The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 83: Mask of the Jester King (1)

Simon once again started the reign by checking his Inventory.

The book he had stored there in the previous timeline remained as an icon there, though Simon couldn’t access it. The fact that this event repeated two times in a row now suggested it wasn’t a one-time error in the System. He would regularly check on it to confirm whether or not the icon disappeared over time.

Then, after checking his Fiendmask for any flaws, Simon teleported into Shabram's office. He half-expected his spymistress to be absent, only to find her reading documents. Did the woman ever sleep?

“Your Majesty?” she asked with a frown. “What a surprise to see you at this hour. Did Lady Sha bore you already?”

Sha? Was that the dead concubine’s name? “A fatal mistake,” Simon replied ominously, while doing his best to imitate his father’s cruel smile, “But let us not waste time on details. I need you to call a High Council meeting.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Do it in your name without mentioning me.” The assassin would believe the spymistress had found Balzam’s corpse and was calling the empire’s echelons to discuss the murder in secret. “Then, I want you to restrain and arrest Elaine Malphas while her father is occupied waiting with the council. Be very careful. She’s a traitor carrying an exploding necklace, and she won’t hesitate to use it to blow herself up once caught. I need her alive, to use against her treacherous father.”

“I see…” Lady Shabram set her files aside. “May I ask Your Majesty a question?”

“You may.”

“What’s our son’s name?”

Of all the things she could have asked, that was the last one Simon expected. It took him completely by surprise, the words slowly sinking in.

Their son? Balzam Magnos and Lady Shabram had a son? Simon recalled seeing her in his father’s book of conquests, but he never heard any rumors about his father siring a bastard upon her. This was both a plausible possibility and a potential bluff meant to identify a potential impostor.

Should he say they had no son in the hope that it was a lie, or say he didn’t remember because he had too many bastards to care about each one? No, it wouldn’t change anything. The gig was up if Shabram even had to ask such a trick question.

“Is that a joke?” Simon inquired in utter disbelief.

“It is not.” Shabram sat on her desk. “You impersonate His Majesty well enough, but he always summons me rather than visiting my office, to ensure I remember my place.” Her head tilted to the side. “May I ask who I’m talking to? If you can teleport around in Frightwall, then you must be the new Overlord.”

Simon suddenly began to have doubts about his plan. He sighed and cancelled his Fiendmask, showing his true self. “You figured me out,” he said, squinting at her. “Were you bluffing about your son?”

“No. He’s very young, and I keep his existence a secret so no one can use him to pressure me, but Your Majesty does have another half-brother.” Shabram smiled at him. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Uh… probably… maybe, I don’t know, this is all very sudden and unexpected,” Simon admitted. That news had taken him completely by surprise, and yet it explained so much. “That can wait until later, we have more pressing matters to deal with for now. My father has been murdered and I inherited his Class. And before you ask, no, I did not kill him.”

“It wouldn’t matter to me if you did,” Shabram replied. “If anything, I suspect His Majesty would have been proud that you did the deed. The fact that you inherited the Overlord Class is proof enough that you were his worthy successor.”

“You flatter me, but I cannot rest easy so long as Father’s assassin remains afoot,” Simon said. “I will need your assistance to catch the responsible party.”

She didn’t even question him. Her faith in the Overlord was truly unshakable. “I assume that would be Patriate Malphas, if you seek to capture his daughter alive?”

“No, but he supplied the weapon,” Simon replied. “He placed it in the castle’s chapel a few days before the assassination.”

“High Confessor Mastemo and Empress Euphemia regularly attend ceremonies there. Prince Louis and Princess Lauriane occasionally visit it too on occasion to discuss with officials.” Shabram clasped her hands. “However, comings and goings are carefully monitored. My agents would have informed me if anyone was seen entering and leaving the chapel with a new magical sword.”

True. Patriate Malphas avoided that by storing the Mana Sword in his Inventory and smuggling it inside the chapel, but the killer would have to leave with it. Either they managed to hide it somehow, or…

Or they smuggled it out the same way Patriate moved it in.

It’s him. The pieces all fell into place in Simon’s mind. It has to be him.

He was the only one with the required ability, the necessary proficiency to kill Balzam Magnos in one hit, and the one the Oracle specifically didn’t want to inherit the Overlord Class, an outcome which the Mana Sword was supposed to prevent. The weapon’s current location couldn’t be more obvious.

It also meant that Simon had no way of taking it by force until he accumulated over forty levels or powerful allies. This left only diplomacy and trickery, and the killer would likely use the blade to silence any witnesses the moment he was called out on it. Not to mention that Simon had no proof yet, only suspicions.

I will go with my original plan,

Simon decided. It is the only one with a chance of peaceful resolution. It was time for Balzam Magnos to confront his murderer.

The highest echelons of the empire gathered in the High Council’s room at Shabram’s urging. Simon ‘Balzam’ Magnos waited for his’ spymistress’ signal in her office, which he received soon enough.

“They are all here, Your Majesty,” Shabram informed through her newfound Brand of Sloth. “The guards should have seized Elaine Malphas by now.”

Simon took a long, deep breath, checked his buffs and spells for the hundredth time, and then teleported into the room.

He had only been there once in all of the previous reigns, filling the seat his father occupied back when the councilors tried to make a puppet out of him in his father’s place. Quite the irony that he was the only one in on the joke this time.

All eyes turned in his direction when he appeared, which let him see the councilors’ reactions in minute detail.

Knowing what would happen, Shabram simply smiled.

Belzemine showed no reaction whatsoever.

Patriate Malphas, who had probably been informed by the Oracle that Balzam Magnos was due to die last night, paled with immense fear at the sight of the Overlord.

Lauriane greeted him with a blank face and a nod. “Father.”

Mastemo, whose face always remained hidden behind his mirror mask, clasped his hands. “Your Majesty.”

Euphemia welcomed him with a dismissive grunt, being clearly frustrated at having been woken up in the middle of the night and having little respect left for her husband.

Only one of the people present stared at Simon, not with annoyance or fear, but resignation. He must have expected something like this when he failed to obtain the Overlord Class after doing the deed.

“What’s wrong?” Simon smirked wickedly, his heart pounding hard in his chest. This was the moment of truth. “Did you think I was dead?”

His reaction confirmed Simon’s suspicions. That look of frustration about getting caught and outwitted, rather than fear or remorse, spoke volumes about his true feelings.

“Did you truly believe it would work, my son?” Simon inquired. “That you could kill me with an elven blade of all things?”

Louis Magnos, crown-prince and Marshal of the empire, confessed to his patricide with a casual shrug. “Yes, I did.”

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That confirmed it.

Louis had murdered his own father with the Mana Sword without any remorse.

That makes seven successful murders, Brother Dearest, Simon thought upon remembering his father’s tally of deaths, his heart pounding in alarm. Too bad for you, it only landed you the runner-up spot.

Part of Simon wanted to thank Louis profusely for slaying Balzam Magnos, and the rest remained incredibly wary. Louis hadn’t hesitated to kill his father nor Simon himself. Shedding his kin’s blood didn’t cloud his conscience any more than bombarding entire cities did. Simon was starting to wonder if his brother even had one.

Now that he had learned the truth, what could he do with this information?

Not much, Simon thought grimly. Louis wouldn’t hesitate to attack if he felt threatened, and he could probably kill half the people in this room except for Euphemia. It would be the same bloodbath that followed Balzam’s death in Simon’s first reign. My best chance is to treat the whole thing as a joke. Father’s twisted idea of a prank.

“What’s going on?” Lauriane asked.

“Your brother tried and miserably failed to kill me in my bedroom,” Simon replied with a chuckle, as if he found it amusing. “That was something of a test on my part, which he failed horribly.”

“What?!” Lauriane’s head snapped in her brother’s direction. “Is this a joke?!”

Euphemia stared at Louis with barely concealed disgust. “You tried to murder your own father?”

“Prince Louis!” Patriate said in a vain attempt to go along with the flow and keep his cover. “How could you?!”

“Is there no low Your Highness will not stoop to?” Mastemo inquired with scorn.

“Do you fault me? I saw an opportunity to take the throne and took it. I am sure you would have done the same in my place.” Louis rested his head on his fist and observed his ‘father.’ He showed no fear or hesitation, although this situation should be the ultimate stress test. “I knew it was a trick when I failed to inherit the Overlord Class. Was that a body double?”

Simon was now convinced that there was something utterly wrong with Louis Magnos. No man could be so calm and nonchalant when accused of murder in a room full of high-level people. Either his confidence was sky-high, or he processed emotions differently than normal people.

“The concubine you slew was real enough,” Simon replied with a dismissive snort. “Did you gain a level out of it at least?”

“No,” Louis replied without remorse.

“A pity. At least you recovered the Mana Sword as I planned.” Simon pointed at the table. “Put it here.”

Louis remained quiet for a moment, no doubt weighing the odds of striking his father down with the Mana Sword from across the table and killing his way through the castle, before realizing the futility of it. After all, his father had seemingly survived one assassination attempt with the blade.

“Infinite Armory,” he said, waving his hand at the table and causing the Mana Sword to appear.

Simon had only seen Ser Richard’s sword briefly once at the end of the disastrous final battle in the Darkwood, and yet he immediately noticed the resemblance to this one. Forged in what appeared to be an alloy of gleaming blue steel and silver, with a burnished copper hilt exquisitely carved in the shape of a tree extending its branches. An emerald manalith glowed on its pommel. It was perhaps the most beautiful weapon Simon had ever seen, and he could feel the Overlord spirit within him recoil at the sight like a vampire facing the rising daylight.

“What is this?” Mastemo wondered. “A magical sword?”

“This… this is an elven blade,” Belzemine muttered with a dead expression.

“It carries many enchantments,” Euphemia said, a scowl stretching on her face. “I can feel them from here.”

“It was an anonymous gift, delivered to me with the expectation that I would slay the Overlord with it,” Louis said, holding his ‘father’s’ gaze. “Was it yours?”

“No, but it was my hope that my enemies would deliver it to you.” Simon glanced at Patriate, who was dying inside at the sight of the sword. It must have been a crushing blow to sacrifice so much to deliver the weapon inside these walls, only to watch the enemy recover it.

“Beautiful craftsmanship, isn’t it?” Simon leaned towards a terrified Patriate’s ear. “Familiar craftsmanship, Lord Barthandelus?”

His hand immediately reached out for his necklace to blow himself up without hesitation, but Simon disarmed him with a single threat.

“I have your half-breed daughter. Alive.”

In Balzam Magnos’ mouth, that last word sounded a thousand times more threatening than dead. Patriate Malphas froze in place, a look of utter despair on his face.

“Your sisters Sebile and Lutzelfrau too,” Simon added. That one was a lie, but Patriate had no means of confirming it. Simply hearing his sisters’ true names ought to shatter his spirit. “You are a family man, Barthandelus, a caring man, so you know how I will take care of them.”

“You…” Patriate clenched his teeth in impotent rage. “You monster…”

“I know,” Simon replied softly. He bet his father would have said the same thing. “So if you try to dodge your way out of your rightful punishment, I will have those three pretty ladies brought to me and I will–”

Feed their souls to Gourmand? Rape them? No, that would be too common. His father wouldn’t be above doing either, but he always went the extra mile by inventing some horrible fate when it came to settling old grudges. He had collected a whole museum of petrified victims, among other terrors. It had to be something outlandish, so absurdly worthy of his title of the Cruel.

“–I will eat them.”

Patriate looked up to him in abject horror. Shabram smiled in vague amusement—being in on the joke—whereas Mastemo sank in his chair and Belzemine showed no emotions. Lauriane was left speechless, and even Louis appeared vaguely disturbed. As for Euphemia…

“Again?” she said, her tone dripping with pure contempt. “Eating that cow beastwoman wasn’t enough for you?”

…

By the Light, the implications.

“Well,” Simon said, trying to come up with an answer that fit his father, “I never had an elf salad before!”

Euphemia’s gaze became unbearable, and nobody dared to comment on his words.

“I do not understand,” High Confessor Mastemo said in his eagerness to change the topic, “Did you supply this blade to Prince Louis, Patriate? Did you purchase it from the elves to kill His Majesty?”

“Lord Patriate Malphas is no man,” Shabram said, “His true name is Barthandelus, an elf blessed with the Changeling Vassal Class which allows him to pass for human.”

Patriate stared at her, and Simon watched the last embers of fight left in his gaze dying in his eyes. His hand let go of his necklace as his soul fell into a pit of absolute despair.

“It is finally sinking in for you that I knew from the start,” Simon said to further break his spirit and ensure he didn’t try anything stupid. “I know about the Goddess’ Judgment and your plan for Agnes. Without spoiling too much…” Simon leaned to whisper in his ear. “It’s not going to work.”

“You…” Patriate’s voice broke in his throat, “knew?”

“Indeed.” The lies that time-travel let a man get away with… “I allowed this treachery to take root and unfold.”

“But why?” Lauriane asked in disbelief. “Why, Father?”

“To teach his Illusean mistress and your elder brother a very valuable lesson.” Simon clapped his hands, a smug smile stretching across his Fiendmask. “That I alone am worthy to rule.”

Patriate regained a little energy in his anger. “One day you will fall,” he said, his voice weak. “Like all your predecessors. Once you have made everyone your enemy, someone is bound to get lucky.”

“But that someone won’t be you, elven vermin.” Simon turned to Louis next. He had found a way to at least keep him out of his hair for now. “As for you, my son, I can tolerate your ambition, but not your incompetence. You shall be stripped of command until you redeem yourself. Dassein will assume your Marshal duties until further notice.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “You will not kill me?”

“You’re letting him live?!” Euphemia choked in righteous outrage. “After he tried to kill you?!”

My options are kind of limited for now, unless you want to kill each other, Simon thought. Life is made of little compromises.

“My son is no threat to me, and though he has greatly disappointed me, he may still prove useful,” he replied dismissively. “It has come to my attention through Shabram that Gargauth has begotten vile dragonlings intent on destroying all that we have achieved.”

Euphemia’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gargauth had children?”

“Gargauth slew all dragons on the continent,” Mastemo pointed out. “Which one would be left to bear his brood?”

“That remains a mystery for now,” Shabram conceded, especially since she had to base her report on Simon’s own intel. “However, my spies have confirmed this information.”

“Their names are Casval and Vouivre Ashmodai,” Simon said. “The former hides in House Forneus as a ward, and the latter is inciting rebellion in Telluria. Bring me both of their heads, Louis, and I shall find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“We both know you have none, Father, but fine,” Louis replied, his hand reaching out for the Mana Sword. “I will take my leave–”

“The sword stays here,” Simon said, stopping his brother dead in his tracks. He would have Belzemine analyze the weapon to figure out if it could interfere with the reigns. “Did you really think I would let you take it with you?”

“No, I did not.” Louis shrugged and rose from his seat. “What is my deadline?”

“Yesterday,” Simon replied cheerfully. “Be a dear and help your sister escort Patriate to his new cell, would you? I would be upset if anything happened to our friend on the way.” He then turned to Euphemia and Mastemo. “I have a list of co-conspirators for you to interrogate. I am confident we identified them all, but it does not hurt to be thorough.”

Euphemia snorted, her fair face full of hatred. “You let this mess fester and now expect us to clean it.”

“Yes,” Simon replied bluntly.

“Fuck you, Balzam,” she angrily snapped at him. “Do you think this is a game? We are not toys and tools for you to–”

“Your Grace, please,” Mastemo said in an attempt to defuse the situation. “Your anger is wasted here. For now, we must ensure none of our enemies escape our grasp.”

“Shut the door on your way out,” Simon said dismissively. Euphemia immediately stormed out with Mastemo shadowing her, whereas Lauriane and Louis escorted Patriate outside, leaving Simon alone with Shabram and Belzemine.

He let out a sigh and sank into his chair the moment the doors closed. All the tension accumulated in the last hour flowed out of him.

By the Light, how did he manage to pull that off without it devolving into a bloodbath?! Was his father so feared by his inner circle that the mere idea of doubting him never entered their minds? Or had acting become a second nature to him?

Whatever the case, the flow of experience pouring through him was only matched by the thrill of victory. He had solved the mystery of Balzam’s murder after so long, obtained the Mana Sword, and potentially averted a civil war.

“Your Majesty is a wonderful actor,” Shabram complimented him. “However, I suspect they will start to grow suspicious before too long. This situation is unsustainable.”

“Agreed,” Simon conceded. Louis had given up way too easily and proved too confident, which meant he likely had an ace or two up his sleeves, and Euphemia hated Balzam so much that Simon wondered if she wasn’t already planning his assassination. Shock and awe had carried the day for now, but they would run out soon. “I have to ask… did my father actually eat a shifter?”

“Unfortunately, he did,” Shabram admitted with a sigh. Belzemine looked up in confusion at the ‘father’ bit. “He was halfway through Gargauth’s cookbook by the time I last saw him.”

Simon was almost afraid to ask for details.