Chapter 16: In His Highness' Service (5) | The Hundred Reigns
The hunt for Casval went on well into the night, at which point they lost track of him.
Simon should have kept Meredith by his side and sent Leonard instead to warn Dassein. However good a soldier he might have been, Leonard lacked the enhanced Perception stat that might have allowed them to track the flying traitor into the night.
"It would be unwise to approach the Redhands' territory at night," Leonard advised. "Our information may be accurate, or it may be lacking. No soldier should underestimate his foes or enter their territory under unfavorable conditions."
Simon begrudgingly agreed. Knowing that Casval was likely related to the Redhands' recent activities should prove useful on its own, even if they failed to find him in their camp in the morning.
Since they were far away from Beleth, the group elected to set up camp in the Tellurian plains until morning. Leonard had thankfully anticipated a long expedition and brought tents for the trip, alongside rations. Agnes Firewand started a campfire with magic and then raised a ring of magical, smokeless purple flames around the encampment to shield it from anyone daring to approach. Simon found them quite soothing to look at, the same way he liked watching flames in a fireplace. It just eased his nerves.
The group then settled in for the night. Cassandra and Lorimor read documents by the fire, while Firewand listened to Eole playing the oud—with orders to strike her down should she try to magically charm anyone. As for Simon, he decided to practice using the Gladiator Class with Leonard, wielding the burning sword Dassein entrusted him with.
The difference between a Gladiator and the Overlord became quickly apparent the moment they clashed blades. While passive Perks provided benefits at all times, stats only revealed their true power when the user donned their outfit.
Gladiator was faster than Overlord, but its lower level made it feel slower in Simon's hands. Leonard didn't even need to use his pavise to stop his strikes; he simply parried them with his own sword with casual ease.
"You lean too much into your Class, Your Highness," Leonard said, his voice deepened by his Dreadnought armor. "Medium proficiency Perks only offer passable skills. It will allow you to use acceptable moves, but nothing says Your Highness' talent cannot exceed them."
Simon lunged forward, expecting to clash blades again, only for Leonard to sidestep his strike and kick him in the leg. The blow threw him off balance and caused Simon's face to become intimately acquainted with the ground; something which Eole delighted in, considering how her laughter echoed throughout the camp.
"One must make use of the unorthodox, especially Class wielders," Leonard said before planting his sword in the ground and offering Simon his hand to rise up with. "Is Your Highness unhurt?"
"I'm fine, Leonard." Truthfully, Simon preferred a trainer who pushed him rather than coddled him. Perhaps it was the Gladiator in him. "I still have much to learn."
"Your Highness' willingness to do so will serve you well," Leonard said. "Most people with Classes rest on their laurels and rely on the knowledge their Perks grant them as crutches, when they ought to surpass these limitations through training. Every individual with medium proficiencies fights the same, which makes their moves predictable and easy to disrupt."
"So training to use unorthodox moves will give me an advantage because their Classes haven't taught them how to properly react to them," Simon guessed. "Is medium the lowest proficiency level available?"
Leonard nodded sharply. "To my knowledge, there are three levels of proficiency: medium, which grants skills equivalent to a trained soldier; advanced, which is comparable to a specialist; and perfect, which turns the user into a true master of the craft. I am currently at advanced proficiency myself, though I have crossed blades with warriors further along the path."
"And you matched them by training and experience alone?"
"To a point. The gulf between each proficiency rank is vast indeed. However, there are many, many factors that decide a battle's outcome beyond one's skill with a sword." Leonard glanced at the grass beneath their feet. "For example, the ground is rather slippery here, which makes it easier to knock an enemy off-balance; fighting another while facing the sun might blind you at a critical time; and so on. Your Highness needs to maximize all these tiny advantages before battle even begins, and if taken by surprise, you must learn to adapt on the fly to seize them. Only then will you achieve victory."
"I understand." It was refreshing talking with a clear expert in his subject. The likes of Thalas could pester Frightwall's master-at-arms at will whenever they wished for pointers, while Simon had to be content with books. "Is that why you are so fast for a Dreadnought? You somehow managed to mitigate your Class' slow speed?"
"Your Highness is sharp." Leonard smiled faintly before removing his glove and revealing a silver ring on his finger. "I have a Ring of Stat Balance, which debuffs one of my stats to improve another by the same amount. In this case, I weakened my S-ranked Vitality to improve my D-ranked Agility. The Dreadnought already boasts multiple damage-reducing Perks, so it wasn't that much of a trade-off."
Impressive. Leonard had basically optimized his Class by covering its main weakness without sacrificing any big advantages.
"Customizing your Class with magic items also provides the benefit of surprise. Few of my foes ever expect a Dreadnought to charge at them in melee before they can react." Leonard cleared his throat. "But we will continue this discussion and our training another time. Your Highness should get some rest. I will take the first watch for the night."
Gladiator Level 3 Perk: Brave Heart I (Passive): You gain Immunity to Terror.
"Interesting," Simon mused as he cancelled the Gladiator outfit. He immediately felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The Class took a lot more of his mana to stay up than Overlord. "Merely completing this training session levelled up my Gladiator Class."
"Most professional gladiators train under a lanista before they take the stage, so I suppose I have served you in a similar capacity." Leonard bowed. "Rest well, Your Highness."
Simon thanked him for his service, but decided to check on Lorimor and Cassandra first before going to bed. The two were sitting apart from the group, with Cassandra pointing at the sky and Lorimor taking notes based on whatever she told him.
"I see you've been getting along," Simon said upon approaching them. "I hope he hasn't been too much of a bother, Cassandra?"
"Not at all, Your Highness," she replied with a faint smirk. "I am always pleased to meet another student of the Dark."
"As am I, Lady Cassandra," Lorimor replied, and for once he sounded absolutely sincere. "It is so rare to see a young woman with an open mind."
Perhaps I should have introduced him to Duchar earlier after all, Simon thought. He guessed the two creeps would have had much to talk about. Glancing at Lorimor's notes showed that he was recording the stars themselves, most specifically zodiac constellations.
"Are you practicing astrology?" Simon inquired.
"Whoever wrote the documents Your Highness entrusted us with certainly did," Lorimor replied. "From what I gathered, the author was charting the movement of a celestial body due to visit our sky one year from now."
"A celestial body?" Simon blinked. "You mean a comet?"
"Most probably. According to these notes, it will appear in our sky roughly one year from now and cross the constellations. The calculations are so accurate you would believe the author had seen the object with his own eyes."
Because he probably did, Simon thought. It would make sense that some of Balzam Magnos' reigns lasted longer than others, likely even extending further beyond their present time. Simon wondered if his assassination could have been a random stroke of luck on the murderer's part during his father's final reign.
"From what I gather, the author associated each of these 'demonbarrows' with a constellation and believed that the comet crossing that particular part of the sky would let them magically locate these places," Lorimor concluded. "It's pity the author failed to explain why they believed that."
"The movement of celestial bodies has a great influence on magic," Cassandra replied. "The elven astrologer Arimander predicted the Year of the Doom long before it happened by studying the stars. The demonbarrows must magically resonate with the constellations."
In short, Father was likely trying to locate these demonbarrows by studying this comet's movement and then observing how it reacted to magical signatures across the world. The main mystery remained why he was so intent on finding these places. Was it linked to that 'bring down the sky' commandment Simon had found in his father's archive?
He was starting to wonder if he should even be investigating all this. Balzam Magnos' magical obsessions might have nothing to do with the conspiracy aiming to wipe out the Magnos bloodline as far as Simon could tell.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"If Your Highness would allow me to return home, I am certain my muse would help us decipher this mystery," Lorimor said in a blatant attempt to deceive his new liege. "She possesses knowledge beyond compare."
"I would be curious to meet with her as well," Cassandra replied with a smile, as if the prospect of meeting some demonic entity was an entertaining academic pursuit rather than a deadly trap. "Only the most powerful of fiends can aspire to merge their essence with a human vessel's flesh and soul."
"You can forget it," Simon said, immediately shooting it down. "Until you provide more results–"
White hot light illuminated the night in a flash.
The ring of flame around the camp intensified all of a sudden, the fire's brightness growing so intense it almost hurt to look at it. Agnes Firewand and the others bolted to their feet, while Simon instinctively called upon the Gladiator Crestone to transform.
"What is happening?" Leonard asked, his Class outfit on.
"Someone is crossing the barrier," Agnes Firewand said with a scowl before calling upon one of her Crestones. Her outfit changed into sleeveless, form-fitting, dancer-like robes of deep red and pitch blackness. Flames swirled around her arms, and a fire-shaped golden ornament appeared above her head. That had to be the Pyromancer Class outfit.
Crossing the flames? Simon could hardly believe it. The ring was a few meters thick and so hot that it should incinerate anything touching it.
And yet Firewand was right; a figure strolled through the flames with purpose, their shadow untouched by the fire.
"Your Highness, they call you?" a female voice called out from the flames. "I was wondering who were the rats chasing after me all day long."
The figure walked out of the fire and into the camp without a single burn. Simon briefly mistook the stranger for Casval, for the resemblance was uncanny. Clad in golden scale armor covering a green tunic underneath, they boasted the same lilac eyes and blonde hair as Casval, alongside that fair and emotionless face that Anna had found irresistible. They could have been twins, if not for a small detail.
The stranger was a woman.
"You're not Casval," Simon stated the obvious.
"Are you another fool chasing after that failure? How boring." The woman sneered in disdain, her gaze cold and steely. "Your hunt was for naught. I already ate him."
She uttered those words so casually that Simon almost failed to pick up on the horrifying implications.
Thump.
Simon stared at the woman in disbelief. She felt wrong, somehow. Although she bore no weapon, she showed no fear or unease. There was something off about her, something reptilian in her unblinking stare and posture.
Thump, thump, thump.
My heart hurts in my chest… Simon couldn't explain that sensation of dread coursing through his veins. Lorimor and Cassandra appeared to share that unease, the both of them having frozen in place. Every instinct in me tells me to run… like I have entered some beast's den.
Eole appeared to recognize the stranger too, for she had prostrated herself onto the ground before her, her entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind. The only ones unaffected were Leonard and Agnes, and even then they had quickly moved in front of Simon to shield him with their bodies.
"Your Highness," Leonard said, his sword and shield unwavering. "Take a steed as soon as Firewand brings down the barrier and run. Run and do not turn back."
"There is nowhere to flee," the woman said with a scoff. Her gaze lingered on Firewand longer; perhaps she had sensed she was the highest-leveled person among them. "I already had my thralls surround your camp. You are besieged."
Did she mean the Redhands? So they were in league with Casval's conspiracy.
"You're his sister," Simon guessed, upon recalling that Casval mentioned having one. "Casval's sister."
The woman's baleful glare of pure, unadulterated menace sent a chill down his spine.
"Belzemine," she said, stressing that word as if it was supposed to mean something. "Kill everyone except the kish."
"Contagious Human Combustion," Firewand said as she waved her hand.
The world exploded.
The spell struck too fast for Simon to react, doubly so considering who it came from. Every member of his retinue, save Eole, was engulfed in searing purple flames. The brief and awful screams of Lorimor and Cassandra echoed out, with the latter's pain resonating through her Brand of Sloth. He felt her pain, felt her fear, felt the burns and the lethal kiss of fire consuming her flesh.
The purple flames tried to devour Simon too, but no sooner had they touched his skin that he sensed magic snuffing them out. Instead, they flowed towards Leonard and burned him to a crisp inside his own armor, smoke and cinders pouring out of his Dreadnought helmet like charcoal tears. A detonation of hot air shattered it to pieces, throwing Simon back and leaving only a pile of ashes where his retainer used to be.
Simon rolled on the flaming grass, and when he rose back, only ashes and charred bones remained of Leonard, Lorimor, and Cassandra; the sight of their remains drained him of warmth. Eole continued to cower in a corner like a rabbit begging for its life, while Firewand…
Simon couldn't believe his eyes.
Firewand was raising her hand at him, with fire swirling between her fingers. The slave mark on her chest had expanded to cover all of her neckline, throat, and forehead, giving her a baleful look. Her expression remained as unclouded as an empty sky.
She… she had betrayed them?
"I ordered you to kill him," the stranger said. She hadn't even blinked at the slaughter.
"I tried," Agnes Firewand replied without any emotion. "Ser Leonard absorbed the damage."
"A damage transfer ability?" The stranger glanced at Leonard's husk with passing interest. "I see, the Dreadnought took his wounds upon himself. How loyal."
Leonard… Leonard had protected him? Simon didn't even know his retainer had put him under some kind of protective Perk.
He gave his life for mine without hesitation. It had been one thing to listen to Leonard's oath of loyalty, and another to see him fulfill it. He barely knew me, but he still gave his life so the Overlord could survive a moment longer.
Leonard was a true knight, and yet he died with a snap of Firewand's fingers.
"How?" Simon muttered in utter disbelief. Firewand had tried to kill him. Kill. That was impossible. "The mark should compel you to protect me!"
The stranger let out a laugh of pure malice. "Did you really think a dragonlord would keep an elven confidant close to his hoard for two hundred years without slipping in a few backdoors?"
"Backdoors?" The awful truth hit Simon like a stone to the head. "The slave crest… sabotaged?"
"Magically-compelled loyalty is rather fickle, don't you think? It is only as strong as the spells that enforce it." The stranger crossed her arms. "Borrowed power is worthless. A pity you will only learn this in your final moments."
A terrible possibility crossed Simon's mind. Everyone had written off Firewand as a suspect in Father's murder on the assumption that her seal prevented her from harming the Overlord, but whatever the stranger had done twisted it enough that it compelled the elven slave to harm Simon.
Firewand had no alibi.
"You killed Father," Simon whispered in disbelief. "It was you, Firewand."
The stranger scowled in confusion. "What are you mumbling on about?"
"He is the Overlord," Firewand said, blatantly violating Simon's previous orders. Whatever this person did caused the elf to fall under her control. "He tricked his siblings into hunting down your brother in secrecy."
The stranger's eyes widened in shock. She didn't know.
"Show me," she all but ordered Simon.
Simon grit his teeth and switched his outfit to that of the Overlord, allowing the black armor to engulf him. He knew he was dead anyway, though he would exact a toll of blood and tears before he went down.
A predatory, greedy sparkle lit up the stranger's eyes. Her pupils thinned into slits like those of a snake for a moment, her mask of humanity wavering.
"I was asking myself why Firewand was following a Magnos mewling spawn so far away from their stolen castle." The stranger smiled from ear to ear. "Was it providence or misfortune that compelled you to bring me my birthright? In any case, I shall not spit on this gift."
"Your birthright?" Simon quickly put two and two together from the dragon imagery and the information he had gathered earlier. "You're Gargauth's daughter?"
The woman smiled and gave him a mock bow, like an actress introducing herself. "I am Vouivre Ashmodai, rightful Overlord of Endymion and Telluria."
Which made Casval… Simon struggled to believe his ears. How could they be the children of a dragon and still pass for humans? Were they scalefolk bastards, or using polymorph spells?
"A kinslayer is all you are," Simon spat back in disgust as he grabbed his morning star. He had no love for Casval, but a sister murdering her own brother was even more loathsome. "Was my Class worth shedding your own brother's blood?"
"His only task was to infiltrate your society, which he failed to do before the work could even begin," Vouivre replied without guilt or remorse. The sight of his morning star amused her. "Can't you see that it is hopeless? You will not win this."
She was right, and they both knew it. But if Simon was about to perish, he would rather do so on his feet than on his knees.
He wouldn't bend to her. Not to Thalas, not to Louis, not to anyone.
"I do not fear death," Simon replied, having tasted it before. "And I do not fear you."
His words seemed to rattle Vouivre, for her smile turned into a scowl. Her eyes sank into her skull with all the weight of her malevolence. The pressure in the air increased, and Simon's pulse quickened.
"You will," Vouivre said, her voice now a terrible echo. "First you will behold my glory, and then you will die!"
She changed, and then she grew.
As her shadow lengthened under two great wings and her skin yielded to rising golden scales, Simon finally understood what that unease stirring inside him was. Every human knew to fear snakes in the grass from the moment they were born; that ancestral dread had been passed on through generations and instilled into mankind's very blood.
The recognition of a predator and devourer of men.
The castle-sized monstrosity Vouivre had turned into towered over him, a mere beat of her wings blowing away the tents and flames. He couldn't see all of her gruesome majesty in the moonlight, but he saw