The Hundred Reigns

The great wall of fog that now separated Valne from Lore proved nearly impenetrable; nearly being the key word.

Maublanc extensively studied the mist’s tactical limits and applications in the days that followed Casmene’s fall. He used teams and spellcasters to test multiple hypotheses with his Commander Perks.

“Navigation and orientation within the fog is treacherous,” he explained to Simon as he listened from upon his Crimson Throne. “Any group inside quickly separates unless its members are physically bound together, and the mist interferes with all magical methods of finding a path by providing misleading information. Divination spells and Perks alike struggle to bypass this effect, with the people who manage to exit the fog usually being returned to the point where they first entered it. It also rises to intercept creatures attempting to fly over it or dig underneath.”

“Unless they have my permission to cross it, in which case the fog clears a path.” A category that currently included a limited set of Endymian scouts. “What about tracking down those lost in the fog?”

“I couldn’t locate my own troops wandering inside, although my Commander Perks allow me to remain aware of their situation at any time. I’ve also confirmed that it interferes with teleportation to a certain degree.”

“To a degree?” Simon didn’t like the sound of that. “It’s not a foolproof defense.”

Maublanc nodded sharply. “Attempts to teleport in and out of the fog itself cause the spells to go awry, but experiments to move from one side of the border to the other succeeded without issue. In short, it is a physical barrier that can be bypassed if one does not directly cross it. My Perks also tell me powerful magical items could potentially help individuals walk through the mists, though likely only for small groups.”

“So our foes will find a workaround eventually.” Simon could already think of one. “The Adventurer can simply teleport to another Valnean city and sneak assassins behind our lines.”

“Such forces always find chinks in supposedly impregnable fortresses eventually, Simon,” Maublanc replied with a hint of amusement. He had probably been on the other side of such situations on countless occasions. “What matters is how long that process will take. The Adventurer is limited to teleporting in small groups, so no Lorean army will cross the border anytime soon and they will be limited to small acts of sabotage for now. That is highly valuable in itself.”

Simon guessed it was the best he could do for now, unless he plunged all of Valne into mist rather than the border alone to prevent Lore’s forces from finding any vulnerable teleportation-landing spot; and such an act would likely disrupt his own logistics more than the enemy.

“What next then?” Simon inquired.

“I have no doubt we’ll eventually conquer Lore once we have secured Valne as a springboard for a larger offensive,” Maublanc replied, albeit with a hint of wariness. “Our forces are better equipped and trained, their Paladin is too green, and we have an overwhelming Crestone advantage. The mere fact the enemy had to resort to destroying their own infrastructure here in Casmene shows how desperate they are to delay our advance.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“I am not optimistic about our chances to hold Lore,” Maublanc confirmed. “We lack the troops to secure the Holy Kingdom when we already occupy half of Brimir. We can assimilate Valne thanks to local collaborators, maybe Telluria too by keeping the shifters divided, but we lack those advantages in Lore and Muse. Their people will resist us. There’ll be swords hiding behind every blade of grass, and our Noble Class users can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Not to mention we’ll face the Zodiac Parade eventually.” This war was a mere pointless distraction Simon could have done without. “What are your recommendations?”

“Our attack on Lore should focus on knocking out their ability to wage war against us for years. I would advise striking their ports and bombarding their logistical hubs, then leaving warbeasts behind to ravage their countryside and force them to focus on protecting their population rather than bothering us. Seizing the Paladin and Adventurer Crestones would help too.” Maublanc marked a short pause before adding. “Using Your Majesty’s Edicts to lay waste to Lore would be our safest bet.”

This displeased Simon. “We can’t save the world from the Zodiac Parade by burning half of it down ourselves.”

“We will be in a better position to deal with the fiends if we do not have to split up our Noble Class users across the globe,” Maublanc countered. “Even Louis cannot fight an entire country on his lonesome. Laying waste to Lore’s border spares us the need to occupy it with actual troops.”

Simon pondered the proposal. Maublanc was right, their Noble Class users would be spread thin, and he needed them to fight the Zodiac Fiends. The quicker he could force Lore, Illusea, and Muse into a lasting ceasefire, the better he could focus on the Second Doom threatening them all. Offering Valne as a bargaining chip might provide the leverage he needed.

Or should he take a leaf out of Louis’ book and use the war as an opportunity to help his followers level-up? His brother hadn’t used his manatree-slicing attack yet either, even when it could have torn Casmene apart. Simon didn’t think Louis was the kind to keep his abilities in reserve, which meant he was a few months away from unlocking it. He wasn’t yet the unstoppable force who had slain him twice and who could theoretically stand up to a fully empowered Zodiac Fiend on his lonesome.

Other things bothered him too. Simon had kept in contact with Shabram and Anna back in Marthrone, and confirmed the Beast Crestone had yet to manifest in spite of Endymion conquering Telluria. Either the Oracle had somehow secured it earlier, or he was missing a detail about the prophecy.

Vouivre had to bring all tribes of Telluria to one place, Simon recalled. Could it be that having representatives showing up to the ceremony is sufficient? If so, then taking the Beast Crestone would be a mere matter of gathering one shifter from each tribe in one place, including a kish.

He would have to put that theory to the test soon. Filip’s pro-White Unicorn faction was also stirring up trouble in Cocagne, the Cobweb’s Weavers remained unaccounted for, and he didn’t think the people of the Sanctuary would take kindly to what happened with Vayan either…

An Overlord had so many foes to keep track of. No wonder his father had gotten paranoid in his old age.

“I must ponder what to do with Lore,” Simon decided. “For now, you will focus on bringing the remaining Valnean cities to heel and securing the region. I shall take care of Muse.”

Maublanc bowed and excused himself from the throne room, after which Simon summoned the Keeper of the Throne to his side. “What’s the next appointment?”

“Lady Antonine de Shax has asked for a private audience, Your Majesty.”

A private audience without Thalas? Simon could already guess where it would go, but resisted the urge to dismiss her outright, just in case. “Send her in.”

As he suspected, Antonine showed up in his throne room all dolled up, dressed in a splendid red sleeveless dress and black corset that left her shoulders exposed. A beautiful necklace glittered around her neck and rang when she bowed to him.

“Your Majesty is very kind to welcome me,” she said graciously, though there was an edge of fear behind her pleasant smile. She had come to dread him.

“What do you want, Antonine?” Simon didn’t have the patience for empty platitudes and cut straight to the chase. “I recall ordering you and Thalas to lead our troops to seize cities to the north. Why haven’t you left yet?”

“I hoped to discuss the transition of power with Your Majesty before my departure.” Antonine straightened up. “I understand that you are looking for a viceroy capable of bringing peace and prosperity to this nation.”

Simon scoffed. “Are you suggesting Thalas for the role?”

“Who else would be a better fit?” Simon could think of numerous candidates. “My dear Thalas is an empress’ son, the Noble Berserker, strong, wise… and he would be very grateful for Your Majesty’s trust.”

“Would he?” Simon squinted at Antonine. “I’m sure Thalas would be happy to know his fiancée begged me for a boon behind his back.”

“I thought Your Majesty wanted to get along with him?” Antonine replied with a smirk. “I can smooth things over between the two of you, convince him to bury the hatchet and start over…”

“I can do that on my own, and although Thalas is a talented warrior, he is grossly underqualified to oversee the entire League of Valne. I need a more… experienced administrator for the task.”

Antonine played with her ringlet hair for a moment, a flash of calculation crossing her gaze. “The truth is that Thalas sent me to spy on you.”

“Did he now?” Now she had Simon’s ear. “Thalas doesn’t have the subtlety for such a plot.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“But his mother does. Her Grace would like to find your weaknesses, and my dear Thalas believes Your Majesty is under mental influence.”

“Again with that nonsense?” Simon rolled his eyes. He would need to have a talk with Euphemia about it before she drew the wrong conclusions. “You can inform him he’s wasting his time.”

“I was thinking about informing Your Majesty of what they plan.” Antonine smiled ear to ear upon sensing an opening. “I could be your spy in the Church Party.”

Simon wasn’t sure what to think of that. “You would serve me over them?”

“I like Thalas, but he’s a boy who’s in over his head and I don’t want to die if he crosses Your Majesty.” She walked up to his Crimson Throne as closely as the demotaur guards allowed her to. “Give me time, and I’ll have him wrapped around my finger for your pleasure only.”

Simon pondered her proposal. He didn’t need Heart’s Desire to tell him she craved power, safety, and wealth. Her seemingly sincere affection for Thalas could slide away in an instant in the name of ambition.

However, having a spy in Thalas’ bed was always valuable. His half-brother had caused him some trouble in the past, and if Antonine could indeed help smooth things over between them, then they might reach an agreement. Knowing what Euphemia was planning would give him an edge in their discussions and ensure she remained firmly in his camp.

“I will need proof of your fealty.” Simon summoned a Brand of Sloth in his hand. “This mark will let us communicate from afar and shall turn invisible at will. Report Thalas’ activities on the frontline to me as a test, and then we might discuss your fiancé’s new position.”

“As Your Majesty wishes.”

Simon branded Antonine on the arm, turned it invisible, and then sent her on her way. He doubted this alliance would yield much fruit, but who knew? She might learn something interesting.

Once Antonine left, Simon realized she hadn’t even made a token attempt at seducing him, or so much as hinted at such. It was quite the uncharacteristic act from that vapid snake. Simon guessed he had scared her straight.

He wasn’t sure if he should take it as good or bad news.

Simon focused his telepathic connection on a certain person he was missing very much, partly to hear more from her, and partly to get that meeting off his mind. “Anna? Anna, can you hear me?”

“Oh, you startled me,” his wife replied, her laughter echoing through his mind. “I don’t think I’ll get used to this anytime soon.”

“Sorry. How are things going on your side?”

“Pretty good. I visited the Lighthouse as part of my first official diplomatic visit to Valendre. Turns out I’m connecting with the Water Megalith better than the crystal’s own vestals.”

Interesting. Belzemine had also shown a strange affinity for the Wind Megalith lately... “Mastemo must be pleased.”

“He is. He is coming around to believing I might be a saint-in-the-making.” Anna sounded rather pleased with that. “When are you coming back? I know a few ways we can celebrate Valne’s conquest…”

“Soon.” Once he was done with Muse, things should calm down enough on the frontline for Simon to return and enjoy some time with his wife. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“I can’t wait. I miss you, Simon.”

It warmed Simon’s heart that someone longed for him.

After promising he would return to her side soon, Simon teleported into a new chamber in the heart of his currently landbound castle: a modified chapel that now held the Wind Megalith. Belzemine had spent many hours here, touching its surface. The stone appeared to glow brighter at her touch.

“It seems the goddess’ power resonates with you, no matter the Megalith,” Simon noted. He had feared Belzemine might vanish inside this one as she did with the Light Megalith, but their earlier tests confirmed she was in no danger whatsoever. She had no seal to reinforce.

“It shines brighter when I touch it. I feel… I feel like I saw it before, but…” Belzemine shook her head. “I cannot remember, Your Majesty.”

“Did you see visions?” Simon would welcome anything that could help him understand what happened to the Mana Goddess and her connection to Belzemine.

“I… I saw a world where the wind had stopped blowing… or maybe had yet to blow.” Belzemine pulled her hand back from the Megalith, which instantly lost some of its luster. “I… it hurts my head, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t push yourself, Belzemine. We have all the time in the world to study this mystery.”

Simon wondered if having Belzemine visit all the Megaliths—with the exception of the Light one, of course—might help her connect to the Mana Goddess in some way. According to his lessons with Mastemo, the Fire one was in Cocagne, the Earth one was in Muse, and lesser ones were spread across the globe. Many of the nations protecting them would refuse them access, but maybe he could dedicate a reign to investigating them…

The sooner he understood why Belzemine was key to the elven migration plan and what was her connection to the Mana Goddess, the better.

“Mmm?” Simon frowned upon spotting something in the Wind Megalith’s crystal heart. A shadow particle, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but that his Dark Visionary senses could detect easily enough.

A seed of darkness grew in the megalith’s heart. Maybe the very same one Asterion used to eventually corrupt it over four hundred years of destruction.

“How did you end up there?” Simon wondered out loud as he pressed his hand against the Wind Megalith. Its surface burned his metal glove on contact as the sacred stone rejected him, but his defensive buffs let him shoulder the pain easily enough. “What would you bloom into if I watered you enough?”

“The Mana Goddess created the Megaliths to regulate the world’s elements, Your Majesty,” Belzemine warned him. “Altering one might have unforeseen impacts on Brimir itself.”

“True… but I sense we have an opportunity to exploit.” Helel had managed to partially subvert the Light Megalith’s power from within, and Asterion did the same with the four elemental ones. Simon was convinced he could make use of them too. “For now, we’ll study this phenomenon. Keep me informed of how this miasma infection progresses.”

He still hoped to craft new high-tier elemental spells to increase his repertoire, and studying how the Wind Megalith reacted to miasma ought to help him achieve a breakthrough.

Afterwards, Simon toured Frightwall one last time to ensure the defenses were properly maintained and the repairs ongoing before teleporting to his other Dungeon. The Darkwood island couldn’t advance unless he sat on the Crimson Throne to direct it, so it remained floating amidst the sea separating Valne’s northwest coast from Muse for now. That would change soon enough.

Simon’s retainers and troops hadn’t wasted time with the place. Most of the Endymian army’s warbeasts and associated troops—Tamers, Biologists, and support infantry—had moved onto the floating island after it departed its homeland, using a mix of Devil Brands, gas masks, and other equipment to endure the miasma. Professional siege engineers had restored much of the Halls of the Minotaur to its former glory, set up alchemical labs for the likes of Duchar to use for their projects, and raised fortifications across the Darkwood in preparation for the inevitable assault on Muse.

Agrat, Justine, and Duchar had provided the lion’s share of auxiliary recruitment. Simon couldn’t look around without spotting undead workers raising walls under the purview of contracted demons. No sane person could hope to keep such a horde organized and under control for long, but discipline was secondary. Simon fully expected these troops to break off and ravage Muse’s countryside as soon as they made landfall.

“As Your Majesty can see, we’ve had success hastening the growth of corrupted treants with the mutagens your sister so helpfully supplied,” Justine said as she and her two colleagues gave Simon a tour of their new creations. “You can see for yourself what happened with Carrock.”

“Yes, indeed.” Simon looked up to the treant which he had once used as a guardian against Alphonse’s party. Carrock had grown the size of a small keep, and most importantly, grown a pumpkin face out of his trunk. “I take it he mutated?”

“Carrock has gained the Undead typing and interesting new abilities,” Duchar commented, his hand stroking his beard. “The Muse’s seal unfortunately interferes with our attempts at feeding her roots, so we cannot assess whether she would undergo a similar change if exposed to the same mutagen strand.”

“I am currently creating a demon-possessed tree to serve as a model,” Agrat said. “We would advance faster if you allowed me access to your private laboratory, Duchar.”

Duchar gave her a dark look. “My daughter visits me there often, and she doesn’t want to see you.”

“You need not worry about the Cassandra project,” Agrat replied with a shrug. “I already assessed it would have failed. I completed that experiment with another man soon after you terminated our arrangement.”

Simon’s blood ran cold. “You… completed it?”

“I wouldn’t call it a success. Although I birthed the test subject myself and raised her for ten years, strangling her to death did not arouse that emotion mortals call ‘remorse.’ The best I could feel was a slight sense of frustration.”

The scariest part was that she never raised her voice. There was no trace of guilt or emotion in her tone after plainly admitting to filicide. She would have no doubt felt nothing at murdering Cassandra either.

Justine gave her a look of utter horror, and Duchar himself seemed at a loss for words. Even he had standards, however absurdly low; whereas his ex-wife was capable of anything. She was a demon through and through.

“I will not lose hope,” Agrat insisted. “Surely there is a way a demon like myself can enjoy the sweetness of love and the bitterness of guilt.”

“Why don’t you just merge with someone?” Justine pointed out after recovering from her momentary horror. An experienced spy like her could easily hide her emotions. “If you want to experience mortal emotions, you could simply fuse with one.”

“True…” Agrat stroked her chin and gave her suggestion a thought. “Mayhaps this is why those previous experiments failed… if I gave birth to a child when merged with a human woman, would I experience what you mortals call ‘love’?”

“Do not count on my assistance this time,” Duchar replied dryly.

Agrat looked vaguely disappointed. “A pity. You were a most pleasant and vigorous donor.”

“Was he now?” Justine asked with a hint of curiosity, with Simon struggling to contain his annoyance.

“Finding a donor will nevertheless be easier than a compatible host.” Agrat turned to Justine. “Perhaps you would like to volunteer? I feel like we would be great together.”

Justine wisely dismissed her. “I have no interest in children, nor in sharing a mind with a demon.” Least of all you, her tone implied.

“Truly?” Agrat sounded curious. “Why your interest in Darkblooded individuals then?”

“I hope to develop an improved strand of vampirism that would both free me from my kind’s dependency on mana and lack a crippling vulnerability to sunlight. I believe darkblooded individuals hold the answer.”

“A most admirable goal,” Duchar praised her. “We could pursue that project once we complete our current one. A demonic invasion of Muse is sure to yield plenty of darkblooded embryos to stud—”

“Enough,” Simon cut in before the discussion could get any worse. He might have done something horribly wrong by bringing these three together. “The Muse’s tree will bloom as soon as we transfer the seal. You’ll have all the time to study the impact of mutagens on her fruit then.”

Simon’s plan was more or less the same one he pulled during his Dark Visionary ritual; use a copy of the Crown of the Minotaur to transfer Asterion and his seal into the item rather than the miasma tree. This would free the Muse and cause the Darkwood to undergo a rapid expansion; this time with no Vouivre to burn it down to ashes.

Whether they then transferred Asterion into a new vessel like Cassandra or kept him trapped in an artifact was irrelevant for the operation. The roots would spread across the land and hopefully turn a good chunk of Muse into a demon-infested forest.

“We will soon be ready to begin, Your Majesty,” Justine informed him. “Who will lead the operation?”

“I shall,” Simon replied, his fist clenching in anticipation. “I wish to test Muse’s strength personally.”

Muse had denied his open hand, so they would get his armored fist instead.