Hundred Reigns 126: The Overlord of Crime (10) (Patreon)

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Questioning Borsh proved to be both disappointing and very helpful. 

On one hand, he didn’t know the Attic’s origin nor its entire reach, since he relied on its gatekeepers and the Silk sisters’ guidance as much as everyone else. He had little to say on the other Weavers besides their business dealings, having never been interested in socializing with any of them… with the singular exception of Chrom Cruak, who supplied him with his drugs, machinery, and even a unique Crestone. He also knew nothing of the shifter experiments Simon had found in Cocagne, though he suggested it was one of Chrom’s project, since the mummy handled all of the organization’s magical research. 

On the other hand, he did memorize some of the Attic’s pathways, including one leading straight to Marthrone, and he knew about all Cobweb operations in the Telluria region; all local Attic doors, all the officials on the take, all the Spinners active in his territory, all the tribes collaborating with him… and most importantly, all the moles within Vouivre and Dassein’s forces. As the Weaver in charge of the Coweb’s slave trade, he also had an encyclopedic knowledge of their key buyers, sellers, trade posts, and smuggling routes. The Cobweb didn’t control the entire worldwide slave trade–it formed a monstrously vast web of criminal syndicates, fleshmongers, plantation, mine, and brothel owners, and corrupt officials spread across the globe—but they had enough of a share in everything to know everyone. Simon was confident he could use that intel to either disrupt or infiltrate it in the future. 

The most surprising discovery was that of Borsh’s Crestone, which Simon briefly borrowed. Activating it coated his skin into thick metal plates, turned his eyes to glass, his hands into gauntlets, and enveloped his head into a helmet that soon became one with his face and skull. 

The transformation went much, much deeper than any Class outfit he had ever donned. Simon could feel his organs changing and rearranging inside his body, turning his flesh into pieces of clockwork greased with oil. His senses of taste, smell, and touch faded away into a strange mechanical numbness. He looked at his hands to find them bound by wires rather than tendons. 

He had become a golem. 

Automaton: A creature blending flesh and metal in an attempt to become the perfect biomechanical organism.

Strength S, Agility C, Vitality S, Perception A, Magic B, Intelligence D, Charisma D, Luck C. 

Innate Perk: Magic Resistance (Passive): You take only half-damage from magical attacks, such as spells.

Innate Perk: Metallism (Passive): You gain the Artificial type when putting on your Class outfit, alongside immunity to all physical ailments. 

Innate Perk: Customizable (Active): You count as an object for the purpose of other Crafting Class’ Perks, allowing them to modify yourself. 

Level 1 Perk: Killing Machine I (Active): You gain medium proficiency with all unarmed and natural weapons (x1.5 damage). 

“This is… new,” Simon said, his voice now a mechanical monotone. “What is this Class the Vassal of?”

Borsh growled at it, but his defiance turned to submission the moment Simon gave him a slight taste of lifeforce drain through his Devil Brands. “Automaton is an experimental hybrid Class Crestone of the Crafter and Beast,” Borsh admitted. “I commissioned the Crafter of Muse to make it for me.”

That aroused Simon’s curiosity. “You know how to contact them?”

“Not directly,” Borsh replied. “Chrom and Ludwig handled the deal. I had found an old golem from a pre-Doom civilization in Telluria, so they traded it for the Crestone and other things.” 

“You speak of the same civilization that created the first manatrain railroads?” Simon guessed.

“Yes. They used golems and automatons for mass labor back then. Chrom created my drug-pump from pieces found in similar ruins he uncovered in Navarre, and the Crafter is interested in collecting relics from that era.”

It didn’t entirely surprise Simon that the Crafter of all people would experiment with hybrid Classes ever since Endymion proved it was possible. What interested him was that the Cobweb apparently had a direct line of communication with that reclusive genius, at least enough to secure a technology exchange. 

“What do you know of Chrom Cruak?” Simon inquired. “Is he the same one from the elven legend?”

“I think he is,” Borsh confirmed. “He was sealed in a Navarran tomb until Verney and the others freed him, long before my time. He told me he was planning to slaughter the descendants of those who buried him and then burn the first manatree he could find as revenge for his imprisonment, but the Prince promised him something to secure his services instead. He never told me what.” 

“It must have been a hefty bribe to bind such a powerful undead,” Simon guessed. “Does he have a lair of some kind?”

“He lives in a dungeon buried beneath Navarre’s sands,” Borsh replied. “I don’t know where it is… but I know the path to its Attic door.”

“Good to know.” Simon might pay him a surprise visit in a future reign. Chrom Cruak might be one of the few people old enough to tell him anything about Elios Magnos, and the Overlord could make him a better offer than the Rogue. “We’ll put our partnership to good use.”

Simon then cancelled the Automaton outfit and returned the Crestone to Borsh. He was sorely tempted to grab Automaton’s Magic Resistance Perk, but decided to hold off on it. His recent issues with accessing certain Classes had made him wary, and Thalas’ Berserker proved that full-on immunity to magic was possible. Simon would rather wait until he knew more, especially if some rare powers were locked behind levels he could only acquire within one reign. 

“Here’s a gift for you, to celebrate our new… ‘friendship,’” Simon said as he gave Borsh a cursed ring. It worked similarly to the dagger he slipped to Alphonse’s party in the Darkwood and would ensure Cassandra could scry on the werewolf even when Simon wasn’t around to supervise him directly. “Taking it off without my permission will be considered an insult that warrants immediate execution. And I will know.”

Borsh accepted the ring with reluctance. “I will find a way out of this,” he threatened Simon with murderous hatred. “One day, I will free myself and tear out your throat.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” Simon replied calmly. “If anything, I suspect you’ll start to enjoy your current position. I wasn’t lying about offering you power beyond your wildest imagination. When serving the Overlord, obedience means strength.”

And if Borsh still proved ungrateful even after seeing what the brands could do for him, then Simon would simply kill him as soon as he outlived his usefulness. Mayhaps undeath would make him more obedient. 

Either way, Simon sent Borsh and Belzemine to kill the Horse-Eating Ogre back at the camp to ensure a successful frame job and stayed behind with Eole to deal with the most morally reprehensible part of this operation. 

“What do we do with them?” Eole asked him as she examined the sleeping centaurs. “My song’s effects will fade in a few hours.” 

“We’ll need to catch a few, or else the Prince will be suspicious,” Simon warned her. Coming back empty-handed would raise too many alarm bells. “That cannot be helped.” 

Eole knew he was right, but it still displeased her. “Who will conquer Telluria, Simon?” she asked out of the blue, a dark scowl forming on her face. “Who wins in your visions?”

Simon hesitated for a moment. He had hoped that naming Casval heir and having Shabram help Louis focus his efforts on the dragon warlord would knock Vouivre out of Telluria, but Frightwall’s bombardment and Church Party’s early assault had put the War Party on the backfoot, as the Oracle had wanted. Events so far were pointing to the same outcome as when Simon first fled to Valne. 

“Vouivre will prevail,” Simon admitted. “Scaland will rise in support of her cause, and Dassein will retreat south to secure the imperial heartland. She will eventually kick the War Party out of Telluria, then purge all the tribes who refused to bend the knee. I would assume the centaurs will be among their number. If anything, we’ll probably save these people’s lives tonight.”

As much as he tried to soften the blow, it was still too much for Eole to stomach. Simon could read her doubts and intentions written all over her face. 

“Eole, we aren’t ready to take Vouivre on yet,” Simon warned her. “Her power still eclipses mine. It is suicide.”

“What if she doesn’t have to purge my people? What if…” Eole bit her lip. “What if we gave her what she wanted, for a price? What if she didn’t have to purge my people, because they would…” She looked down at the centaurs. “Fight for her?” 

Simon’s eyes widened in surprise as he caught on to her idea. “You would lend her your voice?”

“I am not weak,” Eole replied. “I have power… power I didn’t wish to use. But if my restraint will lead to suffering, then…” She took a deep breath. “If we approached her as equals rather than thralls… do you think she would negotiate?”

Negotiating with Vouivre? The very thought sounded absurd to Simon, though he did give it some consideration. His experience with Vouivre mostly ended in violence, but there was one time where he managed to infiltrate her organization back during his early reigns. 

He had to stand his ground and nearly died, yet he managed to convince Vouivre to let him keep Eole rather than take the kish for herself—though she did murder Leonard and Meredith to assert her dominance over him. The mere memory of that day infuriated Simon. 

Vouivre’s cruelty towards his loyal retainers had solidified his enmity towards the dragon warlord and convinced Simon to oppose her at every turn. There would come a time when he would repay her sins with interest. 

However… However, Simon had already committed many heinous deeds this reign, and Vouivre’s ties to the Cobweb deserved to be exploited to ensure her future destruction. If they approached her with sufficient leverage…

“She is a dragon who respects only strength,” Simon warned. “We can’t show weakness at any point, and even then, she will drive a hard bargain.”

Eole nodded in understanding. “But you do think she will negotiate?”

“I think she is pragmatic enough to buy what she needs rather than fight pointlessly.” She had tried to purchase Eole from the Cobweb the ‘legal’ way rather than kill everyone in Albert’s castle at least. “However, do you understand what will happen even in the best case scenario? She will use you to enslave all of Telluria, and most importantly, recover the archfiend crystal. We can’t allow that.”

“I know,” Eole agreed, arms crossed. “It is a mere idea for now, and we will need to cover our bases… but I think we might be able to extract some concessions. It would also let us earn her trust, and lay the groundwork for her destruction.”

We? Us? That detail wasn’t lost on Simon. He had been the one crafting their plans so far, with Eole either going along with them reluctantly or trying to avoid the inevitable, yet she was now proposing schemes on her own. Borsh’s words had hit a nerve. We’re partners-in-crime now.

Simon wasn’t sure how to take this development…

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With few other options for now, Simon’s group completed the operation as planned. They collared hundreds of sleeping centaurs and left the rest to wake up with the pain of finding their countrymen missing. 

Simon told Eole he could handle that part, but she strangely insisted on participating, even though a part of her died with each binding. Simon suspected it was her way of dirtying her hands, to harden her resolve for the greater good, and the fact that the first thing she did after they returned to Valne was to take a long shower confirmed it. 

The best Simon could do to soften the blow without jeopardizing their cover was to claim a portion of the slaves as his personal ‘share’ of the raid and ensure the remainder would be shipped to nations with some protective slave legislation… though it would be little consolation in either case. 

Simon and his companions returned to Valne after completing the framing job, blaming the losses of slavers on a surprise attack from some centaurs and the ogre breaking out during the operation. Borsh’s division had a history of turnover and Weavers ran their own operations with full independence and he would stymie any investigation himself.

With Borsh now under his control, it wouldn’t take Simon long to fill the hole in the werewolf’s staff with imperial intelligence agents working for Shabram and thus slowly subvert that branch of the Cobweb’s organization. Simon intended to infest the power structure like a cancer slowly taking over a body from the inside, spreading his tendrils until their removal would become a costly or unthinkable affair. Cassandra would constantly keep an eye on Borsh for any sign of betrayal while monitoring the fetches for their future abduction plan. Simon wasn’t willing to muddy the water yet without covering his bases. 

First consolidate, then strike. 

Either way, Velvet held up her end of the bargain and came to fetch him for their ‘date’ the day after their return. “I admit I’m impressed,” she said upon guiding him to the butcher shop. “I haven’t seen such a lucrative slave run since Vouivre first entered the business.”

“How long has she been working with you?” Simon inquired. He noticed that Velvet hadn’t bothered to put on fancy clothes for their ‘date,’ so he was pretty sure it wouldn’t involve a dinner like with Remedia. He had also brought an umbrella along like she had asked. 

“A little over six years, I think? I can’t tell you more without violating client confidentiality.” Velvet guided him past the counter and then through dozens of doors. Simon was pretty sure she was taking extra twists and turns to ensure he couldn’t track back the exact pathway. “I hope you don’t mind the smell. I haven’t cleaned up my larder in some time.”

Her larder? Simon wondered as Velvet opened the final door, and a terrible stench suddenly filled his nostrils. Blood, urine, and feces were mixed with straw into a nauseating cocktail. The Attic had opened up into a damp room so dark he couldn’t see much, and so bitterly cold he could feel the chill in his bones. He heard muffled noises and lamentations all around him. 

Simon was sorely tempted to activate his Overlord armor to protect himself, but that would have shown weakness. He instead waited for Velvet to reach out for the darkness and light up a torch.

The first thing he saw was a rusty rack, and the rotting corpse still on it. 

Multiple foul implements came into view, from an iron maiden to a spiked iron chair, a shelf of tools including branding irons, sharp blades, a breaking wheel, and too many nails for even a carpenter to do anything with. Half a dozen people in rags were bound by chains and manacles inside dirty cells far too small for their occupants, each of them gagged and blindfolded. One of them, a woman hardly any older than Simon, was pissing herself. A couple of fetches kept watch over them with emotionless grins.

Simon suppressed a gulp of nausea. A torture room. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Velvet apologized, studying Simon’s face for any hint of nervousness the way a fox looked for an opening in a henhouse. “I usually don’t bring boys over.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Simon replied honestly. The Halls of the Minotaur’s cells had been much cleaner, though. “What did these people do?”

“They looked the other way,” Velvet replied with a wicked, contemptuous smile. Simon detected a hint of personal grudge there. “There used to be over fifty of them at one point. I come back here now and then to pick one out from my reserve, I have some fun, and then I lose interest.” She moved her torch to the corpse on the rack. “I had to leave this one midway through a session and forgot about them. It’s spoiled now.”

Hence the larder analogy. How clever. “Is your sister into this kind of entertainment too?”

“No, no, she’s too cold for that. She’s all business, no pleasure. It falls to me to have enough fun for the both of us.” Velvet smiled and invited him to follow her up a staircase. “The view upstairs is hardly better, but you did want to see my homeland.”

Simon nodded and climbed up the stairs, leaving the prisoners to moan in the dark for freedom and mercy they would never receive. He followed her up flagstone steps until faint light from above finally illuminated the darkness. They eventually reached a door which Velvet opened to reveal a ruined castle’s hall, drenched in mud and covered in debris. Simon only had to take a look up to the gray sky and rainclouds peeking from a hole in the roof to understand why his ‘date’ so insisted on bringing an umbrella. He opened his own to cover them from the downpour, then ascended a still mostly intact outer wall offering them a good view of the area. 

As Simon suspected, the Attic had led them to an old castle built in a style closer to Magvolia’s than Endymion’s, with pointy towers and whitestone foundations. Ivy had begun to cover its stones, its tallest tower had fallen, and the moat had become a small lake flooding most of the courtyard. 

“Welcome to Gorre Castle,” Velvet said. “Seat of the late Lord Maleagant, Duke of Gorre, faithful servant of the Holy King of Lore.”

“Lore?” Simon blinked in surprise as he looked at the countryside. The smoke of forges rose from a city on the lake’s other bank, and he could see a dreary dark ocean further ahead. “This is the Holy Kingdom of Lore?”

“The Dukedom of Gorre covers the northern side of the country, hence the stormy weather,” Velvet mused. “Underwhelming, isn’t it?” 

“A bit.” Simon had to admit she was right, if she wasn’t lying about their location. He had read and fantasized a lot about Lore, the second-greatest foe of Endymion behind Illusea itself and land of valorous knights; doubly so since his mother would have taken him here had Balzam Magnos not savagely murdered her. He had expected great fortified cities and beautiful fields like in Cocagne, not a ruin facing a common city blanketed in smoke. “I can’t believe my mother wanted to bring me here.”

“I heard your father murdered her when you were still a child.” She had done her research. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Simon replied bitterly. “I hope for your sake your parents had a more functional relationship than mine.”

“I don’t know, I never knew them. My mother abandoned my sister and I at birth, so there was no love lost there. By the time we could afford a divination to track her down, she was already a corpse in an unmarked grave.”

Simon frowned. “Wait… your sister told me you were born into the Cobweb.”

“She told you that? Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. Our organization wasn’t called the Cobweb back then.” Velvet put a hand on the outer wall. “It doesn’t look like it, but this used to be the richest region in Lore. The late duke grew rich and fat on the trade with Muse.”

“Doesn’t look like it now,” Simon admitted. The fact that the castle lay in ruins and had been turned into a den for thieves and torturers didn’t bode well for the region. “I prefer Valne.”

“So do most visitors. Other lords would have invested in luxury and splendid architecture, but Lord Maleagant had three passions: forges, to build weapons to fight the Overlord’s armies; sellswords, to fight the White Unicorn’s wars…” A bitter smile formed on her lips. “And orphanages, to take care of the poor children that were left in their wake. He raised so many of them in these walls we almost had more children than maids.” 

“We?” Simon quickly put two and two together. “Ah, I see. I take it this duke had a darker side?”

“What preachy knight doesn’t?” Velvet replied. “Orphans like us were trained since we could walk. The lucky few would become squires or knights for the White Unicorn’s wars, or handle the dukedom’s administration; most, like my sister and I, were given darker tasks. Lord Maleagant was very protective of his trade monopoly, enough to rob and kill rivals over it. His reach spread across the straits to Muse, and eventually to Valne.”

“So the Cobweb started out as a duke’s private shadow army?” There was something darkly ironic about such a monstrous organization growing from the Paladin kingdom’s underbelly… assuming anything Velvet said was true. “You said he’s dead? Is the Prince of Spiders his successor?”

“You could say that. The Duke of Gorre overplayed his hand one time too many, and the Prince of Spiders murdered him to take over his organization. My sister and I inherited the castle afterwards.” She sat on the wet crenellation without discomfort, then crossed her arms lasciviously. “Do you want it? A castle would fit the Overlord more than a gambling den.”

“I don’t think my Paladin-loving neighbors would take kindly to that,” Simon replied mirthfully. 

“I think they would,” Velvet replied, her smirk widening. “Since you can cast prayers and all.”

Simon smiled back at her, his rising tension hidden behind a mask of smugness. 

The truth was that he had only used his prayers a handful of times this reign. For crafting sessions, most of all, to heal his imp test subjects when practicing his spells, and when he enslaved Borsh. Velvet might have witnessed him during any of these occasions. 

Don’t give anything away, Simon told himself. Play the fool, just in case. “What can I say? The Light loves me as much as the Dark.”

Her smile deepened the same way her sister’s did, as if in on a joke he didn’t quite understand. “How much does it love you?”

There was weight to her question. Simon sensed it wasn’t idle curiosity, so he decided to indulge her to fish for information. 

“Lightstone, burn that which offends thee!” Simon snapped his fingers and summoned a pillar of heavenly fire into the courtyard. “Kindling!”

The look of barely-concealed triumph in Velvet’s eyes when she saw the flame was the same she had shown him back when he worked for Mastemo. She looked so unbearably pleased that it sent chills down his spine. 

“What a wonderful glow indeed,” she said, crossing her legs lasciviously. “What’s your birth sign?”

There was only one reason why she would ask something like that, and it pointed to disturbing possibilities. “The Minotaur.”

“Truly?” She frowned in slight confusion. “And your ascendant?”

“I don’t know. I never learned where I was born.” The spark of interest returned in Velvet’s gaze, and she nodded as if it confirmed some suspicion of her. “Don’t tell me you believe in astrology when it comes to love and friendship?”

“Of course I believe in the Zodiac. And so should you.” Velvet’s smirk now showed teeth. “In fact… I think you’re exactly the kind of man we’ve been looking for.”

“He’s not.” By now, Simon was so used to Silk sneaking up on him that hearing her voice coming from behind him hardly startled him. “He’s the Overlord.”

“How do you explain this, then?” Velvet asked her sister. “He’s favored.”

Simon glanced over his shoulder to see Silk scowling behind him. 

“It has to be a trick,” she insisted. “I don’t trust him. And even if he is, if we tell Verney–”

“We don’t have to,” Velvet replied. “This is our chance to take him out.”

“Your chance to do what?” Simon asked in annoyance. He hated missing key context in conversations. “What are you two babbling about?”

“A coup, my friend. We’re plotting a coup.” Velvet clasped her hands. “Would you like to become the new Prince of Spiders?”

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