[System]
You are a skilled LitRPG progression fantasy author. Write chapters based on the story bible and instructions provided.

## Premise
The Hundred — a LitRPG progression fantasy. It was three in the morning when Simon learned that his royal father had been murdered, to everyone's relief. Simon had been dreaming of it for a very, very long time now. Most of the time, he saw his father pass away in his sleep with a beer mug in hand. Sometimes, it involved poison, and at others, a fall from a tower. Often, it was Simon himself who pushed his father down, though he could never remember why.

## Main Character
Name: Simon | Gender: male (he/him)
Key supporting characters: Class, Overlord, Lauriane

## World & Power System
level-based progression; class system
System notification style: "System notifications, or else Vouivre would have likely changed her"

## Writing Style
third-person limited narration, past tense. Narration-focused (0% dialogue). Balanced pacing.

[User]
Write Chapter 57: The Season of the Minotaur (6)
Target length: ~4300 words
Key events: level-up occurs, dungeon content

[Assistant]
“Elios Magnos?” The Stone Muse’s dark chuckle echoed through the sanctum. “A cursed name indeed, although I may not remember it...”

“There is a carving of him in your treasure room,” Simon replied sternly. The rotten tree was playing coy with him. “You promised me knowledge and answers if I shattered your chains.”

“Rewarded you already, did I not?” she replied with amusement. “Have I not shared my treasure with thee, beloved? One step towards communion you have taken, but three more vows we must renew before answers I give.”

Simon grunted in annoyance. She still didn’t trust him and wouldn’t budge on her leverage so long as he hadn’t completely shattered her seal. The Muse would hoard her knowledge like a dragon until he coaxed it out of her.

“But other secrets I can share with you, beloved,” the Muse said. “Dark spells most wonderful, for you to cradle our foes into an early grave with.”

An apology bribe? Well, Simon would never spit on new magic. “What kind of spells?”

“Spells that command nature’s very elements.”

“My affinity for miasma makes learning those difficult,” Simon pointed out. After a few failures at learning conventional sorcery with Duchar, he had mostly begun to practice the Mire spell, a poison-focused malediction that inflicted both Corrosion damage and sapped the target’s Vitality.

“But not those I know; Hellfire, Hellwind, Hellthunder, Hellfrost… these are diabolism spells that draw strength from the Abyss itself. Lightning that strikes the spirit, cold that chills the soul, fire that burns hope, wind that carries miasma…”

Elemental spells that drew power from the Abyss? Even Duchar hadn’t heard of those, though that might be because of his focus on necromancy.

“Very well, I accept this gift of knowledge,” Simon replied as he left her sanctum. “We shall begin training tomorrow after we complete the inventory.”

“I look forward to us spending time together, my dear Lord of the Dark.”

A sentiment that Simon didn’t return, but he would gladly bear if it meant gaining more strength. He moved down to Duchar’s workshop, where he found the old mage studying the Crestones they had gathered. His son was back in a deep slumber, a staff very similar to Lorimor’s wand lying on the nearby bench.

“So?” Simon asked.

“I have completed a cursory analysis of our newly collected Crestones,” Duchar said. “Seven remain functional, but the rest have been corroded by too much miasma exposure. They can no longer sustain a Class.”

Simon had feared as much. Four hundred years spent soaking in demonic energy had taken its toll. “What about their Perks?”

“I doubt any of them will interest Your Majesty, but I have compiled a list. I suggest assigning them once I finish extracting their schematics. The more a Crestone is used and its wielder strengthened, the better it will stave off miasma corruption.” Duchar stroked his beard. “Otherwise, I have not found any blood relationship between House Magnos and Empress Euphemia’s line preceding her union with Your Majesty’s father.”

“So we aren’t distant cousins?” Simon inquired. “I thought it might have been the case since both Euphemia and my ancestor were three-eyed Visionaries.”

“Visionaries have been known to appear in the most random of places across all Tribes,” Duchar replied. “Though I do wonder if your wise father partly decided to marry Lady Euphemia in the hopes that the fruit of their united bloodlines would yield a Visionary child.”

“He certainly did.” Which was why Thalas had disappointed him since birth. “Is it some form of mutation? I know the Church of the Light considers it a mark of sainthood, but Elios Magnos is anything but holy.”

“I suspect it is a mutation, yes, but I never had the pleasure of studying a Visionary… the things I could learn from a visisection…” Duchar cleared his throat. “I do know that they possess a myriad of gifts, such as the power to see the flow of mana in the air, the power to bind Eidolons without the Summoner Noble Class, even receive visions of the past and future, but the Church of the Light is the only organization to have extensively studied them, and they hoard their knowledge.”

Again with the Church of the Light… Simon was wondering more and more whether he should spend a reign infiltrating them to access their astrology and Visionary research papers. It might also grant more insight into Euphemia’s plans.

Let us see where this life carries me before I consider the next, Simon thought as he studied Duchar’s new staff. I might survive beyond the ritual’s conclusion with some luck. It would be nice to die of old age for once.

“This is a more advanced design than Lorimor’s wand,” Simon said, his gaze wandering to Hector. “Are you building one for your own son?”

“Only as a safety measure until I can correct his body’s design flaws,” Duchar replied without doubt or hesitation. Most would have hesitated about creating a magical item to control their own child, but not him. “I must thank Your Majesty for it. The insight your soul-stealing Perk provided into our spiritual condition was most enlightening.”

“I don’t want any incidents,” Simon replied before he heard the familiar noise of airships in the distance coming through the Dungeon’s thick walls. It seemed Louis had begun his bombing run. “But I do agree we will need more guardians.”

War was finally upon them.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since the Vernal Equinox heralded the beginning of a new imperial year on the 1st of Germinal, and that of the imperial civil war.

True to Shabram’s warning, Louis opened the conflict with an all-out bombardment that stretched from Magvolia to the Berwick Islands. Towns and cities burned all across the empire, and though Whispermire was spared, the sight of airships flying across the region had already become a common occurrence. The war machines bombed cities in the Church Party’s territories, returned home to refuel, and then flew back on new assignments. The thick cloud of miasma covering the Darkwood prevented the airships from seeing the Halls of the Minotaur from the air, but Simon could still observe their vague silhouettes when he looked at the sky at night. Odd to imagine that a town burned each time they moved east.

Louis had also bombarded cities deemed disloyal across the region, and while barbaric, it had turned out to be a tactically sound decision. Magvolia had been cowed into obedience by the fear of devastation from the sky and failed to rise in rebellion as it had in the past reign. Even local abbeys kept silent in spite of High Confessor Mastemo’s call for arms on behalf of Euphemia. It seemed people’s fear of fire raining down from the sky outweighed their faith.

This had a knock-on effect that prevented Norbelle and Cocagne from attacking the Goetia Research Center and thus left Lauriane firmly in charge of the empire’s Crestone production. The current battlelines had moved to the Navarre region and Cocagne’s borders in the south, whereas Dassein and the Tellurian Shifter tribes pressed on from the north.

And there was still no word of Vouivre.

At least Shabram confirmed that Anna and her father had survived the Berwick Islands’ bombardments, though the knowledge that she had officially wed Thalas enraged Simon each time he was reminded of it.

True to his objectives for this reign, Simon kept up with the news while working on his spellcasting and crafting. He had quickly mastered the Mire spell and practiced the Hell series spells under the Muse’s tutelage. She had proved to be a surprisingly good teacher so far, clearly explaining the underlying mechanics behind her sorcery and being attuned enough to miasma to effectively guide Simon. He could see why she had taken a liking to mentoring artists in the past.

The ‘Hell’ series of Tier III spells worked by blending the major elements and miasma to ensure half the damage they inflicted was aligned with the Soul type, which meant they could partly ignore elemental immunities. Training with them also put the issue of affinities to the forefront. Although Simon had an easy time learning the likes of Hellfrost and Hellfire, Hellwind came more slowly to him due to his neutral Wind affinity. It would likely take a month or two before he mastered all of them. He had also experimented with his Lord of the Demon Castle ability and confirmed he could reshape the Hall of the Minotaur at will, with the restriction that he could not move the Muse’s sanctum around due to the seal locking it in place.

Otherwise, he had also distributed the Crestones to his followers after copying their schematics and confirming none of them had Perks worth devouring. A few went to cultists who had proved loyal enough. Simon also experimented by giving a handful of Crestones to monsters. He already knew that demons could use Classes—Mardok came to mind, and the empire employed a few as shock troops—but it seemed that any sentient creature could call upon one. Carrock the treant, gargoyles, imps, toadmen, and even a sentient slime had proved capable of using Crestones.

There were a few exceptions. The Songstress and Courtesan Classes could only be used by female users due to the archetypes they represented, and trying to give Orator to an animated tree had resulted in a miserable failure. At least the Juggler gargoyle had proved surprisingly amusing.

The Vassal Class’ Perks didn’t change, no matter the user, but a monster’s biology could synergize with them in surprising ways. For example, Ulmos the slime quickly learned to use its own body to fuel the Pictomancer’s paint requirement, and Carrock’s control of the forest let him mix traps with Illusionist-fueled mirages. Trying to maximize the use of each Crestone was quite the interesting subject.

And I suspect they’ll all be put to the test soon, Simon thought as he entered the Midnight Market under the guise of a Fiendmask. It was his first time visiting Whispermire in person after the beginning of the civil war, and the adventurers’ den was already packed with local youths. He also spotted a few guards bearing the Magnos manticore’s seal among them.

“Emperor Louis wants you for his regiments!” the crier called out across the hall. “The usurper Euphemia would keep you poor under a burden of taxes while nobles and the Church of the Light revel in unearned luxury! Can you follow a woman who murdered her own husband for power?! Would you rather fight for a leader who keeps you in chains, or one who offers rewards, toil, and sweat?!”

Lauriane isn’t wasting any time going for the throat, Simon thought as he paused to listen for a bit. Both sides were accusing the other of murdering Balzam Magnos to garner support among imperial loyalists.

“Enlist today, and a Class will one day become yours! Poor, commoner, highborn or lowborn, it does not matter! Endymion thirsts on the strength of its people, no matter the tribe and station! Hail Endymion!”

“Hail Endymion!” a horde of would-be adventurers, drunk on alcohol and dreams, shouted back... but many remained silent or half-heartedly raised their hands so as to avoid reproach. Many probably resented the War Party for its bombing run, but it was always dangerous to speak up against those in power.

Soldiers went on to distribute enlistment papers, with Simon grabbing one on his way to the stairs.

True to Louis’ meritocratic ideals, the army promised a job to anyone enlisting and a Crestone to anyone making it to the rank of officer. Simon wasn’t sure if even the Goetia Research Center had the output to fulfill that promise, but the promise of a Class would motivate the masses.

Which would lead to issues when they looked for places where to level up new recruits…

Simon put the enlistment paper in his pocket and ascended the stairs to Cassandra’s apartment. Two guards—both cultists—kept watch over the door with sheathed swords.

“Master,” they greeted Simon upon recognizing him. He nodded back at them and stepped through the door as they opened and closed it behind him.

The smell of potions and alchemic fluids reached Simon’s nostrils the moment he crossed the threshold. Odette had afforded Cassandra her largest suite, and the witch had transformed its main hall into a witch’s workshop. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters next to shelves filled with magical ingredients. Cassandra herself was near the fire pit placed underneath the chimney, using a large spoon to stir green liquid inside a black cauldron.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted him with a faint, kind smile.

“You can call me Simon,” he replied courteously. “We are friends now, not just subordinates.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she replied with a curious expression. “Since when?”

“Since… I don’t know? Friendships happen naturally.” He unloaded his bag. “I don’t remember assigning you bodyguards. Did something happen?”

“No, your worshipers took it upon themselves to protect me after some bar patrons bothered me.” Cassandra paused a moment before adding, “I think they hope I will invite them inside to have sex with me one day.”

Simon scowled. Cassandra had the power to easily repel any unwelcome attention, but he would rather avoid an incident. “Do you want me to send them away?”

“It is fine. I do not mind them, and they fear me too much to try anything too overtly.” She let go of her spoon and checked Simon’s bag. “Did you bring the slime oil I asked for?”

“Yes indeed,” Simon confirmed. He had had success breeding various elemental jellies in the Darkwood’s swamp. “What kind of potion are you making?”

“Oil for the skin and salt baths.” Simon’s surprised expression amused Cassandra. “I have a private bath.”

“Oh, alright.” Simon didn’t know she was into those things. “Doesn’t the Brand of Lust make skincare routine redundant though?”

“The Brand of Gluttony makes it pleasurable.”

“I see.” Sometimes Simon forgot it also magnified the bearer’s senses.

“I think I figured out how the Brand of Greed works, too,” she said. “It does not charm people, but it does bring about fortuitous coincidences. I find dropped money more often, and sometimes I feel compelled to meet someone’s gaze and learn he is looking for a particular potion I have in stock. I can even sense which decisions will yield better results at the gambling hall, though I cannot explain why. A small series of little events creates a flow of fortune my way.”

“Interesting. I always wondered how the Luck stat manifested compared to the others.” Simon spotted a sealed scroll of paper on the table near the cauldron. “Is that Shabram’s document?”

Cassandra nodded. “A messenger brought it to me and told me to deliver it to you.”

Simon nodded as he went to grab it. Obtaining the Spy and Merchant Classes’ blueprints was half the reason he had returned to Whispermire; the other was that the Cobweb had asked Odette for a meeting.

The document contained both the Spy and Merchant Classes’ schematics, alongside a description of their stats and known Perks. The Spy, true to its name, mostly focused on infiltration-related abilities like soundless steps, cosmetic and cloth alterations to better disguise the wearer, or even the power to change one’s voice.

As for the Merchant…

The Merchant: The noble wandering trader, the fast-talking dealer, and the magnate who turns coins into power and makes dreams into reality.

Strength D, Vitality D, Agility B, Perception A, Magic E, Intelligence A, Charisma A, Luck S.

Innate Perk: Inventory (Active): You can stock up to one item per level that you own in a unique pocket dimension only you have access to, and bring them out at will. Should you die, all items in your inventory are released at the spot of your demise.

Innate Perk: Golden Rule (Passive): Fortune favors you, and the flow of wealth always goes your way. You are supernaturally lucky when it comes to commerce, gambling, or treasure-finding.

Innate Perk: Lootbox (Active): You can sacrifice any amount of money to magically craft an item of equal value. The selected item is created at random.

Innate Perk: Buddyguard (Active): Magically summons an otherworldly bodyguard to protect you for a day. The bodyguard’s level and power depend on the amount paid to summon them.

Two things came to mind when Simon finished reading the document.

First of all, the Merchant was indeed the apex of money-making, utility Classes.

And second, Noble Classes were absurd.

Inventory alone was tremendously useful, but Buddyguard and Lootbox ensured a clever Merchant always had a way out of their predicament; with Golden Rule ensuring they always stayed in the black.

Otherwise, the Merchant’s other Perks were powerful but situational; identifying the value and history of items on sight, spending money instead of mana to power spells, buffing yourself by spending coins, a large Charisma bonus, the ability to speak all languages, and so on. The Overlord could already do a few of those, and most abilities required a sizable war chest to be fully effective.

It was Inventory that fascinated Simon the most. Besides the fact that it neatly explained how Patriate Malphas could have smuggled in the sword that killed Balzam Magnos into Frightwall, having the ability to stockpile dozens of items—including Crestones—in a private portable treasury would improve his logistics during so many reigns. No more trouble moving the Beleth archive around when he could simply stock them.

Moreover, this power might shed some light on how reigns worked. If Simon could stock items in this Inventory dimension and they traveled back in time with him, it would suggest that previous timelines still existed physically somehow; if not…

Oh wait, no, it says I drop everything upon death, Simon thought after rereading the Perk’s description. Although… if I die, would the items appear right next to my body after I wake up in a new reign if I perish instantly?

He could at least test that theory. The Inventory Perk would be incredibly useful either way.

“Innate Perks can only be used if someone wields the Crestone, right?” Simon asked Cassandra for confirmation. “A wielder does not retain them if they lose it.”

“Yes indeed,” she confirmed. “This is why the army does not have soldiers touch every Crestone they find in the hopes of having them collect a wide variety of Perks. Only passive abilities gained through level-ups can be retained without a Crestone.”

Then I’ve made up my mind, this is too good an opportunity to pass upon, Simon thought as he focused on contacting Shabram. “I would like to have the Merchant Noble Crestone delivered to me somewhere outside Whispermire.”

“I can arrange that, Your Majesty, but be wary that it risks being tracked down,” his spymaster answered quickly. "Euphemia holds Frightwall so I had to smuggle the Crestone in a more secure location."

“It will not be long for this world, trust me. There is no particular urgency, so take your time to arrange a secure delivery.”

“Understood.”

Simon cut the communication and folded the schematics under his coat. “I have a meeting upstairs, Cassandra,” he said. “Perhaps we can have tea or coffee after I am done?”

“Will you leave afterwards?” Cassandra asked, sounding a bit more nervous than normal.

“Maybe.” Simon raised an eyebrow. “Do you need me for something?”

Cassandra bit her lip. “I admit I find my current work lonely without my father or brother,” she confessed. “Your followers are kind to me, but they are neither family nor kin.”

“I can stay a bit longer in Whispermire,” Simon reassured her. He could practice his spells anywhere and return to the Halls of the Minotaur in a pinch should there be an emergency. “I would be happy to spend time with you.”

“Thank you, Simon.” She politely nodded at him. “I hope your meeting goes well.”

Simon took his leave and then walked up to Odette Kano’s office. His new retainer was waiting for him alongside Silk, signing a pile of papers. The Cobweb representative had come dressed in casual clothes rather than her assassin ones and didn’t bring along her grimoire, which Simon took as a good sign.

“A spider crawls into your den again, Miss Kano,” Simon said as he took a seat. “I would be wary if I were you. I hear they leave cobwebs everywhere.”

“They also catch flies,” Odette mused. She seemed to be in quite a good mood. “The spider has a proposition I thought we should discuss.”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Silk said, immediately all business. “Demand for Vassal Crestones has exploded with the start of the civil war, and an extremely rich client commissioned us for a stockpile at multiple times the market rate. I want you to increase production.”

“What kind of client?” Simon asked warily. “The White Unicorn? One of the civil war’s sides?”

“That is not for you to know,” Silk replied sternly, as if she were talking to an unruly business partner rather than an archfiend. Simon wasn’t sure if she was genuinely that confident or just careful not to show weakness. “We take client confidentiality seriously.”

“I doubt that,” Simon replied, having been on the receiving end of their treachery in a previous reign.

“Doubt all you want, it is the truth. We would have blown the whistle on you a long time ago, otherwise.” Silk crossed her legs. “We will increase pay rates if you can produce at least three per month.”

“Once again, you take me for a criminal in need of money, when I trade in souls and secrets.” Simon clasped his hands. “I want to know where you found that miasma crystal of yours, and where I can find others.”

Silk held his gaze. “I cannot provide that information.”

Either the Prince is looking to obtain them for himself, or someone contracted the Cobweb to investigate, Simon thought. And Silk won’t spill the beans.

“I can provide other useful intel,” Silk said. “We have spies among the White Unicorn and their allies. Their eyes are turned on Magvolia now that imperial armies are waging war in the east.”

“You tell me nothing I don’t already know,” Simon replied, having already seen similar events unfold in a previous reign. “I have already foreseen that Lore and the League of Valne will attempt a landing in the future when the imperial army least expects it.”

“But do you know that they have already deployed spies and agents on the mainland to lay the groundwork for their arrival, and that Whispermire tops their list of targets?”

Simon suppressed a scowl as he put two and two together. “A town of adventurers is the best place to gather forces without too much notice.”

“I would keep an eye open when you sleep, or else you might find a Paladin knocking on your door when you least expect it.” Silk’s smile had sharp teeth. “Unless we give you an early warning, of course.”

Simon pondered her offer. He had already bested Alphonse in battle once in the past, at the cost of being sealed for years; not to mention that the likes of Frea were unlikely to pull their punches now that Belzemine was dead…

“Very well, I will pay for useful information on the White Unicorn in Crestones… alongside intel on another figure of interest to me.” Simon slouched in his chair to portray confidence. “You have dealings with a dragon warlord called Vouivre.”

Silk’s scowl confirmed Simon’s suspicions. The Cobweb was still in contact with her. “She is a good customer and supplier, so I doubt the Prince will agree to share information on her. We can always arrange a meeting, however.”

“Perhaps in the future,” Simon decided. He wasn’t ready to confront Vouivre unless he had the Minotaur Fiend to throw at her. “But very well. Depending on the value of the information you bring me on the Paladin and other holy fools, I may consent to producing more Crestones.”

“There is another matter we must discuss,” Odette said. “You have seen the army recruiters downstairs, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. I received a decree from Lady Lauriane ordering me to sell monster parts in any quantity required and to host new recruits.”

Now it begins, Simon thought. His fears were now realized. “Louis intends to use the Darkwood to level-up Class users before sending them to the front.”

“Yes. I will try to delay as long as I can, but I’ve already received word that they’re planning large-scale drills in the following months.” Odette joined her hands. “One that will involve dozens of Class users.”

Simon could read between the lines. He would have to prepare for a raid.

This turn of events saddened Simon, even if he knew it was inevitable that adventurers would come poking near the Halls of the Minotaur at one point or another. Trying to loot an ancient dungeon for wealth was what they did for a living, and the war would only bring more challengers.

But they knew the risks, Simon thought. It wasn’t like the Darkwood’s creatures were besieging Whispermire or threatening the local communities. Warriors went to the region for sport and profit. There were a hundred safer jobs to be found, and yet they still chose this one. Not to mention that they could disrupt the ritual should they reach the sanctum. Sacrifices must be made. I can’t delay forever.

“Well then,” he said, a half-smile stretching on his lips. “I will be sure to prepare a warm welcome for them.”

Those adventurers wouldn’t be the only ones leveling-up this year.

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[User]
Write Chapter 58: The Season of the Minotaur (7)
Target length: ~4400 words
Key events: dungeon content

[Assistant]
Simon stared at the crystal ball sitting on Cassandra’s table with wonder.

Although he had always believed in the Oracle’s power of foresight, he had never been too interested in divination magic. Every important person in Frightwall carried items protecting them from it on top of all the measures the likes of Shabram took to counter the Oracle; not to mention that only specific Classes could cast the required spells.

The Witch thankfully counted among them, so the two of them had decided to craft a crystal ball for her personal use after Simon took a room close to her apartment suite to keep her company in Whispermire. Since the crystal ball also had to include a curse due to Simon’s crafting Perk focusing on using on miasma, it would poison anyone touching it; a mere detail for Cassandra, whose Brand of Gluttony protected her from the ailment, and a security measure against anyone else.

The device allowed her to scry on people or objects from afar with remarkable accuracy. Attempts at tracking down Silk had failed miserably, but they had managed to check on various rooms within the Midnight Market.

“The Darkwood is shrouded in miasma,” Cassandra said. “I cannot pierce through the veil with my current power, though stronger spellcasters might be able to.”

“What about me?” Simon asked. “Can you see me?”

Cassandra waved her hand at the ball. Its surface began to reflect a mostly accurate picture of her suite, except she was sitting right next to a horrifying demon with folded wings rather than a man.

“I cannot see Simon Magnos, but I can see Belias the Fiend,” Cassandra said, which confirmed Anathemic Secrecy worked as advertised. She could only observe what he wanted her to see.

“Alright, I will alter my Perk a bit,” Simon said as he shifted his Anathemic Secrecy to blocking all divination attempts rather than sending false positives. He then grabbed a nearby potion off a shelf. “Can you see me?”

“No,” Cassandra confirmed, “but I can observe the potion floating in the air.”

As Simon feared. Anathemic Secrecy protected him from divination, but not necessarily the objects he carried on his person or things he interacted with. This gave credence to Shabram’s fears that something as precious as the Merchant Crestone could be tracked down in spite of his defenses. This might become another point in favor of claiming the Inventory Perk if it shielded the items within its pocket dimension from divination.

“I believe I could craft a crystal ball capable of piercing through miasma with your assistance,” Cassandra told Simon. “It should at least let you observe events inside the Halls of the Minotaur. Divination becomes more accurate the more familiar the scryer is with the target, and that Dungeon draws its power from you.”

“It would certainly help against unwelcome visitors,” Simon confessed, “and those will become more numerous by the day.”

Demand for monster parts and materials had exploded now that Louis’ army had begun to buy them in vast quantities, so incursions into the Darkwood were growing more and more frequent. Carrock the Treant had already wiped out a party of classless adventurers who had gotten a little too close to the fairy ring yesterday, and another group had reached the elven ruins surrounding the Halls of the Minotaur before being wiped out.

Most intruders were little more than glorified poachers, and none of them wielded any Vassal Classes, but they were growing bolder and more numerous. Every surviving group also helped map out the forest a little further, which in turn increased the chances that one of them might discover the Halls of the Minotaur.

Thankfully, Simon had been able to leverage his growing cult in Whispermire to implant one or two agents among the most threatening adventurer parties. His followers were locals familiar with the Darkwood, so they had an easy time posing as recruits and then waylaying intruders by luring them towards dangerous creatures working for Simon.

Simon sensed Lady Shabram’s presence at the edge of his mind and opened himself to her thoughts. “The package will be delivered today at the agreed-upon place, Your Majesty,” she said, “I have also confirmed that a large military drill is being planned for the month of Prairial, though I am not part of it. Prince Louis ordered me to focus my resources on the Church Party rather than in his backyard.”

Prairial… so right before the Summer Solstice and second sacrifice, Simon thought before answering her. “Can you at least tell me who’ll be involved in the operation?”

“I can already tell Your Majesty who is in charge of the program: Leonard Decarabia.”

What? Simon flinched in surprise. Leonard? Leonard was coming here as a representative of the War Party? “Why? His house answers to Lord Paimon.”

“It does, but Lord Leonard’s sister married Duke Flauros’ son, and that lineage supports Prince Louis’ claim to the throne. He chose his blood over his liege.”

Simon grumbled to himself. Of course the various power blocs would have accelerated Tiella’s engagement to the Flauros brat in order to snatch another House out from Lord Paimon’s orbit. Euphemia wasn’t the only one who could play the marriage game.

Moreover, Leonard made perfect sense as a training camp’s overseer. He was of a relatively high level, talented, and with a Class designed to protect weaker allies from injuries. As powerful as he would be on the field of battle, he would be ten times more useful to the War Party’s cause by ensuring multiple soldiers could level-up without risk.

“And Duke Flauros married a sister of Patriate Malphas,” Simon recalled with a scowl. Was that a coincidence, or signs of a greater plan?

“I have informed Prince Louis of my suspicions when it comes to House Malphas. He ordered me to put them both under close surveillance, but decided against taking direct action for now. I suppose he doesn’t wish to trouble Duke Flauros and Duke Eligos, both of whom are key to his war effort.”

“Keep me informed, and try to look into the other people involved in the military drill,” Simon ordered before cutting communications and mulling over this new piece of information.

Leonard would be in charge of the raid… was that good or bad news? He was an Overlord loyalist, but they were nearly four months into the current reign and in the middle of a civil war. His allegiance had likely changed a great deal given recent events.

Should Simon try to approach him and recruit him to his cause in the hopes that he could cancel the raid, or at least prevent his trainees from assaulting the Halls of the Minotaur? But if he did reveal himself to Leonard and he ended up revealing the truth to Louis or the rest of his family, then the Seasonal Key ritual would likely go awry. Simon couldn’t risk discovery yet.

And what should he do if Leonard ever led a party straight to his doorstep? The idea of fighting his own retainer—especially one who had proved loyal to the death in several reigns—unsettled Simon to his core.

Perhaps a better option will present itself, given time, Simon told himself as he shook his head and focused back on reality. “Sorry, Cassandra, I received an urgent message.”

“It is alright,” Cassandra reassured him. “I can tell when you mentally answer telepathic calls.”

“You can?” Simon chuckled. “I suppose we’ve spent enough time together for that.”

“It is a good thing, no?” Cassandra asked. “I appreciate the fact that you stayed here to keep me company. I enjoy it.”

“So do I.” Speaking of appreciation, Simon looked inside his belongings and brought out a gift he had been working on for some time: a Crestone. “Here, I made this for you.”

“For me?” Cassandra’s eyes lit up with interest as she looked it over. “It’s a Witch Crestone.”

“You told me you needed at least three Witches to form a coven,” Simon said. “We’re working on supplying you with a third Crestone, so you should be able to create one soon enough.”

“This is very kind of you, Simon. I will cherish this gift.” Cassandra took the Crestone and studied it closely. “I could ask Nora. She comes to me often, and she knows her way with herbs.”

“Nora? Isn’t that one of the cultists?” Simon smiled. “Already on a first-name basis with some of them?”

“I hope they can become my friends too,” Cassandra replied while returning his smile. “Shall we continue our divinations?”

“Yes, but not here. There is a package I need to recover outside town and experiments I need to run with it.” He offered her his hand. “Would you kindly accompany me for a promenade on horseback, Cassandra?”

“I would be delighted.”

* * *

True to their arrangements, one of Lady Shabram’s agents had placed the Merchant Crestone in a box beneath a mound half a day’s ride from Whispermire. It didn’t take long for Cassandra and Simon to locate it, hidden under a gnarled tree’s roots, and open it up.

Almost all Vassal Crestones were translucent, but the Merchant’s was as golden as the precious metal fueling its power, with a coin-like silver heraldry carved on its surface. A terrible heat coursed through Simon’s fingers when he touched it. He had never felt this way with any lesser Crestone before.

It rejects me, Simon could tell. It loathes the Overlord.

“Merchant,” he said, a flow of golden mana immediately surging from the Crestone.

The energy flowing out of the device was incomparable to Vassal Crestones. Those pale counterfeits could only mimic a fraction of the Noble Classes’ power, and Simon could feel the difference. A thrill as pleasurable as that of a level-up coursed through his veins, bolstered by strengthened confidence. For a brief second, Simon was convinced he could do anything, fulfill any dream, overcome any obstacle, and bend the world to his will.

That honeymoon period only lasted a second, as a wave of pure wrongness followed the Class outfit’s apparition. A rich and wealthy outfit, including a top hat, a formal suit with a small cloak, boots, and bowtie materializing over his skin. Such clothes should have felt comfortable, but they itched and burned his skin with a phantom pain. They weighed on his shoulders in a way the Overlord armor never did, pressing down on his chest. Even the Class’ phantom whip weapon seemed far heavier in his hand than it should be.

The Merchant Crestone didn’t harm him, but it would if it could. The intuitive knowledge it provided Simon was given against its will, and the Perk was coaxed from its archetype.

Level 1 Merchant Perk: Eye for Treasure I (Passive): You intuitively grasp the average monetary value of anything you see.

Simon glanced at Cassandra, with phantom numbers floating next to her belongings: her robe, her veil, her staff, and crystal ball… with the highest value being assigned to Cassandra herself.

The Merchant Class actually put prices on people. Simon shuddered as he quickly grasped the implications.

A slaver was still a merchant at the end of the day.

“The suit looks good on you, Simon,” Cassandra complimented him.

“You’re too kind,” Simon replied before casting aside the Merchant’s whip—watching it vanish into mana the moment it left his hand—and instead grabbed his morning star. His Class gave him an intuitive understanding of its Perks. “Inventory.”

The morning star vanished without warning. A system screen popped up in front of Simon, showing his weapon placed amidst a sea of empty boxes. Most had a cross mark placed on them since he only had one level in Merchant.

“Can you see the morning star with your crystal ball?” Simon asked Cassandra.

“No,” she quickly confirmed. “It became untraceable the moment it disappeared."

So Anathemic Secrecy did apply to objects placed in the Merchant's Inventory. This kept getting better and better. Simon only had to focus for the weapon to instantly reappear in his hand. He swiftly confirmed that he could easily switch items in the Inventory by having his ring and weapon move around in and out of the pocket dimension.

Two reigns ago, when Simon first learned how to craft, Belzemine warned him against wearing more than one or two magical accessories at once because their mana would otherwise interfere with each other. This not only limited the amount of enchanted items he could carry, but also his tactical flexibility.

Inventory neatly solved that. He would be able to switch between weapons and accessories on the fly depending on the situation, the same way Louis apparently used his Warrior Class’ armory to alternate between different weapons.

Once he had finished testing this innate Perk’s limits, Simon decided on a bolder test: placing the Merchant Crestone itself in the inventory. The result was a predictable error message.

You cannot put the Merchant Crestone in the Inventory.

Simon suspected something like that would happen; it would become impossible to recover the Crestone otherwise. Unfortunately, that meant he could never extend Anathemic Secrecy to the Merchant Crestone itself. It would forever remain a security risk. He simply couldn’t afford to keep it close for long.

“Let’s try out the other innate Perks, just in case,” Simon decided. Eye for Treasure held little use for Simon, and the Brand of Greed already provided more income than the Merchant’s Golden Rule, so only its Lootbox and Buddyguard interested him.

Thankfully, having branded Odette Kano and gaining access to an ancient elven treasury meant he had inherited a sizable amount of money this month. Simon and Cassandra first tested the Lootbox Perk by paying a hundred golden coins to it. The first time he tried it, the coins vanished and transformed into a healing potion in a bottle; the second attempt provided a set of high-quality lockpicking tools; and the third a small shield.

In short, Lootbox indeed appeared to be completely random. Even Cassandra’s gambling-enhanced intuition from the Brand of Greed didn’t appear to influence the results.

“Well, this might be the most unreliable Perk I’ve seen yet,” Simon complained.

“I find it funny,” Cassandra admitted. “Maybe we will get a good surprise if we keep trying?”

“We don’t have infinite money to burn on this exercise.” Simon stroked his chin. “Although, I do wonder how the Perk picks objects. Does it have a list of objects with an assigned price it picks from? Where does the gold go? Is it transmuted into the object, or is it teleported somewhere else? This ability has to follow some sort of parameters…”

Unfortunately, figuring it out would likely require time and money he didn’t have, and for dubious benefits on top of that. Simon made a note to maybe explore the ability’s potential applications in a future reign and then moved on to the Merchant’s final Innate Perk.

“Buddyguard,” Simon declared while holding a purse.

His funds immediately vanished in a flash of light, and a mighty creature appeared in front of him in a puff of smoke.

The creature resembled a humanoid of stout stature, garbed in orange armor that was gilded at the edges, albeit with skin dark as night, a lipless mouth filled with fangs, and six red eyes glowing in a hexagonal pattern beneath a horned helmet. Six arms each carried a different weapon in their clawed hands: a flail, a sword, a spear, a dagger, an axe, and a staff. It loomed over Simon and Cassandra like an adult over children.

And it didn’t look pleased to be here in the slightest.

“Only a hundred golden coins, you jackass?!” the figure sneered in perfect Endymian, his masculine voice thundering with outrage. “What a cheapskate! You should be ashamed to summon the great Xenophon with such meager monetary compensation!”

Well, they were off to a good start already. “My apologies… Xenophon, was it?” Simon replied, squinting as he noticed a floating number above the creature’s head. “Twenty-one?”

“The more you pay, the stronger I become,” the creature explained. “Every zero you add increases my level by ten. You paid a mere hundred golden coins, so you get me at level twenty-one. Pay ten thousand, I’ll be level forty-one and so on. And I only accept valuable currency.”

“I see,” Simon replied. The mechanic surprised him a little. “I thought the Perk would have summoned a different creature based on the price.”

“Nope, you only get me, and now I’m stuck as a weakling until our contract expires.”

“What are you?” Cassandra asked with curiosity. “Are you an Eidolon?”

“Yup, that I am, lass,” Xenophon replied. He sounded awfully casual and down to earth for a summoned spirit. “Don’t think I let just anybody summon me, though. I’ve been in an exclusive summoning contract with the Merchants since the Crestone’s creation.”

Simon struggled to imagine that creature standing up to the likes of the Phoenix in battle, but appearances could be deceiving, and a large enough payment might make him a match for the likes of Louis.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Xenophon told Simon, his six eyes squinting at his employer. “I sense darkness stirring beneath your skin. Did you kill my previous employer? I think I felt his demise through the Crestone.”

“Would it matter?” Simon asked. Wait, if Patriate Malphas had summoned this creature, then he might know something useful.

“Nope,” Xenophon replied with a mercenary shrug. “My only loyalty is to my current employer.”

“Then what does our contract entail?”

“I’m lawfully contracted to protect you for the next day and night. I’ll kill anybody who tries to harm you or die trying. A likely outcome at my current level, I might add.” Xenophon rolled all six of his shoulders. “Thankfully, I’m an Eidolon, so death only temporarily banishes me from this plane of existence. You can also end the contract by simply dismissing me.”

“Wait.” Simon frowned as an idea crossed his mind. “I could dismiss you, then summon you again at a higher level if I increase the payment amount?”

“Now you’re catching on quickly. Pony up if you want to see the good stuff. On the plus side, any experience I earn goes to you, so you’ll be the only one to benefit when I kill somebody.”

“What do you do with the money?” Cassandra asked out of the blue. “Why would an Eidolon need money?”

“Uh…” Xenophon cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. Simon suspected nobody had asked him that question before. “It's a professional secret of the highest confidentiality.”

“Mmm…” Simon replied with skepticism. Then again, he didn’t really care what a bodyguard used his pay for. He was more interested in other intel. “Is there no way to extend your contract’s length?”

“Yes, if you renew the payment after it expires.”

Then he wasn’t worth wasting a Devour Crestone Perk on. Having an additional bodyguard with a modulable level could come in handy against a powerful foe, but Xenophon required so much money, and for such a short duration, Simon couldn’t see himself summoning him much, even for grinding purposes.

However, if Xenophon had indeed served Merchants since the Crestone was created, then he knew their secrets.

“Does your contract prevent you from discussing your previous employers?” Simon asked.

“Uh… no, I don’t think so,” Xenophon replied after some hesitation. “Why’s that?”

“Does the name Elios Magnos ring a bell?”

“No, not really. I don’t remember having contracted with someone called that.”

Simon scowled. “A Librarian with three eyes then?”

“Ah, yes, I recall someone like that,” Xenophon said, which immediately piqued Simon’s interest. “It was the third and final time my first employer contracted me, right in the middle of a battle. He and a few other Class users were fighting some kind of winged goatfish archfiend on a floating island in the sky. That Librarian was trying to seal it or something, but they needed extra muscle to keep the creep down.”

Simon’s eyes widened in utter surprise. “A goatfish?”

“Yeah, a goatfish,” Xenophon replied with a shrug. “Half winged goat, half fish, all mean with a black crystal in the middle of its sorry face. Nasty critter.”

Could he have fought the Zodiac Fiend of the Goatfish sign? And on a flying island?

Could it be…

“Can you describe the island to me?” Simon inquired.

“I was in the middle of a battle, so I didn’t pay much attention, but I recall winged humans fighting on our side,” Xenophon explained, confirming Simon’s suspicions. “Like I was pummelling the Abyss out of that goat before it threw me off the island’s edge, and I fell down for minutes on end. My employer had paid me enough to bring me to level seventy-one, so I survived the fall, but my contract expired before I could find my way back. I think my contractor was slain.”

He had met the kish people, and Balzam Magnos’ documents mentioned a floating continent as a potential location for a missing demonbarrow.

Which meant a Zodiac Fiend might be sealed away somewhere in Eole’s Sanctuary in the sky. It didn’t sound that safe all of a sudden.

Simon interrogated Xenophon on the matter further, but the mercenary didn’t have much insight to provide. The first Merchant had apparently been a human male called Waybright, but he had only called upon Xenophon thrice: once to interrogate him about his contract, once to protect him during a business deal with a dragon—which ended without violence—and a final time for that battle in the sky. The Eidolon knew nothing about Elios Magnos beyond that moment, or even how the battle concluded.

In fact, it seemed like most Merchants only summoned Xenophon once when testing the Buddyguard Perk, and rarely called him again unless they were facing an imminent threat to their lives. This likely explained why none of the texts about past Merchants mentioned him. Calling him was a last resort.

“What about Patriate Malphas?” Simon inquired. “What can you tell me about him?”

“I don’t know any person with that name.”

“He was your last employer,” Simon insisted. “A black-haired slimeball?”

“Yes, yes, I see who you’re talking about now,” the Eidolon replied. “But Patriate Malphas wasn’t his name. He was called Barthandelus.”

Simon’s eyes widened in surprise before his mind put two and two together. “What’s my name?”

“What a stupid question.” Xenophon scoffed. “Simon Magnos.”

“So you instantly learn the true name of anyone who summons you,” Simon guessed. Which meant Patriate had infiltrated the empire under a false name. “Barthandelus… that name sounds strange.”

Cassandra, who had mostly listened so far without saying a word, provided the answer. “Barthandelus is an elven name.”

That brought even more questions than answers. Was Patriate a half-elf like his daughter, raised in Illusea and sent to infiltrate the empire? Or some adopted spawn of an elven couple? Simon had the intuition that this information mattered, but he didn’t see much use in it right now.

“Did he ever summon you, Xenophon?” Simon asked. Any detail could help.

“Yeah, twice; the first time to ask questions about my contract, the second to assess my capabilities,” Xenophon replied. “He showed me a magical sword and asked me how much money it would cost to make me strong enough to slay a level ninety-plus Overlord with it in one strike.”

Simon squinted at the Eidolon. “And what did you answer?”

“That he should summon me with a nine-zero payment, and that I couldn’t guarantee it anyway,” Xenophon replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I can kill anybody for the right price, but the last Overlord I fought crushed me under his stinking dragon foot. They’re a tough lot. Barthandelus thanked me for my honesty, then dismissed me and never called on me again.”

So Xenophon hadn’t slain Balzam Magnos. Simon briefly wondered what would happen if an Eidolon or summoned creature were to kill an Overlord. Would the Class go to their master? Or would it transfer to someone else?

This also implied that Malphas and his employers had considered other alternatives before sending the assassin who eventually slew Balzam Magnos. Was their chosen killer so weak the Oracle feared they wouldn’t be able to pull it off?

Further questioning yielded little results. Patriate Malphas’ interactions with Xenophon had been too short for the mercenary Eidolon to learn much about his personality or goals. Simon had the nagging suspicion that the man intentionally avoided summoning his bodyguard during his tenure to keep him as a trump card.

“Night’s falling,” Xenophon noted upon staring at the sky. “If you want to use me, you should hurry up. You’ve got until sunrise until I take my leave.”

“I think we’ve covered everything I wanted to discuss, except one thing.” Simon clutched the Merchant Crestone. “Will your contract come to an end if I destroy the Merchant Crestone?”

“Uh… probably.” Xenophon scratched the back of his helmet. “I don’t think anybody has ever tried.”

“Let us check then, shall we?” Simon shed the Merchant outfit for the Overlord armor, stunning the Eidolon. “Devour Crestone.”

The Merchant Crestone burned like the heart of the sun in his palm, and then it shrieked.

A scream rippled across the fabric of reality as the Noble Crestone illuminated the darkness, its radiance causing Xenophon to decompose into nothing. A torrent of miasma swirled between Simon’s fingers and smothered the light to death. The Merchant’s heart drowned in darkness and then disappeared with a final wail, its demise filling Simon’s bones with power and a rush of experience. The Overlord in him rejoiced at the conquest and destruction of an ancient foe, however temporary.

You have assimilated the Inventory Active Perk. It shall now replace Devour Crestone II.

Inventory (Active): You can stock up to one item per Overlord level that you own in a unique pocket dimension only you have access to, and bring them out at will. Should you die, all items in your Inventory are released at the spot of your demise.

He didn't receive any vision this time. He could feel the Merchant Crestone resisting him even in death, refusing to be robbed of its knowledge, denying him its help; and he wasn't strong enough to compel obedience yet.

Simon nonetheless smirked from ear to ear. As he had guessed, the newly assimilated Inventory would scale with his Overlord level.

Time to stock up.

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[User]
Write Chapter 59: The Season of the Minotaur (8)
Target length: ~3700 words

[Assistant]
He dreamed of Elios Magnos that night.

He was still a living man in his dream, with pale skin and blonde hair framing three grey, red-rimmed eyes. His shaking hands gripped Simon’s clothes with immense dread.

“You must walk away, Waybright!” he pleaded, his voice heavy with despair. “I have foreseen it! If you join us in the upcoming battle, you will die!”

“You cannot take on that creature without my help,” Simon said with a voice that wasn’t his own, followed up by a warm, confident laugh. “Besides, you know me. I’m always up to challenging the odds.”

“This is no joking matter!” Elios Magnos snapped at him with concern. His voice was nothing like the cavernous echo of the lich he had become. “The light of the comet shines upon the Goatfish! However weaker they might be compared to the Maiden or the Minotaur, their powers have now reached their apex!”

“But all the other eleven have been dealt with, and their seals still hold firm. The Goatfish’s the last of them.”

“And so are we!” Elios snapped. “The Oracle and we are all that remains of the first generation! The new recruits are green, untrained!”

Simon remained resolute. “You know what will happen if that monster is allowed to complete its foul ritual. The death toll will be immense.”

“Even so…” Elios seethed, looking down. “Don’t do it, please. I don’t want to see another of our own perish. Not again…”

Simon felt his lips stretch into a smile, one that hid his fear behind its confidence. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said, his hand reaching for Elios’ shoulder. “I will not die, that I promise you. I’ve stockpiled a fortune just for this moment. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. This war will soon be over.”

And they both knew it was a lie.

Simon’s eyes snapped open to find a ceiling of wood above his head. He returned to reality and to his room in the Midnight Market, his head clouded with questions.

Was that a memory of the first Merchant? It sounded too vivid for a mere dream or hallucination.

The Merchant Crestone had denied him its knowledge, but it seemed an echo still reverberated through Simon’s dreams. He was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of spiritual sensitivity. He was convinced he had seen echoes of his father’s past reigns in his slumber and glimpsed Balzam’s memory of murdering his first wife back on the Berwick Islands.

Could he have inherited some of Elios Magnos’ Visionary gifts, even without a third eye?

And what should he make of that memory? It astonished Simon that the cruel lich he had encountered back in Berwick could care for someone else, but Elios Magnos had sounded genuinely concerned for the Merchant’s sake. He seemed to have foreseen his colleague’s demise with his Visionary power, a prophecy that came true in the battle that followed.

And then… then there was the timing.

Eole told him that the Sanctuary had been torn away from Telluria during the Year of the Doom. The Goatfish came after the Archer in the Parade’s order, so that battle had to have taken place about four hundred years ago, when the comet last graced the planet with its presence. Since Xenophon said Waybright had been his first contractor, this meant the original generation of heroes continued to linger until the Doom at least, and that Elios hadn’t become a lich back then.

‘But all the other eleven have been dealt with…’ that's what Waybright said, but there are thirteen signs, Simon thought. Did Mardok somehow manage to evade their notice until the Doom?

Did traces of that battle remain in the Sanctuary? Whatever the Goatfish had been planning there, it threatened the heroes enough that they chose to risk their lives to stop it. He should have at least asked Eole for a way to contact her. Her homeland would suffer dearly when the comet arrived and freed the monster sealed away there.

“Are you awake, Lord Belias?” Odette called out to him through telepathy. “Would you care to join me for a private breakfast? I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Simon asked with curiosity. “How kind of you. I’m on my way.”

After dressing up and briefly checking on Cassandra to find her still soundly asleep—he had learned she was something of a night owl—he made his way up to Odette’s apartment. Guards stepped aside and opened the door to a long hallway.

He found Odette signing documents at a large dining table while an undead Lorimor set the tableware. A middle-aged man bound by ropes to a chair struggled against his bindings, his screams dulled by a gag, his eyes and ears bound by a thick blindfold. A pendant bearing the Church of the Light’s glowing sun glittered around his neck.

“I see we have a guest,” Simon noted. “A priest of the Light having breakfast with a demon?”

“You asked for one alive,” Odette reminded him after setting aside her documents. “This here is Father Rodrigue, priest of the local abbey. Lady Lauriane ordered me to arrest and execute him for secretly corresponding with High Confessor Mastemo. As far as the papertrail goes, he has… disappeared.”

“Good. We have cells to hold him in.” That took care of the sacrifice for the Summer Solstice, at least. “Where is your son? I would have expected to see him in your quarters."

“Away,” Odette replied sharply, holding his gaze. “He’s no longer in Whispermire.”

“Truly?” Now that surprised Simon. He thought she would rather have kept her son close. “Did you mistake me for a liar? He has nothing to fear so long as you serve me well.”

Odette held his gaze defiantly. “I trust you to be a demon, Lord Belias, bound by your interests. You may very well end up disposing of me should you begin to think I am no longer of use to you…” She then glanced out of the nearest window. “Not to mention that the mad princeling might decide to bomb my house from on high should he learn of our dealings. I thought it safer to evacuate my son to a safer place.”

“I see…” She wasn’t wrong either. The war could come to Whispermire’s doorstep at any point, whether it took the form of airship bombardments or Norbelle’s Eidolons. “Most wise.”

Odette scowled. “Why him? Why did your vassal want my son?”

“The fortune of his birth,” Simon replied. “He bears the sign of the Minotaur.”

“One person out of twelve is born under that sign, yet no other family in Whispermire was targeted.”

“There are other parameters at play,” Simon replied evasively. He had personally reached that same conclusion. One person out of twelve was born under the Minotaur’s auspices, a fraction which only increased when taking ascendant signs into account, yet the Muse only tried to claim a handful of people as her new host. A compatible birthsign was a key requirement, but there had to be others he didn’t understand yet. “Does it matter? So long as you serve, he shall never come to harm.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Odette replied as she went to put her documents on a nearby shelf between registries. “So far, our alliance has served me well. My fortune grows exponentially in spite of your taxing tribute, even though I can already tell it will eventually become unsustainable.”

“Eventually can be a very long time,” Simon replied as he checked the room. It was his first time visiting Odette Kano’s living space, and she seemed to be quite the art collector. Her living hall was closer to a curio cabinet, with hundreds of items on display behind vitrines or on small cupboards.

The objects ranged from portraits representing Odette and her family to marble busts of renowned scholars and statuettes, but most objects appeared to come from the southern province of Uyo: sinister wooden masks adorned with reed crowns, a giant dire leopard’s hide, burnished copper bowls etched with runes Simon translated as offerings to forgotten gods, a priestly wooden scepter… his host was clearly in tune with her heritage.

One painting caught his gaze more than the other. It represented a vivid depiction of an ancient, primeval city half-buried in a dense jungle, with gilded walls and the shadows of giant apes looming between trees. The sketch was rougher than the rest of the gallery, yet strangely detailed too.

Odette returned and walked up to him to stare at the painting. “Have you ever heard of the City of Rhapta, Lord Belias?”

“That name means nothing to me,” Simon replied.

“It is a lost city located somewhere in Uyo’s jungle that was abandoned during the Doom, and my people’s ancestral home. I met my worm of an ex-husband when we were both researching it at the local academy.” A glint of nostalgia lit up Odette’s gaze, though that brief display of emotion didn’t last long. “Many adventurers explore the jungle in the hope of finding it and claiming its treasure.”

“Do any of them find it?”

“I did,” Odette replied, much to Simon’s surprise. “When I was a child, long before I arrived here, I lost my way and saw it past the trees, so eerily silent I could hear my footsteps. I had to run and flee before the local monsters could catch me, but the sight of that place remains forever seared into my memories.”

Simon squinted at her. “Did you paint this yourself?”

“I did.” She sounded quite proud of it, too. “When I was forced to leave my homeland, I swore to myself I would one day return to Rhapta and recapture it.”

“I see. Is that why you created a business dedicated to assisting adventurers? So you could recruit the allies, resources, and contacts required to raise an expedition?” Simon nodded in appreciation. And here he thought she hoarded wealth for its own sake. “Quite the ambitious goal. You will go far.”

“Thank you,” Odette replied warily. “I’m not certain what to make of a demon’s compliment.”

“Take it and keep it.” Come to think of it, didn’t one of his father’s notes mention the possibility of a Demonbarrow in Uyo? A lost city abandoned after the Doom sounded rather similar to the Kish empire’s capital… “Have you marked down this Rhapta’s location?”

“I was a child when I saw it, so I can’t pinpoint its location with complete accuracy,” Odette confessed. “But I have narrowed it down to one region of the jungle.”

“I would be curious to see it,” Simon replied, before moving on to more important matters. “Any news about the upcoming imperial raid?”

“Yes and no. The War Party’s army does not share details of its operation with me. I remain a civilian leader in spite of my shows of loyalty. They do not trust me.” Odette crossed her arms. “However, I know imperial scouts have already been dispatched into the Darkwood for the purpose of reconnaissance. I would suggest wiping them out to discourage more incursions.”

“Yes, that would indeed be wise.” And regrettable. “To never come back is a message in itself.”

Killing a few visitors might dissuade more from coming.

* * *

After having breakfast with Odette and ordering his cultists to secretly transport their priest guest to his new ‘permanent residence,’ Simon traveled outside town with Cassandra to further experiment with his Inventory Perk away from prying gazes. Two of their followers, a farming couple, kindly lent them their tools and possessions for experimentation.

First of all, Simon tried to check what counted as an object for the Perk’s purpose, a definition which proved both vast and narrow. Trying to store large structures like houses simply resulted in error messages, as did his attempt to store trees or cows. However, he did manage to store large crates—though not their contents—and even an entire carriage.

“It would seem the Perk doesn’t have a size or weight limit,” Simon noted, “or if it does, it must be quite large indeed.”

“It didn’t take the wheat piles that were inside the crates or carriage, though,” Cassandra pointed out. Simon tried to add them to his inventory and succeeded, though they appeared in a separate slot.

“In all likelihood, the object must be whole or part of one,” Simon replied, a theory he confirmed after summoning the carriage back and removing a wheel. His Inventory then proceeded to store them in two separate slots. “Seems I was right, but why can I store wheat and not a tree? They’re both plants, and the crates and carriage are made of wood too…”

“The wheat is dead,” Cassandra replied. “It is no longer a living thing.”

“Yes, I think you must be right.” Simon stroked his chin. “But how does the Perk determine if an object is whole? Physical continuity?”

“Classes are born from the System, and thus the world’s collective will,” Cassandra replied with much wisdom and insight. “The Perk must base itself on common sense and public perception. I wonder if it perceives a corpse as an object too...”

“Well, a pile of wheat is a plant’s corpse, so I would assume so. I should try to store undead too when I return to the Darkwood, just in case.” Simon crossed his arms and stared at the carriage. “A pity we do not have anything bigger on hand. I wonder if I could store something as large as a galley or airship…”

He was pondering what other tests he could put the Perk through when he sensed Carrock the Treant trying to establish telepathic communication with him. “What is it, Carrock?”

“Pardon me, Lord Belias, but multiple groups have entered the Darkwood’s heart,” the treant replied. “Class users, strong and skilled.”

“The imperial scouts… stay on high alert, and do not let them reach the Halls of the Minotaur. I will teleport back to support you soon.” Simon cut communication and turned to Cassandra. “I’m sorry, but I have to cut this short. I must go wipe out some intruders.”

“I understand.” Cassandra cleared her throat. “If I may ask, could you take my brother and father with you?”

“Hector too?” Simon asked. “Oh, I see. You want to see your family?”

“If it is not a bother,” Cassandra said shyly. “I haven’t seen them for months now, since I cannot enter the Darkwood.”

“I can arrange a meeting, yes. We’ll come visit you after we take care of our uninvited guests.”

“Thank you, Simon.” Cassandra smiled at him. “Besides… I believe my brother will appreciate some exercise.”

* * *

And so, for the first time since they arrived in the Darkwood, Simon decided to take Hector and Duchar Honorius with him out on a patrol. One of the first things he tried to do was to store Hector in his Inventory, just in case.

It failed miserably. It seemed animated corpses were too alive by half for the Perk’s purpose.

It didn’t take them long to find their first batch of intruders. They had been following a dry, murky riverbed up to a hollow in the woods when they stumbled upon a campsite by a group of four imperial scouts trying to establish a relay point in the area.

What followed was… well, a one-sided massacre. Simon barely had time to raise his hand and prepare a spell to cast when Hector had activated his Crestone and lunged at them in a blink.

The Executioner’s outfit was as simple as it was intimidating: black clothes covering the entire body alongside a conic cowl with a hangman’s rope dangling from the neck down. Hector looked rather eerie and fearsome with his monstrous headsman’s axe in his hands, doubly so when it tore through two men in the blink of an eye. He slaughtered the entire group before Simon could even finish spellcasting.

“Well… that was quick,” Simon said as he looked over the smeared blood and entrails spilled all over the place. Cassandra hadn’t been exaggerating when she called her brother a peerless warrior.

“I fight to kill…” Hector rasped, wiping someone’s brain off his axe. “Better critical… instadeath… anti-heal… buffs… the more I kill, the stronger I become…”

“The Executioner is a purely offensive Vassal Class that focuses on killing single targets in a single blow,” Duchar summed it up. “While it lacks versatility or a Berserker’s raw might, it is excellent for one-on-one combat.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Simon noted as he checked the bodies for anything useful. He found a Crestone, only for the device to turn grayer than granite at his touch. “What the–”

“These Crestones are locked,” Duchar noted. “I’ve heard that newer generations of mass-produced Vassal Crestones include such security mechanisms. They only respond to specifically identified users to prevent the enemy from reusing them.”

“So they're useless?” Simon grumbled. “Can you break that encryption?”

“Perhaps with time,” Duchar replied hesitantly. “I suspect it would be quicker to craft our own than unlock those, however.”

“Disappointing,” Simon complained as he added the locked Crestone to his Inventory. Thankfully, non-Merchant Crestones could be placed within it without issue. I should check with the other Noble Crestones the moment I get the chance. “Anyway, how are you feeling around me so far, Hector? I recall that the sight of the living can infuriate you, so I wonder if that includes me.”

“No, I… I do not feel hostility towards Your Majesty… I sense we share a…” Hector hesitated. “A kinship.”

Unquestionable Ruler only compelled obedience in lower-level creatures, but the Overlord still radiated the power of the Dark. Undead and demons had recognized him in the past. Hector was probably no different.

A wave of pain echoed through a couple of his Brands of Sloth, startling Simon. He was almost numb to the death of followers rippling through their bonds—one of his bound monsters perished now and then—but more than one had been slain in quick succession. That was cause for alarm.

“Imp five?” Simon telepathically called out to the squad leader in the area. “Treant four?” No answer. “Will-o-wisp three? Do you hear me?”

“Yes, O’Lord of Dark,” the spirit answered.

“Something wiped out all groups south of our location. Do you see intruders near your assigned area?”

“Yes, I do… hounds that hunger for blood… Knight clad in blue steel… an orc with sword o’ steel… mage calling thunder… woman archer, thirsting for battle…”

A knight clad in blue steel, strong enough to cleave through monsters? It couldn’t be…

“Duchar, could you obscure our location and movements?” Simon asked. “And keep Hector under control? An enemy party is approaching our location, but I want to observe them first.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” Duchar replied as he put on his Class outfit and cast a spell. “Obscuring Mist.”

A fog of ambient miasma swirled around them, creating a cloud of mist that kept the group shrouded from sight. They took cover behind a small mound and watched as a group of imperial soldiers matching the will-o’-wisp’s description perfectly walked by: an orc using a swordsman-type class, a human archer, a mage with a staff and blue robes similar to Belzemine’s Pyromancer outfit, and two mastiffs sniffing around for trouble.

At their helm was Leonard himself. Simon could recognize that armor anywhere.

What is he doing here? Simon cursed. Did he decide to do some recon himself ahead of the raid drill?

Ugh, of course he did. It was Leonard, too brave and honorable by half.

“They seem… experienced…” Hector whispered.

“Use the Brand to communicate, Hector,” Simon reminded the Executioner, who wasn’t yet used to his new gifts. The imperial hounds guiding the group hadn’t yet noticed them. Simon quickly broadcasted relevant information to his allies. “The Dreadnought is the one that will be leading the imperial raid next month. He was level forty-three when we last crossed paths, maybe more now.”

“Oh, then this is an excellent opportunity.” Duchar nodded to himself. “We should kill him where he stands.”

A chill traveled down Simon’s spine. “Why?”

“Well, assuredly killing the upcoming raid’s leader will convince the army that sending troops so deep into the Darkwood is not worth the risk when they have a war on their doorstep,” Duchar pointed out. “Losing a level forty-three commander will be a harsh blow to their morale. This will spare us a more determined effort in the future.”

He’s… not wrong, Simon conceded, though he remained wary on top of not being particularly comfortable with the idea of killing an old friend. His sister will swear revenge, though. I know she will, and Louis might take it as a challenge…

The idea of killing Leonard truly horrified Simon. The Dreadnought had put his life on the line to save him multiple times, taking a number of lethal blows for him across several reigns. He had been a friend, and his sister served as Simon’s mistress at one point. As much as killing him might be the most expedient solution to the upcoming raid on paper, he just couldn’t kill him like a common soldier. He knew it was irrational, especially considering Hector had slaughtered an imperial scouting party mere minutes ago, but every fiber of his being told him his retainer did not deserve to die a cruel and expected death in a swamp.

But if they continue this way, they’ll eventually reach the ruins near the Halls of the Minotaur, Simon thought grimly. If they see it, the War Party might try to seize it in case it contains useful elven artifacts or magic. This could jeopardize everything.

“I owe the man a favor, so I would rather avoid killing him if possible,” Simon decided as he put on a Fiendmask to shapeshift into his Old Man of the Woods disguise. “Stay behind, both of you. I will try to talk them out of advancing any further. With luck, they might listen and keep their distances from the Halls of the Minotaur.”

Hector leaned forward, his gaze through the executioner’s hood turning absolutely menacing. “And if they… do not?”

Do you really want me to say it?

“Then…” Simon clenched his teeth. “Then I will understand.”

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Write Chapter 60: The Season of the Minotaur (9)
Target length: ~4200 words
Key events: combat-heavy

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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.

“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?”

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Write Chapter 61: The Season of the Minotaur (10)
Target length: ~3400 words
Key events: dungeon content

[Assistant]
Simon’s phantom steed was quite the disturbing creature.

He had expected a ghostly version of a horse, but while the entity was indeed made of greenish ectoplasm, it took the shape of a frightful equine corpse. A moldy hide stretched over bones exposed through rotten holes, and two unholy flames burned within its skull-face’s eye sockets.

It was otherwise a normal horse, though, with a saddle and reins, and solid enough to carry him and Cassandra on its back. Simon’s Warmonger Perk intuitively taught him how to ride the creature and guide it as it began to ride across the nightwind.

And then they flew.

Simon’s heart skipped a beat when his steed’s hooves stopped touching the ground and began to race across empty air like a mad donkey climbing a mountain. The wind flew upon their faces, and Cassandra clung to him with all of her strength. They rose and rode into pitch black night after waving her father and brother goodbye.

It was such an exhilarating feeling to ascend upwards. The steed couldn’t fly all that high, no more than four or five hundred feet, but that was enough to watch trees and farmhouses shrink beneath them. Cassandra cast a fog spell to keep them hidden from sight until they reached Whispermire’s outskirts and landed unseen, after which Simon dismissed the horse with a wave of his hand. He had the intuition that it would prove quite useful.

“That was something,” Simon mused once they returned to the Midnight Market.

“I liked it very much. It was a nice outing, and a pleasant evening in general.” Cassandra smiled at him. “Thank you for indulging me, Simon.”

“You are welcome. It was… nice.”

“But something else weighs on your mind,” Cassandra noted. “Is it about what happened with the Dreadnought? Father told me you planned to resurrect him, if possible.”

“Yes.” Simon crossed his arms. “I keep telling myself I can bring him back, that his death was unintentional, and that it was necessary to prevent a worse situation later, but he was still a former comrade at the end of the day. I don’t like killing friends.”

Cassandra nodded in understanding. “I never had a living friend before you, so I cannot say whether you were in the right or the wrong, but I think the fact you are asking yourself that at all means you are not a bad person.”

I’m not sure a good person would be conducting a ritual to unleash a demon upon the world, even for the purpose of saving the world, Simon thought, although he did appreciate the compliment. It didn’t take long for them to reach their quarters. “Thank you for your kind words, at the very least. I guess this is it for the night then.”

Cassandra reached for her door, only to hesitate an instant. “If you do not mind, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you courting me, Simon?”

Huh? Where did that come from? “Why that question?”

“Because my other friend, Nora, asked me the question when I said you brought me gifts and liked to spend time with me,” Cassandra replied calmly. “I have never been courted by a living person, so I didn’t know how to answer.”

Oh. Simon suddenly realized he must have been sending quite a few mixed signals over the last few weeks or so.

Was he courting Cassandra? He did find her attractive, and he enjoyed her company enough to seek it out. He had even grown somewhat used to her family’s weirder and darker aspects over the last months. They had indeed become friends, and he wouldn’t mind dating her.

However, besides the fact that he was technically engaged to the Stone Muse and that she might badly react to her ‘beloved’ courting another woman, the memory of his time with Anna still remained fresh on his mind. The idea of growing close to Cassandra only for her to treat him as a stranger on the next reign pained him.

Then again, this reign might last decades for all he knew, if he managed to survive the Zodiac Parade and whatever else the future held for him. As much as he missed Anna, he couldn’t exactly see himself staying a celibate hermit for over ninety more lifetimes. It would be a nice change of pace to live a full life rather than having it be cut short by assassins or disaster, whether he shared it with someone else or not…

Simon had so many conflicting feelings about all of this.

“I wouldn’t say we’re quite there yet, but perhaps in the future,” Simon replied sincerely. “I have too much on my mind for now.”

“I understand. I was just curious.” Cassandra nodded at him as she bade him goodnight. “I hope slumber will help clear your mind.”

He hoped so as well.

* * *

Simon spent the next few days in Whispermire keeping watch on the situation.

Leonard’s body and those of other imperial scouts were returned to town and then to the War Party’s forces. True to Duchar’s prediction, the death of so many Class users convinced the army that turning the area into a training camp wasn’t worth the losses, and the imperial raid was swiftly cancelled.

So Louis decided to bomb the Darkwood instead.

Three days after Leonard’s demise, Simon woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of city bells ringing madly and tremors shaking the ground. He only had to take a look out the window to see two War Party airships raining fire down from the sky upon the Darkwood, with plumes of smoke rising from the miasma. They unleashed their fury for an entire night in a blind orgy of destruction that could be observed all the way from Whispermire.

“What the…” Simon choked in horror as he watched a fireball descend upon the woods and explode on impact, a flash of light illuminating the night in response. His skull buzzed with telepathic attempts to contact him from all across his network of allies. “Duchar?! Hector?! Carrock?!”

“We are being bombarded, Your Majesty!” the old sorcerer replied. “A fire has started on the third level!”

“My brothers burn from the bitter kiss of flame!” Carrock the Treant roared in fear and fury through his own Brand. Although Simon had had the foresight to give him a Ring of Cursed Flame to negate his kind’s vulnerability to fire, he couldn’t say the same for his fellow trees.

Simon briefly thought it was a calculated attempt to destroy the Hall of the Minotaur, but the airships continued to fly over the forest towards areas without anything important in them. This was no calculated attempt to cull the monster population or a preparation for an offensive; it was retaliation, pure and simple.

Simon cursed himself for not seeing this coming. Of course the War Party couldn’t allow a commander’s death to go unavenged. They lacked the resources or need to purge the Darkwood with soldiers, but a bombing run on their own turf was a cheap way to both retaliate for Leonard’s loss and reaffirm their faction’s power to those who may have doubted it.

“Do we retaliate, Your Majesty?” a gargoyle asked, his voice brimming with bloodlust. “We can fly up and cast them down from the sky!”

“No, no, everyone retreat to the Halls of the Minotaur’s Sanctum or to the marshes,” Simon ordered his allies and servants. Attacking the airships would only cause Louis to escalate further by sending more ships to finish the job. “Do not retaliate, I repeat, do not retaliate! They are only passing through, so focus on survival!”

Simon then spent the night guiding his followers from afar to safety towards cult-affiliated locations or safehouses. Dozens of plumes of smoke covered the sky above the Darkwood by the time the airships departed.

The forest’s muddy, wet atmosphere prevented an all-out fire across the region, but Simon teleported back to the Halls of the Minotaur to find the stonemasonry crumbling in multiple places, with his forces desperately working to put out fires with swampwater or pulling away survivors from beneath piles of debris. He himself spent the better part of the day extinguishing flames with repeated Hellfrost castings.

“Report,” Simon asked Duchar while the two of them used spells to prevent a crumbling wall from collapsing and destroying the workshop.

“We have taken severe damage,” Duchar admitted. His robes had burned at the edges. “I do not think this location has been exposed, and the Sanctum has miraculously avoided any major damage, but we are now at considerably less than full strength.”

That was quite the understatement.

By the time the day was over, the entire western wing of the Halls of the Minotaur had collapsed into a pile of rubble, the courtyard was flooded by the fountain’s destruction, multiple rooms were buried under crumbling stonemasonry, and cracked walls had opened new holes in multiple areas, which represented a considerable security risk. Not to mention that the bombardment had disturbed the local fauna and sent it fleeing throughout the region, which would no doubt cause issues. Even some of Simon’s own slime creations and undead servants were unaccounted for.

At least Father Rodrigue’s cell held firm, so they still had a sacrifice for the ritual.

“Vengeance!” the Stone Muse screeched to anyone who would listen. “A tide of wood and a flood of terror I shall unleash upon these metal birds’ roosts when my bindings are shattered! A hundred heads for every burned root, buried under my temple’s new foundations!”

“In due time,” Simon reassured her.

True to his intuition, the War Party didn’t order a bombardment on the next night, or the one after. They had been satisfied with putting the local monsters in their place and now focused their efforts back on their enemies to the east. The danger had passed, for now.

Afterwards, Simon spent the last month leading up to the Summer Solstice focusing on reconstructing the Halls, managing the bombardment’s aftermath, and keeping track of events in the wider world.

The Darkwood’s bombing had caused a few monsters outside of Simon’s control to flee the forest and ravage the surrounding countryside, which conveniently occupied the local adventurers for the time being. Unfortunately, major parts of the forest had been turned to cinders. The Halls of the Minotaur were thus bereft of a major natural defense, which meant future intruders would have an easier time locating the Dungeon.

Reports from his allies indicated that the situation on the front was slowly shifting towards the War Party’s favor. Their Goetia Research Center’s sheer rate of Crestone production was simply too great an advantage to overcome, alongside the use of demonic or modified monster warbeasts. They simply produced Class wielders quicker than Euphemia’s troops could kill them.

Even worse, Scaland once again revolted under Vouivre’s leadership and declared its independence from both imperial factions. Considering it had done so in a previous reign, this implied the dragoness would always travel to that island, whether she was driven off from Telluria or not. Simon noted that information for the future. Scaland was located close to the Berwick Islands and Church Party territory, thus increasing the pressure on them.

Silk, true to her promise, had also begun to provide reports on the situation beyond the Dragonsea. The League of Valne and Lore were planning a crossing with Musan and Illusean support, which Simon already knew from a previous reign.

What he didn’t know, however, was that they had opened up secret discussions with the Church Party. According to Silk’s intel, the White Unicorn and Mastemo had opened diplomatic talks for an alliance in return for Euphemia formally renouncing all claims to Magvolia.

It would be a costly political move, if a shrewd one. Magvolia was firmly under the War Party’s thumb, so Euphemia would surrender territory she didn’t control anyway and open a second front for Louis to fight at the same time. Simon had no doubt the White Unicorn would accept her terms, although whether or not that peace would last beyond the War Party’s toppling remained to be seen.

Simon found himself wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t claimed the Darkwood for himself. Would Leonard have pushed forward until he found the Halls of the Minotaur and reported its existence to Louis? Would it have impacted the war at all? Lauriane at least continued to buy monster parts and even live ones that adventurers occasionally captured, so her faction hadn’t entirely given up on the region.

But otherwise, Simon faced no other incident all the way up to the Summer Solstice. When that day came, he climbed up the stairs to the Sanctum, had poor Father Rodrigue bound to the altar, and then proceeded with the sacrifice.

“Great trapped fiend, accept this bloody gift, sacrificed on freedom’s altar,” Simon chanted as he brought down the sacrificial spike on the weeping priest’s chest. “A priest who does not believe in you slaughtered in your unholy name, to herald forth the Summer of Destruction upon your enemies!”

Unlike Lorimor, poor Rodrigue let out a wail of pain and fear when Simon ended his life. Red lightning crackled from his open chest and set arcane symbols alight in the air, shaking the temple with a tremor thankfully nowhere near as powerful as the one unleashed by the War Party’s bombardment. A few stones fell from the ceiling, startling Simon’s gargoyle guards, but the edifice held otherwise.

His vision once again went dark, as it did with the first ritual, followed by the vision of a second chain shattering over the seal. Overwhelming power flooded him with abyssal energies and the thrill of a new level.

Level 39 Overlord Perk: Unyielding Essence IV (Passive): You are now invulnerable to non-magical weapons.

Interesting. Simon recalled some of his father’s ministers saying they had seen blades shatter against his naked skin. It was good to learn the exact reason why.

Nonetheless, Simon was starting to feel the toll of fading experience gains. He could tell the rush of experience granted by this sacrifice only gave him just enough to progress. The gap between two new levels kept growing wider and wider.

Then again, he only wielded the Overlord class for a little over a year and a half when factoring in all the consecutive reigns. It had taken over half a decade of continuous warfare for Louis to reach level eighty or so in the Warrior Class. Simon would need to find new experience sources in future reigns to keep the momentum going.

“So sweet, the taste of freedom is close!” the Stone Muse rejoiced. “Two more sacrifices and I shall see these bindings broken!”

“The third sacrifice eludes us still, however,” Simon replied as he clutched the soul-gem he had extracted from Father Rodrigue. He would relinquish it to Duchar for him to deal with it as he saw fit. “What would you consider the ‘descendant of an enemy?’”

“Those who have bound me are my foes!” the mad dryad replied. “The elven thralls of my treacherous sisters have woven wicked spells, and their blood alone may my fetters rust!”

“So we need the descendant of the elven mages that created your seal in the first place?” Simon had a bad feeling about that. “Do you know their names?”

“Shrouded in secrecy, they came to me, but my faith in you I bestow, Beloved. To the bottom of this matter you shall dig to set me free.”

In short, she had no idea and intended to saddle Simon with all the hard work. Such were the wages of dealing with bound fiends.

“Gifts I have, my dear, to reward you with,” the Stone Muse said with honeyed words. “Spells most foul and devastating.”

“I am still limited to Tier III for now,” Simon replied. “For another level at least, however long it takes.”

“Not all spells require Perks to cast. Geomantic and druidic rituals blending nature and miasma, I can share. How to blight the land and invite nature’s wrath on civilization, how to spawn monsters numerous and twist paths with no return!”

Simon recalled from earlier lessons that geomancy covered magic affecting the very land and terrain rather than individuals. Considering how the current ritual took nearly a year to cast, Simon doubted he would see immediate use for them.

However, since completing a dark ritual like the Seasonal Key was providing him much much-needed Overlord experience, Simon assumed other dark sorcery might let him grow in levels in the future. Knowledge always opened new paths to the bold.

“Very well,” Simon decided. “Do you have anything that could help repair our defenses?”

* * *

As it turned out, the Stone Muse did know a useful defensive ritual: the Lost Wilds.

The complex piece of sorcery apparently cursed an entire forest so that anyone taking the wrong turn would end back at the beginning. It would require some preparation, key supplies, and the help of multiple cultists to complete, but he intended to cast it at the first opportunity in order to better shield the Halls of the Minotaur from detection.

Otherwise, Simon also set Shabram and Odette Kano on researching the elven archmages who had sealed away the Muse in the first place; a search that quickly proved difficult. While the region had been inhabited long before the Darkwood’s corruption, Whispermire didn’t exist back then as a settlement, and the binding preceded the town’s registers; moreover, Magvolia was the most recent of the imperial provinces, and many archives had been lost during the conquest. The best Odette could provide was a list of local half-elves and their relatives, whom they had no way to confirm whether they descended from an ancient sorcerer or some unlucky local.

More worrying news arrived soon after, on top of everything.

“You say a dragon has been sighted in the west, Miss Kano?” Simon inquired.

“I would have dismissed such reports as foolishness if they weren’t corroborated by multiple people,” Odette confirmed. “The creature was sighted flying near the Goetia Research Center before disappearing without causing trouble.”

Could it be Vouivre? No, impossible. She was in Scaland organizing the local scalefolk as part of yet another bid for conquest. She should have killed Casval by now, too. Did she have another sibling to call upon? Or was it merely a large monster local farmers mistook for a dragon?

Or did it have something to do with Lauriane’s constant demand for monster parts? The creature was seen near the Goetia Research Center after all…

“Interesting,” Simon said as he faked being an inscrutable archfiend. “I would not worry too much, Miss Kano. If a dragon dares to cross the Dragonsea to threaten us, I will put it back in its place. Gargauth alone could trade blows with my kind, and he is long departed.”

“I will put my faith in you, Lord Belias,” Odette replied. “I have two more things to report. First of all, I am extending you a formal invitation for the annual ball celebrating Whispermire’s founding at the end of the month. Since important local dignitaries may attend, including our liege lord, Princess Lauriane Magnos, I figured you might be interested in attending it.”

Lauriane might attend? Simon was wary of being recognized, but using a Fiendmask and Anathematic Secrecy should let him slip in undetected. Part of him wanted to see how his favorite half-sister was faring in this reign, and Odette had a point, meeting local dignitaries could let him gather important information about the war.

“I will be sure to attend with my finest human skin,” Simon mused. “What else did you want to discuss, Miss Kano?”

“Silk told me that a certain adventurer party secretly affiliated with the White Unicorn will soon arrive in Whispermire, and that its leader may cause you some issues.”

Simon’s jaw clenched. “Who leads these fools?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer before it arrived.

“A certain Alphonse of Lore.”

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