow beyond the veil of miasma. “The local dryad is alive?”

“Our lady is alive, but sick from an ancient curse,” Simon confirmed. That much was true. “The blighted landscape around you is the result.”

Leonard assessed him warily. “What do you want, spirit?”

“I ask that you turn back and return from where you came from.”

“That we cannot do, sir. Our orders are to push into the Darkwood and establish a safari zone for grinding.”

“This is folly,” Simon argued. “There are other horrors deeper in these woods, creatures that would wander far into the local town and ravage the region if disturbed. I have kept them at bay so far, but each new intrusion further pokes the beehive. Thousands of innocent lives will be lost if you continue.”

Leonard was a loyal soldier, but he was also noble and honorable. He didn’t disbelieve the claim at face value. “What kind of monsters?”

“Fiends attracted by the miasma, corrupted fey, the undead… some that would rip you to shreds on sight, however strong a Dreadnought you might be.” Simon leaned forward a little. “Surely a knight like you would understand that robbing a person in their own home is wrong and invites retaliation?”

“Even if you speak the truth, our orders are clear,” Leonard replied sternly. “We must establish a training camp in these woods.”

“You may do that, just not here, so close to the manatree and its most dangerous denizens,” Simon argued. Now that he had shown them the rod, it was time to bring out the carrot. “The other parts of the Darkwood are safe. I could even help you with your goal, if you agree to stay in a specific area.”

“Help how?” Leonard asked tentatively.

“I could send the weakest creatures to be culled by your soldiers. This would lessen my burden and fulfill your orders without endangering the town.” Simon could always summon more imps or brew slimes without jeopardizing his defenses. “Peace through coexistence.”

On paper, this should be a golden opportunity for Leonard to seize. The imperial army would get its training camp at a reduced risk and win a local intermediary to deal with the Darkwood’s most dangerous creatures, and this would cancel the raid.

“If you need any proof of my goodwill, I can already send troublesome creatures to a designated spot of your choice,” Simon suggested as Leonard considered his offer. “I will gladly assist you in your task here so long as you respect our boundaries.”

Leonard pondered his words in silence, his men exchanging nervous glances behind him, their hands tightening their grip on their weapons. They feared a battle could start at any time. Simon himself was ready to unleash his Dreadful Aura at the first sign of aggression and signal the Honorius family to attack them.

He didn’t want a battle, but… he would wage one if he had to.

Come on, Leonard, don’t be a gallant fool, Simon thought, praying to the Light and Dark both that his former retainer would see reason. Take the easy win. Take the deal and come back to your sister alive.

“A powerful surge of mana took place to the south of the Darkwood yesterday,” Leonard finally said. “Do you know anything about that?”

Simon was thankful the Fiendmask hid his expression behind an inhuman visage. Did they notice the Merchant Crestone’s destruction? It did release a huge amount of mana when Simon consumed it, but he had been careful to operate miles away from Whispermire.

“I have no knowledge of this,” Simon lied. “You people are at war, if I can trust the metal birds flying over our forest days and nights. What happens beyond this forest is of no concern to us.”

“Is it? Then why do you care about protecting local humans from your kind’s depredation?” Leonard briefly glanced at the woods and the fog shielding the Honorius family from his sight. Had he somehow sensed their presence too? “The creatures living here have grown stronger and more organized lately, according to our reports. What do you have to say to that?”

“All monsters across the world grow stronger,” Simon admitted, before seeing an opportunity. “A great comet is approaching this planet as we speak, as it did long in the past.”

“A comet?” Leonard asked in disbelief.

“Yes. A comet that strengthens the Dark and will bring disaster upon this world.” Simon could see that Leonard struggled to believe his words, but this might be a chance to convince the War Party to take the problem seriously. “Your presence in these woods will only exacerbate the problem. I have the situation well in hand, but your interference may threaten this delicate balance unless we can reach an agreement.”

Simon had no way of seeing Leonard’s face past his Dreadnought armor, but the man had served half a dozen reigns as his subordinate. He could read his body language, the way his knees bent slightly, the slight, almost imperceptible moment when he pivoted to shield his allies with his body…

Don’t do it, Leonard, Simon pleaded mentally, even as the tension in the air grew heavier and heavier. Don’t do it, please, don’t do–

Leonard charged faster than any other Dreadnought should be able to, sword first.

His agility would have taken most other foes by surprise, but Simon was already aware of that secret trick of his and reacted quickly. He immediately unleashed his Dreadful Aura, bathing the area in otherworldly terror, and then raised his hand at his retainer.

“Hellthunder!”

A mighty bolt of crimson lightning erupted from his fingers and crackled forth.

Leonard swiftly reacted by raising his pavise shield to protect himself, but the energy struck more than just the body; it hurt the very soul, the current coursing through his armor, and briefly causing a view of the skeleton within to flash to life. A brief moment of guilt washed over Simon, only to be quickly drowned by a rush of adrenaline and combat instincts.

A fight was a fight.

His Dreadful Aura sent the hounds running, but the imperial soldiers readied their weapons. Simon briefly wondered if they were all higher-leveled than him before dismissing the possibility. He had seen the brief flash of fear in their gazes. They had been affected by his aura, but Leonard took their dread and terror upon himself.

Hector chose this moment to emerge from his father’s obscuring fog, having craftily moved behind the imperial group to flank them. His dark frame cast a great shadow upon the enemy as he brought down his axe on the archer of the group, the woman barely having time to turn and raise her bow before the blade lopped off her head…

Or rather, that was what would have happened had Leonard not taken the damage upon himself. The archer was instead thrown across the clearing with her head still attached.

“An ambush!” her orc swordsman ally shouted as he engaged Hector in melee, his blade now oozing poison. “It’s a trap!”

Leonard was too strong for Hector’s strike to kill him outright, but blood did leak from beneath his armor. His pain from both the blow and lightning failed to halt his charge, his sword clashing with Simon’s disguised morning star in a blow that sent a brief ripple reverberating through the air, the force of the blow revealing the mace for what it was. Although Leonard was higher-leveled, the Overlord Class’ greater strength modifier more than made up for it.

“A forest spirit, using a forged metal weapon?!” Leonard scoffed as he pressed on with his sword, trying to break past Simon’s guard. “You were deceiving us the moment you opened your mouth!”

“Duchar, Hector, incapacitate him!” Simon shouted as he raised a free hand at Leonard. “Chaos Wave.”

Leonard raised his pavise just in time to avoid a blow to the face, the spell’s shockwave instead throwing him back a bit. However, Simon quickly noticed that the mage of the group had used the opportunity to move to the side and start incantating.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Megafrost!” the imperial magus said, a rain of hail and icicles materializing from his staff and flying straight at Simon.

Inventory, Simon thought as he switched his Ring of Cursed Flame for a Ring of Cursed Winter he had prepared just for the occasion. The hailstorm harmlessly bounced off his newfound immunity to Frost damage.

Although Simon could only wear one ring at a time, he had created a few that protected him from the most common elemental damage types, like fire or lightning. So long as he reacted in time to switch them out, such weak spells would always fail to affect him.

“Hellfire,” Simon countered.

A skull-shaped fireball erupted from his snapping fingers and flew at the mage, who hastily stomped the ground and raised a wall of ice to intercept the projectile. Tainted steam and fumes rose at the point of impact.

“Diabolism, Ser Leonard!” the mage shouted as he prepared to cast another spell. “That thing is a demon!”

“Focus on their leader!” Leonard shouted as he lunged at Simon again to keep the assault going, but thick ice chains appeared out of nowhere to bind his feet and arms, causing him to stumble; likely a hidden Duchar’s work. Simon exploited the opportunity to cast a second Hellfire at the mage before he could complete his incantation, forcing him to dive out of the way to avoid the fireball.

Only Leonard has a high level among this squad, and he weakens himself by taking on their wounds, Simon thought. This will be over soon.

Meanwhile, the orc swordsman was dancing around Hector while struggling to avoid his axe, his poisoned sword darting and inflicting superficial wounds on the executioner. He must have mistaken Hector for a living creature rather than an undead and hoped that an ailment would eventually bring him down. The archer of the group, who had recovered from Hector’s previous blow, supported her allies by firing arrows of mana at all her foes. Simon deflected a hit with his morning star while the projectiles barely needled Hector.

Unfortunately, this infuriated the undead. Hector let out a raging wail, tossed the orc swordsman back with a backhand, and then lunged at the archer in a blur of speed. An unholy crimson aura radiated from his axe.

“Execution!” he snarled with an animalistic grunt as he caught up to the archer, too quickly for her to retreat.

“Wait–” Simon shouted in alarm, far too late, his heart skipping a beat in his chest when the blow connected.

Hector brought down his axe and killed two people in one blow.

Leonard absorbed the blow for his ally as he did before, the aura surrounding the axe swirling around him as an invisible force beheaded him and sent his helmet flying into the mud.

An Instadeath effect.

Leonard’s sudden and brutal demise removed his protection, so Hector’s axe chopped the archer in two like a log, staining the earth with blood and entrails. The Executioner fed on the deaths, his muscles surging with newfound strength and bloodlust. He glanced back at the terrified orc swordsman in utter silence, his eyes piercing through his hood with violent malice.

“Ser Leonard, Astrid!” the mage gasped in horror. “By the Light…”

At this point, Simon’s Dreadful Aura finally took hold and instilled Terror in the survivors. The mage and the orc swordsman tried to run away, but Hector simply lunged at the latter and struck him in the back. His axe cut his victim from the shoulder to the hip, killing him instantly.

Unwilling to let anyone else live to tell the tale, Simon cast Mire at the mage. Vile green slime materialized over the man’s skin, devouring his flesh and sapping his vitality. He tripped over a branch onto the ground, and Simon quickly moved in for the kill. His morning star smashed the mage’s skull and sealed his soul into a miasma gem.

Hector roared in victory and then turned his gaze on Simon. He briefly feared his own ally would turn against him in the throes of his bloodlust, only for Hector to crumble to his knees.

“Calm down, my son,” Duchar said as he walked out of the fog while waving his staff at his berserk child. “Quiet.”

The enchantment in the staff restrained Hector, his grunts of rage slowing down as the haze of bloodlust faded away. Simon walked away to check on Leonard. Although he knew his old retainer was dead, a small sliver of him hoped his Deathmastery Perk would let him harvest his soul. He only had to touch his friend’s severed head to realize the opportunity was long gone, if it ever existed at all.

Leonard was dead. Dead in a way that had prevented Simon from harvesting his soul.

They had killed one of the few good, honest men Simon had ever met. A friend who had saved his life more than once, including the last reign.

And the Overlord Class transformed that grief and guilt into power and pleasure. It filled his bones with power and a new level’s thrill.

Level 38 Overlord Perk: Deathmastery IV (Active): You may summon a phantom steed to serve you. This ghostly horse is tied to your lifeforce—disappearing if brought farther than three hundred feet from you—obeys your orders at will, and can be summoned after one hour if it is ever destroyed. The phantom steed ignores terrain effects, and can walk on both water and wind.

The pleasure lasted only an instant, leaving only guilt behind.

Why? Why hadn’t Leonard taken the deal? Had Simon said something that aroused his suspicions? Had he failed to sound convincing enough? Or did Leonard receive specific orders to investigate the Darkwood or the Merchant Crestone’s destruction, making a conflict unavoidable?

Simon couldn’t fight the nagging suspicion that he could have avoided this somehow. Even the knowledge that Leonard would return to life in the next reign didn’t help him process the situation any better.

It was such a waste.

“Your Majesty?” Duchar inquired.

“This man saved my life once,” Simon replied, his voice dying in his throat. More than once. “I repaid my life debt with death.”

“Yes, I… I understand how it could bother Your Majesty.”

“My apologies… Your Majesty…” Hector rattled as he held his head with one hand. “The fog of war and the blood of the living… they cloud my mind.”

“I do not blame you,” Simon reassured him. He had followed his orders, and mishaps happened in battle. “The fault is mine alone for not coming up with a better plan.”

Duchar stroked his beard. “It might not be entirely too late for this man, though.”

Simon’s heart swelled with hope. “You can raise him?”

“As a mindless corpse, most certainly.” Duchar cleared his throat when Simon glared at him in response. “When the body perishes, the soul usually departs towards the nearest manatree within one minute of what we call ‘death.’ Their memories, experience, and sense of self then return to the river of mana while their purified spirit awaits reincarnation.”

Simon’s eyes widened in understanding. “The Muse has his soul?”

“She should have it, yes… under normal circumstances. I cannot say how her current predicament affects the local cycle of souls.” Duchar glanced at the slaughter around them. “In any case, what should we do with them? I would suggest raising the corpses as labor, but the imperial army will surely send people to recover their bodies.”

Simon wondered what to do. Bringing the bodies back to the Halls of the Minotaur would lead to disaster, and the theft of their Crestones would be investigated; not to mention that extracting the schematics would take much time. But still, he didn’t want to leave Leonard’s body to rot in the open.

In the end, Simon decided to follow Duchar’s original suggestion and make it look like Darkwood monsters had torn the scouts apart. This would hopefully teach the War Party that a raid would lead to disaster and outweigh the benefits of leveling-up their soldiers.

“Leave them here,” Simon said before telepathically calling out to one of his followers, a woodsman who had had success infiltrating adventurer parties in the past. “Mockingbird two, come to me with your group. I have corpses for you to move.”

The least he could do was to give Leonard a proper burial.

After having his followers ‘miraculously’ stumble upon the site of Leonard’s death with orders to bring the bodies back to town and report on their demise, Simon fulfilled his promise to Cassandra and led her family outside the Darkwood for dinner. Since bringing Hector to Whispermire would have led to disaster, they instead settled into the same cultist couple’s farm a fair distance away from the town. Simon also took the opportunity to interrogate the Muse about Leonard’s soul on the way there.

“Closed from the world’s roots I have been, by my sisters most treacherous,” the Muse explained with anger. “The souls of the dead stay trapped in my woods, left to rot in the Dark and denied my guidance.”

“So his soul is still within your grasp?” Simon inquired.

“Trapped as I am, he is doomed to wander my miasma forevermore,” the Muse replied, her next words a gentle whisper full of promises. “Fear not, beloved. Once freed from my stone bindings, his spirit I shall guide back to you to serve.”

Was that an empty oath meant to encourage him to hurry up and free her, or were her words genuine? Simon couldn’t tell until he had done further research.

Even then, what would that change? There was no spell that could truly revive the dead. The best he could do with Leonard’s soul would be to bring him back as an undead like Lorimor. Somehow, he doubted his former retainer would appreciate the gesture.

The thought wouldn’t leave his mind for the entire evening, even if the dinner was pleasant enough. Cassandra was a surprisingly good cook, perhaps thanks to her potion expertise, and her stew was delicious. Simon tasted it in silence while the Honorius family caught up.

“Your skin complexion has improved, Hector,” Cassandra said, though Simon didn’t notice any difference. “You look healthier.”

“I feel… I belong here,” her brother rasped. “I do not need to sleep… as much as before.”

“His Majesty’s ability to strengthen the undead reinforces your flesh and mind,” Duchar noted. “We must continue to work on your anger management issues, my son, but I am happy with your progress.”

“I have been working on potions to ease the nerves,” Cassandra said. “I could brew some.”

“I cannot taste… anything, anymore,” Hector replied. He hadn’t touched his stew. “It is…”

“Deadening?” Duchar coughed. “My apologies, my son. My jest was in poor taste.”

“I… do not mind.”

“What about you, Cassandra?” Duchar asked his daughter. “How are your necromantic studies going?”

“I gained a new level yesterday,” she replied proudly. “Providing potions to my flock has brought me much experience.”

“Good. Keep it up.”

How could a family dinner involving a witch, a necromancer, and a flesh golem sound so normal? Then again, he had never been invited to one in all his years in Frightwall, so he didn’t have much experience with those… though he doubted Louis and Euphemia could share a table without throwing cutlery at each other.

“Is something wrong, Simon?” Cassandra asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You seem preoccupied.”

Simon set his spoon aside. “Do you think it is wrong to kill someone even when you have the means to eventually revive them?”

“Of course it is right,” Duchar replied as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “Death is but an illness to be cured. Temporary sacrifices can be excused in the service of future prosperity."

“Wrong…” Hector rasped. “It is wrong… life should never be… taken lightly.”

Cassandra was the one who pondered the question the longest, and who provided the wisest answer. “It depends on the situation, but I agree with Hector, life is precious. Nobody can tell how the future will unfold. Even the best necromancy spells can fail.” She glanced at her brother, a look of sorrow briefly gracing her face. “Important things can be lost in the process.”

She likely referred to how Hector’s revival as an undead had taken its toll on his body and psyche, but her words resonated with Simon. The loss of Eole’s friendship, Anna, and now Leonard… the reigns exacted an unavoidable toll.

People changed from one reign to the next. The Anna who had married Thalas was not the same he had shared a bed with in the Berwick Islands, nor was the Leonard he had slain the man who had given his life to save him from Thalas’ murderous hands. Perhaps he needed to accept that, like Louis had advised him to once, yet he struggled to imagine treating the likes of Lauriane like strangers each time he woke up in his bedroom in Frightwall.

Did it matter at all? Only Simon’s final reign would stick as far as he knew. Everything beforehand would be little more than a dream or illusion… at least from his point of view. What if the reigns he had completed continued to linger on, like the branches of a tree, their worlds continuing beyond his death?

I still understand so little about the reigns, and the only people who might be able to provide answers are either plotting my death in Illusea or haunting Castle Carcas’ basement, Simon thought. Could I preserve people’s memories beyond a given reign? I would assume it would trigger the curse and lead to an early grave, or that Father would have done so by now if he could… assuming he cared to try.

Perhaps he should dedicate a reign to investigating the timeloop mechanism. Simon had been focused on gathering knowledge on more pressing matters like the civil war or the Zodiac Parade, and he lacked the arcane background to understand how Mardok and Elios Magnos managed the colossal feat of turning back time, but…one day. One day.

“Thank you for your answers,” Simon said after emptying his plate. “I’m calling it quits for the night. I need to clear my mind, take a breath of fresh air.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Cassandra asked softly. “I will gladly provide a friendly ear, if you need one.”

Simon pondered her offer. Truth be told, he did enjoy her company and she was quite the fount of wisdom. He wouldn’t mind spending a bit more time with her. Besides, they needed to return to Whispermire together anyway, so…

“Have you ever flown, Cassandra?” he asked.

“I have taken an airship before,” she replied with a slight frown. “Why?”

“Well… how about we ride the wind home?”