The Hundred Reigns 181: Lux Vult (11) (Patreon)

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Even the mermaids’ songs couldn’t alleviate Simon’s mood. 

The royal family and imperial dignitaries opened up the day of the coronation with a breakfast at the Overlord’s expense. Honeyed cakes baked with berries and nuts, minotaur steaks, Fablan fish, and Uyoan soups were served alongside chocolate, coffee, and tea. Vicequeen Melusine of Bujan had arrived with her personal troupe and other musicians to play for their entertainment. 

None of the foreign delegations agreed to enter Frightwall—Mardok had infamously massacred envoys after a night of revelry, and no foreign Class user would dare enter the Fourth Overlord’s castle—so only imperial nobility, officials, and viceroys attended this particular breakfast. This allowed Simon to finally meet the Monk among the assembly. Viceroy Koryu Vepar was the very picture of the elderly Fablan mountain sages of legends, a broad-shoulder man with a well-trimmed beard and white hair held into a knot tied above his skull and adorned with a fire-shaped headpiece. He wore black and gold lacquered armor held by a red sash that fit him well. Although he was in his seventies, his black eyes still carried a sharpness that reminded Simon of a hawk.  

He had also come with the three students Simon murdered in a previous reign, which made it slightly awkward. 

Otherwise, Simon spotted Elaine and her aunts among the crowd, which he took as a good sign that House Malphas would at least submit. Scaland’s viceroy, a red-scaled scalefolk by the name of Gavial and even taller than Dassein, was the other striking figure among the group. He kept to himself besides two reptilian bodyguards who towered over everyone else, his long serpentine head covered by a headdress of bones and feathers whose complexity contrasted with that of his plain loincloth. 

Every Magnos save for one was present at his table too, but none of them—with the exception of Norbelle—appeared happy about the wedding. Lauriane and Dassein sat as far away from Euphemia’s side of the family as possible. Thalas scowled so hard Simon wondered if he was choking on the food, in spite of his fiancée Antonine’s attempts to lighten his mood, and even Maublanc remained quiet next to Anna. The latter kept sending worried glances Simon’s way, being clearly concerned for a while, while Euphemia pretended nothing was wrong as she took her morning coffee.

Still, they were well dressed for the occasion, though they all paled in comparison to Euphemia. Clad in white and golden robes of the finest Fablan silk, Musan cashmere, Bujan pearls, and golden jewelry, she might as well have become the Light incarnate. A glorious opal and crystal crown shaped like the sun glowed on her head. Her outfit intentionally contrasted with Simon’s own Overlord armor, like the day marrying the night. 

We are the very picture of happy unity, Simon thought as servants cleared away the food. The dukes and viceroys then paid their homage to their new suzerain one after another, offering gifts ranging from decorated saddles he didn’t need, to gemstone-encrusted weapons inferior to Simon’s soulforged ones, to banners bearing House Magnos’ emblem. These offerings would have pleased his father, and Euphemia accepted them in his stead, but Simon struggled to hide his disinterest. 

His mood improved when Isabelle Barbatos and her father offered him a treatise on elemental magic called Power of the Planes. The following gifts of an enchanted blowing horn carved from leviathan bones from Melusine, a colossal, carved serpent’s skull the size of his chest from Gavial, and a superb, empty scroll from Viceroy Koryu were more to his liking.

“Why is there nothing inside?” Simon asked the Monk, slightly amused. 

“Because a ruler’s greatest gift is the opportunity to pass on his wisdom and achievements to others,” Koryu replied with a wise smile that betrayed some mischief. 

Simon could tell it was something of a whimsical joke on his part, and maybe something of a test of his personality. The previous Overlords might have been too prickly to accept such a gift–while knowing Fablan’s viceroy was too important to execute on the spot–so he tried to assess what the new one was made of. 

In Simon’s case, it worked like a charm.

“You are most right,” Simon replied as he rolled up the scroll. “I have many thoughts to put to paper.”

What were the odds that his court would start a trend of sending him books and other documents from now on? Either way, he thanked the viceroy for his gift and then welcomed House Malphas as they stepped towards their table with a gift of their own: an expensively crafted silver chalice decorated with onyxes and carvings of the four Overlords. 

“Your Majesty,” Justine Eligos said on behalf of the group, which included Duke Flauros, his wife Anselma, his son Robert, and Elaine herself. All of them did their best to hide their fear and unease behind smiles or blank faces. “I’m afraid my husband was too sick to make the trip, but I assure you, our loyalty to you and the noble House Magnos has never been stronger.”

The lie was uttered with such confidence that Simon could almost forget the attempted regicide. His family didn’t, however, with most either glaring at them silently or hiding their contempt with sips from their goblets. They kept their tongues in check, even Norbelle, having been briefed on how to conduct themselves. 

“It is clear to us that Patriate Malphas acted alone in his treachery, and our hearts weep that his actions stained your house,” Euphemia said with an empress’ grace. “Though his assets have been confiscated and he shall be tried for his crimes in time, I am sure his daughter Elaine will find a welcome home in Eligos territory.”

“However…” Simon’s tone turned cold. “While your House has been granted a second chance, there will not be a third. Remember that.”

While her sibling and stepfamily flinched or remained quiet, Justine answered with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “We will,” she promised. “If we can be useful to Your Majesty in any way–”

“You will be,” Simon interrupted her. “My scholars will be in touch with you soon.”

It was theater, all of it. A show of forgiveness to tell War Party supporters and anxious nobles that the new leadership was willing to avoid a bloody purge, and a warning that treachery against the Fourth Overlord wouldn’t be tolerated. 

Though he hoped this would keep the peace and open the path to a fragile truce with Illusea, Simon was more than willing to use force should those overtures fail; a sentiment Euphemia shared with him once time came to leave the castle for Marthrone’s cathedral. 

“You should have slain them all as an example alongside Patriate,” she argued once they boarded the manticore-pulled royal coach. Simon had considered using his dracozombie mount, but Euphemia insisted they borrow symbols of the old administration to show the continuity of power in the family. “Your own father opened up his rule with a similar purge in the first month of his reign.”

“I do not trust them, but we need a way to contact Illusea and convince them our administration will be different,” he replied. The former Merchant’s execution was planned for tomorrow, though Simon would keep his soul as blackmail material to pressure his family into compliance. “I will not hesitate to destroy them if they prove false.”

“Peace with Illusea…” Euphemia looked through the carriage’s window as they drove ahead of the imperial procession. “They supported us during the Reformation, right up until Balzam struck the final blow against Gargauth and took the Overlord Class for himself.”

“I assume that wasn’t the outcome the Oracle had in mind.”

“No. I was supposed to land the final blow in the hopes that being a Visionary and Judge would disrupt the Overlord Class’ inheritance.” Euphemia shook her head. “But your father beheaded Gargauth when the moment of truth came. I thought he had simply acted in the heat of the moment, as one does not always follow the plan in a battle to the death…”

“He was planning that from the start,” Simon guessed. The Commander had outwitted everyone. “I don’t think it would have worked if you had landed the final blow, anyway. A divine sword couldn’t end the Overlord Class.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Euphemia replied. “Either way, I pray the elves will listen to our generous terms. If we can convince them the Overlord has transitioned from an existential threat to them to another inheritable head-of-state’s regalia, then we can look forward to coexistence.”

“An inheritable regalia?” Simon frowned. “Is that why you are so focused on inheritance?”

Euphemia nodded. “Mardok and Gargauth had no plans for their succession and assumed they would live forever, but your father was wise enough to see his luck would run out one day. He always wanted one of his children to inherit.” 

“Well, it worked.”

Euphemia scowled. “We thought it would have been enough for Norbelle or Louis to kill him when he had grown old,” she admitted. “I do not understand why the Overlord Class passed over Louis and chose you, but it stayed inside House Magnos all the same. I assume its spirit agrees with our goals.”

She was half-right. If Simon’s suspicions were correct and the dead Overlords had a say in whoever inherited it, then he and his father might find common ground in keeping it in the family… assuming the Class didn’t pick its wielder through another mechanism. If so, then her hopes would die with Simon on his final reign. 

A question still burned on his lips. 

“Would it make you happy?” Simon asked.

Euphemia frowned at him. “What?”

“Ruling this empire, crowning your children, entrusting them with the glory and burden of the Overlord Class…” Simon gazed into her eyes. “Would it make you happy?”

His question drew a scowl from the empress. “Of course it will,” she insisted with the same frustration Vouivre no doubt noticed when Simon defended his vision for the future, or rather, his lack of it. “I have worked for it for twenty years.”

“Yes, indeed,” Simon said, a sense of certainty growing inside his heart. “It would be terrible to spend so much of one’s life on something that wasn’t worth it.”

Euphemia’s gaze turned icy as they reached the cathedral. “Just shut up and kiss me when you must.”

The finest imperial regiments had gathered to escort the imperial cortege, and they were acclaimed to the tune of war horns, trumpets, and firework spells. Knight raised the imperial banners of House Magnos and the Church of the Light’s heraldry as Simon and Euphemia climbed off the carriage. He gallantly offered his soon-to-be-wife his armored arm, which she took. 

No cloud on the horizon so far, Simon thought. He knew well that his enemies would likely try something now that nearly all of House Magnos was gathered in one place, so he had greatly increased security in the capital in anticipation of an attack or assassination attempt. He had especially increased the number of guards watching Louis, including summoning demons bound to him by Devil Brands. He had also entrusted the safety of the Mana Sword to Belzemine, whom he knew no elven strike team would dare harm. How long will this last?

They walked into the immense nave of Marthrone’s cathedral, where great ivory pillars supported a dome carved like the sun shining at the center of the cosmos. Murals representing Pharis, Euphemia, and the Light’s other saints adorned the walls. Mastemo himself awaited them at the altar with other masked Confessors who had gathered here to celebrate the union. 

Foreign dignitaries were present in the aisles, standing up when Simon and Euphemia walked in. Simon recognized a few merchant-prince delegates from the Valnean League that he met during his time in Rosanne, but Voltobauta was tellingly absent. Muse’s group included humans and goblinoids he did not recognize, and a smiling individual whose dark aura told Simon he was almost certainly either Bert or Verney in disguise. He had clashed with them too often not to recognize their rot. 

I’ll have him secretly murdered before the day is done, just to be sure, Simon thought. Euphemia had cast a Judge’s Law preventing violence inside the cathedral, so they shouldn’t have much to fear, but he would take no chances. 

His gaze wandered to the Lorean delegation. It included Satine, who studied him warily. None of her party had accompanied her, likely because the Holy Kingdom wasn’t foolish enough to send the Paladin’s party to an Overlord’s wedding. 

And then Simon spotted Remedia.

She had indeed come alongside high-ranked nobles from Cocagne, clad in her finest gown and jewelry, as beautiful and regal as the day he lost her. A flood of memories overcame him, least of all the sight of her severed head bleeding in Verney’s hand… 

Simon felt Euphemia’s grip on his arm tighten so hard he felt it through his armor. His face snapped back at the altar and he forced himself to ignore the Mage in the room. 

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union between Overlord Simon and our beloved Empress,” Mastemo informed the crowd, his staff hitting the ground. “The union between Light and Dark!”

Simon pretended to listen to the High Confessor’s sermon, but his mind was already elsewhere. “Make me happy, my Overlord.” Remedia’s words wouldn’t leave his head. He thought his feelings would have mellowed out over the past few reigns, but seeing her in the flesh again had suddenly reminded him of all of his feelings and guilt. 

Would this reign make her happy? Would marrying Euphemia, ensuring Cocagne stayed out of a devastating war, and maybe breaking the curse on a husband unworthy of her give her happiness? The mere thought somehow annoyed Simon to his core. 

Mastemo concluded the benediction by daring any to oppose the union. Simon expected Thalas to speak up, or a Paladin to barge into the church, but his half-brother bit his tongue to stay quiet and no hero came to defy him.

“Then let us proceed with the sacred contract,” Mastemo announced as he unfolded a golden scroll in front of them. Euphemia and Simon signed it both with a golden quill right after the High Confessor read the provisions out loud. No sooner did he add his signature than a notification filled his screen. 

You have forged a Marriage Contract with Euphemia Agares-Magnos. This agreement cannot be broken or modified without mutual consent.

Restrictions:

You may not have sexual intercourse with any other than Euphemia Agares-Magnos.

Euphemia Agares-Magnos may not have sexual intercourse with any individual other than you.

Benefits:

Half the damage one suffers will be transferred to the other party; the death of one party will slay the other. 

The newlyweds may summon each other without restrictions, and are constantly aware of the other’s location. 

They had gone with a more restrictive interpretation to publicly silence critics and hearsay during the ceremony, while leaving a ‘mutual consent’ modification clause for the future. 

“Let it be known that Euphemia of House Magnos, Empress of Endymion and Saintess of the Reformation, and His Majesty Simon of House Magnos, Fourth Overlord and Emperor of Endymion, Lord of the Demon Castle and the Crimson Throne, High King of all that he sees, chosen of the Church of the Light, are now joined as one in the holiest of embraces! Cursed be those who would tear them asunder!” He stomped the ground with his staff again, then addressed the newlyweds. “You may now seal your love with a kiss!”

Chants echoed in the background, led by the Bard and chorus boys of the Church. Simon removed the face-concealing part of his helmet with a thought, then faced Euphemia. There was no hesitation in her gaze as he seized her in his arms, nor any lust nor enjoyment; only duty and resignation. 

As for Simon, he simply imagined Remedia in her place as he leaned forward to kiss her. This immediately made it so much easier as his lips became voracious rather than reluctant, taking Euphemia aback. The crowd applauded them with various degrees of enthusiasm as he let the empress go, with the Church Party supporters’ fervor contrasting with the slow, forced clap from the likes of Lauriane and Thalas. 

At which point, Simon crowned himself. 

The applause turned into gasps of shock and dread as his Crown of Pain materialized over his helmet, a circle of screaming hellfire and ghoulish burning skulls. 

“Listen to me, people of Endymion and beyond!” Simon declared as he summoned back his face-concealing helmet, his eyes burning with hellfire. “This is the beginning of a new era for our empire and the lands beyond! An era of peace and security for all of Brimir!”

It was his first speech to delegates who would carry his word back to their nations, so he had to make a good first impression. 

“My father believed he could rule the world with fear, in an endless conquest purchased with blood! My new wife and I, meanwhile, believe in an empire that protects its citizens and ensures their welfare! A strong state to unite our people!” He powered through his unease and waved a hand at Queen Remedia and the Cocagne delegation. “Once our empire’s borders finally come to encompass the last of the Tellurians holdouts and my sister, Princess Norbelle, has finally wed Prince Verdis of Cocagne, then the eastern continent shall finally be united! The fratricidal wars of the past will come to an end, and we will move forward towards stabilization!"

“No airship will cross the Dragonsea to bring war to Lore, Valne, Muse, or Illusea,” Euphemia added. “Instead, they will carry goods for merchants and gifts for our neighbors. We will begin working together towards worldwide peace and prosperity.”

“But do not mistake an open hand for weakness!” Simon warned the assembly, his fist clenching. “Those who would infringe on our hemisphere or interfere in our affairs will find only hellfire and steel! A futile demise is all that awaits those who dare challenge Endymion’s might!”

His nobles and officials answered with thunderous claps, each trying to outdo the others in zeal in order to curry favor with their new sovereigns. The foreign dignitaries exchanged uneasy glances, but went along anyway; perhaps out of cautious enthusiasm, or more probably out of fear. 

Simon expected something to happen. A fireball erupting in the hall, a blast of light coming down from the heavens, an assassin surging from the crowd to strike him. He waited for the applause to die down and the dagger to strike. 

None did. 

—-----

The rest of the ceremony went well. 

The ‘happy couple’ received gifts from the foreign dignitaries ranging from a Musan chess-playing golem to Cocagnian brooches laced with protective enchantment. The Valneans offered products from their cities, while the Kingdom of Lore returned an ancient spear taken from Gargauth’s treasury during the chaos that followed the Reformation. All of them would be thoroughly inspected before Simon would even touch them. 

He was thankful that his helmet hid his face when Queen Remedia and the Cocagne delegation invited them to a private ball at their embassy. “It will be a quiet affair compared to Frightwall’s splendor,” Remedia said courteously, “but it would delight us if you could attend.”

“We shall consider it,” Euphemia immediately replied with a tone devoid of emotion. The way she held Simon’s arm while saying those words made him wonder if she was considering bashing the Mage’s head in with her warhammer. 

Afterwards, Simon and Euphemia walked out of the cathedral to the mob’s acclaim, which only increased in clamor when they announced a three-day festival at the crown’s expense. They would have all the food, drink, and games they could ever want. 

With the ceremony concluding, the imperial family returned to Frightwall. Simon and Euphemia traveled back to their bedchambers, then closed the doors behind them. A normal couple would have consummated their union once in private, but this was obviously out of the question. 

“It went better than I expected,” Simon admitted as he dropped his Overlord armor. “Much be–”

His wife slapped him in the face. 

Simon should have been invulnerable to such things, but Euphemia’s hand still bypassed his Perks and hit hard enough to send him reeling. She was a lot stronger than her frame suggested.

“You’re cut from the same lecherous cloth as your father, only thinking with that sword between your legs!” Euphemia snarled in her fury. Her cheeks had grown a tiny bit redder since their contract shared their pain. “I kept my mouth shut about the kish and Anna, but then you go and leer at that Cocagnian whore?!”

His memories of Cocagne came flooding back, filling him with rage. “Hold your tongue,” Simon replied, his fists clenching. “She is a better woman than you will ever be.”

“So you do lust for her,” Euphemia replied angrily. “You were imagining her in my place, weren’t you?!”

“So what?” Simon grit his teeth. “You don’t know what I had to give up to be here, so that we could avoid the disastrous war you and Louis nearly started!” 

“Poor you, being forced to be faithful when I sacrificed twenty years of my life!” Euphemia taunted him back with disgust. “Yet here you go and humiliate me in front of the entire empire, like your father did!”

“I am not my father!” Simon’s patience was wearing thin. “Don’t tell me you were looking forward to kissing me!”

“How dare you look at her like a lecher on our wedding day?!” Now she was fuming. “You and Balzam should have taken a pig as an emblem!”

“If you hate our emblem so much, why fight so hard to bear it?!” Simon sneered at her. “Perhaps because it’s easier to admit you wasted half your life on somebody else’s legacy?!”

She slapped him again on the other cheek, and that did it. 

Simon grabbed her by the throat in a flash of rage and then pinned her against the nearest wall before she could react. Or perhaps it was his speed and ferociousness that took him back.  

He was done with her blatant disrespect!

“I’m no longer a child who won’t fight back, Euphemia… and if you want to play this game, then I won’t hold back either.” Simon leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “You are a raging hypocrite fighting for a dead man’s legacy. A man you hated.”

Her eyes glared at him with all of her venom. “You dare strike me?!”

“Yes, I do, because you are a weakling!” How could he not have seen it before? “I’ve seen your heart’s desire in Carbuncle’s mirror, Your Grace. You don’t need three eyes to guess you would be happier away from this place and my Crimson Throne.” 

“You know nothi–”

“But it’s easier to cling to it, isn’t it?” Simon guessed. “Balzam sweet-talked you for over twenty years into telling you it will all be worth it, that your lost homeland can be avenged and reincarnated into the Endymion empire, that it will all be worth it… and you’d rather keep going rather than admit that it wasn’t!”

She pushed him back with a thrust of her palms that carried more strength than many men her size, then charged at him. She tossed him onto the bed and pinned him below her into a pose an onlooker might have mistaken for something else.

“You are a halfbreed,” Euphemia hissed. “A bastard through and through.”

“Says the chieftain’s daughter so desperate for affection she lusts for a man who tried to put his daughter in my bed.” She slapped him again. “That’s right, Maublanc doesn’t love you as much as the idea of his daughter replacing you!” Another slap. “Is that how you managed to conceive Norbelle? Because you imagined sleeping with Uncle Maublanc while my father dreamed of Remedia?!” 

This time, she outright punched him. Simon retaliated by slapping her, the bruise appearing on his cheek, and then they began struggling on the bed. He tossed off her crown, and she ripped out some of his hair, yet somehow both retained enough self-control not to put on their Class outfits. Simon managed to come out on top, his hands reaching for her throat in a sudden urge to strangle her, when he suddenly stopped. 

Euphemia Magnos, empress of Endymion, was struggling not to cry from all three of her eyes. 

The sight of the cold-hearted Judge on the verge of tears spooked Simon out of his rage. The woman beneath him wasn’t the all-powerful co-ruler of Endymion, capable of smiting Gargauth’s heirs into the dirt and intimidating Louis himself, but a woman now facing the truth: that her twenty years of futile frustration and failure to break out of her husband’s shadow had landed her right back at the beginning.  

What am I doing? Simon pulled his hands back out of shame. A husband shouldn’t hit his wife, even one that he disliked. This isn’t right. 

Euphemia bit her lips, but didn’t answer him. She wiped away her tears as if it could wash her own shame away, suppressing a sob. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Simon apologized. His sympathy flew away the moment she glared back at him in disgust. “You slapped me first. What else did you expect?” 

“Respect,” Euphemia replied icily. “Faithfulness.”

“What, you want me to consummate our marriage? To be as devoted to you as Balzam should have been?” He received no answer, and he could see on her face that the mere prospect disgusted her. “Or do you want a divorce? Would you rather wed Maublanc? Is that what you want?”

She looked away at him in silence, because she had no answer herself.

“Then make up your damn mind,” Simon said. “The comet is only one year away, and with it, a worldwide disaster. We need to keep a united front if we are to survive, so either we deal with your grievances now or you keep them out of t–”

He heard a knock on the door, followed by Lauriane calling out his name. As if this couldn’t get any worse. 

“What?!” Simon snapped. “We’re very busy right now!”

“He’s gone!” his sister answered through the door. 

Simon’s blood ran cold. “Whom?”

“Louis!” Lauriane answered. “Louis is gone!”

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