The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 95: The Church of the Stars (7)

The very first thing Simon asked for after the ceremony was to request access to the forbidden archives, which was granted to him.

“Our restricted library is available only to Templars, Confessors, sworn priests, and our head librarian,” Mastemo explained on their way down the elevator. “You are free to examine the books there as you wish in your free time, though you are not allowed to take any book outside the premises for security purposes. Whatever information you seek is either here or does not exist.”

Quite the bold claim, but Simon was wise enough not to question it. “Thank you, Your Eminence. I hope this will let me understand my visions better.”

“Your thirst for knowledge is both a virtue and a flaw, Simon,” Mastemo warned him. “Believe me when I say our world is built on lies. Nothing is more precious than the truth… and you will find no heavier burden.”

“It is one I will gladly bear.” Simon took a deep breath, feigning unease. “The Light’s plans for me remain unclear. I need to understand them.”

“Awareness will come with time and wisdom.” Mastemo put a hand on Simon’s shoulder in a near-paternal fashion. “I will have a very important task for you, my new Templar, but that can wait until tomorrow. Join me in my office at dawn.”

Some Zodiac Fiend hunting or political task, no doubt, Simon thought as he nodded. “I am at Your Excellency’s service.”

The elevator stopped on floor three-hundred and five, then opened up to reveal a breathtaking sight: a vast, circular well with rows upon rows of books, scrolls, and parchments plummeting downward along spiraling flights of stairs and platforms hosting study desks illuminated by flickering lanterns. Some bookshelves rose so high they required ladders to access, each of them neatly separated into floors and dedicated to a particular field of study. It would take lifetimes to read it all.

However, the room wasn’t nearly as surprising as the figure Simon found there, reading a scroll on a table near the elevator.

“Brother,” Norbelle said with a mock reverence. “You look dashing today.”

“Norbelle?” Simon blinked in surprise.

“Princess,” Mastemo said, his tone calm and even. “I was not informed of your visit.”

“I didn’t wish to trouble your mind, High Confessor,” Norbelle replied with a hint of subtle disrespect. “I was just passing through in my search for knowledge. Phoenix-related matters, I’m sure you understand.”

“I do.” Was that annoyance Simon picked up in the High Confessor’s voice? “I take it that the Queendom agreed to our proposal?”

“Yes, I should be binding the Phoenix shortly. That will make two out of five, for now.” Norbelle smiled mischievously. “Maybe my brother could help find me a third.”

“If I deem it necessary.” Mastemo glanced down at the smaller Norbelle until her face reflected in his mask. “Do not toy with me, princess. The Church supports your saintly mother, but our resources are not yours to misuse.”

“Duly noted,” Norbelle replied with a tone that implied she would ignore the advice. “Anyway, I’ll teleport back to Cocagne soon. Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were planning to do.”

Simon had the suspicion Mastemo was considering smiting the princess where she stood, but he had enough self-control to restrain himself. “Stay here as long as you wish, Simon,” he said upon excusing himself. “I will meet you tomorrow to discuss your new duties.”

Norbelle watched the High Confessor leave through the elevator with a chuckle. “The poor Cleric,” she mused once only Simon and she remained. “It rattles him to know I can teleport into his secret archive without alarming his church-sense.”

“His church-sense?” Simon inquired.

“You don’t know?” Norbelle gave him a bemused look. “A temple is a Cleric’s territory. Mirror-Face controls this entire Lighthouse the same way Father controls Frightwall. He can shift the floors around, punish interloops, even observe them from afar. I’m sure the creep is watching us as we speak.”

Simon suppressed a scowl. He had suspected Mastemo would keep him under close surveillance, but he didn’t think it would be so extensive. Anathemic Secrecy’s false stats should at least shield him from discovery by deceiving divination attempts.

“You shouldn’t speak of His Excellency that way,” Simon said with a faint smile.

“If we don’t remind the High Mirror-Face of his place, he is likely to forget himself.” Norbelle put her hands behind her back and smirked at him. “I’ve heard you became the quickest squire to rise to the ranks of Templar Knight. Is it true you killed a gargoyle in a single blow?”

“It was an accident,” Simon replied. His half-sister was sharp, and she might infer much from limited information.

“Is that supposed to make it sound less impressive?” his sister teased him. She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Did Mirror-Face try to marry you off yet?”

Simon frowned in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He begged Mother and Father to let me marry dullards with drops of Visionary blood so the gift would pass on to our kids. They ignored him, of course, but I’m sure he’ll try again with you.” Norbelle put a finger on her lips. “Except… you won’t have much of a choice because of that stupid vow you made.”

“I see…” It didn’t entirely surprise Simon, but he suspected the High Confessor had more down-to-earth designs for him. “I trust His Excellency will find the right partner for me.”

Norbelle squinted at him. “Now, something’s wrong… weren’t you planning to graduate and flee the continent like a scared cat not two months ago? You wouldn’t swear a binding oath without a damn good reason.”

“I’ve had… visions whose nature I cannot entirely explain, especially since I lack a third eye,” Simon replied. “I hoped this place would provide me with answers.”

“I’m wounded. You would trust a cabal of old priests’ words rather than turn to your genius little sister? Then let me enlighten you.” Norbelle sat on her worktable with a small chuckle. She sounded rather proud of her joke. “Whatever visions you receive come from the other side.”

“The other side?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “You mean the Dark?”

“Indeed. Visionaries connect to the Worldsoul to predict the future, but for us descendants of Overlords and demons? The Abyss calls to us.” She crossed her legs. “I suspect that is why Father has been invincible for decades. The Overlord has a foresight ability of its own, except it derives its power from the Abyss and works slightly differently than those of Visionaries.”

“So you are saying there can be prophets on both sides?” Simon scoffed. “That’s quite the heretical take.”

“But that doesn’t make it untrue. I can tell you’re not too surprised yourself.”

“If that were true, Norbelle, what would that make you?” Simon teased her. “Someone with both a third eye and an Overlord for a father?”

“It makes me the best, what else?” The worst part was that she believed it utterly. “Others see a part of the show, but little old me? I see it all.”

Not quite, my prideful sister, Simon thought. You only see the future in which the Overlords won, not the twists and turns it took for us to get there.

Norbelle’s theory was sound, the same way Shabram suspected something close to the truth, but it only worked within the framework of linear time.

“It’s an interesting theory,” Simon said as he walked down the stairs on his way to the chronomancy ‘floor’ of the spiraling archive. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He thought that would end the discussion then and there, but Norbelle was too sharp for that. “Why are you struggling so hard not to smile smugly? Like you know something I don’t?”

“You’re imagining things,” Simon lied.

“Truiy?” Norbelle chuckled. “You would have thrown Father off this tower, do you know that?”

Simon froze where he stood, his flesh still like stone.

“You were a Templar back then, in my dream.” Norbelle playfully bit her finger. “You threw him off the Lighthouse after he failed to teleport away, and he plummeted to his death seven hundred floors below. I think that’s why Father never let you join Mirror-Face. He saw it too.”

Simon met his half-sister’s gaze, his heart sinking in his chest.

She… she had dreams of the reigns?

The truth was that he remembered throwing his father off a tower to his death, but he couldn’t recall the details. He certainly never realized he did it from the Lighthouse, or that he was a Templar.

Either Norbelle was somehow messing with him, or she could dream of previous reigns like he did… except her own visions had been far more detailed than his own; perhaps because she saw them from a third-person point of view rather than through Simon’s own eyes.

She could dream of Father’s reigns too… Simon struggled to keep a straight face as a horrifying possibility crossed his mind. Can she dream of mine?

The Overlord Class stirred within him, like a beast roused from its sleep by possible danger. It was not yet roused enough to strike, but the pressure was there, ready to pounce if Norbelle guessed a little too close to the truth…

“What else did you see?” Simon asked warily, his sister grinning upon realizing he had grown curious. “During that vision?”

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“Not much. Those dreams always centered around Dad’s death. Nothing like the awakened visions I receive from my third eye. I think it’s because the Overlord’s Perks let him predict his death, and those visions ripple through the Dark.” Norbelle played with her hair. “I saw Mother and Louis kill him often, too. I think one of them finally succeeded.”

She could see Father’s deaths, the same Simon only ever dreamed of them. Was that because those ended reigns rippled through the Dark like echoes? If she ended up seeing Simon’s own deaths while dressed as the Overlord…

No, no, I only started having those dreams in the past few years, over a decade into father’s reign, Simon told himself in an attempt to keep his calm. Norbelle wouldn’t act like this if she knew the truth. Whatever mechanism allowed us to see the reigns’ endings hasn’t yet started for me.

His best bet was to remain evasive. Avoid catching her attention even more than he already did.

“Well…” Simon replied with a scoff. “You would be right.”

“Since when have you grown so coy and mysterious, brother?” Norbelle leaped off her table and playfully walked up to him. “You should come to Cocagne. It’s dreadfully boring so far, and I could use a distraction.”

So you can watch me more closely? Simon forced himself to smile. “I thought your takeover of Cocagne was going well?”

“It’s going splendidly, but my fiancé is so boring, I cannot wait to become widowed… and I could use a dashing Magnos prince to quicken the process.” Norbelle moved to whisper in his ear. “Just… think of it.”

Norbelle teleported away without expecting an answer, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts.

Damn it, Simon cursed, his fists clenching. Norbelle would no doubt warn her mother the moment she saw him die as the Overlord in a future reign, or at least investigate. He needed to keep an eye on her, learn when and how she would dream of him… if she ever did. For all he knew those dreams only happened in the last reign. If I didn’t already have enough issues to deal with.

He was certain of it now: a combination of Darkblood and Visionary gifts could allow someone to peer into past reigns through dreams, and if Norbelle could gather more information from these echoes than Simon himself, then trying to unlock his own latent abilities might provide him with useful information.

Either way, it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: an uncensored version of the Chronomicon’s first and second volumes. Simon immediately checked the previously hidden passages.

–My studies of ancient prophets’ writing have revealed a steady increase in inaccuracies over the centuries. Is it because their failures were predetermined, or their skills insufficient to properly process the Worldsoul’s visions? Or something else entirely?

I suspect it all ties back to the Abyss.

Whereas the Worldsoul plane derives its substance from the faith, memories, and souls of living creatures bound by the manatrees, I have read from other mages that the Abyss does not seem to derive sustenance from life. Certainly its demons enjoy feasting on our souls, like predators might opportunistically devour a carcass, but the few diabolists I discussed with were adamant that these monsters would remain even should all life on this planet come to an end.

If the Overlord is truly the Lord of the Abyss as they say, then their unique abilities to defy the Oracle’s predictions could derive from this place. Demons, miasma, and other Dark-related phenomena do seem to have a marked negative impact on the accuracy of divinations.

Another possibility is that my previous hypothesis on the immutability of the future is wrong, because it relies on the assumption that the universe is a closed system where nothing is added nor removed… so the sudden appearance of extraplanar entities might throw off the design, at least for a short time following their appearance.

Although I do not relish it, I must question diabolists on the subject. Willful ignorance and denying myself options, even the most loathsome, would be a greater crime than knowledge.

Simon read to the other censored passages—which mostly theorized about the fact that the Light’s influence over fate might not be absolute—then switched to the second volume when he realized he would learn little more. He immediately noticed that the author’s writing had significantly degraded in the second volume. The very first page opened on a ramble about chronomancy ‘reaching between zero and infinity,’ and ‘straightening the spiral,’ with descriptions of spells included in between nonsensical diagrams that hurt to read. Simon pushed through until he found a chapter that immediately garnered his full attention.

The Abyss is the gate and the key.

According to that diabolist, there was once a sick man who sold his soul to a demon so that he would live long enough to watch his child grow. The demon fulfilled the bargain by waylaiding him in the Abyss for a day… Yet when he emerged, the poor fool found that fifty years had passed and that his son was now on his deathbed.

That story obsessed me, because it implied that time can flow differently in the Abyss than it does in our world. It took me a long time to learn the why of it all, and that’s because the Abyss is not like the Worldsoul. What priests and fools call the Abyss is just a border, a hedge, the point of friction between our reality and a plane of existence born of the Dark. Demons who inhabit this border model their shape from our fears and desires the way a baby cuckoo infiltrates a bird’s nest to steal food, but they told me of ancient horrors dwelling in the night where no star shines. Things as alien to us as fish from the darkest depths, and that want nothing to do with us.

We created the Worldsoul, but we only called the Abyss. We drew the Dark to us, like a shark catching a whiff of our blood.

This border, this hell-shaped parody of our world, still follows the laws of time the way a shadow follows the outline of the light that casts it, but… what of the depths? A reality that exists outside of our own may not follow the same laws of physics and magic as our own.

After all, it is… outside.

Could there be a darkness so thick it swallows time itself? Could one step into the Abyss and emerge not centuries in the future, but in the past? Could one even survive such a journey? And if the Dark can violate the very nature of our world, the fundamentals of existence, then Dark-aligned chronomancy could do what the Light will not: change the course of fate itself. Rewrite the past.

But the Dark… the Dark is hungry. It is so hungry, the Dark, ever so voracious. To cast such a spell would take immense power, not to mention the logistics of finding one’s way through the zero and infinity… and through it all, I can’t help but wonder… if I were to succeed and go back to that moment in time, to change the past to create a new future…

What would happen to the old one?

Simon left the forbidden archives with a head full of nagging doubts.

The second Chronomicon volume was as interesting a read as it was frustrating. True to his reputation as a mad archmage, the author had psychologically deteriorated over the course of his writings. The later chapters were full of diagrams on the same experimental, miasma-powered time-traveling spell which had cost him his life.

Still, Simon learned quite a few things. The void he had landed in after the Mana Sword struck him down had to be the Abyss, and if the author’s theories were right, then harnessing its power was how the Crimson Throne managed to overturn time itself.

Which begged the question, did the Mana Sword try banishing everything related to Simon and the reigns to the Abyss—since only his dungeons and a demon showed up there—or did his soul always travel there in between reigns before going back to the past? Could he open a portal there and travel to another timeline? It would take a long time to browse the archives and obtain the answers to these questions, especially since he couldn’t take any books with him outside the library’s confines.

The Chronomicon also contained a handful of miasma-powered chronomancy spells he was dying to test out, though he wouldn’t be so foolish as to practice them in the Lighthouse. Norbelle’s warning remained fresh in his mind.

Simon suddenly sensed Shabram opening communications with him through the brand and opened his mind to her. The mere fact she contacted him so late in the evening meant the planned bombardment on Frightwall had been successfully prevented.

“Your Majesty, I am happy to say the operation was a near-complete success,” Shabram said. “We have successfully neutralized Patriate Malphas, his daughter, and most of his organization in a single operation. Nearly all operatives have either been killed or captured.”

The demon was in the details, as usual. “Nearly? Not all?”

“Justine Eligos successfully escaped our agents with the help of demonic protectors. We are pursuing her as we speak.”

This gave Simon pause. “She didn’t agree to our offer of service?”

“Unfortunately, no. Threatening her siblings and niece did not deter her either.”

Strange. Simon knew she had fallen in line last reign, so what had caused this change? It didn’t take him long to guess the most likely explanation: she knew the Overlord was dead and his successor was on the run.

She only took the offer because I impersonated Father, Simon realized. She didn’t trust us to honor our deal, nor did she fear us enough to comply.

That was a shame. Justine’s knowledge of diabolism would have been invaluable considering his current research on the Abyss.

“Track her down and capture her alive,” Simon ordered. “What of Firewand?”

“She performed as expected and without hesitation. She captured both Patriate and his daughter before they could try anything.”

And since they had failed to undo her Devil Brands, she shouldn’t fall into despair this time. “Excellent. Keep me informed of how the situation progresses at court.” Simon then turned his attention to Belzemine. “Agnes?”

The response was swift, almost eager. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

She was desperately waiting for a call from me, Simon thought grimly. She would rather think she had no choice in the matter.

“You have done well, but I have another task for you. I want you to travel to the Darkwood. There is an elven seal there I want you to study and refine.” Frea had been confident she could reinforce the Minotaur’s prison to prevent an early breakout, so Simon hoped to do the same. “Shabram will arrange everything. Cooperate with her until then.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Simon cut off the communication and returned to his quarters. Leonard and Meredith were both soundly asleep, but Eole remained awake, playing her oud under the moon.

“You are back,” she noted, smiling faintly upon seeing him. “Don’t you have a bedroom upstairs?”

“His Excellency hasn’t assigned me one yet.” Simon walked up to her and put a hand on the balcony’s guard rails. “Are you feeling any better?”

“No,” Eole admitted, her hands pinching her instrument’s strings. “Not even the moonlight can help me clear my mind.”

At least she had calmed down enough to discuss it. “Beating yourself over the past will not help either, Eole. You are not responsible for what your ancestors did, assuming the tablet is correct.”

“I think… no, I know it is.” Eole shook her head, a sorrowful expression on her face. “Lord Mastemo is right, being able to control other beastmen is not something that just happens. This ties too well into what you told me about that future vision of yours.”

“Maybe,” Simon conceded, “But we can’t be sure yet. The tablet was incomplete, so we could be missing a piece of the puzzle.”

“I tried to tell myself that, but I do not… I do not think I can return to my people’s sanctuary yet. Not when I still know so little.” Eole looked away at the sea stretching across the horizon. “Neither am I convinced by Lord Mastemo’s other words.”

“You think he lies about wanting to ‘cure’ shifters?”

“No, no, I believe he is completely sincere about that. The Cleric Crestone would not abide a nonbeliever.” Eole bit her lip. “But sincerity is not the same as being right. I do not think that my people…” She gulped. “That other shifters would agree to becoming humans. They have their own culture and way of life. Forcing them to change… it wouldn’t be right.”

“I do not think the Church is at the stage of forcing a massive change yet.” At least not until they refine their elixir or grow desperate enough to use it as a weapon. “Either way, His Excellency said it was your choice alone. You can decide to walk away.”

“Should I do that, Simon?” Eole asked him, begging for guidance he could not provide. “You can see the future. Is there no path to the best outcome?”

“I only see what the Light deigns to show me,” Simon lied. Or rather, what I have experienced with my own eyes. “But either way, you don’t have to choose now. You can stay with me for however long it takes you to find your path. I’ll help you find it however I can.”

“That is kind of you. I appreciate it.” Eole smiled sweetly at him. “You would have made a great Paladin, Simon. You have a noble heart.”

If only she knew…

As planned, Simon showed up at the High Confessor’s personal office on the third highest floor of the Lighthouse. He walked past three sets of golden gates, each tightly guarded, to enter an ivory-coated office with a splendid scenic view of the sky outside. Mastemo awaited him behind a large desk of ancient wood, sitting on a throne facing three seats.

On the left was Lady Beatrice.

And on the right was Silk.

“Please join us, Simon,” Mastemo said, pointing at the unoccupied central seat. “There is something I need you to recover for me…”