The Hundred Reigns 145: Vouivre Delenda Est (11) (Patreon)

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Flying back to Telluria on dragonback was an amazing experience.

Of course, Casval only flew him back to the Attic door in Bujan, but it was still an incredible first flight. As much as Simon loved his phantom steed, its manoeuvrability in the air paled compared to that of a dragon. Casval was faster, more agile, and quicker to turn and adjust his trajectory. He was frighteningly maneuverable for a creature of his size. 

No wonder dragons could lay waste to entire cities from above. They combined the destructive power of airships with an eagle’s grace in the air. 

Simon took the opportunity to test how a few of his prayer buffs worked with Casval, who swiftly enjoyed their benefits thanks to Warmonger. Simon didn’t dare to try casting a cursebuff—since his mount wouldn’t be immune to the negative side-effects—but he could think of a few spells that would synergize well with a living mount like Casval. 

“Feeling your magic is bracing, friend Simon,” Casval said once they landed. “My sister is much better at sorcery than I am, and it gives her the edge in battle.”

“I could cast spells to cover that deficiency,” Simon replied after climbing down, “I am sure that we can achieve great things together.”

Casval nodded and clutched his newfound Scales of Emptiness close to his chest. “I will hide your gift in a place my sister shall not find, until the day we are ready to be our own masters.”

And with luck, you’ll trade one lord for another, Simon thought. All he needed to do was keep worming his way into Casval’s heart until he willingly accepted a Devil Brand. Then I’ll put you to good use. 

Afterwards, they returned to Telluria with a new mermaid alliance under their belt. Vouivre ought to be pleased. 

The first thing Simon did upon getting back to his dungeon was to set aside a music room near the laboratory and craft himself a cursed pipe organ with Devil Forgemaster. His Malevolent Calliope used infused souls to produce air and steam, and had the nasty side effect of cursing the player with paranoia in return for boosting the impact of mind-affecting effects on others, but Simon found its music soothing to his soul. Songs spoke to him the same way Valnean theater did. 

Maybe I should have just focused on art to heal my soul wound rather than return to the Academy, he thought as he did a short rehearsal of Your Lord Knows Best. Queen Melusine had kindly lent him a small partition stele to help introduce him to performance spells, but he needed to adapt them into miasmic variants first. It’s such a strange school of magic… I wonder what else I could do with it.  

Simon sensed a presence entering the room, but he completed his rehearsal without paying them much mind. Ghosts born of the Malevolent Calliope sang his praise and then returned to the instrument once he cast the final note. 

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Simon asked his guest as he reviewed the keyboard.

“Is that the song you used to charm Melusine?” Vouivre asked as she approached, her face blank. “I do not get it.”

Simon looked at her. “What, the lyrics?”

“I understand your words, they just do not mean anything to me.” She crossed her arms. “Why would it be a curse to be alone? Power suffices to itself.”

“Then why do you call yourself a goddess and insist on being recognized as one, if you do not require the attention and worship of others?” Simon pointed out. 

“Because godhood is the apex of power,” Vouivre replied with a thin smirk. “You misunderstand me. I do not need the acknowledgement of others. I am calling myself a goddess, because it is what I will be. That is all.”

“I see.” She has inherited her father’s pride at least. “So there is no one whose affection or existence you value beyond yourself?”

“No,” Vouivre replied simply, without any hesitation. “There are individuals I appreciate, but should they all perish, my mind would remain clear and unperturbed.”

“Even your brother?” Simon asked, though he already knew the answer. “Why do you keep him around?”

“Because he has his uses, and because he is my property.” She snorted. “Is that your plan to eventually take me down? To turn the weakling against me?”

It’s a part of it, yes. “Are you so confident he won’t eventually bite back?”

“He will do so eventually, if he ever gains the strength to overcome his fear of me,” Vouivre said. “Is it not the same with your own followers? Or are you so confident that the benefits you provide them will keep them content?”

She sounded genuinely curious when she asked that, with Simon quickly guessing what was on her mind. “You wonder why your father’s subjects rebelled against him and mine didn’t.”

“That is what bothers me,” Vouivre admitted. “By all accounts, fighting my father was suicide. He was the strongest of all dragons since our progenitor, the Overlord whose wrath turned Navarre and the Deadlands to cinders. Opposing him was madness.”

“Yet my father found many troops ready to rise in his name when he opposed Gargauth,” Simon replied. “That’s because there are things stronger than fear.”

“I know that. Ambition will give wings to cowards should they see that benefits outweigh the risks.” A scowl formed on Vouivre’s face. “But many of your father’s supporters had very little to win by opposing mine, so what motivated them?”

“The other things that are stronger than fear and ambition, what else?” Simon replied. “Faith, love…” He scoffed. “And hatred.”

Vouivre pondered his words thoughtfully. “You say their resentment for my father was stronger than their fear of him?”

“Gargauth squeezed his empire dry, taking too much. Every last piece of coin ended up in his hoard. This created… resentment, building up over decades. It was bound to explode at one point or another. My father was simply the best at harnessing it.”

“Being poor is better than being dead.”

“But when you have nothing to live for, betting your life on a potentially better outcome isn’t such a sacrifice,” Simon countered. “Your father left our people nothing to aspire to besides poverty and humiliation, with no chance of social elevation. That’s what Euphemia and Balzam Magnos offered them: a better tomorrow.”

“And this ‘faith’ in them is what convinced the great Gargauth’s subjects to rebel?” Vouivre meditated on his words for a second. “We offer faith to the scalefolk. Should they serve us well, they will become part of us. You suggest I offer this privilege to my other subjects as well?”

Is she actually asking me for advice? Simon wasn’t sure how to take that. On one hand, any good counsel he offered would only make her more difficult to deal with down the line; but on the other hand, if Melusine was right and she respected him, this could open up more doors and intel on the location of Gargauth’s hoard... 

“I don’t think your subjects would understand what you offer them,” Simon replied, checking if she could understand a rather simple concept. “You need to speak their language. My father secured the Church of the Light’s support by offering to make their cult the empire’s official religion.”

“Which many eidolon and dryad followers resent for oppressing their own religions,” Vouivre noted. “I always sensed a weakness to exploit there, especially in the Berwick Islands.” 

“Faith can take many forms,” Simon added. “That’s why my retainers follow me. They think that only through me will their desires be realized; that the path to prosperity, power, and glory lies with me. That I am their savior.”

“A savior and a goddess… we could make quite the pair.” She moved closer to him, standing up and looking down on him as if to intimidate him with her size. “You could be my prophet.”

Simon scoffed dismissively. “Why would I believe in you?”

“Because I have the strength to make the impossible possible,” Vouivre replied with arrogant pride, matching his gaze. “Abandon your delusions of usurping my throne, submit to me, and become my lieutenant. Your talents are wasted on pointless ambitions, Simon Magnos.”

“So are yours, but here we are,” Simon replied, turning his back on her in a supreme show of confidence so he could focus back on his partition. “I serve no one. Not you, not the Light, not the Dark. I have no god nor master.”

“Then what do you have faith in? Yourself?” Vouivre scoffed. “What vision do you pursue?”

“I told you,” Simon replied, “I will remove the Zodiac Fiends and the usurpers, then we can fight for the Crimson Throne–”

“That is not a vision, it is a plan, and a short-sighted one at that… as befitting of a short-lived human.” Of course, she always found an occasion to add a hint of condescension in her remarks. “What world would you create if you ever won, by some stroke of luck?” 

Simon froze as he pondered her question. Once he won… once he won, and Vouivre, the Cobweb, and all the Zodiac Fiends were slain…  

I… I don’t know anymore, Simon realized. Originally, he had considered either settling back into the life he had planned before the reigns, or settling down with Anna, Cassandra, or Remedia… but the more he pushed himself into the future, the more he drew a blank. Perhaps I could get rid of Filip and marry Remedia? Or make up with Anna… and Cassandra deserves to be happy too…

“You have never asked yourself that, have you?” Vouivre pointed a finger at him defiantly. “How can you say the end will be worth it, as you say, if you don’t even know what the end is? How do you expect to win if you don’t even know what you want?”

Simon’s jaw clenched on its own, her comment rattling him. “And what’s your vision?”

“I told you, I will become a goddess,” Vouivre replied without hesitation. “I will consume the Worldtree, our progenitor, and even the Zodiac Fiends. I will take their power for my own, become a supreme existence, and then transcend this world.”

Simon turned to her in disbelief and stared into her eyes. He found no hesitation behind that boast, no confusion; only hubristic certainty brought about by unshakable pride. 

“Transcend… this world?” he repeated in disbelief. 

“There are planes and worlds beyond this one,” Vouivre reminded him. “My ancestor, the Ur-Dragon, came from one of them… so why should I stop at this one? I am eternal, and there’s so much more to seize. All of creation will be my hoard.”

Such words would be insanity coming from anyone else’s mouth, but she uttered them with such unshakeable confidence—like the outcome was already inevitable—that Simon almost wondered if she could pull it off. Her raw ambition was ten times more terrifying than the likes of Valravn’s cruelty and deceitfulness.  

“Humans spend their short existence wavering and doubting. It is their weakness. I know what I want, and I do what I must to seize it.” Vouivre gazed down on Simon. “Your father was the same. He wanted to become the Overlord to conquer this world and put it firmly under his family’s banner. That’s why he won against my own sire.” 

Simon glared back at her. “Be thankful I’m not my father.”

“True. You don’t know what you want, so how can you hope to defeat me? Hesitation is the death of purpose.” She backed away slightly. “But your Class wouldn’t have chosen you if you didn’t have the strength to rise above your lesser kindred. A manticore does not belong with the sheep.”

“Am I dreaming, or are you encouraging me to become a better Overlord?” Simon replied, trying to understand what she was doing. 

Vouivre let out a small, smug chuckle. “If you’re not the better Overlord, then I will take my birthright back eventually. Find a cause to dedicate your resolve to, or surrender to mine, if you hope to survive.”

I don’t need to find my vision yet, Simon thought, to know you’ll be dead either way.

—-------

On the first of Germinal, Endymion’s forces crossed the Dragonsea to invade the western continent in an operation that would become known as the Dragon’s Crossing, ironically enough.

Simon followed the events through Shabram, divinations, and his other allies from afar. Lord Paimon had organized the entire operation with the brutal efficiency of a true Commander. From what Simon heard, it had been a near-complete rout for the Valnean League. 

A few surprising factors explained this victory. First of all, Louis deployed the secret airship fleet—which meant he felt secure enough in his alliance with Euphemia to reveal his ace-in-the-hole—to bombard Valnean infrastructure; and second, Voltobauta had gone missing with his fleet. Spies saw him move to Muse weeks before the attack for a reason nobody could fathom. Simon had the sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Eole and the Adventurer—he did inform her of Alcyone’s connection with Voltobauta—but he had no way to confirm it yet. 

Finally, Norbelle’s betrothal with Prince Verdis had been made official. Although Cocagne didn’t provide troops for the attack, they did lend her the Phoenix and demilitarized the Deadlands border, which in turn allowed Endymion to deploy more troops in Valne. 

In short, Valne had found itself facing a unified Endymion for the first time, and was crushed by it. The imperial war machine had seized the ports as preparation for an all-out assault on the Holy Kingdom of Lore and the White Unicorn, who were marshalling for war.

Moreover, the attack also included an attempted takeover of the Attic based on Shabram’s intel, likely in the hope of either sending troops behind enemy lines or to catch Verney. This led to the Domain collapsing in on itself, likely because its master preferred to destroy it rather than let Endymion reach him. This was sure to cripple Cobweb operations worldwide, which pleased Simon greatly. 

Even better, Dassein had been redeployed to the west alongside many soldiers, with Thalas being named as governor of Beleth and Telluria in his stead according to Leonard and Meredith. He and Anna were still looking for Simon from what he gathered, with Lauriane even providing a cadre of exorcists and demon hunters to help them. 

Beleth was thus at its most vulnerable. Vouivre could already take it if she wanted, but Simon advocated waiting for Endymion’s troops to be more bogged down in Valne and Lore before revealing themselves. They wouldn’t have two chances to take their enemies by surprise. 

They instead spent the month of Germinal completing their assimilation of Telluria’s shifter tribes and experimenting with demonic possession. While Vouivre was too paranoid to explain how she controlled the false dragons, her hold over them was strong enough that she could compel them to merge with fiends. 

Their animalistic instincts made them only compatible with simpler kinds of demons, like those of wrath or gluttony, but the results were encouraging. Simon eventually perfected the process enough to create a small cadre of large and mean ‘demodragons’ with twice the size and ferocity of the original hosts. Those should be more than capable of matching airships in the sky. Simon had lost count of the nights he spent discussing strategy and supply lines with Vouivre, analyzing maps, arguing how to best organize their assets, and plotting the conquest of Telluria. He knew her forces as much as she knew his own. 

Moreover, one of the tribes they conquered turned out to have a certain treasure that made Pallian quite happy.

“A… a Crestone?” Pallian stared at his manalith with wonder. “For… for me, Master?”

“I told you I would give you one if you served me well,” Simon replied. “This is the Hexer Class, a Vassal of the Necromancer. Come on, try it.”

“I…” Pallian hesitated a moment before activating the Class. “Hexer.”

A white, pale, and feathered wooden mask materialized over his face, while skeletal tattoos and tattered robes covered his skin. The Hexer Vassal Class had inherited much of its fashion from its Necromancer template. 

“This Class can form a coven with Witches and hags,” Simon informed Pallian as the shifter touched his mask. “Cassandra cannot wait to teach you magic.”

“Magic…” Pallian repeated the word with wonder, and then knelt in front of Simon. “Thank you, Master. I praise the eidolons every day for having allowed me to enter your service.”

“And I am thankful you did, Pallian.” Simon had grown rather fond of his new retainer, who reminded him much of himself. “Now go enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

Otherwise, Simon spent the month both hanging out with Casval to cultivate him as an asset and learning Duchar’s spells. His soul wound had fully healed by now, so he quickly mastered the Death X, Gigatox, and Putrefy Tier VI spells, then moved on to adapting Dispel and Recall to use miasma. Simon was now leaning towards transforming the former into a curse that turned enemy buffs into ailments, and the latter into a conjuration that would summon allies to him as the Lord of Dark, though he was still exploring other options. 

As for Casval, the two of them simply hung out to discuss his twin obsessions: friendship, and his own kind. While Simon taught him basic stuff about human relationships—Casval only had an academic understanding of them and emotional nuances flew over his head—he also learned much about how dragons perceived the world. 

As it turned out, while they preferred solitude, dragons often formed ‘symbiotic’ relationships with settlements, where they were allowed to inhabit the beast’s territory. In return for a steady stream of tributes, the dragon’s subjects were treated like their property and received its protection from ‘thieves’ or other monsters. Dragon territories used to be among the safest places in the world besides manatrees in ancient times, before the rise of kingdoms and empires. These kinds of agreements were almost unheard of nowadays outside of isolated islands or remote territories after Gargauth wiped out all dragonkind from the eastern continent. 

“Dragons often entrust their clutches to these minions,” Casval explained, his arms crossed and his back against a wall in human form. “But our father preferred to use golems to take care of our hatchery.”

“He mustn’t have trusted anyone with that duty,” Simon said as he finished binding a demon to Hector’s newest Blackmist axe with Devil Forgemaster. He could tell he was gaining a little bit of experience from it, and getting closer to his next level. “Do you think your father had other eggs stashed elsewhere?” 

“No, I don’t think so… And I still don’t know who our father’s mate was.” There was no sorrow in Casval’s voice, nor a hint of a hole to fill in his heart. Either he didn’t care about his mother, or he hid it well. “The golems served us without question and protected the Chest of Worlds on his behalf.”

“Did you manage to locate it, by the way?” 

“I looked everywhere,” Casval admitted. “My sister used to keep it in her quarters in the pyramid before you arrived, but she moved it to a secure location after the two of you formed your alliance.”

Simon had expected as much, but that information was still valuable, since it meant he knew where Vouivre would keep the artifact at the beginning of a reign. “How does one open the chest?”

“You need the blood of Gargauth,” Casval replied. “I can open it myself, as his child.”

“Good to know.” Simon straightened up as one of his imp guards warned him that Vouivre was approaching his palace’s forge with guests. “She’s here.”

Casval straightened up as his sister walked into the room with two familiar faces Simon hoped he wouldn’t have to meet ever again.

“My, my, what a lovely Overlord we have here,” Granny Radhag said, rubbing her hands together. Borsh walked in after her, eyeing the forge warily. “Granny is glad she chose to make the trip.”

Simon scowled and glared at Vouivre. “You told them?”

“I have, since they are yours to dispose of,” his business partner replied confidently. “Verney and the Prince of Spiders have disappeared, and without the Attic to bind it, all of the Cobweb’s strands have split up. They wisely chose to come to me for protection.”

“I do not trust them,” Simon said flatly. “Either I brand them or I’ll kill them.”

“Then brand them,” Vouivre replied, completely ignoring the way Borsh clenched his jaws in frustration. “They’ll accept. They wouldn’t come to us if they had any other choice, and your witch’s coven is missing a third member.”

“Granny would be delighted to guide younger witches who can appreciate her,” Granny Radhag said obsequiously. 

Introducing that baby-eating hag to Cassandra was one of the last things on Simon’s mind, but… Vouivre wasn’t wrong. While Pallian’s Hexer Vassal Class let him join a coven, they still needed a third member to complete it. He guessed he could at least introduce them and smite Granny should she harm his ex-lover in any way.

“I will think about it.” Simon turned to Borsh. “Will you keep baring your fangs at me, wolf, or will you be wise enough to learn your place?”

The werewolf glared at him, but he still lowered his head in submission. As Vouivre pointed out, he wouldn’t be here if he had any other choice. “I will serve,” he relented reluctantly, though his ambition shone in the way he leered at the Blackmist axe and the shadowy, demonic aura around it, “I’m told you can grant men the power of fiends.”

“I can… perhaps we will find you a roommate worthy of you.” Simon turned to Vouivre. “I take it that Uyo is ready?”

“Yes. The goblinoids there have agreed to fight for us, and Melusine’s troops are poised to blockade Valendre.” Vouivre crossed her arms. “The last beastmen tribe in Telluria has agreed to bend the knee. Everything is in place for my coronation.”   

“And once that ceremony is complete?” Simon asked, though he already suspected the answer. 

“Then we march on Beleth, to cast down the first stone, capture Paimon’s daughter, and kill your brother for his Crestone.” Vouivre’s smirk showed her fangs. “The Berserker would look good on you, wouldn’t you agree?”

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