Chapter 3: The One Act Play (1) | The Hundred Reigns
The Imperial Family hadn't yet begun to tear itself apart by the time Simon and Lauriane reached the Emperor's chambers. He wasn't sure whether he should count himself lucky for it, or not.
"Is there no other way?" Simon wondered out loud, though he already knew the answer.
"I'm afraid so," Lauriane confirmed. "Anyone with an information-gathering Class or sufficient mana-sensitivity will learn the truth the moment they pay any attention to you. I know Father had an Anathemic Secrecy Overlord skill, making him impervious to divination magic, but I can't say which level you have to be at to unlock it."
Simon scowled. Come to think of it, would levels carry over from one reign to another? Would he be able to avoid this entire charade in the future, or would he have to suffer through it again and again?
Whatever the case, he was now within minutes of confronting a bunch of overpowered murderous relatives about to start a civil war. Saying that he was on edge would have been an understatement.
"I believe your plan will work, at least for a time," Lauriane reassured him, though the last part didn't exactly put his heart at ease. "It is quite the bold and cunning one, if I say so myself. I didn't think you had it in you."
"Just because I didn't want to participate in local intrigues doesn't mean that I never pay attention," Simon replied, his hands clenching into fists to hide the shaking. He had picked up a few things about the palace's power blocs and how they operated.
Would that save him? He had to hope for the best.
They entered their father's quarters right as Louis began to question the empress. "–ouldn't happen to know how the assassin sneaked into father's chambers undetected, stepmother?"
"Your father and I have slept apart for years now, boy," Empress Euphemia replied with an acerbic tone.
"It is no wonder why," the crown-prince replied mockingly. "Father would have died of fright much earlier otherwise."
Like a rehearsal to slaughter. Simon grit his teeth as everyone reached out for their swords, having already heard this conversation once before. His gaze lingered on his father's corpse. Though his final expression was that of a scowl, he wondered if the bastard had planned all of this as a final curse upon his own house. Did you hope we would all kill each other, Father? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?
"Your Grace!" one of the ministers protested. This time, Simon identified him as Patriate Malphas, the empire's Treasurer. "Please calm down–"
The Keeper of the Throne appeared at this point, right on time to interrupt the inevitable bloodshed with his testament in hand.
Simon feigned passivity as he and Lauriane hung in the back of the room. He paid more attention to the people present rather than the Keeper's announcement, especially the empress.
Euphemia Magnos-Agares was often described as the empire's most beautiful woman, and lived up to the tales. A tall and curvy lady with a long braid the color of dark honey falling to her waist, she possessed the demon-tainted golden eyes of the empire's heartlands. Unlike most noble ladies, she was no doll or princess caked in makeup and jewels; she was a retired commander who favored embroiled black dresses and a gilded torc encrusted with the Judge's Crestone.
Her ownership of one of the original Classes from which all others derived made her fearsome enough, but Simon also knew that a holy third eye dwelled hidden beneath the golden tiara on her forehead. It allowed her to see mana, and most importantly, summon sacred eidolons into battle. She was probably the strongest person in the room, except maybe Louis himself.
She should have been able to notice Simon's new Class with a glimpse had she paid him any close attention, but he remained beneath her notice… until the Keeper completed its reading of the testament.
"I do hereby bequeath my Class, throne, and titles to my chosen heir," the Keeper said, before moving on to the additions to the text. "Simon Magnos."
Although he had ordered the Keeper to add these words himself and mentally prepared himself for what came next, Simon couldn't help but freeze in place as the entire imperial court suddenly remembered his presence. Individuals wielding the most powerful Classes in the land suddenly focused on him, frowning, scowling, gawping in disbelief, or chuckling in Louis' case.
"Is this a joke?" Thalas asked what everyone had on their minds, while his mother finally focused on Simon. No doubt she was trying to sense his Class. "The bastard, the new Overlord?"
"Do you see the Class icon, brother?" Louis asked Simon. He had never called him brother before—because he usually never paid attention to him—but he managed to make it sound pleasant enough. "Check the edge of your gaze."
"I…" Simon gulped, which was in no way faked. He could almost taste the tension in the air. "I think I do…"
"Activate it," the empress ordered with a tone that brooked no opposition. "Now."
Well, if she asked so nicely… "Overlord."
Simon transformed the moment he uttered the word, a cloak of miasma swirling around him and summoning the Overlord armor. Thalas' astonished face filled him with immense pleasure, but the moment lasted until he caught onto Louis' undecipherable gaze and the dark scowl forming on the empress' face. The generals present also exchanged glances. Each of them had sworn allegiance to the Overlord, and a specific brand enforced their loyalty to the Crimson Throne. Simon had no idea if that oath of service extended to him as father's successor, and he was pretty sure the generals themselves didn't know either.
"You…" Thalas' expression turned from shock to baleful fury. "Murderer!"
He closed the gap between them in a flash and tossed Simon against a wall.
Simon's vision briefly went white as Thalas' arm pressed against his throat and lifted him up. The Overlord armor offered a measure of protection, but Thalas had so many levels and skills to enhance his strength that he didn't need to transform to choke him.
"Thalas!" Lauriane immediately changed into her Spellblade Class outfit, a white, rounded helmet, a black mouth veil, and a dark cloak, appearing in an instant. A fencing silver sword coursing with magic materialized in her hands, its blade pointed at her half-brother. "Unhand him now!"
"He murdered Father to steal his Class!" Thalas snarled back. "He's a bastard through and through!"
The tension only grew heavier as everyone reached out for their weapons. Simon held his breath as the bloodbath he had tried to avert seemed back on its tracks…
At least, until his precautions unfolded.
"Should my heir perish before three years of rule from my death, then his Class shall pass on to a citizen of my empire chosen at random, which the Crimson Throne will deem worthy," the Keeper continued reading the edited testament while ignoring the ruckus around it. "Otherwise, the Class shall pass on through the appropriate Overlord tradition. This clause shall last until three years have passed since my heir assumed the throne."
The shock of the announcement froze everyone in place and briefly delayed the chaos. The empress and Louis' eyes widened in surprise at the same time, while the room erupted in whispers and chatter. "A random pick?" "Someone outside the royal family?" "Is this a joke?"
"What do you mean, a citizen chosen at random?" Lauriane asked the Keeper, who remained mute. She feigned frustration before turning to Louis. "Can Father do that?"
"I cannot say," Louis replied, his expression thoughtful.
The empress suspiciously squinted at Simon. "The Class seems to have passed on to him through your father's testament… unless he killed his own father and ordered the Keeper to put on a show."
"I did no such things!" Simon half-lied. "How was I supposed to approach Father?! I wasn't allowed into his quarters as a bastard, and I was denied a Class until I attended the Military Academy!"
"Liar!" Thalas snapped in fury, a gilded spear materializing in his free hand. Simon's heartbeat skipped a beat as his half-brother prepared to skewer him where he stood. "You murdered your own father to steal–"
Agnes Firewand suddenly raised her palm close to Thalas' face, searing blue flames swirling between her fingers. "Your Grace," she said very calmly. "I must ask you to release the Overlord."
Thalas grit his teeth. "You dare threaten me, slave?!"
"I have no choice." Agnes unveiled a bit of her robes covering her neckline and revealed a bloody slave tattoo burning against her skin. "My brand compels me to protect the Overlord from all threats, whoever he might be."
The slave mark hasn't faded away? Simon glanced at Firewand and then the generals, who all seemed ready to transform at a moment's notice to defend their new liege. Father's orders and oaths endure beyond death.
Unfortunately, Thalas seemed very determined to go through with killing him from the way he clenched his spear. Lauriane and the others would no doubt intervene, but Thalas could kill Simon with a single blow. He was only level 1 after all. He had to think fast.
An idea crossed Simon's mind. Here goes nothing.
"Slaves, generals," Simon said. "If anyone kills me, I want you to slay them and all their accomplices at any cost."
"Understood," Agnes Firewand immediately replied, even as gasps of shock spread through the room.
"What did you say, bastard?" Thalas asked, straining the word as if it hurt to hear it.
"You heard me, Thalas." Simon faced his half-brother with all the weight of his contempt for the arrogant asshole. "Firewand and the others are still compelled to defend me, which means an Overlord's commands carry beyond his death. They will have to fulfill my wish even if you kill me now."
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Thalas glanced at the generals readying their swords with disdain. "I'm stronger than any of our father's slaves."
"But all of them together? In a closed room with all your supporters within reach?" Simon scoffed. "With Louis' group nearby?"
That did it. While Thalas was confident he could take out the generals if need be, the thought of leaving himself open to Louis instantly put him and his supporters on edge. The empress herself shifted her attention to the crown prince as he observed the scene with pure amusement.
"That's right, maybe you'll win, but certainly not unscathed. What do you think the other side of the family will do next?" Simon pointed at the Keeper. "Not to mention the fact that you've heard Father's testament. Our family will lose the Overlord Class because of your rashness!"
"It's an empty bluff," Thalas replied coldly, though Simon could tell his words had shaken his confidence.
"Really?" Simon leaned forward to better glare at his half-brother through his helmet's slits, then mustered all of his courage. "Then go ahead, try to kill me. See how it goes for you and everyone else."
He matched Thalas' gaze, trying to show no fear. Even though Simon was in no hurry to die again, he knew deep within his bones that death wouldn't stick, and it gave him strength. It gave him confidence, and that shook Thalas to his core.
The deathblow never came.
Louis exploded into laughter all of sudden, breaking the silence and catching everyone's attention.
"You find this funny?" the empress asked dryly while glaring at the crown-prince.
"Don't you understand, stepmother?" Louis taunted her after calming down. "This is Father's foolish attempt to keep the peace between us. He knew we would come to blows should he choose either of us, so he put forward a spare."
A spare? A shiver traveled down Simon's spine. Would Father do that? Of course he would do that, the bastard.
"True…" Lauriane muttered to herself. "Picking Simon would ensure a transition period until we can settle our internal issues."
Simon growled in outrage. "You're saying I'm a sacrificial placeholder? A seat warmer?"
"What other explanation can you think of?" Lauriane pointed out. "You have no allies at court, no major faction's backing, and no other high-level Class to defend your newly-won title with. Why pick someone like you except to buy time?"
The worst part was that this guess was possibly right. Simon had wondered about his father's motives for picking him, and that one made some degree of sense… though his last message to his bastard son might say otherwise. Perhaps Balzam Magnos simply relished the thought of his children tearing themselves apart for supremacy.
"I am still not convinced he didn't do it and had the Keeper lie on his behalf," the empress said, her gaze firmly settled on Simon. "That ghost is bound to obey whoever holds the Overlord Class. The testament might not hold any weight."
"If I may," a voice interjected. "I have ways of confirming Lord Simon's culpability."
The speaker was Shabram Gremory, the imperial court's spymaster. A buxom and beautiful pale woman with emerald eyes and cascading hair the shade of dark coal, she dressed in the fine silk and golden jewels of her southern homeland. A navy blue turban hid her shameful beastmen ears to those who found her race's presence in the castle inappropriate.
"Lord Simon bears no resistance to divination spells, unlike everyone else in this room, and I have kept all of His Late Majesty's bastards under close watch," the spymistress said. "It will be child's play to demonstrate either his innocence or culpability in his father's murder."
"Spare me your drivel, beastwoman," the empress replied with venom. "Neither your spells nor your intelligence network helped save my husband. We ought to fire you on the spot for this blunder."
The spymistress held the empress' gaze. "As I said: nearly everyone in this room has protection against divinations… and many had access to His Late Majesty's quarters."
Thalas glared and pointed his spear at her. "Are you accusing us of murdering Father, witch?"
"I'm not accusing anyone, Your Highness," she replied calmly, "I'm just saying we have plenty more suspects to investigate than our new Overlord."
Princes of blood and ministers alike exchanged glances.
There was not a single honest person in this room, and they all knew it.
The empress quietly reached a decision of some kind. "Thalas, release Simon."
"But–" The empress silenced her son with a glare, causing Thalas to let go of him. Simon immediately gasped for air, with Lauriane immediately moving between his and the empress' supporters.
"You would be wise to transfer your Class to another, if you can," the empress warned Simon. "You will spare yourself many troubles."
If only she knew how much they agreed on that…
"Keeper, can I transfer the Overlord class without dying?" Simon inquired for the second time today.
"No," the specter replied bluntly. "There is no possibility of surrender or abdication. An Overlord's reign only ends in death."
"Then I say we first confirm whether or not Simon could have slain our father," Lauriane suggested. "If his innocence is proven… then we must assume Father's testament is binding."
The empress' jaw clenched in annoyance. "Simon, you will stay here for now under constant surveillance. It would do us no good if my husband's assassin found its way to you until we can settle this."
Afraid the Overlord Class will leave your dynasty, aren't you? Simon thought while suppressing the urge to spit. "Fine."
"Worry not, brother," Louis said with a devious smile. "I will have my personal guard ensure your safety."
"So will mine," the empress said immediately, silencing Thalas' protest with a glare. The palace's factions had agreed on an uneasy truce for the moment.
"No thanks," Simon replied, his gaze turning on Firewand. "I already have a personal bodyguard."
Inwardly, Simon was relieved to see his plan had worked. He had hesitated about what to write in the message for a long time, even knowing he might have more than one chance to figure out the best option available.
Simon had visited the capital's grand market often enough to learn the value of time limits. Sellers used them to put pressure on buyers, until they obsessed over the fading time rather than price. Three years wasn't a terribly long time, so the schemers at court could envision themselves killing him and claiming the Overlord Class after the period had passed rather than immediately scheme to find a loophole in Father's testament. Knowing they had a relief period—and that the Class would escape the family's clutches should Simon die prematurely—would cause the various factions to focus on preparing and finding the killer rather than take rash action now.
In short, Simon had bought everyone time.
Himself included.
Simon spent the rest of the day under house arrest in his quarters, which he had to share with Firewand and soldiers provided by the generals, while Louis and Euphemia posted some of their knights outside.
Since he was barred from transforming for now, he instead spent that time furiously rereading A Brief History of Endymion and An Introduction to Classes in the hope of finding a loophole in the Overlord Class… and failing miserably.
Everyone knew that leveling up in a Class required the appropriate Crestone, a rune-carved manalith which allowed users to channel them. Someone would retain the skills and levels they had already gained should they lose their Crestone, but they wouldn't be able to progress in it further.
Unfortunately, there was a major exception: namely, the Crimson Throne of Endymion was the Overlord Class' Crestone; and unlike all others, it didn't require proximity to its holder to work. The device bonded to its master's very soul.
No one quite understood how Mardok had created the Crimson Throne to this day. Historians said it had been crafted during the Year of Doom when cataclysms tore the world apart four centuries back through lost demonic magic, and that the First Overlord had everyone involved in its creation murdered to keep its secrets under wraps. The only thing scholars knew for certain was that the Overlord Class used a corrupted form of mana called miasma as its power source.
In short, no one understood how the Crimson Throne worked except perhaps the Overlords, and they had been careful never to share anything.
Then again, maybe they simply couldn't, Simon thought as he closed his book after another fruitless search. Not with their own Class killing them whenever they spilled something they shouldn't have.
"Your Majesty will find no answer in these books," Firewand said. She had been observing him closely, but offered no help. Simon had the suspicion that she didn't particularly like him, even if she was bound to obey his orders.
"Where then?" Simon asked in annoyance. "You've served more than one Overlord; surely you've picked up a few things."
"To serve and to be trusted are two very different things," the elf-slave replied calmly. "All your predecessors kept their secrets to themselves, and their successors had to rediscover them from scratch."
In short, she would be of no help. Wonderful.
His door opening drew him out of his morose mood. Lauriane walked in with a grim scowl on her face.
"So?" Simon asked, dreading the answer.
"You are innocent, but not out of hot water yet."
Shabram's investigation of Simon didn't last long.
According to Lauriane, both the Keeper and the autopsy of Balzam's corpse indicated that the emperor had perished at one and a half in the morning, a time during which Simon was in his room according to multiple divination spells. The night staff had also checked on him at one and two in the morning to find him sleeping. Simon always suspected that they were paid to keep an eye on the royal bastards, but it was good to have confirmation.
Simon's innocence thus narrowed down the list of suspects to only a good dozen. The empero