[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 47: The Stone Muse (7)
Target length: ~3300 words

[Assistant]
After securing the so-called ‘Halls of the Minotaur’—the Ruined Shrine of the Stone Muse would have been a more appropriate moniker—Simon had Belzemine and Duchar study both their host and her seal while Leonard went to scout out the building.

As he feared, the Minotaur Fiend could not be removed from its host without providing it with a new one. The two were simply too intertwined, something that fascinated Duchar.

Simon himself decided against trying to personally extract the crystal. He was pretty sure that his Indomitable Crown Perk and the Overlord’s power would protect him from possession… but he couldn’t be certain until he tried, and the potential consequences could be disastrous.

Moreover, while he had hope of resisting a possession attempt, he knew that Lorimor’s son or Cassandra would not be so lucky. He had to ensure nobody with a Minotaur birth sign came anywhere near the shrine.

Simon doubted Whispermire would survive the night should the Zodiac Fiend escape.

“Magnificent,” Duchar commented, his voice brimming with almost childlike fascination. By contrast, Belzemine’s haunted look wouldn’t leave her face. “I have never seen a miasma crystal of this purity, nor one possessing a dryad… the archdemon inside must be powerful indeed, even though the merger appears incomplete.”

“What have you found?” Simon inquired before the necromancer could lose himself in his research.

“Lady Firewand and I have confirmed that the seal binding the dryad is of elvish origin,” Duchar explained once they had finished casting analysis spells on the Stone Muse. “Expertly crafted, too. Truly a work of art. It does not inflict the Petrification Ailment, but instead encases the target in a near-indestructible prison of stone in which they spend eternity in stasis.”

“I assume the ‘near’ part is the most important detail,” Simon guessed, having already escaped a similar situation. He had the sneaking suspicion that the seal placed on the Stone Muse was the exact same spell Frea’s allies cast on him in his previous reign.

“A ritual I know, to escape this prison!” the Stone Muse eagerly replied through telepathy. “A follower who has failed me; a priest who does not believe me; a descendant of an enemy; a believer willingly martyred. All slain on my altar on each turn of the season.”

“Sacrifices?” Simon suppressed a shudder so as not to appear weak. “Will their blood alone not suffice?”

“Die they must, so their lives may shatter these granite shackles!” She seemed to sense his reluctance and tried to sweeten the deal. “Reward you I shall for each of them, my love. Many secrets and forbidden truths I can teach you, and great wealth to unveil! All a taste of the bliss I offer once we are wed!”

“And then?” Simon asked out loud. “If I free you and take you as my consort, what shall you do?”

“By your side, I shall rule this forest and beyond!” He could almost taste her mad glee. “Once all sung my praise and clamored for my glory, bestowing gifts upon those I favored! Forgotten I have been, and remembered I shall be! The goddess of these woods I am, now and forever, a queen most worthy of the Lord of Dark!”

In short, she would become a bane on the region and likely the rest of the world. Hardly an appealing proposition.

Nonetheless, he relayed the information to his spellcasters in case they could glean something from it.

“Oh, I know this ritual,” Duchar said. Of course he knew how to unseal an ancient evil. “Grimoires call it the Seasonal Key. The sacrifices must be provided on the equinoxes and solstices, with the targeted seal shattering on the fourth and final one. Any missed victim resets the ritual.”

The Vernal Equinox was a little less than three months away if he recalled, so completing all four sacrifices would take an entire year. As if the whole human sacrifice part wasn’t already a big repellent on its own.

“What spellcasting Tier is this Seasonal Key?” Simon inquired. For all he knew, none of them could even cast the damn thing.

“It would be the equivalent of a Tier IX spell, but that hardly matters here,” Duchar replied.

“Rituals are spells that do not require Tiers or Classes to cast because the power is in the act itself rather than its participants, Your Majesty,” Belzemine explained, her voice quieter than usual. Seeing the Muse’s horrific state had rattled the elf to her core. “Anybody can use them so long as they understand the procedure.”

“Why doesn’t everyone use them then?” Simon asked, sensing a catch.

“Because rituals are highly complex and require extensive preparation, special circumstances, or rare ingredients,” Duchar replied. “Your Majesty can strengthen themselves with a word and a pulse of mana, but a ritual allowing you to do the same would probably require something like slaughtering an auroch and bathing in its fresh blood. Not very practical, I'm sure you'll agree.”

Simon didn’t like that. If the Stone Muse only needed four sacrifices on specific days rather than a dedicated spellcaster, then all she had to do was contact some fool like Lorimor to act on her behalf. Her orders could already reach beyond the Darkwood.

Simon glanced at the Scholar, who was currently too busy praying to the Stone Muse for forgiveness—which she wouldn’t give—to do anything productive. It might have been a blessing in disguise that he and the other would-be cultists had been too focused on the comparatively easier task of finding a compatible host for the Minotaur Fiend rather than abducting and murdering people to break the seal.

How long until the Muse found someone willing to try the other approach? Simon had the suspicion the answer would be ‘not long’ with the Cobweb in town.

“Stone Muse, do you hear me?” Simon telepathically asked both Belzemine and Duchar. The two spellcasters frowned, but the Stone Muse failed to answer or react. “She cannot hear us through the brands.”

“Fascinating… this would suggest the brands create a direct connection between our souls rather than simply carry telepathic messages,” Duchar mused. “I assume Your Majesty wishes to discuss things you do not want our prisoner to overhear?”

“Yes.” Though the brands did not allow Belzemine and Duchar to communicate with each other, only with their Overlord master, Simon still asked them the same question. “Can she be cured?”

“I… I am not sure,” Belzemine admitted with a grim look. “She is… twisted, even without the crystal. Death might be mercy. What was done to her… was awful.”

“If by ‘curing’ Your Majesty means turning this unique and wonderful creature back into a common and uninteresting dryad, then this cannot be done without removing the fiend possessing her,” Duchar replied with a rare display of annoyance. “Which would require either finding the demon a new host or breaking the seal. Even then, I am not sure if the former method would even work, considering how intertwined they have become, unless we test it first. Perhaps if we attempted the fusion in a controlled environment–”

“No,” Simon decided immediately. No way he would take that risk. “The dryad seems to be under the delusion that she will possess the new host too.”

“She is mad,” Belzemine replied with deep sorrow. “Only the demon will escape. The scission… the scission might even kill her.”

“She is probably mistaken, but again, this is a unique situation that warrants further investigation,” Duchar replied. He didn’t bother hiding his immense curiosity for the unique creature. “I would suggest Your Majesty should go along with the ritual option for the reward it offers.”

Simon raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. “Surely you do not believe a mad dryad will keep her word?”

“Not at all. Your Majesty will understand that wise wizards do not design rituals to break nefarious demonic entities free for the sake of arcane solidarity. This kind of magic also creates a contract between the fiend and its liberators. Freedom against service.”

Simon’s eyes widened with interest. “What kind of service?”

“In this particular ritual’s case, the freed entity will be magically compelled to fulfill a single wish for whoever completed the ritual to the best of its ability.”

“For whoever completes the ritual?” Simon could immediately see the catch. “So one could complete the first three sacrifices and be robbed by whoever completes the fourth?”

“Your Majesty is perceptive. Yes indeed, only the person who completes the fourth sacrifice may command the beast. Moreover, the fiend will be bound to the wording of the wish, so they are free to interpret it. I would suggest His Majesty ask a talented lawyer to review their wish before they utter it.”

“But she won’t be able to disobey?”

“No. The ritual will permanently banish the fiend back to the Abyss if they refuse or fail to complete the task.”

Now that changed everything. If the Minotaur Fiend was bound to fulfill any command, then Simon could use the ritual to order it to leave this plane of existence and never return, or force it to do good for the rest of its immortal life. This would remove it as a threat to the world.

All for the price of four sacrifices.

Quite the dangerous way of thinking.

“The other reason why I suggest Your Majesty goes along is that the dryad doesn’t actually need our help,” Duchar added. “The seal is already fraying on its own. Lady Firewand will likely confirm it.”

Simon took a long, deep breath. He had feared as much from the fact she could contact others from a distance—something which had been impossible for him in his previously sealed state in the past reign.

“Why is the seal failing?” Simon asked both his spellcasters at once.

“I cannot say,” Belzemine admitted. “These seals are supposed to last forever, yet I fear this one may not last years.”

“Maybe it is a lack of maintenance or the miasma crystal slowly eroding the bindings,” Duchar replied evasively. “Certainly, our assistance will hasten the process, but its outcome has already been decided. Should we not profit from it while we can?”

Simon sensed the Stone Muse brush against his mind before he could answer. “Why are you all standing in place without a word?”

“I was mentally asking my advisors whether they felt you were worth the hassle,” Simon replied bluntly. Lorimor already knew about the brand’s telepathic abilities, so it was only a matter of time before she found out anyway. “You promise much, but remain vague.”

His response rattled her, her eyes gleaming red for a second. “How about a secret I already bestowed upon a fool? How to craft a Crestone true, born of the renegade Librarian?”

“Renegade?” Simon asked. What an odd choice of words.

“Your interest I have piqued, and your question I shall answer upon our engagement, sealed with blood. I shall say naught more until then.”

Alright, she indeed had precious knowledge to impart… but would it be worth the cost? Simon knew intellectually that nothing he did in this reign would carry consequences since time would rewind ninety more times anyway, but the idea of sacrificing people to a possessed dryad and unleashing her upon the world was too much. The people around him were real, with thoughts, feelings, and lives. The fact that he could go back in time to change history wouldn’t diminish their suffering.

But then again, Duchar has a point, she will break out on her own, Simon thought. He couldn’t exactly walk away from this, and that was without considering the worst case scenario where some cultist managed to successfully bring her a compatible host. She might also manage to contact the likes of Silk, who wouldn’t blink twice at dealing with a demon for power. We won’t actually have to kill anyone until the Vernal Equinox, so we can at least string her along until then, study the seal or figure out how to cure her. I could also contact Lauriane.

Time was on his side, now and until his final reign.

Leonard soon returned from his patrol with a newly sketched map of the building. “These halls cover four floors, this sanctum included, and lead into caverns dug into the manatree’s roots and then a swamp,” he explained. “I’ve spotted frogmen and other aberrations lurking there, but nothing too worrisome. The place is easy to defend, and most facilities could be quickly restored with a dedicated workforce.”

“A workforce the native monsters could provide, once sufficiently motivated,” Simon guessed. If the Stone Muse’s closest servants couldn’t resist Unquestionable Ruler or Dreadful Aura, then no creature in this swamp could deny him. He could easily turn these halls into a new base if needed.

For now, he decided on stringing the Stone Muse along until they learned more. It would take time for his spellcasters to both investigate the seal and fully weigh all the potential outcomes of either allying with her or putting her down.

Not to mention that he had other deadlines to consider.

* * *

Simon and his group left the Halls of the Minotaur with two concessions from the Muse: first of all, her sworn promise to stop harassing Odette Kano and her son; and second, the identity of her cultists in Whispermire.

Well, ‘cultists’ might have been too strong a word. While old families in the village continued to practice some folk traditions that dated back to the Stone Muse’s reign, most had largely forgotten about her until she mysteriously gained the ability to communicate with others a few months back. She had only recently begun to influence two dozen people across town by contacting them in their dreams. One of them, a retired farmer called Grius, had been the source of the blood graffiti and dead animals incidents after growing obsessed with his new patron’s voice.

All in all, Odette Kano had only been half-right; there was no organized cult in Whispermire, but there would soon be one as the Stone Muse continued to recruit more thralls.

The first thing Simon did after returning was to organize a private meeting with the mayor in her office. She seemed outright disappointed to learn that Lorimor had survived the trip, although the madman spent the day muttering to himself about how he had ‘disappointed’ his mistress in a fugue state.

“A dryad?” Odette Kano scowled when Simon told her the news. “Now that is a surprise. I thought the manatree’s dryad was dead and that this Muse was a demon.”

“You were wrong,” Simon lied. He had wisely kept the truth of the Minotaur crystal hidden and only revealed that the Stone Muse was a corrupted dryad to ensure nobody would try something foolish. “While she is still set on rebuilding her cult, I have extracted her promise not to bother your son again.”

Odette scoffed. “And you believe her?”

“I can be persuasive.”

Odette studied him for a moment, a suspicious frown forming on her face. “Destroying this Muse, if it’s even possible, would destroy the Darkwood and ruin Whispermire’s livelihood,” she said, “but allowing her to recruit more people like my ex-husband will bring too much negative attention. I will have everyone involved in her faith arrested before the rot spreads.”

“No, you will not,” Simon replied, crossing his legs. “The more visible incidents will end, but you will close your eyes on the Muse’s followers. Maybe even use your influence to help cover up some things that might bother the Church of Light.”

Odette scowled. “And why would I do that?”

“Because otherwise Endymion will learn of your illegal activities, from your association with the Cobweb to your attempts to create illegal Crestones.”

Meredith confirmed that Silk had only stayed a few hours in Whispermire and proved incredibly difficult to track down since she seemed to disappear at will. However, Odette Kano had immediately followed up their meeting by meeting with some of her staff, whom Meredith secretly followed to a mound a half a day’s ride from the town, on the other side of the Darkwood. She couldn’t approach it too closely for fear of being noticed, but the intel she brought back had been enough for Simon to guess what was happening.

“Illegal?” Odette Kano feigned outrage and ignorance. “Everything I do here is tightly regulated. You only need to check my registers, and I will be happy to cooperate with any investigation.”

Simon didn’t believe her. “You see, something has been bothering me. Creating a Crestone does not require just any mana crystal lying around. It needs to be of sufficient purity to support the magical scripts inscribed on its surface. A bookmaker like Lorimor could never have obtained one on his own.”

“I told investigators that he defrauded my suppliers.”

“I struggle to believe someone as meticulous as you would fail to notice,” Simon replied. “I think you knew he was trying to create a Crestone, and while you may not have actively helped him to keep your hands clean, you did close your eyes because you hoped to profit from that knowledge… until he threatened your son, of course.”

To her credit, Odette Kano had nerves of steel and didn’t budge. “That is ridiculous.”

“Truly? Well, I think you have an unregistered manalith mine somewhere in the region, whose contents you sell off to the Cobweb for a price.” Which neatly explained how the organization supplied Simon in the previous reign. “Mana crystals can fetch a good price on the black market, but Vassal Crestones? Now those would be worth a fortune.”

Although Odette Kano kept a stony face, her grim silence was an answer in itself.

“I can read your thoughts.” Simon slouched in the chair. There was nothing more intimidating than casual, dismissive confidence in the face of threats. “You are considering informing your spider friends and asking them to make me disappear. They will fail, and it will cost you. We are House Magnos. The Cobweb can ruin businesses and intimidate dukes, but we bring kingdoms to ruin and paladins to heel. You will not survive the night if you make an enemy of me, and you know that.”

“What do you want?” she asked warily. “How much do you want?”

“Please, you think we need money? The only commodity my family trades in is servitude.” Simon joined his hands and held her gaze. “You’re going to do everything I say, anytime I want… and you will start by telling me what the Cobweb wants with you.”

Odette Kano observed him for a moment before yielding. “Everything,” she confessed. “They are one of my main buyers, especially of elven antiques that adventurers find in the Darkwood. They pay more than the state for these artifacts.”

Of course they would. They likely resold them for much higher prices in Valne or Lore. “How long have you been working with them?”

“Since before the empire conquered Magvolia. The chaos that followed the change in government made it easier for me to hide our activities.” She rested her chin on her clenched fist. “Although I do have a secret mine, I assure you I have no ongoing illegal Crestone creation operation. My husband wouldn’t share his knowledge, and I learned my lesson after the kidnapping attempt.”

“I see.” Between Lorimor’s knowledge and this secret mine, Simon had a way to create bootleg Vassal Crestones even should he break things off with his family. He had the feeling this would serve him well in the future. “Very well. You may continue as you have always have, for now.”

“For now?” Odette glared at him. “And then?”

“And then we shall see, I haven’t decided yet.” Simon grinned at her. “Come on, Madame Kano, smile a little. We’re friends now… whether you like it or not.”

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[User]
Write Chapter 48: The Stone Muse (8)
Target length: ~4400 words
Key events: dungeon content

[Assistant]
Today was the deadline.

Simon had spent the last week following his meeting with Kano and the Stone Muse focusing on his crafting while his spellcasters and other allies completed their own tasks. Duchar continued to study the seal, while Belzemine completed the astral calculations to guess the upcoming comet’s trajectory.

Lorimor had become more or less useless since their return, with him spending his time alternating between flagellating himself and praying to his muse for forgiveness that she refused to grant, likely because she intended to keep him as a sacrifice for her ritual. Simon had hoped time and productive work would have improved his disposition, but the man would rather wallow in self-pity.

Meanwhile, Meredith and Leonard had been sent back to Telluria to keep an eye on a certain Elaine Malphas and Louis. They reported that the crown-prince had crushed the Redhand tribe thanks to intel provided by Shabram, and though Vouivre herself had managed to elude him, Louis and Dassein had utterly crushed the troops she had intended to use to besiege Beleth with. The dragon’s decision to flee rather than confront Simon’s half-brothers had proved a crippling blow to her burgeoning campaign to subjugate the beastmen. Many tribes hostile to her apparently supported the princes in their hunt.

In short, Vouivre’s ambitions had come to an abrupt end, and her days were numbered. That, at least, was good news.

Elaine had apparently asked a lot of questions about Simon’s whereabouts, much like Anna was also doing. Simon had ordered his retainers to stonewall their questions and cooperate with Shabram’s agents to arrest Elaine today, just in case.

All I have to do is wait and pray for their success, Simon thought as he focused on his current crafting lesson. I should receive a report sometime soon.

As it turned out, Devil Forgemaster’s ability to craft miasma-powered accessories covered a much larger range than just rings and other jewellery. Cassandra, whose Witch Class granted her access to crafting Perks similar to his own, helped him redefine just how broad that category was. Armlets and bracers, amulets, belts, boots, gloves, scarves, cloaks, earrings, even masks and small dolls counted as accessories as far as the Overlord Class was concerned.

“Fetishes are charms specifically bound to a unique owner or target, depending on whether they are meant to hinder or help,” Cassandra explained as she showed Simon a small cloth poppet. Odette Kano had ‘kindly’ lent them a workshop in the Midnight Market where they could practice their craft without oversight. “Unlike most accessories, they require material like dirt, hair, bones, or clothes… and so many of them degrade in weeks.”

“A cursed object that destroys itself once it has served its purpose and leaves behind little evidence… I can see why witches are so feared,” Simon mused.

“It wasn’t always this way,” Cassandra replied calmly. “The Witch is a Vassal of the Necromancer Noble Class, which evolved with the times as people began to perceive it differently. Necromancy originally started out as the art of consulting ancestral spirits for guidance, divination, or psychometry. The use of miasma to create undead or fuel diabolism curses came much after the Class’ creation.”

“So, Classes can change over time?”

“If the archetype they derive their power from does, yes. Our ancestors perceived necromancers as gravekeepers and keepers of forbidden knowledge. Their image as graverobbers raising the dead came much later.”

“I wonder if the same could be done with the Overlord,” Simon mused. Somehow, he had his doubts.

Cassandra smiled demurely. “Such changes take place over centuries, but perhaps Your Majesty’s actions can influence how people will see your Class in time.”

Which made Simon ponder if he shared the same Perks as his predecessors. Mardok’s rule was characterized by savage brutality, chaotic atrocities, and demonic power. Gargauth and Balzam Magnos had both been more focused on the acquisition of wealth and conquest respectively rather than genocide and mass destruction, so that could have influenced how the Overlord Class expressed itself in modern times.

“Unfortunately, crafting most fetishes requires the Tier III spell Cursebound, which is currently beyond Your Majesty’s grasp,” Cassandra warned him.

“I should unlock it soon if my Miasmic Archmage Perk continues to upgrade every ten levels,” Simon replied. “Are there differences in effects between accessories?”

“Some do lend themselves more to specific types of magic,” Cassandra confirmed. “Masks are very good for conjuration or shapeshifting, since they can channel the persona of the face they emulate. Gauntlets and gloves synergize best with martial-focused abilities, boots and shoes favor mobility, and so on. It does not prevent the crafter from imbuing them with other effects, but each object has its affinities.”

“I see.” All in all, Simon had only begun to scratch the surface of the field of study. “You know more about crafting than I would have thought, Cassandra.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a hint of appreciation. “I was the one providing for our family by selling magical items and potions in Telluria, so that my father could focus on his research. Many mistook me for an apothecary, which pleased me.”

“Would you rather be seen as a necromancer?”

To Simon’s surprise, Cassandra actually shook her head. “I do not consider myself a necromancer, but a healer or doctor. Death is simply a disease we have yet to find a perfect cure for.”

“I’m not sure everyone would prefer being transformed into a rotting zombie over dying and reincarnating.” Though then again, Simon knew better than most that death was a dreadful and terrible thing, even when it ended up leading to a new life. He did not relish it in the slightest.

“Perhaps… but there are so many taken before their time, to their grief and that of their families. I would like for everyone to have the choice when to depart rather than see it forced upon them.” Cassandra held his gaze. “Surely Your Majesty has lost people they would rather have kept at their side.”

Simon scowled, suddenly uncomfortable. “What makes you think that?”

“Your Majesty’s expression when you returned from the academy in Telluria,” Cassandra replied. “It was grief.”

Simon sank in his seat. He didn’t think she would pay attention to such things. Cassandra always struck him as oblivious, but she seemed to be rather observant.

“I have a friend who has lost her memory after an incident, in a way that no healing magic I know of can solve,” Simon admitted. It was technically true, and since no phantom hands strangled him, he took it as a good sign. “She is alive and breathing, but still dead to me somehow, if that makes sense.”

Cassandra listened patiently. “It is not the person Your Majesty grieves for, but their shared memories?”

“I suppose so. She is fine otherwise, but… she’s not the same person I knew anymore. I’m mourning someone who is still alive.” Simon scoffed. “You must find it ridiculous.”

“No, not at all,” she replied kindly. “I believe it is the perspective of leaving things unfinished that people fear more than death. Grief is the absence of closure.”

“An interesting approach.” And not too far from the truth. “You think it’s the lack of closure that weighs down on me?”

Cassandra nodded sharply. “I have met many ghosts in my short life. All remain because they have unfinished business, a weight that prevents them from passing on. It is only when they solve it or make peace with it that they can pass on peacefully. Regret is the soil in which grief grows.”

Simon couldn’t help but recall Eleanor’s ghost, haunting Castle Carcass until she was laid to rest and her murder’s mystery solved. “So you are saying I should accept that the person I knew is gone?”

“Or fulfill the dreams you shared with them before they forgot. The burden of grief will grow lighter once His Majesty does so.”

Simon pondered her words. He did have regrets when it came to past reigns: not visiting the Sanctuary in the sky with Eole, not helping Belzemine heal, and not living long enough to wed Anna and raise a family with her. He had spent all of his past ten lives starting things that ended halfway through and gave him an aching sense of incompletion, and he still had ninety more to go.

Simon needed to process this reality, or it would destroy him.

Louis was right; he wouldn’t be able to continue on forever with so many ghosts weighing down on him. Maybe he could exorcize them like he did Eleanor: by completing their unfinished business, whether in this reign or the next.

Then maybe he could make peace with these memories.

“Thank you for your wisdom, Cassandra,” Simon said sincerely. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

“Your Majesty is welcome.” She put a finger on her chin. “Is this how living friends behave?”

“I like to think we are becoming friends, yes.” Simon had mistaken Cassandra for a spooky freak like her father, but she had turned out to be rather wise for her age and more caring than she let on. He was growing fond of her in spite of her… undead-related eccentricities.

Simon heard a knock on the workshop door. “Come in,” he said, with Belzemine and Duchar soon walking inside the room.

“Your Majesty,” Duchar said, the old wizard’s eyes traveling from his daughter to Simon. The Overlord couldn’t tell whether Duchar resented or approved of the two spending time together. “I have finished analyzing the seal, and I think I have identified its key flaw.”

“And I have completed Lorimor’s calculations, since he has yet to recover from his breakdown,” Belzemine said as she presented him with a pile of papers. “Is Your Majesty certain this comet will end its journey with the Serpent-Bearer and the Scorpion beforehand?”

“I’m not sure, but I trust the source I learned it from.” Simon didn’t see why someone as powerful and confident as Elios Magnos would lie about something like this.

“Then if the Serpent-Bearer concludes the cycle, it will logically begin with the Archer constellation.” Belzemine showed him a calendar noting the days when the comet would align with the zodiac. “According to our calculations, the comet will cross it on the 27th of Frimaire 404 After Doom, travel across the sky during the next twelve months, and leave on the 26th of Frimaire 405.”

“This month is Nivose 403, so… that leaves us eleven months,” Simon counted. They had a little less than a year before the Zodiac Parade began. And it would start right after the Winter Solstice, the day on which the fourth and final Seasonal Key sacrifice would be due… “From what I read, the comet will cross the Minotaur constellation from the 24th of Floreal 404 to the 3rd of Messidor 404, sixth in the order.”

“I thought the Minotaur sign only covered the month of Floreal?” Cassandra asked.

“According to modern astrology, which does not include the Serpent-Bearer so as to align twelve signs with twelve months,” Simon replied. The difference hardly mattered since the crystal called out to Cassandra anyway, which suggested that the symbolism mattered more than factuality when it came to sorcery. “The comet is going to follow a slightly different trajectory.”

“I see,” Cassandra muttered back. “Your Majesty believes the Muse will escape during the period when that comet meets the Minotaur?”

Simon nodded. He himself had broken out of the elves’ seal when the comet passed the Serpent-Bearer’s constellation, which seemed to be tied to Mardok and the Overlord’s power. It wouldn’t surprise him if something similar happened with the Minotaur.

“I can’t confirm it yet, but I strongly suspect it,” he said.

“This would align with my own findings,” Duchar said. “I have compared samples from our previous excursion into the forest alongside stored monster carcasses from earlier months and noticed a tiny, if noticeable, increase in miasma potency over time.”

Simon feared he would say that. “The seal isn’t getting weaker,” he guessed, “it’s the demon who grows stronger over time.”

“Yes, it would seem that Minotaur Fiend’s power is tied to the comet somehow,” Duchar concluded. “The closer it gets, the more potent the demon’s miasma.”

Belzemine’s scowl deepened with grief and horror. “Would it cause the Darkwood to expand?”

“Certainly not so long as the seal holds,” Duchar reassured them. “However, the concentration of miasma will slowly strengthen monsters in the area. If I had to make an estimation, it would be the equivalent of the average level of the Darkwood’s inhabitants increasing by one or two each month. More dangerous entities will begin to manifest as the miasma becomes thick enough to support their existence.”

A process that would likely continue until the Minotaur’s power reached its apex once the comet entered its associated constellation. And if all the Zodiac Fiends followed the same pattern… then it didn’t surprise Simon that they managed to throw the western continent into chaos in his previous reign.

The silver lining was that the more powerful a monster was, the more ambient energy it required to sustain itself. A Dungeon’s inhabitants would quickly weaken like Belzemine did when leaving its confines, and the Darkwood’s inhabitants should be no exception. They might threaten Whispermire, but would remain confined to the area… at least until the Muse and the Minotaur Fiend escaped.

Which begged the question, what was Simon going to do with this information?

So far, he didn’t really have a coherent plan when it came to his reigns besides gathering information, staying alive, and growing strong enough to keep surviving. He would have once counted leaving his family’s orbit and enjoying a peaceful life a victory.

The discovery that powerful archfiends would rise to threaten the world in less than a year’s time had thoroughly killed that plan. Neutralizing all miasma crystals in a year’s time seemed almost impossible, especially since he still didn’t know the location of all the demonbarrows.

A second Doom would strike the world in his lifetime.

Could he stop the civil war and ensure Endymion remained united to face the threat? Probably not until he had grown strong enough to fend off assassins or assert himself to the various imperial factions. Until he could match blows with his siblings, the best Simon could hope for was to delay the inevitable or ensure parts of the empire survived its collapse. He could try to join one of the parties to ensure they won the conflict with minimum bloodshed, or follow Lord Paimon’s plan and ride out the conflict in the Berwick Islands to ensure he had at least fresh troops to call upon.

Alternatively, he could focus on completing his father’s quest to locate the demonbarrows and neutralize them, whether by binding the Zodiac Fiends to his service or finding a way to seal away the crystals. His control over the Darkwood and Kano granted him a powerbase he could develop without involving House Magnos.

He could also take Eole on her offer to flee to her homeland in the sky and take the few people he cared for there. It had survived the first Doom, so perhaps it could ride out the second untouched?

Finally, he could focus on growing stronger as quickly as possible and perfecting his Overlord Class. Hunting down valuable Crestones whose Perks he could absorb like the Templar or Paladin’s ability to harm demons would give him a crucial edge, if he could obtain them.

There’s countless paths I could take, but many deadlines to take into account, Simon thought. I’ll need to draw a chart at one point.

“If I may ask Your Majesty, how should we proceed with our demonic dryad?” Duchar inquired, a gleam of interest in his gaze. “Shall we proceed with the ritual? That fool Lorimor spends his days weeping about how he has failed his mistress and will not do anything productive, so his sacrifice would not be a big loss, especially since Your Majesty can preserve his soul. I can simply put it back into an undead receptacle.”

Simon had to admit that transforming Lorimor into a sentient zombie might actually be an improvement over his current behavior, and the man probably deserved his fate, but the idea of resorting to sacrificing one of his retainers still irked him. He crossed his arms and mulled over it.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but if I understand correctly, the demon seeks to harmonize itself with individuals bearing the sign of the Minotaur,” Cassandra spoke up. “I could offer myself as a host.”

“You can’t be serious!” Simon was aghast. “You want to let an archfiend take over your body?!”

“No, of course not,” Cassandra replied. “But Your Majesty seems to be under a misconception. To merge with a host while drawing on their full power, a possessing demon must harmonize itself with their vessel, fusing in purpose, body, and mind like a Class user with a Crestone.”

“What my daughter means to say is that demonic possession isn’t as much of a takeover as a merger,” Duchar explained.

“How do you explain the dryad’s behavior then?” Simon countered. “She switches between two personalities regularly.”

“Because that merger is incomplete, Your Majesty. A successful possession either requires a contract of some sort and a compatibility factor, which I assume is why this Minotaur is looking for vessels born under their sign. Frankly, the mere fact that an incomplete fusion happened at all is a miracle. A dryad and a demon are utter opposites and shouldn’t be capable of coexisting. I suspect the First Overlord cast an extremely powerful spell to force the fusion.”

Belzemine looked at her feet again. “Lord Mardok was… very skilled in the dark arts.”

“What I mean to say, Your Majesty, is that the merger will still be me,” Cassandra explained. “I will become one with the demon, but our goals and intentions will align.”

“And what if the demon wants to slaughter us all and the merger causes it to become dominant?” Simon countered.

“Then Your Majesty can use the brand to kill me if I step out of line,” Cassandra replied with disturbing nonchalance. “My soul can be preserved so long as you are the one to give me the fatal blow.”

“My power only activates on lower-level targets, and you’re one level higher than me.”

“Then I only have to surrender or destroy my Crestone and seize Lorimor’s, for example,” Cassandra replied calmly. “In that case, I would become a level 1 Scholar and count as a lower-level target for Your Majesty’s Perk.”

Oh.

Could… could that actually work? It sounded feasible on paper, at least…

Even then, the risks were too great. The possessed Eole shrugged off a lesser slave crest, but he hadn’t bestowed any Devil Brand on her back then, so Simon couldn’t tell whether the marks would actually remain behind or if they would be enough to kill the demonic fusion.

Not to mention that while part of Eole’s motivations had survived her fusion with the Fish Fiend, she had also mistaken him for Mardok and been driven to murder him. Simon couldn’t see any way to prevent a fight unless he obtained the Brand of Pride, which his predecessors placed on Belzemine and that compelled utter obedience.

“Why would you even consider this?” Simon asked, dumbfounded.

“Merging with an archfiend is a unique opportunity that would let me command greater power than I could ever achieve on my own,” Cassandra replied calmly. “I do not mind sharing my body with a demon if it means I can help mortals free themselves from death. And I trust Your Majesty’s power can keep me in line.”

“Your resolve does you credit, my daughter,” Duchar praised her with some twisted fatherly pride, the way a normal person would congratulate their child for taking on a difficult exam rather than offering herself to a goddamn demon. “The secrets you would learn and the power you would achieve would be worth the cost.”

Belzemine looked at him in a rare display of disgust. “You know nothing of the price she will pay, wizard,” she said before turning to Simon. “Your Majesty, I…” She gulped. “While it is not my place to question your decisions, I strongly urge you to reconsider.” She looked down again. “This dryad is already suffering. We should not pass on her pain to another.”

This is personal to her, Simon thought. He recalled how she had reacted when seeing the murals in the Halls of the Minotaur. Was she there when Mardok corrupted the Darkwood? Or did she have anything to do with it? She did say she ‘told him,’ whatever that meant…

“I appreciate your trust in me, Cassandra, but I will not put you at such risk,” Simon decided. “I need to consider our options before–”

Simon froze when he sensed someone calling him through the Brand of Sloth. Shabram.

Finally.

“Excuse me, I am receiving a telepathic call,” Simon told his allies before answering Shabram. “Yes?”

“Your Majesty,” she said when he opened up to telepathic contact, her voice apologetic. “I must inform you that Patriate Malphas could not be taken alive.”

Damn it. “Report.”

“As per your instructions, we attempted to take him by surprise and feed him to Gourmand. We successfully cornered him in his estate, where he hosted unregistered mercenaries for his own protection, but the man blew himself up with an explosive necklace rather than risk capture. We could only recover his Crestone and charred bones, too late for Gourmand to consume his soul.”

“Quite the admission of guilt,” Simon replied. Patriate must have committed some heinous crimes if he preferred death over being taken alive for interrogation.

“There’s more. We have found coded, damning correspondence aimed at insurrectionists associated with the White Unicorn and enemy nations. The letters detail S-ranked state secrets, including His Late Majesty Balzam’s death. I am now convinced the Lord-Treasurer was the Illusean mole on the High Council.”

…

What?

Patriate? Patriate Malphas, a rebel supporter?! That slimy, opportunistic social climber, an agent of the White Unicorn and ally of the Paladin?! Impossible!

How long had he been working with the enemy?! Since he became the Merchant and ascended to the High Council? Even earlier? Was he bought? No way, the empire already let him live in luxury, and killing oneself took guts. Was he a deep cover agent from the start?

It made no sense!

He was sitting right next to me, the duplicitous bastard, Simon thought as he recalled his third death, his jaw clenching. He had been wondering who would have benefited from destabilizing the empire this way, but if Patriate had been working for Illusea and the White Unicorn… He’s the one who poisoned me with the goblet.

Another name to add to the death list.

“Our investigation shows that he used shell companies to purchase warehouses across Marthrone undetected,” Shabram added. “We haven’t found anything special when we raided them, but they must have been used to transport a number of goods without our knowledge.”

“No sign of magical glyphs anywhere on those properties?” Simon asked, which Shabram denied. “Keep looking then. I think we’re in the clear with his death, but better be safe than sorry.”

“As your Majesty wishes.”

Simon sensed another call, coming from Leonard this time. How fortuitous. “Yes, Leonard?”

“Elaine Malphas blew herself up.”

What the– “Explain yourself, now.”

“We’ve tried to arrest her at her dorm, as Your Majesty asked. She vainly attempted to flee through a window, and triggered some kind of explosive device when she realized we had cut off her avenues of escape. Two students have been killed in the blast, and Meredith received light injuries.”

Something was wrong. It wouldn’t surprise Simon that Patriate gave his daughter an express checkout option in case she was captured—the fact she killed herself implied she was involved in her father’s schemes—but the method surprised him.

“Why kill herself in such a dramatic fashion?” Simon wondered. “A poison pill would have brought less attention.”

“To prevent an autopsy, I would wager,” Leonard replied. “Her body is almost entirely gone. If she was hiding identifying marks like tattoos or the like, we’ll never know it now.”

“Too bad taking secrets to the grave doesn’t work on someone with necromancers on his payroll,” Simon replied. “Recover anything you can. We’ll have Duchar study the remains once Meredith recovers.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

Simon cut the communication and then faced his other allies. “We’re done for the day,” he decided, “I need to think.”

The Malphas’ actions pointed to them being involved with the Illuseans, and their deaths should have brought an end to their plans. With the capital saved from destruction, Endymion’s government could keep up the charade of unity for a few more months.

But why? Why would the Malphas ally with the empire’s enemy when they owed everything to the imperial institutions? What could motivate them enough that they would rather kill themselves than face capture?

Simon had a bad feeling about all of this.

* * *

He heard Shabram’s scream in his sleep.

Simon woke up in the middle of the night the same way he had in the previous reign at the exact same hour. He immediately knew what had happened when he sent his spymaster a telepathic call and only received silence in return.

Shabram was dead, likely alongside almost everyone inside Castle Frightwall. Purged in holy light.

Patriate Malphas was dead, his daughter was dead, their properties had been raided across the empire and cleaned of anything magical, and yet the attack on Frightwall still happened.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Simon muttered as he held his skull with both hands. “If Malphas’ death isn’t what cancels out the attack, then what else–”

The answer struck him in a flash of lightning.

Belzemine.

The elves only cancelled the attack when she was still in Castle Frightwall on that date. Either she stopped them somehow, or more likely, they didn’t want to risk killing her in the blast somehow.

Her absence was the trigger.

“Agnes, come to my room,” he asked Belzemine through telepathy. “There’s a question I must ask you.”

“Which one, Your Majesty?”

“Something I should have asked the day we met.” Simon clenched his jaw. “Who are you?”

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[User]
Write Chapter 49: The Stone Muse (9)
Target length: ~4100 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Belzemine wordlessly stared at her tea. The workshop had become silent after Simon explained the situation to her in private. She still seemed to struggle to accept that the castle she had lived in for the last four centuries had been destroyed.

With the civil war now inevitable, Simon had acted quickly. He telepathically gave leave to Leonard to put Anna and Tiella on the first airship to the Berwick Islands for their safety, then asked Meredith to bring him back Elaine Malphas’ remains alongside some documents from the archive. Having closely followed the civil war through the news in Valne, he gave her a longer return itinerary than usual to ensure she would avoid areas bound to be bombed by the War Party.

He still had no idea how the conflict would affect Whispermire—he didn’t remember the town being mentioned anywhere in the previous reign’s newspaper—but its proximity to the Goetia Research Center put it at risk.

“Belzemine, do you understand what I just said?” Simon received no answer, his hands clutching his own cup. “The news hasn’t been made public yet, but the elves of Illusea have struck Castle Frightwall with a powerful Tier X spell. I do not know how they managed to pull it off yet, but I have reason to believe they only proceeded with the plan once they had confirmed your departure from the castle. Why?”

“I do not know,” Belzemine admitted. “I am not important to Illusea. We elves do not have nobility like humans do, so our lineages mean nothing. My parents were common healers, and my only sister is dead.”

“Yet you are clearly important enough to Illusea that they would forgo a devastating strike against their sworn enemy for your sake.” Belzemine still seemed to draw a blank. “Perhaps something to do with someone named Frea?”

“Frea?” Belzemine’s head perked up in surprise upon hearing the name. “No, it cannot be. I haven’t met her since…” Her scowl deepened. “Since the Red Forest.”

And still Frea tried to keep her alive during their clash in Valne, even to the point of pulling her punches and losing her life for it. Perhaps there was something unique or special about Belzemine that she herself was unaware of.

“Tell me where you came from, and how you know Frea,” Simon said. His gut told him her past was key to answering this mystery. “I want to know the things the history books do not mention. This may be important.”

Belzemine frowned slightly, but dutifully obeyed his request. “I was born in the forest of Jarnvidr, west of Frightwall, which humans once called the Ironwood and now…” Her scowl deepened into one of profound sorrow. “The Red Forest.”

Simon held his tongue. The Red Forest Massacre had been one of Overlord Mardok’s great atrocities alongside the Despoiling of Nabadia and the Walling of the Screaming Saints. His violent, indiscriminate slaughter of the forest’s elven population had forever tainted its leaves and grass red. It was the very first time an Overlord had dared to strike an elven community, and it set the stage for the pogroms that would follow.

Theories abounded as to why Mardok had struck that area in particular: it had housed followers of the prophet Pharis who had survived earlier purges, it was located west of Frightwall and thus in the way of the burgeoning empire's military expansion, it was poorly defended… but Simon was beginning to wonder if it had something to do with Belzemine’s presence there.

“I was born in the decades after the Doom to an apothecary and a healer,” she said. “I lived in Jarnvidr and was trained to become a Caretaker with my sister Aza.”

“A Caretaker?” Simon recalled where he had read the term in the context of elven civilization. “Those are elves who directly serve a dryad and take care of her forest on her behalf.”

“Yes. I was raised to ensure the prosperity of Jarnvidr’s manatree. Taught of its… its secrets.” Belzemine’s voice began to waver. “Frea was… a friend I was raised with, and who traveled to Illusea to train as a mage. She returned home the day before the massacre, with the Oracle herself visiting us to proclaim her among her new apprentices.” She clutched her cup. “This… this was a great honor to Jarnvidr’s community.”

So she did meet the Oracle. “What is she like? The Oracle?”

“I… I was young back then, but I still remember her smile,” Belzemine confessed. “She bestowed gifts upon each of the Caretakers on behalf of the Mana Goddess. To me, she gave the Healer Crestone and said...” She gulped. “She said I had a bright future ahead of me.”

And that was one of the most dangerous things to say in a world where the Overlord could rewrite fate.

“Overlord Mardok came for us the very night the Oracle departed to visit another manatree,” Belzemine said, her voice weaker. “He struck in the dark with an army of demons when we were celebrating Frea’s ascension. We were dancing and laughing, and then we were screaming and fleeing.”

“And no one saw it coming?” Simon asked, his heart overflowing with sympathy. The things she must have witnessed that night… he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“No,” Belzemine replied darkly. “Lord Mardok had been the Overlord for a little over forty years, but my kind did not truly fear him back then. Many demons had threatened Illusea and the elves even before the Doom, but each time the Oracle and her chosen heroes saw to their defeat. Everyone thought Overlord Mardok would be no different. Many followers of the Light of Pharis went to us for shelter, which we granted.” She avoided Simon’s gaze. “Overlord Mardok… hanged them from the manatree’s branches before setting it on fire.”

And the Oracle failed to see it coming, perhaps because of Anathemic Secrecy. Simon didn’t think it was a coincidence that Mardok attacked the moment she had left Jarnvidr. This reeked of a plan born of foresight granted by a previous reign.

“Only five of us were spared. Me, my parents, my sister Aza… and Frea.” Uttering their names alone seemed to cause Belzemine physical pain. ”Lord Mardok branded my family as his slaves in front of Frea, then let her go free so that she would carry the news of what happened that night to Illusea… so that the Oracle would know that she had failed to save anyone, and that no one was safe from the Overlord’s wrath. I have not seen her since then, though she took the field against Mardok and Gargauth.”

The pieces started to fall into place for Simon. Belzemine wasn’t taken for who she was, but who she would have become, and to send a grim message to the Oracle. She was a lesson that the elves would never live in peace so long as the Overlords remained, and that no foresight would save them from Mardok’s heirs.

That could explain why Illusea wanted Belzemine back and alive. She was a national humiliation and a personal shame to the Oracle, a living reminder of the elves’ powerlessness in the Crimson Throne’s shadow. She was a martyr and hostage to their nation.

That, or the Oracle foresaw that Belzemine would do something extraordinary when she bestowed the Healer Crestone upon her; something so great Mardok personally intervened to put an end to it, and so important that the elves were still trying to recover her three centuries after her abduction.

Simon couldn’t be sure of the Oracle’s reasoning unless he could somehow ask her, and it didn’t matter that much. The elves wanted Belzemine safe and sound enough to forgo their attack on Frightwall, the end.

The Malphases tried to free her, Simon realized. The two always died in reigns where Belzemine stayed in Frightwall, after which she would mysteriously vanish. They told her to evacuate before the strike, and it went wrong somehow.

Considering Belzemine’s psychological dependency on the Overlords, Simon considered it likely that she refused to leave Frightwall and lashed out at the Malphases, killing them during the struggle. With no agents left inside Frightwall to confirm Belzemine’s safety, the elves had no choice but to call off the spell.

This didn’t explain why they didn’t try again after Belzemine disappeared, though. In all likelihood, the spell either lost its anchor or could only be used in specific circumstances, like on a given date. They had missed their one and only chance to decapitate Endymion’s leadership.

“Why did Mardok spare you and your family specifically?” Simon asked. That part remained unclear. “You said you told him something.”

Belzemine didn’t answer him for a very, very long moment. She simply stared at her own reflection in the tea with a look of absolute shame and guilt.

“Caretakers have another duty,” she said, so low he could barely hear her, “Should a manatree perish, we must guide our community to another. To ensure we succeed without losing anyone during the migration and that our new home can welcome us, we… we are taught the location of all manatrees and how many elves they can sustain.”

Simon held his breath, a shiver running down his spine as the true horror of what happened dawned upon him.

“One night, Lord Mardok summoned my family to his throne room.” Now, Belzemine was so pale she began to resemble a corpse. “He… killed my sister Aza where she stood, and then… then he looked at me, his hands still drenched in her blood…” She suppressed a sob. “He wanted the location of every manatree on the continent, and he said… either I would tell him, or he would kill one of my parents like he did my sister… and I would have to choose which one died.”

And she told him. She told Mardok, and he used that information to twist the Stone Muse, launch pogroms against elves across the continent, and slaughter thousands of innocents. And considering her own parents were long dead, he might not have held up his end of the bargain anyway.

The most awful part was that the Brand of Pride compelled its victims to obey an Overlord’s orders. Mardok could have easily forced Belzemine to give up that information. Instead, he chose to make a vicious show of it, to have her forswear herself and willingly betray her own community.

He had earned his title of the Bloodthirsty, the same way Balzam Magnos lived up to the name of the Cruel.

“How old were you?” Simon asked, his voice breaking.

“I was thirteen,” she confessed. The archmage now sounded as small and frail as a child.

Thirteen. She had seen her community massacred and her family savagely murdered at thirteen.

“Agn–” Simon cursed himself as he took the elf’s cold hands into his own and squeezed them shut. “Belzemine, I swear to you that you will never go through something like this again. I promise you that.”

For a brief instant, Simon saw a brief flash of understanding and the smallest of emotion in Belzemine’s gaze… only for them to leave like shooting stars in the dark night, dashing his hopes.

“Your Majesty need not worry about me,” she said, her slave persona taking over once again. “I am always your faithful servant.”

And it would take so long for her to realize she didn’t have to live that way any longer.

Simon opened his mouth to offer words of reassurance, when he sensed an echo of pain ring in the back of his skull, sharp and familiar. It was the familiar sting of a death echoing through his Brand of Sloth, but closer to home than Shabram. Simon bolted out of his seat, fearing Meredith and Leonard had somehow perished in the bombardments, only to quickly confirm another of his retainers no longer answered his telepathic communications.

“Lorimor?”

* * *

Simon learned another very valuable lesson that night, namely, that unstable cultists did not make for good and reliable employees.

Since Lorimor had spent the last few days moping around and being useless, Simon had more or less left him to his own devices as he focused on more important matters. He had assumed the man would simply continue to beg his demon patron for forgiveness, and that had been a colossal mistake.

As it turned out, Lorimor had tried to regain his Muse’s ‘affection’ by taking the radical step of attempting to abduct his son once again, having learned absolutely nothing from the experience. Odette Kano, having foreseen her estranged husband would try something like this, had guards posted in her apartments to protect her son. They shot Lorimor with crossbow bolts when he broke in and threatened them with a knife.

That absolute idiot.

“I told you this would happen,” Odette Kano told Simon when he first laid eyes on his retainer’s hole-riddled corpse. “I will not pay for the tombstone either. You would have been better off gagging him.”

“You are right,” Simon replied angrily. Not only had Lorimor betrayed him by going behind his back and against his orders, he had jeopardized a relationship with a local ally and derailed some of Simon’s plans. “I can’t believe I trusted that fool.”

The ritual was now out of the question unless they found a suitable replacement before the Vernal Equinox. The Muse still had a few hidden cultists in the Whispermire, but whether any of them would count for the Seasonal Key’s strict requirements remained to be seen. While Simon hadn’t been particularly keen on trying it, the loss of an option annoyed him to no end.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Odette commented with a scowl. “That abomination in the woods turned him into a madman. She even compelled him into going behind your back for all we know.”

“This will not happen again, I promise you,” Simon said, glaring at Lorimor’s remains. “I never make the same mistake twice.”

Since Odette Kano refused to have her ex-husband buried in the town graveyard, Simon allowed Duchar to raise him as an undead servant to keep the workshop clean and confiscated the Scholar Crestone. That was all the man deserved after what he did.

Simon spent the next few days alternating between obsessively checking the newspaper and keeping up with his retainers on their return to Whispermire, expecting news of the bombing campaign that heralded the start of the civil war.

None arrived.

Something changed this time. Instead of newspapers describing how the War Party firebombed every strategic command center this side of the continent, most articles discussed the attack on Frightwall, Euphemia’s accusations against Louis, the Overlord’s mysterious absence, and various nobles or towns declaring for one candidate or another for the throne. The port of Amnadiel voiced its support for the empress, even though Simon clearly recalled it being wiped out by airships in the civil war’s opening volley. It didn’t take him long to realize what was going on.

Louis wasn’t in Magvolia to give the order, and Lauriane was either unwilling or unable to initiate the airship bombing campaign. Simon dearly hoped it was the former.

In any case, Meredith and Leonard returned to Whispermire without trouble with books from the archive and two charred tibias that used to be Elaine Malphas.

“That is all we could recover, Your Majesty,” Meredith apologized upon presenting him with the goods. She had come back with a few burns that Belzemine quickly healed with a spell. “Lady Malphas’ explosive necklace blasted everything above the knees.”

“Let’s hope Duchar will be able to learn something from them,” Simon complained. “Did you see the explosive device?”

“Yes, it was a red pearl necklace,” Meredith confirmed. “I saw Elaine Malphas pull and snap it a second before the detonation.”

So it wasn’t an automatic failsafe. That meant the two traitors could be taken by surprise and restrained without triggering their suicide devices. Simon would keep that information in mind for his next reign.

“Get ready then,” Simon told his retainers. “My sister is going to send us either a summons or a messenger soon.”

His instinct proved half-right. A carriage did arrive the next day from the Goetia Research Center, but Lauriane forwarded no message or herald.

Instead, she came to visit her half-brother in person.

“Simon.” Lauriane stepped down from the carriage in full uniform, with two guards at her back, a grim look on her face. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

“I expected something like this when I read the news about Frightwall,” Simon confessed when he greeted her in front of the Midnight Market. “Is it true that half of Magvolia declared for Euphemia?”

“I’m afraid so,” Lauriane admitted. “Louis conquered the country barely six years ago, so revanchist movements are quite eager to ally with Euphemia against us. I’m sure they would have sung a different tune if he were here, but alas, he and Dassein are still securing Telluria.”

Probably, since he would have firebombed Amnadiel and other towns into submission.

“I’ll be blunt, Simon, I fear Euphemia’s supporters will exploit the opportunity to launch an attack on the Goetia Research Center,” Lauriane said. “Controlling the Crestone production is too much of an advantage to pass on, and while I can defend myself and command many troops… I am not Louis.”

Simon scowled. “Who are they sending?”

“Norbelle.”

Damn it. Not a good start.

“My spies tell me she has left Cocagne on her personal airship and with a new Eidolon, courtesy of her new fiancé. Mastemo has also dispatched a group of Templars to Magvolia, and I suspect both groups will besiege Goetia as soon as they link up.” Lauriane let out a heavy sigh. “I won’t lie to you, Simon. I don’t want to involve you in this feud, but having Agnes Firewand onboard, or even Duchar, would help me tremendously. I will need to conscript them for the military.”

Simon scowled as he considered what to do. While it put some projects on the backburner, he could hardly deny Lauriane’s request after all the help she provided him in this reign and others.

But on the other hand, this civil war had become more than folly now that he knew about the elf conspiracy and the Zodiac Parade striking the world in less than a year. Endymion’s self-destruction would kill thousands, if not millions, and leave the eastern continent ripe for the likes of Vouivre or demons to despoil.

He had to try and stop it while he could, to show his evidence to both parties and convince them of the threat ahead of them.

“There’s more you need to know first,” Simon said, “about what’s going on in the Darkwood and this war’s true masterminds.”

“The true masterminds?” Lauriane frowned in skepticism, but kept an open mind. “I’m listening.”

* * *

Simon invited his sister to his workshop, and then told her everything.

He kept the truth of his Overlord Class a secret, but otherwise shared what he had learned about the Stone Muse, the Cobweb’s activities, and that he had been secretly collaborating with the now late Lady Shabram to investigate an Illusean conspiracy. Lauriane took the news with disbelief and skepticism.

“Malphas? A secret White Unicorn agent plotting to destroy Frightwall with a powerful spell?” Lauriane struggled to accept the truth as much as Simon did when he first heard it. “Do you have any proof of your wild claims, Simon?”

“Lady Shabram obtained damning correspondence, but it went up in flames with Frightwall alongside everything else. I hope the study of Elaine’s remains will tell us more.” Hopefully, Duchar should be done with that sometime soon. “As for the Minotaur Fiend and the manalith mine, they’re both a day’s ride from Whispermire. Duchar and my other retainers will confirm it.”

Lauriane scowled, but took him at his word until she could corroborate it. “I feared something foul lurked in the Darkwood, but I never imagined this region housed a slumbering archfiend and an unregistered manalith mine.”

“You never suspected it?”

“Of course not. This place is a backwater. I wouldn’t have spared it a glance without the Lorimor fiasco.” Which suggested that Simon could hide there easily enough should he decide to disappear. “I need all the troops I can get to defend Goetia, but we’ll seize the mine once we’ve repelled Norbelle. Kano will be lucky to keep her head.” Lauriane pondered her brother’s words. “Is Duchar certain that the seal will hold for at least another year?”

She apparently trusted the dark mage’s expertise. “Yes, unless it finds a suitable host.”

“I have soldiers born under the sign of the Minotaur. Good soldiers. We could use the demon as a weapon of last resort, but…” Lauriane crossed her arms and shook her head after a moment’s consideration. “No, far too risky. Demons only become assets when properly bound and vetted. Binding an unknown archfiend capable of corrupting a dryad would spell immediate disaster.”

“We could use it another way,” Simon suggested. An idea had been floating in his mind for a while. “The miasma crystal is of extraordinary purity.”

“You think we could turn it into a Dark-aligned Crestone.” Lauriane shook her head. “Analyzing and processing the crystal requires time I do not have, not to mention that we would need to break the seal. The fiend is a long-term problem.”

Simon nodded before the workshop’s door opened, with Duchar and Leonard stepping inside. Both politely bowed to Lauriane, who returned the courtesy with a nod. Simon noted that while Duchar appeared unconcerned, Leonard had a deep scowl on his face.

The old necromancer must have found something big.

“Have you completed your analysis of the tibias, Duchar?” Simon asked.

“Yes, those belonged to an all too common half-elf woman,” Duchar replied with a shrug of his shoulders, the true magnitude of his statement lost on him. “I have little to report beyond that, I’m afraid.”

Simon found himself speechless for a second, his gaze turning to his other allies. Lauriane blinked as she digested the news, and Leonard nodded sternly.

“Half-elf?” Simon repeated, as a lot of things suddenly started to make sense. “How can you tell?”

“The bone structure is too rich in mana for a human, but too solid for an elf,” Duchar explained. Having never met Elaine Malphas, the significance of his findings eluded him. “This is a telltale sign of a bi-tribal union between an elf and a human. Psychometry spells confirmed it as well.”

“Are you sure those were Elaine Malphas’ remains?” Lauriane pushed.

“I swear it on my honor as a knight that I picked those bones off her burning ashes myself,” Leonard insisted. “Some half-elves can pass for humans, since they do not require as much mana as the elven parent to function and often inherit the other side’s rounded ears.”

Which meant that Patriate had literally been in bed with the enemy for nearly two decades.

“If this is true, then this must be the Oracle’s work,” Lauriane said, her hands clenching into fists. “Malphas’ sisters are both married to dukes supporting the War Party. Did they know about this? Could those worms have plotted Father’s death behind our backs?”

“Do you see what’s going on now?” Simon asked. “We’re being pitted against each other by an outside force that wants us gone, and a conflict will only weaken us when the likes of the Minotaur rise up to strike in a year’s time. We have to defuse things while we can.”

Lauriane remained skeptical. “You have done a great job investigating these forces, Simon, and I think Louis might listen… but I am not sure your evidence will suffice to bring Euphemia to the negotiation table.”

“I know.” Simon was no fool. Their chances were slim, but he was now convinced letting Endymion fall into civil war would probably doom the continent to destruction. “Even so, we should try.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose we must at least give peace a chance.” Lauriane took a long, deep breath. “I pray Norbelle and the others will listen, and if they do not… then you might walk away from all of this with a lot more levels.”

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Write Chapter 50: The Stone Muse (10)
Target length: ~3700 words
Key events: level-up occurs, combat-heavy

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Norbelle’s airship, the Legendary, arrived at dawn.

Simon watched it from the command deck of Lauriane’s own flagship, the Wisdom, with apprehension. Ten of the war machines hovered over the Goetia Research Center, having traveled all the way here from the War Party’s secret base. Between the intimidating escort and the facility’s already considerable defenses, they should have nothing to fear.

A single look at the two giant creatures escorting Norbelle’s airship convinced Simon otherwise.

The first was Azulbolla, the Azure Dragon, an Eidolon Norbelle had successfully wrestled control away from Fablan after that country’s subjugation. Simon had only seen the creature once from very, very far away when his half-sister summoned it as part of her eighteenth birthday celebration—which he had to observe from the Frightwall’s battlements—and it had somehow grown even bigger since. The creature, which resembled a serpent with blue scales of bark and wood antlers on which flowers bloomed, coiled around its summoner’s airship like a Uyoan boa constrictor around its prey. Though it had no wings, it could still fly all the same thanks to dozens of lightning-crackling orbs carrying it upwards. The monster looked nothing like Vouivre in spite of its title of dragon, but it was no less intimidating.

The other creature was smaller, though its wingspan could overshadow a small keep. This one resembled some kind of bird of prey with crimson feathers whose tips burned with otherworldly fire. Its black beak breathed out the blackest smoke, and a golden mask covered its forehead. A trail of embers followed each flap of its wings.

So it was true, Cocagne had lent Norbelle the Phoenix.

Lauriane had extensively briefed Simon and his allies on their enemy prior to boarding. “Norbelle is level 68, according to my information. Her Summoner Noble Class lets her bind Eidolons to her will, and since she inherited her mother’s visionary powers on top of that, she can summon more than one at the same time. Not only can she have them fight for her, but she can empower herself or her allies by harnessing the Eidolon’s power. This lets her boost stats and grant multiple beneficial effects.”

Level 68, and she’s younger than I am, Simon thought grimly. Norbelle had always been a magical genius in spite of her young age, the family’s golden child. “Is it true that a summoned Eidolon’s power is proportional to the Summoner’s level?”

“Yes, so we must assume that every creature she summons is at least the equivalent of a level sixty to seventy monster.” As if the prospect of facing one high-level spellcaster hadn’t been daunting enough. “Finally, the Summoner is a spellcaster class with mana regeneration and access to multiple schools of spellcasting. Considering Norbelle’s level, you can expect spells like the Insteadeath-inflicting Death X spell or the ship-destroying Exaburn.”

A single level 68 monster would be the equivalent of fighting Vouivre, and Norbelle had brought at least two. And neither of them matched the description of the dragon creature she unleashed against the War Party in a previous reign, so either she had yet to acquire it in this timeline or she had another ace up her sleeve.

“Thankfully, the Summoner has two key weaknesses. Not only will Norbelle’s Eidolons disappear if she is knocked unconscious–” Or killed, Lauriane avoided mentioning, “but an Eidolon’s destruction will also inflict immense mental strain on her.”

In short, knocking out one of the three should incapacitate all the others on paper.

Unfortunately, Norbelle wouldn’t be their only cause for concern. A small company of Templars and soldiers bearing the Church of Light’s banner rode upon the enemy airship. It was only a few thousand troops, but the High Confessor’s elite fighters were nothing to scoff at. This would be a dangerous battle… should it start at all.

Simon glanced around him. Lauriane sat on a throne at the heart of the command deck, facing the large landscape window giving her a full view of the troubles ahead. Although she portrayed a calm and confident facade, he could see the way she gripped her armrests. Her eyes darted to the engineers and mages working on the machinery around them. They had spent the last few minutes sending light signals that Norbelle’s own staff should hopefully see.

Would Norbelle accept their offer of a peaceful meeting and their evidence? She was wiser than Thalas, but that wasn’t saying much, and her mother Euphemia had just survived a spell bombardment she blamed on Louis. She might ignore them and push on with the assault.

Simon prayed she would listen, but the cynical part of his mind couldn’t believe in it.

He glanced at his remaining retainers. All were also present, save the late Lorimor, but they all reacted differently. While Meredith, Belzemine, and Leonard faced the situation with the stoicism of trained warriors, Duchar looked outright annoyed to have been dragged out of his lab and onto a battlefield. As for Cassandra, she clung to her staff with all of her strength.

“Anxious?” Simon asked her.

“A bit,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I have never fought a Noble Class user before.”

“Hopefully, we won’t fight at all.” Simon could tell Cassandra didn’t believe him, largely because his own words sounded empty even to him. “Even so, it was very brave of you to agree to join us today. I appreciate it.”

“That is what friends are for,” Cassandra replied with a small frown. “Or at least I believe it is. Am I wrong?”

“No, not at all.” Simon’s head perked up as an engineer wrote down a letter. “Did we receive an answer?”

Lauriane nodded sharply as the engineer gave her the document. Simon could tell its content the moment the scowl on his sister’s face deepened, and his heart sank in his chest.

“Read for yourself,” she told Simon upon giving him the letter. “These terms are unacceptable.”

Simon checked and steeled himself. Norbelle replied that she would only agree to a peaceful meeting if they agreed to open the Goetia Research Center’s doors to her forces, which was tantamount to surrender. Euphemia had apparently ordered them to secure the site, and they would not walk away without it.

If Norbelle had even looked over the evidence Lauriane’s airship had sent her about the Malphas conspiracy and the Zodiac Parade, she didn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” Lauriane apologized to him, though it was no fault of her own. “I fear the outcome was decided the moment Frightwall burned.”

“Yeah,” Simon confirmed, resolving himself to fight another pointless battle. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The civil war was bound to become inevitable, quicker, and bloodier whenever Belzemine was removed from Castle Frightwall. They lived in the Oracle’s world now, where the pieces she set in place had fallen in a way that would bring down House Magnos upon itself.

He would keep that in mind.

“Send them one last counteroffer to stand down and talk this through, but prepare for battle,” Lauriane ordered her troops before turning to Simon’s group. “Lady Firewand, Duchar, please join the mages on the artillery deck. Your powerful spells may make the difference. Simon, you stay with me and watch.”

Belzemine looked at Simon, who nodded back in confirmation. While he would have preferred to keep the elven archmage close, Lauriane was an experienced commander and he trusted her expertise. Belzemine and Duchar left the command deck to take their battle positions.

“Order the ships to spread out and to flank the Legendary,” Lauriane ordered her soldiers. “Norbelle’s summons will have us beat in speed and maneuverability, but her flagship is vulnerable. Have lookouts keep an eye on the Eidolons, too. There is a possibility Norbelle is riding one of them and using her ship as a decoy. Fire at will as soon as they enter our range.”

Light signals caused the airships to follow through with the order. Lauriane’s fleet spread out like a crescent, the wings ahead of the center. Rather than flee, Norbelle’s group flew forward with the clear intent of taking the fight directly to the Wisdom. The Azulbolla’s orbs charged up with magical lightning while blue fire built up inside the Phoenix’s mouth.

And then the Battle of Goetia began.

There was no particular signal, no call of Lauriane followed by an artillery volley. Both sides simply shot at each other the moment the other came within range. The Azulbolla’s orbs burst with mighty thunderbolts strong enough to pulverize castle towers, the Phoenix unleashed fireballs the size of houses with a screech, and the airships retaliated with spell bombardments. The same power Simon witnessed lay waste to the Berwick Islands was now turned against enemies that could take it and dish it back.

The horizon beyond the window erupted into a blinding light show. Explosions rocked the heavens and blasted away clouds, the wind carrying embers and ashes across the landscape. Thunderbolts blasted apart airship wings and cast them out of the sky, while spell barrages blasted the Phoenix’s face and shattered half of its metal mask to expose regenerating flesh underneath. From Simon’s point of view, this battle was a dance of hellfire; from the ground, it must have looked like the end of the world.

Such tremendous power, Simon thought as he and his allies watched the devastation with awe. Norbelle commanded these two forces of nature with the power of a single Noble Class. Their power let her match an entire fleet of airships manned by thousands and capable of ravaging entire nations. Could I bend these Eidolons to my will, too, if I ever devoured her Crestone? Would they crush the Zodiac Fiends and Vouivre, or fall to them?

That thought wouldn’t leave his mind even as the battle continued to escalate. Norbelle’s Eidolons successfully shot down two of Lauriane’s airships, but the rest had begun to close in on the Legendary. The Azulbolla attempted to break the encirclement by flying straight at the Wisdom, swaying left and right like an eel swamming through the sky with a shroud of lightning crackling along its trail. Its maw opened as it approached the command deck, light building up in its gullet, and Simon steeled himself for impact.

A colossal fireball thrown from the artillery deck—likely Belzemine’s work—struck the Eidolon in the face in a devastating blast, tearing off half its face and causing it to miss its target. Its breath of lightning and cherry petals blew aimlessly across the sky. The Eidolon fell to the side, its head and neck hitting the airship’s left wing and causing it to shake.

“Damage report!” Lauriane ordered as smoke began to rise from the left side of the ship.

“Something broke into the cargo hold!” one of the engineers replied, reading a bottled message forwarded to them through a metal tube. “I’m receiving demands for reinforcements!”

“Stowaways carried by Azulbolla?” Lauriane clenched her jaw and turned to Simon’s allies. “I will need your retainers.”

“I’ll go with them,” Simon decided.

“You are still too low-level,” Lauriane warned him with a hint of concern.

“Don’t worry.” Simon summoned his ‘Templar’ Class outfit—actually the Overlord clothed in Fiendmask—and raised his morningstar. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves, and great bodyguards.”

“I see…” Lauriane hesitated an instant, but gave him a nod of trust and approval. “Good luck.”

Simon thanked her and then left with his party towards the cargo hold, rushing down corridors and past soldiers traveling from one part of the ship or another, depending on immediate needs. Simon had no idea how Lauriane could even manage so many people without a Commander Vassal Class to organize them.

The group put on their Class outfits and had sure cast buffs on themselves, from Energumen to Dark Saber to Rampart, on their way into the cargo hold. They only needed to follow the trail of corpses and the noise of clashing steel to do so. Dozens of soldiers and workers had been torn apart, their entrails and blood spilling all over the floor and walls, body parts laying spread in every direction as if they had all been savaged by some wild beast.

Had Norbelle called another creature to destroy the ship from the inside?

The truth became clear once they entered a metal hangar filled with manalith crates and mechanical parts. The air was choked with smoke from burning contraptions and shattered pipes, while the ground had turned slippery from the blood. An alarm rang overhead to the tune of flickering lights.

He was there, clad in his Class outfit and driving his axe into a soldier’s skull and tearing him in two.

There’s no way, Simon thought in shock and disbelief, even as their eyes crossed. Antonine de Shax was with him, clad in a veiled, red and white belly dancer’s outfit. The Dancer outfit, in fact. He should be in Telluria…

“What’s wrong, bastard?” Thalas asked, a ghastly grin stretching on his lips when he spotted them. “Aren’t you happy to see your kin again?”

“Why are you here?” Simon asked, though he already knew the answer and was already prepared to cast a spell. He immediately sent a telepathic message to Belzemine and Duchar to join him at the cargo hold now.

“Isn’t it obvious?” An axe materialized in Thalas’ hand, his eyes shining with glee. He had waited years for this. “I’m working my way up to being the only son!”

And then he charged them at inhuman speed.

Leonard immediately moved in front of the group with his pavise raised and his Rampart Perk activated, but Simon and Cassandra proved even quicker. “Blind!” “Swamp Curse!” they cast both at the same time.

Thalas closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye, but the two spells struck in the nick of time. His vision went white, and the steel floor beneath his feet turned into mud, throwing off his aim. His war axe struck Leonard’s pavise shield rather than the man himself, and would have likely taken off his whole arm without Rampart active. Even then, the blow shattered the shield and threw Leonard back a few feet.

Simon and Meredith immediately flanked Thalas while he remained off balance, striking with a darkness-shrouded morning star and a lightning-crackling spear, respectively. There was no order to stand down, no attempt at negotiation, and no words were wasted. Everyone on Simon’s side knew that to fight the Berserker was to dance with death.

It was kill or be killed.

Simon had had the ‘privilege’ of watching Thalas fight when he tricked him into dying against Vouivre. He had dueled a dragon on his own long enough to inflict heavy injuries, and he might have won had he been armed with ranged weapons.

The Berserker was unmatched in melee, and they were fighting in a closed space. The best they could hope for was to stay alive until Belzemine, Duchar, and reinforcements arrived.

Simon and Meredith both struck Thalas from two sides with all of their might, and while the Valkyrie managed to draw blood by grazing the chest, Simon’s attempt to remove his skull from his shoulders failed to even cause him to budge. He might as well have struck a statue of stone.

If anything, the energy-draining effect of the morningstar hurt more than the weapon itself.

Worse, Antonine didn’t stay idle. She traced a ring with her foot around herself, and an otherworldly music echoed out of nowhere in response. Thalas’ body glowed with light, his eyes returning to normal, and the ground solidifying again. He let out a roar so mighty it threw Simon and Meredith back, his muscles bursting with power.

Thalas swung his axe in an attempt to kill them both, but Meredith tackled Simon out of the way with a quick, Valkyrie-enchanced jump. Leonard threw his now-useless shield aside and fearlessly rushed into melee with his claymore. His surprising speed for a Dreadnought took Thalas aback, the Berserker instinctively raising his war axe to parry the blow.

Cassandra slammed the ground with her staff. A cloud of smoke erupted at the spot she struck, and a horrific humanoid figure made of bones and skulls tied together with slick ropes of sinew materialized there. The undead monstrosity tackled Thalas from behind and rammed him against a crate.

“Cassandra, focus on debuffing! Everyone else, keep him busy!” Simon ordered his retainers as he charged at Antonine. Thalas on his own was a nightmare; adding a buffer on top of it spelled certain defeat. “I’ll kill his support!”

“Kill me, you baseborn cur?” Antonine replied with a disdainful smile, two butterfly-shaped daggers appearing in her hands. “I think not. Moonstep.”

Antonine de Shax became a blur, with Simon’s morning star hitting nothing but air. She struck back in a flash of speed, targeting the visor slit in his helmet, and though he managed to deflect the blow with his arm, he still sensed magic infecting his mana-powered outfit through the blade.

Poison negated by Unyielding Essence.

The two swiftly engaged in a deadly tango, with Simon vainly attempting to strike Antonine while she dodged his blows and countered with swift, but largely painless strikes. One hit would have knocked her out of the fight, but she was fast, so blindingly fast.

Meanwhile, Cassandra weakened Thalas with curses, but not enough to stop him from smashing her summoned undead to pieces in a single blow. Meredith and Leonard engaged him in melee, using their surprising speed, agility, and teamwork to briefly pressure him. Meredith used her Class’ infamous jumping ability to constantly bounce off the crates and walls to strike from various unexpected angles, while Leonard simply pushed forward with a relentless offense of sword strikes in order to keep Thalas on the defensive. It was only a matter of time before he found an opening, but they managed to keep him contained for now.

Simon wondered how Antonine had obtained the Dancer Noble Class, but quickly came up with a possible explanation. Euphemia had been in Castle Frightwall when it suffered destruction. Recovering the Dancer Crestone had just been a matter of finding Shabram’s ashes among the rest of the debris. However, the strength and speed behind her blows were too much for a newly obtained Class, even a Noble one.

“How did you level up in Dancer so fast, Antonine?” Simon asked in between strikes. She shouldn’t be capable of keeping up with him at a low level, or at least he didn’t think so.

“Funny thing,” she said with a malicious grin, her dagger flashing in a dash of steel, “When you inherit a Noble Class after leveling up in its Vassal Class, you can transfer some of those levels around.”

Simon memorized that revelation for later, and quickly switched tactics. He cast Shadowchain and caught Antonine’s foot after she dodged one of his blows, causing her to trip. Simon immediately exploited the opportunity to hit her in the chest. She was cast to the ground to the tune of broken ribs.

“Antonine!” Thalas shouted with fear from across the room, but Simon focused on his prey. He put his metal foot on Antonine’s chest to press on her wound and keep her down.

“The Templar can’t cast Shadowchain,” Antonine said, a flash of fear in her eyes.

Simon raised his morningstar to crush her skull, but Thalas’ roar of despair startled him. He glanced sideways just in time to see the Berserker break his encirclement by throwing Meredith at Cassandra and then lunging at him in a burst of speed.

“Magic Eraser!”

Thalas’ axe struck Simon in the chest before he could dodge.

The blow nearly killed Simon. Nay, it would have killed him if not for Cassandra’s debuffs and Leonard’s damage transference ability. Simon was thrown across the cargo hold and crashed into a wall so hard as to bend it, while blood erupted from his Dreadnought retainer’s chest.

All spells and buffs dispelled!

And that included Fiendmask. The Templar outfit faded into smoke to reveal the dark steel of the Overlord armor underneath. Thalas froze in place in pure shock, his jaw dropping.

“No way…” Antonine muttered in sheer disbelief as she forced herself back to her feet. Her hand reached into her pocket and drew out a bottled potion.

As for Thalas, his eyes now burned with pure hatred. “I knew you and Louis were plotting something when you left Telluria, bastard, but to think you dared to kill Father to steal his Class…”

“I didn’t kill him,” Simon taunted him as he shambled back to his feet. While Leonard had absorbed most of the damage, he still felt the pain. “He chose me.”

That seemed to hurt Thalas more than any attack. His face decomposed into disbelief, then acceptance, and finally, searing jealousy.

“I was there the day we brought you in,” Thalas said, his voice bitter with resentment. “I remember the brief smile on our father's face when he saw you pass through the gates. No one else noticed, but I did, that emotion he never showed me. He was proud of you.” He uttered the word with all the envy in the world. “Ever since that day, I’ve had this rage building up inside me every time I look at you. It burns inside at this very moment, boiling my blood into steam.”

“That is why you want me dead so much?” Simon spat with contempt. What a petty, childish motivation for wishing his own half-sibling murdered. “Not because I’m a bastard or did anything to you personally, but because daddy wouldn’t smile at you?”

“Mock me all you want, bastard,” Thalas replied, raising his axe for the kill. “Once you’re dead… I’ll finally be at peace.”

Simon thought this reign was at an end when a wall surged from the ground and took everyone aback. A black cage of dark bones materialized around Thalas and Antonine, briefly trapping them inside.

Simon glanced at his saviors, busy healing their wounded.

Belzemine and Duchar were finally here.

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Write Chapter 51: The Stone Muse (11)
Target length: ~3500 words
Key events: level-up occurs, dungeon content, combat-heavy

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“Doublecast,” Belzemine intoned, “Aegis.”

Simon immediately sensed her magic empowering him, reinforcing him with invisible barriers, sharpening his speed, and healing his wounds. Leonard also received a similar blessing; the bloody gash in his chest he had taken on in his master’s place slowly closed.

“Step away, Your Majesty!” Belzemine shouted at him as another song echoed from inside the summoned cage. Simon followed her advice, allowing her to chain it up with another attack as she switched Class from Healer to Pyromancer. “Contagious Human Combustion!"

“Death X,” Duchar added while snapping his fingers.

Her magic immolated Thalas and Antonine right as the former shattered the summoned cage with a brutal swing of his axe. Duchar followed that up with a spell of his own, a ghastly, ghostly skull appearing over the two like a dark omen.

Whatever it was supposed to do, it failed. Thalas and Antonine walked out from the flames unharmed, the former slicing his palm and showering his war axe with his own blood to power it up, the second dancing by swaying her hips left to right. Fire halos glowed over their heads, the outline of a vermillion bird briefly flashing in the flames. That had to be Norbelle’s Phoenix shielding them from both fire and instant death spells.

Of course those two came prepared to fight Belzemine. Most of her offensive abilities lay in her Pyromancer Class’ fire spells, which were now shut down tight.

“Once we kill him, we can rule as Overlord,” Antonine said, smiling at Simon as if the Class was something that could somehow be shared.

“We kill them all,” her boyfriend replied with murder on his mind. Thalas went on the offensive again, his already monstrous speed turning nightmarish thanks to whatever buff Antonine provided him with. Simon struggled to follow his movements—since his own buffs didn’t increase his perception—but Belzemine reacted in time to intercept him. She changed outfits again, the Pyromancer robes transforming into a metal chest plate, armored leggings, and a brutish, horned helmet. An axe materialized in her hands.

The Gladiator Class.

Their weapons clashed, the resulting shockwave blasting back crates and causing the metal floor to crack beneath their feet. Belzemine was pushed a bit, yet managed to remain on her feet.

“Listen to me,” Simon informed his retainers through telepathy so their foes could not overhear them. “Duchar, Cassandra, constantly debuff Thalas. Leonard, Belzemine, keep Thalas occupied in melee. Meredith, help me take out his support.”

“You think you can beat me with my own Vassal Class, leaf-ears?!” Thalas snapped angrily as he followed through with a wide swing. Belzemine moved back to dodge while Duchar and Cassandra cast various curses to weaken the Berserker, leeching off his strength and causing the floor beneath him to turn to mud again. Leonard used the brief moment of opportunity to strike him in the chest and drew blood.

True to her orders, Meredith leaped across the room and aimed for Antonine with her spear. Simon assisted her by casting Shadowchain to keep the Dancer bound by the ankle and prevent her from dodging.

“Blade Dance,” Antonine said, her daggers lengthening into swords. “Dimension Step.”

She disappeared in a teleportation flash, and Meredith’s spear only struck empty air.

Simon expected an attack, but Antonine instead reappeared behind their front line next to Cassandra and Duchar. Her speed took the spellcasters aback, and she rammed her two swords through their throats. Cassandra’s neck erupted into a fountain of blood, her hands dropping her staff, while Duchar coughed up blackened fluids.

No, no! Simon ran back to his allies in panic as Cassandra collapsed to the ground and began to bleed out. He attempted to reach them, but Thalas promptly tossed Leonard back at him while his axe danced with Belzemine’s.

Antonine’s gleeful smile faded away the moment a withered hand caught her by the throat.

“Putrefy,” Duchar said coldly, his sliced throat and the sword stuck in his flesh failing to slow him down in the slightest. There was no anger in his voice, not the kind that the Berserker embraced at least; only merciless retribution.

Antonine’s pristine white skin blackened, and then melted off her flesh. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords dissolved far too fast for that. An infernal rot spread across her face and chest, devouring all in its path until naught but bones remained.

Antonine de Shax had rotted to death.

“Antonine!” An unbelievable pressure came off from Thalas like a halo of searing heat, his eyes growing bloodshot with fury. “You’ll pay for this… Primal Regression!”

A wave of power erupted from Thalas as he shed his armor like a snake.

A spectacular transformation followed. His body more than doubled in size while his muscle mass greatly increased to the point it seemed to rupture the skin in some parts, exposing his own muscles. His hands became big enough to crush skulls within their fingers, and his shoulders were wide enough to put a bull to shame. A crimson aura smelling of fresh blood floated around Thalas, and his irises vanished in a sea of white. The curses affecting him were instantly dispelled.

Thalas lunged at Simon with a monstrous roar, fist first.

Only Belzemine’s buff granted Simon the speed to dodge the attack in time, and even then the shockwave that resulted from Thalas’ fist striking the floor sent him flying into a wall. The blow smashed through the metal floor and caused the entire room—maybe the entire airship—to shake.

“Blind!” Simon immediately cast, only for his spell to fizzle out. He sensed an invisible barrier disrupting his magic the moment he attempted to affect Thalas.

Spell negated by Primal Regression!

“Magic can no longer affect him in this state, but he takes double damage!” Belzemine warned Simon through telepathy as she slightly crouched. Her slim frame tensed up, her muscles becoming like steel. “No Guard, Sanguine Blow.”

Belzemine lunged forward with immense strength, putting all of her focus in one attack at the exclusion of all defense. She closed the gap with Thalas and then struck with everything she had. Her axe cut through the chiseled, steel-strong muscles of the Berserker and disemboweled him in a single strike that spilled out his entrails all over the floor. It should have been a fatal wound.

It wasn’t.

Thalas neither flinched nor even attempted to defend himself. His belly was wide open, and he showed neither pain nor care. He simply backhanded Belzemine with a roar, the blow so violent it threw her across the room and through the metal wall.

No wonder Thalas only waited for his ally to die to use this ability. He had cast off reason, sanity, and purpose for pure power. Only bestial, bloodthirsty, volcanic rage remained. He probably couldn’t even use whatever teleportation gem he and Antonine intended to use to escape the airship.

Or maybe he was foolish enough to believe he could survive it all.

In spite of the Berserker’s fearsome new transformation, both Meredith and Leonard continued their assault without fear. Meredith jumped at the titan’s back, landed on his shoulder, and drove her spear through the back of his skull while Leonard attempted to finish what Belzemine had started by cutting into his chest. Thalas didn’t bother avoiding either attack, but neither did they make him budge.

“Duchar, take Cassandra to Lauriane for healing and call for reinforcements!” Simon mentally ordered as he held his morning star and prepared to join the desperate melee… only to be answered with silence. “Duchar?”

Duchar had grabbed his bleeding daughter with one hand and held a gemstone with the other. Simon immediately recognized the same type of teleporting crystal Lauriane had given him in a previous reign for his own safety.

“Duchar, don’t you dare!” Simon threatened him.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but we cannot die yet with so much left to accomplish,” the old warlock apologized, though there was no remorse in his voice. “I suggest you retreat as well.”

He crushed the gem and disappeared with Cassandra, abandoning the fight.

Simon’s anger at the betrayal was swiftly replaced with horror as the enraged Thalas grabbed Meredith off his shoulders while her spear was still stuck through his skull, then smashed her against the floor like a ragdoll, her body splattered into a puddle of bones and blood. He then roared at Simon and lunged at him like a rabid tiger.

“Impcan–”

Thalas rammed Simon before he could even finish the thought.

Leonard once again took the burden of the damage on himself, but Simon barely caught a glimpse of his retainer exploding in a shower of blood and entrails before he and Thalas pulverized the wall, then the next, and the one after.

The pain of steel hitting his back gave way to the sensation of wind blowing on his face, and the ceiling turned into a burning sky.

Simon blinked as he and Thalas fell into the void, the Wisdom looming over them like a great bird as it traded blasts with the Phoenix. The Legendary was sinking below the clouds and drowning in smoke on the horizon, yet both of Norbelle’s Eidolons continued the fight.

Thalas’ arms grabbed Simon in midfall in a vicious bearhug, his berserk state blinding him to the fact that they were both seconds away from death. A rush of pain traveled down Simon’s spine as his half-brother began to crush it.

“Lord of the Demon Castle!” Simon snarled in an attempt to teleport back to his Dungeon, only for his magic to fizzle out alongside all of his buffs.

Teleportation disrupted by Primal Regression!

Even touching Thalas interfered with Simon’s magic!

Simon frantically smashed Thalas’ face with his morning star again and again, breaking his nose and destroying an eye. The enraged Berserker responded by biting Simon’s arm, his teeth digging past the Overlord's armor and crushing his bones. Simon snarled in pain as Thalas ripped off his forearm, right as the Overlord’s poisonous blood started melting off his half-brother’s cheeks.

With no other choice left, Simon struck Thalas’ face with his bloody stump. The poison within proved effective enough at melting the Berserker’s flesh, and Simon kept pressing even as his vision went white with sheer pain. Agonizing pain erupted in his stomach as his entrails burst from within and he stopped feeling his legs.

Yet Simon powered through. He pushed and pushed his poisonous, acidic stump through Thalas’ face, his flesh and brains melting off until Simon reached the tip of Meredith’s spear still stuck in his skull. The acid devoured this brutish beast of a man until his inhuman vitality finally gave up. The Berserker breathed his last with a half-melted skull, his death granting Simon a rush greater than anything he had ever felt.

Level 30 Overlord Perk: Miasmic Archmage III (passive): You can learn and cast spells up to Tier III, but only those fueled by miasma.

Level 31 Overlord Perk: Warmonger IV (passive): You can wield all weapons with advanced proficiency (x2 damage, +10% crit).

Level 32 Overlord Perk: Devil Forgemaster II (Passive): You have learned to brew potions and slime creatures, but they must be infus–

The ground kissed him in the face mid-notification, ending his life in a flash of red.

* * *

The notifications continued to flow into his soul even in the darkness between life and death.

Level 32 Overlord Perk: Devil Forgemaster II (Passive): You have learned to brew potions and slime creatures, but they must be infused with miasma.

Level 33 Overlord Perk: Land of Darkness II (Passive): Your power twists plants within your domain. Plants within your Dungeon are corrupted with miasma and will slowly turn into monsters under your control.

Level 34 Overlord Perk: Dreadful Aura III (Active): Your aura can induce bloodthirst rather than fear. You can change the ailment inflicted by your aura from Terror to Berserk at will.

Level 35 Overlord Perk: Devil Brand IV (Active): You can mark a willing target with the Brand of Greed, granting them a Luck bonus, supernatural good fortune in matters of gambling and commerce, and the ability to turn lead into gold. In return, part of their wealth teleports to you on the first day of each month; if they cannot pay the tribute, they are cursed to turn everything they touch to gold until they can. This is a curse effect.

Killing Thalas and Antonine had been a six-person job that cost over half the party their lives, but even the fractioned exp share had been enough to grant Simon multiple levels at once.

Would his half-brother have been happy with this outcome? Ending one of Simon’s reigns and finally murdering him in exchange for giving him six levels in death? Would Thalas have considered it an even trade?

Simon wasn’t happy in the slightest, however. He had already engineered Thalas’ death once at the hands of Vouivre, and though he had landed the final blow this time, it came at too high a cost and left him feeling hollow. Whatever pride he took in his victory dimmed when considering the pile of corpses it took to get there, his own included.

Only the Crimson Throne was happy with this outcome. Simon could sense its delight as it bestowed a new title upon him.

This is the eleventh of your Hundred Reigns.

You have earned the title of Simon the Embraced.

The Embraced: You and a sworn enemy fell into death’s embrace together. Isn’t that romantic? Self-destruction spells or abilities leave you on the verge of death rather than killing you outright.

“Curse you,” Simon told his father as his spirit glared at the Crimson Throne. “Some rotten piece of you is still in there, isn’t it?”

He could have sworn the Crimson Throne smiled back at him with all of its rotten dragon fangs.

Simon woke up again in his bed, alone and with an intact skull. The phantom pain of his previously chewed off arm and broken back frayed his nerves for an instant. He stared at the ceiling as he recalled his death and the vast power Noble Class users could bring to bear.

Simon was sick of being killed, sick of watching his retainers getting killed again and again while he had to rely on them to survive, sick of living at the mercy of higher forces, sick of the pointless civil war tearing his homeland apart when it needed unity the most. A sense of rising disgust—towards himself or the world, he wasn’t sure—continued to build up inside his chest the more he replayed that final clash with Thalas in his head.

Something had to change.

Would anything change even if he put an end to the elven plot? It had fizzled out on its own in the reigns where Belzemine stayed at the castle, yet it didn’t stop Louis from sending his airships to bombard the Berwick Islands when he learned the Overlord was hiding there. Euphemia had also ordered Norbelle to push on with the Goetia Research Center’s attack in spite of Lauriane’s attempts to de-escalate.

The two imperial parties wanted a conflict, or at least the other’s subjugation. Frightwall’s destruction had only accelerated the inevitable. Only a powerful Overlord’s presence could keep them in check by design.

How will things unfold if I’m not here to change anything? Simon wondered. Who would win the civil war then? Would it somehow allow the White Unicorn to retake the west, or would one of the sides end it quickly enough to keep the empire in one piece in time to stop the Zodiac Parade? Perhaps letting this war unfold will help me understand how to stop it in the future.

Even then, knowledge without power could only do so much. The elves were a problem, as was Vouivre, but the reign had put into perspective what kind of power each member of House Magnos could bring to bear and how few of them were willing to compromise. The more strength Simon himself could bring to bear, the better he could shape his ideal future.

One day, he would help Belzemine heal from her wounds, reward Leonard and Meredith for their loyalty, befriend Eole, protect Anna and Lauriane, and keep millions from perishing in an utterly pointless war.

But that would be in the future.

At that moment, Simon Magnos decided to disappear from the annals of history. He knew a place beneath everyone’s notice, and where he could level up the Overlord Class the way it was meant to be used. He would swallow his disgust for the cruelty his Class demanded for the sake of gaining the strength to do good in a future reign.

His family needed an Overlord to keep itself in check?

They would get it in time.

* * *

“A trip to Telluria?” Lady Shabram asked with a frown once he finished explaining his plans. “Isn’t Your Majesty planning to go there in a few weeks?”

“Time is of the essence, and most importantly, I do not want anyone to track me down,” Simon replied. “I must meet with people I require there, then travel to Magvolia undetected.”

Duchar’s last-minute betrayal stung. Part of Simon couldn’t entirely hold it against the dark mage to prioritize his daughter’s safety over his employer, and he understood that not everyone could be as loyal as Leonard and Meredith, but bitterness still swelled in his heart. While he couldn’t call Duchar a friend, Simon did somewhat trust him.

Duchar had served him well and Simon still needed him, so he would simply keep in mind how much he could push the mage and adapt accordingly… but he would not forget either. He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking their alliance was little more than a business transaction from now on, the same way he wouldn’t trust Lorimor to be on his own ever again.

“I see,” Lady Shabram said upon sitting on her desk. “I must warn Your Majesty against taking their assigned retainers with them if they intend to stay anonymous, however. They won’t be able to resist the urge to contact friends or family forever.”

“I know.” Simon also feared that someone might try to cast a divination spell on those two. The Overlord was immune to detection, but not his followers. Meredith and Leonard were nobles, but the likes of Duchar or Cassandra wouldn’t register on anybody’s mind. “I’ll only take two slaves with me, and release one before leaving for Telluria anyway.”

Like in the last reign, Simon had declared Casval Ashmodai heir in the testament again to ensure Vouivre would find herself on the backfoot—she was the only side of the conflict Simon wanted dead at all costs—and had given himself slaves as an inheritance.

Simon intended to release Eole and send her on her way, since he knew she would never agree to go along with his plan and would be better off returning home. Lorimor would serve in another capacity. Simon had already grilled him on Crestone creation, and his usefulness would come to an end with the Vernal Equinox.

He would be sure to bind and gag him this time.

“Good. I do have one last cause for concern.” Lady Shabram crossed her legs. “I admit that my failure to identify the Malphas as agents of the White Unicorn fills me with shame, but is Your Majesty certain I shouldn’t arrest them? Taking Elaine Malphas by surprise will be easier than taking down her father, and feeding her to Gourmand would let us glean useful information.”

“I have taken other measures to ensure that the Malphas problem will solve itself on its own, so you are not to interfere with those two directly in any way.” It frustrated Simon to leave Belzemine behind in Castle Frightwall, but it was the only way to ensure the elf attack failed until they figured out how to neutralize the spell. Moreover, she wouldn’t heal where he intended to go. “Instead, I want you to keep a very close watch on them and all their warehouses. I want to map out their entire network and find out how they can telegraph their castle-destruction spell. We will keep in touch through my Brand of Sloth.”

“If Your Majesty wills it. I will ensure you disappear without a trace until your return. Lady Lauriane will no doubt ask questions, but I can convince her I sent you away for your own safety.” Lady Shabram raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t mind me asking, why leave for Magvolia specifically?”

“There is a great evil slumbering there, and I intend to put it in its proper place,” Simon replied with determination. “Under my heel.”

And he would do that without ‘killing’ anyone.

Well, here we are; the first long, grinding focused reign ;)

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