The Hundred Reigns 241: The Land of the Warlords (21)

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A/N: heya, as warned some time ago, I'll be on a break next week due to a family vacation so next chapter will be on Monday August 31st ;) see you again then!

The Sanctuary shattered into pieces, and Simon fell through the cracks. 

Every bit of Lady Junon’s roots across the archipelago was sucked into his torture demiplane and carried huge chunks of land with it. The paradise Simon had once sacrificed so much to protect unraveled into ruins and debris. 

Simon saw Ser Richard crushed by boulders during the collapse alongside many innocents who couldn’t escape their cages in time. Their wails echoed louder than the quakes, and their blood was on Simon’s hands. 

Countless souls perished in the disaster, yet this atrocity barely earned him a new level.  

Level 79 Overlord Perk: Devil Forgemaster VI (Passive): You can now craft Grimoires, Skillbooks, enchanted scrolls, and tattoos, but they must include miasma as part of their creation. 

Grimoires? Skillbooks? Were those related to Libromancy?  

Simon’s thoughts faded away as he fell alongside a thousand other corpses and debris into the screaming sky. Louis wasn’t among them. Simon didn’t think his brother had perished—he would have gotten more than one level if he did—but he wasn’t sure he had escaped either. 

If the Light and Dark were merciful, then he would suffer the same fate as the dryad he helped enslave.

Simon fell past the crumbling barrier and into clouds, his vision blurry from his wounds and blood loss. Too many Mana Sword replicas were still embedded in his body for him to recover, since they suppressed his healing and teleportation. He would likely perish before he even hit the ground below.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” Simon whispered through telepathy. I’m sorry, Eole. This… is all my fault.

He had doomed them all the moment he allied with a madman. 

Nobody answered, likely because the dozens of Mana Sword replicas impaling his body interfered with his Devil Brands. The world suddenly opened into a vast blue sky above a vast ocean. Simon spotted so many spots over the horizon—airships, birds, Norbelle’s eidolons—alongside the rain of debris falling in his wake. They were so far away he doubted any had seen him. 

His gaze lingered on a great shape far away in the distance. He mistook it for a lofty mountain at first, only to realize otherwise when he saw the great lush branches reaching for the very reaches of dark space itself. 

The Worldtree was as beautiful a sight as it was haunting. 

It was such a strange thing; a colossal mass of roots and bark coiling around a massive trunk, casting an entire continent in its shadow. The tree’s crown vaguely resembled a brain formed out of spiraling branches and pulsating twigs arranged in a pattern too complex for Simon’s mind to make much sense of. Its glowing leaves reached so high, beyond the clouds and into the farthest reaches of Brimir’s atmosphere. The Worldtree was something primeval and eldritch, the very crucible and template of life. Mana shrouded the island growing out of its roots in a colorful mist so thick Simon could only see the outline of vast emerald forests and spires. 

Many layers of protection surrounded this forbidden land, from many rune-carved coral reefs shining with power to overlaid magical barriers encircling the Worldtree. Many flying shapes also circled its skies to defend the place against anyone seeking to destroy it. Not a single speck of miasma would befoul this paradise’s beauty. 

Such was his first glimpse of Illusea; a walled garden of grandiose proportions. It reminded him of the Sanctuary, albeit somehow even more mystical. 

The sight of the Worldtree alone was enough to briefly soothe Simon’s anger and melancholy. Though it might have been pointless in the end, he had preserved a true wonder and life itself from annihilation. 

Simon’s eye suddenly caught movement closer to his location and spotted something in the distance: a flickering, pillar-like shape that seemed to float above the water itself.

Is that… Simon’s eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the glimmering shape. The Crafter’s Towe—

His life ended in a final white flash. 

—----------

Simon was alive one second, and dead the next.

The sharp, phantom pain in his forehead left little doubt as to what killed him. He had been shot for the third time that reign, and the final assassination attempt had succeeded. Quite ironic that Louis had failed to kill him this time, despite everything.  

The Crafter’s Tower should have been half a world away. How could it show up so far from Muse? Was it always able to fly, or had its master modified it to do so in the months that followed the war’s beginning? 

Many questions remained on Simon’s mind when he found himself facing the Crimson Throne’s judgment again. He could feel his predecessors’ relish at the slaughter he unleashed, their mocking laughter at his actions, and a hint of disappointment from his attempt to pull back at the last minute. 

In the end, he had bathed the world in war and done more harm than good. Saving the Worldtree had been too little, too late. 

This is the Twenty-Eighth of your Hundred Reigns.

You have earned the title of Simon the Warlord.

The Warlord: You’ve shed much blood already, but the carnage will never be enough. You are Hastened for five minutes every time you kill someone with a weapon. Every new victim will renew the duration.

“Is that your way of encouraging me to keep hurting people?” Simon asked into the void in anger and distaste. “I will never become one of you.”

The Crimson Throne answered him with silent laughter. 

He woke up again in his bedroom feeling drained, empty, and with an aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. His predecessors were convinced their curse would wear him down into a monster like them in the end; that it was just a matter of time. 

And they might well be right. 

Simon was barely through a fourth of his many lives, and he had already changed so much. Would he be the kind of person capable of saving the world fifty reigns from now? Would he even care enough to try? Or would the Overlord Class condition him to revel in pointless cruelty? 

I can’t become like my father, but the Overlord won’t let me level-up unless I commit monstrous acts. Simon looked at his hands. Condemning an entire civilization to eternal torture barely let me move from level 78 to 79.

What else would it take to bring him to level 80 and beyond? What price would he need to pay to reach the heights of power he needed to defeat the Zodiac Fiends? The number of foes he could guiltlessly slay was dwindling, and he couldn’t just dissociate himself mentally from ever-escalating atrocities. 

Worse, Simon would never rest easy on the Crimson Throne so long as Louis lived. The madman might bide his time for a few months, but only to feed on conflict for the sake of growing stronger. He would never stop aiming to destroy the Worldtree unless branded or dead. 

Simon couldn’t take him down right now. Euphemia believed they would take casualties when they discussed his elimination a few reigns back, and though Simon had grown stronger since, her warning still rang true. Many would die, and allying with either party at court led to disaster down the line. 

Even if he found a way to deal with Louis, would it be for the best? Leading Endymion required him to deal with so many moving parts that he could find little time to research personal projects or further his strengths. He always ended up pursuing too many targets at once and making little progress on each front. 

Simon had sworn once that he would become the strongest being on Brimir and put Louis in his place. What happened at the Sanctuary only hardened his resolve to fulfill that vow.  

One day. 

I’m not ready yet. Simon had already reached that conclusion earlier in the last reign, and his last battle only hammered that point home. I must master what I already have before I can truly rule.

There was still so much he needed to learn about eidolons, Techniques, crafting, spellcraft, and so much more. He should dedicate a reign to mastering each of them until he could use his existing abilities to their fullest.

This would give him time to think and ponder how to deal with the Overlord Class’ influence over his mind. Simon had to figure out a way to retain his humanity now while he still cared enough to try and do good. 

He had already fallen too far down the slippery slope as it was. 

—-------

Simon spent the first two hours of his reign doing something utterly new: writing down and visualizing all the paths available to him. 

He first eliminated those he lacked the strength and resources to fully tackle yet. Breaking into Gargauth’s Chest of Worlds topped the list at the moment. Although Simon was confident he could now defeat Vouivre at the beginning of his reigns, the pocket dimension's defenses had badly wounded her even after she harnessed the Beast Crestone’s immense power. Simon didn’t think he could defeat her himself in that state, and hence decided to wait a bit until he tackled a Dungeon capable of threatening her life. He also excluded ruling in the open as Overlord for now. 

In spite of eliminating these options, so many of them had opened up that he didn’t know where to start. He could go eidolon hunting, track down the Five Sovereigns, and investigate what happened to Culebre and Carbuncle; he could go to Fablan to learn and practice new Techniques with the Monk or other local masters; he could return to Cocagne to ask Remedia to teach him magic, visit Rhapta to recover the Archer crystal, work with Justine Eligos and other experts on awakening his Remembrances… the number of options was dizzying. 

Moreover, he had a Devour Crestone slot to fill. Fast Travel didn’t interest Simon that much since he was potentially one level away from casting Tier VIII teleportation spells anyway, but he knew how to obtain multiple useful Crestones like the Rogue, the Bard, the Beast, and the Monk. Only the Crafter remained out of his grasp for now, besides the utterly unobtainable Oracle and Librarian. 

Should he focus on filling that slot, or strengthening his basics? Simon was still pondering this question by the time his sister barged into his bedroom. 

“Simon, you are already awake?” Lauriane strode forward like she did so many times without asking for permission. She had always been welcome in this room. “Good. We don’t have much time.”

Simon stared at his sister a moment, a rush of conflicting emotions overwhelming him. He couldn’t erase the fresh memories of her plot to destroy the Worldtree out of his mind so easily. He would have trusted Lauriane with his life once, but she hadn’t hesitated to lie to him and silence his imps when she realized he wouldn’t approve of her actions. 

Lauriane frowned at him with sincere concern. “Simon, is there something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Simon replied. He only had to take a look at her expression of relief to forgive everything. “Nothing at all.”

His sister ultimately loved him unconditionally. She was the only one who truly cared about Simon among their house of vipers, and it was Balzam Magnos’ fault for turning that quality into a vice through his heartless manipulations. 

Simon didn’t have the heart to condemn Lauriane for something he was guilty of himself. He too had reacted with extreme violence when it came to protecting his loved ones. He had no moral high ground from which to condemn her. 

However, he would have to live with the knowledge that his beloved sister was willing to deceive him for what she perceived as his own good. It left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Simon decided to buy some time by naming Laurent Linconnu as the heir in the revised will, reliving events he had already experienced many times. Standing near Louis had somehow become even more unsettling. The more he observed his brother, the clearer it became that he had mistaken detachment for self-control. That man hid his all-consuming madness and cruelty behind an airtight mask of sanity. 

Louis Magnos truly was his father’s son. 

Is he your creation too? Did you twist him like you did Lauriane, Thalas, Norbelle, and the rest of us? Simon wouldn’t put anything past Balzam Magnos anymore. His touch had rotted their family to its roots. Louis was truly your masterpiece, Father. 

Rabid dogs had to be put down or chained, and it now fell on Simon to bring him to heel. 

That would take some time and preparation, so he visited Shabram’s office as soon as everyone dispersed to chase after every Laurent Linconnu in the realm. 

“Here are our files on Prince Louis, his fiancé Isabelle Barbatos, and every person of interest associated with them,” Shabram told Simon upon handing him a pile of Imperial Intelligence documents. “Must I take it as a sign we will move against the War Party?”

“Eventually.” Simon would destroy Louis physically, mentally, and socially. He would turn his allies against him, break his arrogant pride, and then either kill or enslave him. “I need greater strength before I can move against my brother.”

“Your Majesty has many avenues to achieve this goal,” Shabram replied. “Your father cultivated many alliances. Any viceroy would be more than happy to mentor the new Overlord.”

“True… hand over their files to me too.” Perhaps it would give Simon inspiration on what to do with this reign. “Shabram?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“You betrayed Navarre and committed heinous crimes in our empire’s name.” Simon took a sharp breath. “Do you feel any remorse for what you have done?”

Shabram was one of the few people who had yet to betray or deceive him. Even Belzemine, Eole, and Anna had all turned against him in one reign or another depending on the circumstances. He trusted her advice and insight. 

Shabram considered his question before giving a small nod. “I do feel some regrets over what I have done to protect my clan and House.”

“How do you… How do you deal with the guilt?” 

“I stay in touch with my friends and I visit my enemies’ graves, to remind myself of why I did what I did and the cost I had to pay to survive.”

“You visit your enemies’ graves?” Simon frowned in slight surprise. He didn’t take Shabram for that kind of person. “Can you elaborate?”

“Saving my clan required the sacrifice of people I once called friends and allies.” Shabram looked a little nostalgic for a moment, though it didn’t last. “They were not so different from me in the end. Visiting their graves reminds me I could have easily ended up buried in the sand too, had I made a mistake or chosen differently. It gives me… perspective, I suppose.”

Simon pondered her words for a moment. Much like Lauriane, he had to admit he only cared about his loved ones or people he knew. He probably would not have felt any remorse for what happened at the Sanctuary had he not personally met its people and lived among them, and he certainly hadn’t thought twice about ravaging Valne and Muse. 

It was so much easier to kill strangers than friends. 

Shabram might be onto something. Visiting the places Simon had destroyed might give him perspective and renew his empathy for others. 

“May I ask why Your Majesty is asking me this?” Shabram inquired. “I know many dances capable of easing the mind and soul, should you desire it.”

“No, I don’t want it to get any easier.” Simon changed the subject. “What do you know about Muse? I recall that its Crafter only interacts with the wider republic through their constructs and apprentices, yet I know for a fact both the Cobweb and the Adventurer were able to contract them.”

“Contracting the Crafter is not such a hard task. They regularly take private commissions through approved intermediaries.” 

Like giant mechanical Champions? Simon wondered if the Crafter was simply too busy working on those war machines to bother with social interactions. Still, there’s something shady about this situation...

Alcyone had been unusually tight-lipped about the Crafter when they discussed them in previous reigns, when she otherwise couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. She wouldn’t be so guarded if they were a mere introverted old man.

Simon had considered approaching her to use as an intermediary to approach the Crafter, but besides the fact that he wasn’t in a hurry to face her so soon after they tried to kill each other, he wasn’t sure bringing himself to her attention would be the right move. He needed anonymity to train and practice in peace without his myriad of enemies potentially tracking him down or putting two and two together. 

Thankfully, Shabram offered an alternative solution. “If Your Majesty would like to approach the Crafter, I would suggest attending Muse’s Planetary Exposition.”

“The Planetary Exposition?” The term sounded familiar to Simon. He recalled reading about it in his bookworm years before the reigns. “Isn’t that a science fair?”

“Yes, it is the foremost scientific gathering of the so-called free world,” Shabram confirmed. “Tinkers, artificers, and wondermakers of all sorts gather there to show off their inventions. We strongly suspect that the Crafter uses the event to identify potential apprentices.”

Interesting. Simon wondered if he could infiltrate the exposition with his own crafting skills. “And where will it be held this year?”

“The Musan port of Lampwick, Your Majesty.”

“I… I see.” Simon stared back at the files, mustered his courage, and then nodded to himself. “Then I suppose I’ll have to buy a ticket.”

—----------

Since Imperial Intelligence had plotted to infiltrate Muse for years, Shabram easily conjured up a cover identity out of thin air and paperwork. 

Simon Magnos would become Simon Belias, an Endymian refugee of Magvolian descent fleeing oppression in his native country for his royalist opinions and emigrating to Muse in search of a better life. A sadly common tale nowadays. 

He took a few other measures to ensure he could still guide the empire in his absence, first by branding both Shabram and Belzemine, then teaching the latter how to use Overlord Call. His plan was to install a Dungeon in Muse and then create a teleportation bridge between the two nations so he could operate in both at his leisure. 

“You wish to sabotage the War Party by feeding Her Grace incriminating evidence?” Shabram asked with a slight frown. 

“Subtly.” Simon had learned to his chagrin that Louis never fully trusted Shabram and wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate her, so he didn’t want to endanger her. “You will approach Euphemia with information about the elven conspiracy and share your suspicions that Louis murdered his father with a weapon he received from them, which he keeps stocked in his Armory.”

“This will guarantee a civil war down the line.”

“Yes, but it will start on Euphemia’s terms, and the truth will sow division in the War Party.” Lauriane and Dassein would both think twice about supporting their father’s killer, especially one who allied with the Illusean foe beyond the sea. “I need to destroy Louis’ powerbase in preparation for his physical elimination, while destroying other undesirable elements like the Cobweb before they can become threats to us.”

Shabram’s frown deepened. “I will follow Your Majesty’s plans, but wouldn’t it be easier if you simply assumed the throne? You clearly have enough power to ally with a party at court and secure your inheritance.”

“I don’t want to ally with them, Shabram.” He had already made that mistake twice. “I want to subsume them. We will simply prioritize taking out Louis first.”

“I see…” Shabram stroked her chin with renewed enthusiasm. “Your Majesty intends to weaken the factions at court, let them alienate our citizens with their feuds, and then return as the empire’s savior. The people will beg you to restore order.”

“Yes…” Simon hadn’t considered that course of action, but it might actually be a good solution to the civil war: bleed both factions dry and then return as a peacemaker. “Yes, something like that.” 

Simon gave Shabram all the intel she required to follow his plan—including orders to deal with Casval before he could threaten Anna at the Academy—then settled his other affairs. Meeting Eole again after what happened last reign was… a bit difficult… but he had grown sadly used to it by now. The words he uttered were the same he had fed her so many times before about visions of disaster should she stay in Telluria, before advising her to return to the Sanctuary for both her own safety and warn her people about Nodens’ eventual breakout. This should convince Alcyone to focus on helping them rather than interfere with the incoming civil war. They were all better off without Endymion ever learning of the floating archipelago’s existence.  

At least Eole granted him a feather of friendship again before she flew home, which warmed his heart a bit.

Afterwards, he briefly visited the Honorius family in Telluria to brand them and teach Duchar Overlord Call, then secretly boarded a merchant ship to Muse with fake papers and other documents. He informed no one in his family about his destination. It saddened him to leave Lauriane and Anna in the dark, but he had ensured their safety and he wasn’t ready to confront them for now. 

Repeating the same role over and over again wore on his nerves. 

The trip would take weeks, which Simon used to study Shabram’s files in order to better familiarize himself with Muse’s geography, history, and political system. The youngest nation on Brimir, the republic was a thriving economic power and a vibrant democracy where every citizen could vote for representatives. These representatives gathered in one of two chambers—the other being formed of a motley of local stakeholders like merchants, judges, and old families—that then selected the head of government, who worked in conjunction with the Crafter to lead the nation to prosperity. 

The regime vaguely resembled Valne and Cocagne while seeming far more egalitarian, in that merchant-princes and powerful families actually had to share power with the common people. The head of government being an elected official with a limited mandate was also an interesting innovation, though Simon wondered how they could get anything done when their leaders changed every seven years. 

Overall, the journey was rather peaceful… up until the seventh day, when a fog rose out of nowhere on an otherwise calm sea. The ship stopped dead in its tracks, and the captain summoned every passenger onto the deck with his whistle. Dozens upon dozens of refugees, sailors, and merchants gathered there in a rising chorus. 

“What’s happening?!” Simon heard passengers complain to the crew. “Why did we stop?!”

The captain, a grizzled sailor with more years than white hair, let out a heavy sigh. “Toll collection.”

It only took Simon a glance at the fog to realize it was suffused with miasma. By the time the shadowy outline of a rotten black ship appeared out of the mist to intercept them, he had already guessed whom he had to blame for this mess. 

“Yes, yes, dear travelers, I’m afraid this is a robbery.” Amadeus Voltobauta politely saluted his victims from his pirate ship’s deck like the gentleman he was, then pointed his Musan musket at them. “Now, would you kindly part ways with your worldly valuables, or with your lives?”

A/N: as always, here are Simon's end of reign stats (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sxzRDcGHchopfUHMNIS6CSPhuBc0IIr4QJnnBJGXFiA/edit?usp=sharing ); see you soon for Workshop of Wonders!