Chapter 4: The One Act Play (2) | The Hundred Reigns
The empire's High Council gathered on the morrow to debate Simon's proposal. He wasn't invited to the deliberations, but when Lauriane came to bring him to Frightwall Castle's dungeon, he knew they had tentatively accepted his offer.
There were two ways for a man to gain experience and level up. The first was to act according to the archetype of their Class, so that the soul would grow in tune with the Crestone. An Alchemist had to practice his craft, and a Warrior to train with his blade.
The second, and the quickest, was to fight and kill.
The state always kept a few prisoners alive in its dungeons so Class users could sharpen their claws, though others with useful skills often received a slave brand instead. The dungeon of Endymion's Frightwall Castle held six prisoners scheduled for execution as far as Simon knew.
Lauriane guided him up towards the dungeon on the second floor, to a set of bronze doors adorned with gruesome carvings of demons massacring the Overlord's enemies. They walked past them into the dungeon's foyer, a vast room tiled with blood-red marble and an ebony altar. Four prisoners were forced to kneel atop it, bound and gagged, under the watchful gaze of mages beholden to the court's two main parties. Simon guessed they were there to take notes on his leveling.
Gourmand the Jester was here too.
"The old master is dead, all hail the new master!" Gourmand greeted Simon with that annoying voice of his. "All crows in the realm weep for your father, who fed them so well!"
"Thank them for the eulogy," Simon replied dryly. He guessed that one silver lining about this situation would be that he could finally fire the creep.
Father's pet jester and executioner—the two went hand-in-hand—Gourmand was one of the most repulsive creatures in the late Overlord's employ. A gaunt scarecrow of a skeletal undead clad in a motley outfit of green and black leather with its own hood, he cut quite the intimidating figure with the sharp, curved scythe he always carried with him. Pale yellow eyes glowed in his painted skull's empty sockets, and his teeth stretched into a bloody grin.
Gourmand had always been Father's pet, largely because Balzam Magnos rarely settled on simply executing political dissidents; no, he always loved to make a spectacle out of it. Gourmand's macabre performances included juggling with freshly bloodied skulls or throwing a mermaid out of a window to show the court a 'flying fish.' Half the courtiers hated him, but he didn't particularly care. His job provided him with a steady diet of souls on which to feed his gruesome appetite.
"The good Gourmand has prepared you a most fitting feast," the jester said as he waved his scythe at the four prisoners on the altar. "A minstrel appetizer, a killer starter, a charlatan for the main course with a sauce of false piety, and a live ogre for dessert!"
Simon glanced at the prisoners. All of them were men, though only three were humans. The fourth's bulkiness, orange skin, and tusks identified him as a man-eating ogre. Their kind often served in the imperial army as shock troops, but most were barely better than savage predators and highwaymen.
The first poor soul on the chopping block was a handsome, boyish young male with sandy hair and a wisp of a mustache, silently weeping beneath his blindfold. He had been stripped naked, his skin showing bruises and other marks of beating.
"You are to kill them one after the other, with the mages recording your level and new abilities after each execution," Lauriane explained while handing Simon a sharp sword, her expression stern and resolute. "We will repeat the process until you unlock the Anathemic Secrecy perk."
At which point, they'll never let me level up again for the rest of my life. As Simon guessed, the empress and Louis only wanted him to be just strong enough to hide his identity, but not enough to become a threat. "I only see four prisoners out of six."
"The missing two have Vassal Class levels," Lauriane replied. "Killing them might provide you with too much experience."
"And the sixth is such a pretty little thing," Gourmand said. "Your father wanted to check out the goods in case she was worthy of receiving pillow amnesty, if you know what I mean..."
Simon shuddered at the euphemism. His Father often chose to enslave female prisoners so he could take them as concubines and had sired at least one bastard that way.
He gathered his breath and summoned his Overlord armor. However, the sword grew heavier in his hands when the prisoner whimpered at his feet. From the awful smell rising in the room, he had soiled himself.
"What did he do?" Simon inquired hesitantly.
"He sang off-key!" Gourmand cackled. "That should spell death for any singer!"
"He drugged and raped at least three women," Lauriane replied with disgust. "Does that make it easier on your soul, brother?"
Simon's tongue clicked in his mouth. She had seen through him easily enough. He had never killed a man, let alone a bound one. It felt dirty.
Simon tried to tell himself that it would only be temporary, that the man had it coming and would return from the dead the moment this reign ended anyway, yet it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He could feel the gaze of his captors on his back.
"Just close your eyes and focus," Lauriane suggested. "Picture yourself before a log of wood. You've cut wood before, yes?"
Yes, he did, back when he lived with his commoner mother. Those early years seemed so distant that he could barely remember her face, yet those times felt so much happier than the long years he spent in Frightwall Castle.
Simon closed his eyes, and he had to admit that visualizing a log of wood helped. It is you or them, he told himself, his hands tightening their grip on the sword. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. They'll be back once the clock turns back.
He brought down the blade and chopped a soft piece of wood clean. He heard liquid splattering his armor, the unpleasantness of the sound swiftly replaced by the rush of energy rising from deep within his soul. He sensed power coursing through his veins like lightning and words floating in his mind.
Level 2 Perk Unlocked: Unyielding Essence I (Passive): Immune to Instadeath, Petrify, Polymorphy, and Curse effects, except self-inflicted ones.
So that's how it feels to level up, Simon thought as he basked in the sensation. His heartbeat quickened, and shivers of pleasure traveled down his spine. The rush was brief but intense, like the afterglow of passionate sex or a sense of triumph after a hard-won victory.
And all it cost was the life of a man. The tide of guilt returned the moment he opened his eyes to stare at the beheaded corpse at his feet. By the Light, there was blood everywhere.
Simon had watched enough executions to grow numb to the sight, but it nonetheless left a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had just killed a man with his own hands. Worst of all, Gourmand had picked the severed head and gave it a bloody kiss on the lips. A faint shimmer of ectoplasmic substance floated out of the dead man and into the jester's mouth. Simon had heard Gourmand had to steal a soul within a minute of death or risk losing it, but his eagerness was all for gluttony with no practicality.
"Delightful," he cackled while putting the head in a bloody sack. "So full of pride and vanity… those taste the best!"
Simon suppressed a shiver of distaste at the sight. Father had allowed Gourmand to feast on the souls of the dead because it allowed the jester to extract some of their stolen memories, and so they would never reincarnate.
"Is that truly necessary?" Simon wondered out loud in disgust. "Death is punishment enough."
"This is standard procedure," Lauriane reminded him. "These souls might hold information that could prevent future victims."
"Indeed, good Gourmand is so very useful," the jester said with a mock bow. "Would it please Your Majesty to learn the name of the alchemist who sold this singer the sleeping draught he used to steal kisses from fair maidens?"
Simon ground his teeth in distaste and remained quiet. He had the feeling this only amused the awful jester.
The mages cast spells on Simon to read his stats and took notes. Lauriane glanced at them, nodding to herself. "Ailment immunities. Useful."
"You didn't know Father had it?"
"I didn't know the content of his Perks nor his defenses' limits, no. Which makes me wonder what could kill him in one blow… or whom." Lauriane bit her lip and then commanded that the next sacrifice be brought forward with a pitiless taskmaster's resolve. "Next."
"You've done this before," Simon guessed.
"We all did." She took a long, deep breath. "It's a family tradition. Get used to it."
And perhaps that was the problem. Simon turned to the second prisoner after the mages dragged the first one's corpse away. He was bigger, with a barrel chest, a gut, and a missing arm. "What did this one do?"
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"This man was a well-liked smith and loving husband, until he caught his wife cheating on him with his apprentice." Lauriane sneered at the prisoner with contempt. "Both of whom he beat to death. The city watch had to cut off his arm lest he endanger more in his drunken rage."
"The dead ought to thank Gourmand for eating this soul, for he will spare them another lovers' quarrel," the jester said.
"I see." Simon took a deep breath, then closed his eyes again. He tried once again to imagine himself chopping wood when he lowered his blade on the smith's neck. It didn't make it any easier.
The thrill of a new level did.
The rush of power washed away whatever shame and unease he felt at executing a helpless man. The hit was somehow even greater than last time. The increased stats sharpened his senses and strengthened his arm, filling him with purpose.
Level 3 Perk Unlocked: Dreadful Aura I (Active): You can inflict the Terror ailment on weaker creatures capable of sensing your presence.
"Active?" Simon wondered out loud when he opened his eyes. "How do I activate it?"
"Passive skills are always on, while active ones both require your class outfit and intent to trigger," Lauriane explained while Gourmand hungrily picked up the new rolling head to consume its soul. "In short, you will keep the former even if you lose a Crestone; whereas the latter will become unavailable until you reclaim it. Mentally focus on the Perk to activate it or speak its name aloud."
Simon nodded and immediately put his ability to the test. "Dreadful Aura."
His armor immediately began to exude an intense, invisible pressure. The air grew chillier, and the flames of the nearby torches wavered. The last human prisoner screamed through his gag and wriggled within his bindings in a failed attempt to escape.
Nobody else flinched. Not the mages, not Lauriane, not Gourmand nor the guards. Even the bound ogre seemed unaffected.
They were all stronger than he was.
I'm the Overlord, and still so weak. Then again, Simon recalled that one of the knights boasted about being level forty-seven. He had a very, very long way to go to reach that level.
"I would cancel it if I were you," Lauriane warned him. "Most active Perks consume mana or miasma to function. I've never seen Father run low on power, but you're nowhere near his level yet."
Simon simply had to think about it to suppress the aura. He couldn't explain how it worked. It felt as natural as opening his eyes, or reading a book, like a skill he had internalized so intimately he could practice it in his sleep.
Which is not too far from the truth, Simon thought. Crestones transferred their knowledge and power to their user through experience until their Perks became second nature to them. The wisdom of the past Overlords passed on to me, if you can call it that…
He nearly forgot to ask what the third man did to deserve death. That one was older, much older, with a portly belly and shaved head. He had apparently been a charlatan who falsely proclaimed himself a priest of the Light in order to convince believers to part with their gold. He hadn't killed or raped anyone, but none survived shaming and blaspheming against the state religion unscathed. Simon didn't close his eyes when he brought down the sword this time, and he awaited the rush of power with eagerness. The level-up filled him with newfound vigor.
Level 4 Perk Unlocked: Deathmastery I (Passive): You regain a small portion of your health whenever you slay a living creature.
"It's almost…" Simon pondered the right term when they took the third corpse away. How could he describe the pleasant feeling of being on top of the world, that triumphant rush starkly contrasting with the emptiness that followed its absence? Ah, yes. "Addictive."
"Do not let those feelings cloud your reality," Lauriane warned him sternly. "Each new level is more difficult to obtain than the last. The thrill is good to stay motivated, but should you let it guide your decisions then it will become the master and you the slave."
"Yes, I can see that." Simon wondered if that was what spurred Father to become so cruel. If it took more and more deaths to reach the next level, then perhaps that explained the carnage he sowed. Then again, many have Classes but few are called cruel for it... "It's easier to level-up than I thought it would be."
"Because you're still starting. The thresholds needed to reach a new level increase over time and the stronger you are compared to the opposition, the higher the exp penalty you'll receive."
In short, he was still so weak every death was profitable, but that well would run out eventually.
By the time Simon moved on to behead the ogre, the executions had become almost a chore. The monster's hide was thicker than any man, so Simon had to strike him thrice to chop his head off. At least it was worth the effort. The ogre provided more experience than any other prisoner, enough for two levels rather than one.
Level 5 Perk Unlocked: Darkbound I (Passive): You are immune to miasma in all of its forms and are treated as a Demon for the purpose of magical effects.
Level 6 Perk Unlocked: Devil Brand I (Active): You can mark a willing target with a demonic Brand of Sloth, weakly empowering their stats and increasing their rate of experience gains; in return, you are constantly aware of their location and can telepathically communicate with them through any distance. You may remove the brand at will, inflicting heavy damage on the subject while you do.
Here it was, the dreaded Perk which had allowed his father to raise armies of slaves. Simon knew for a fact that it would eventually evolve into more complex forms like the slave crest Balzam had placed on his slaves and the seal empowering his generals.
Wait a second… Simon's eyes squinted at the words. I can sense their presence and communicate with those with a Brand of Sloth… and Father's slave brands haven't disappeared. Could it be the same for this one?
"You still haven't unlocked the right Perk…" Lauriane stared at Simon and then turned to the mages. "Bring the fifth."
One of them bristled. "The empress does not want him to reach level 10 and beyond."
"According to my calculations, a fifth sacrifice would bring him to level 8 now that he has reached level 6. This should be well within your empress' orders."
Simon noted that Lauriane said 'your' empress instead of 'ours,' a detail that wasn't lost on the mages. Nonetheless, they quickly began to debate the proposal among themselves and decided to give it a try.
"I didn't expect to level up like this," Simon confessed to Lauriane while the mages went to fetch the newest prisoner deeper in the dungeons. "I had hoped I would earn a class at the military academy, grow stronger through training with fellow students, and killing monsters during missions. There's no glory in this."
"You think there is more glory in killing a hundred more on the battlefield, Simon?" Lauriane shrugged her shoulders. "Death is death, and it was them or you."
Her words caused Simon to flinch. He had no idea what the High Council discussed, but from Lauriane's tone they had indeed considered executing him in spite of the risks. Gaining Anathemic Secrecy might be the only thing sparing him a worse fate than house arrest.
"Thank you for your help," he said. "You shall not find me ungrateful."
Lauriane's expression softened slightly. "I wish I could have done more… maybe one day, if an opportunity presents itself."
The mages returned with the fifth prisoner, a gaunt man in his thirties. He looked like the scholarly type at first glance, if a bit unremarkable, yet Simon sensed something strange about him. Something he couldn't put his finger on. Something… unusual.
"Oh, that one smells of levels," Gourmand said with boundless appetite. "Sage… nay, Scholar."
"Isn't that a Vassal Class of the Librarian?" Simon asked.
"It is," Lauriane confirmed. "This man illegally crafted a Vassal Crestone in secret without authorization or permits; knowledge which he obtained by trafficking with a fiend." She glared at Gourmand next. "His knowledge will die with him, glutton."
"Not even a taste?" the jester whined. "Gourmand shall suffer in rhymes!"
"Gourmand will do so in silence, if he wishes to feed again," Lauriane replied frostily. "No secret of Vassal Crestone creation shall escape this room."
It was said that scholars categorized classes in three groups: the Noble Classes, the original ones whose Crestones were crafted by elves in ancient times, each a unique and primordial archetype; Vassal Classes, whose Crestones were created using the core ones as templates; and the Overlord, which stood above and apart from them all.
While there was only one Librarian Crestone in the world, many civilizations managed to create weaker copies by using it as a blueprint. This resulted in more specialized 'Vassal' Classes like the Mathematician, the Scholar, and so on. Part of the Empire of Endymion's success had been its ability to mass-produce those for use in its army, though they remained strictly regulated to ensure the state's monopoly on them.
Simon suddenly noticed a telling detail: that Lauriane never called the prisoners by name. He guessed she did so to make things easier on Simon, because anonymity helped dehumanize them. Names created connections, and severed connections always opened wounds.
I am chopping wood, Simon told himself as he closed his eyes and beheaded the man. The blade cut swifter than before. His hands have grown stronger, quicker. True to Lauriane's prediction, his death was enough to grant him two levels, and one too many.
Level 7 Perk Unlocked: Anathemic Secrecy I (Passive): You cannot be located nor scried upon by divination effects unless you allow it.
Level 8 Perk Unlocked: All-Seeing I (Passive): You can understand any spoken language, even those of animals.
Simon immediately noticed a difference when the mages cast their divination spells on him; namely, he sensed them. He felt their invisible gazes touch him, trying to grab his past and present information to steal his secrets, only to bounce off him like pebbles thrown at a castle wall.
"He has His Majesty's Perk," one of the mages said. "I caught a glimpse of it once he reached level 7."
"His stats are shrouded from our sight," another confirmed. "Our sight fails when we try to learn more."
Lauriane nodded with a hint of relief. "Savor those levels, Simon. Those are the last you will obtain for a very, very long time."
This time, sister. Or at least Simon hoped so. He had no idea whether levels would carry over from one reign to the next. If not, he wasn't looking forward to repeating this process all over again. I hope I won't find out anytime soon.
"What next?" he asked Lauriane.
"I suppose the High Council will meet with y