The Hundred Reigns 261: King of Spiders (3) (Patreon)

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“You want me to…” Eole’s face twisted into an expression of pure, unfiltered disgust. “To audit a slavery ring?”

“Yes, I do,” Simon replied from behind his new desk in Bert’s manor. After spending two weeks securing his control over the Cobweb and the Attic, he had invited Eole to take a trip through the doors and had given her a summary of the situation. “I want you to follow Borsh and learn everything you can about his branch of the organization. How it works, what routes it uses to transport slaves, who’s benefiting from it—”

“Why?” she interrupted him in sheer disbelief. “You say you’ve taken over. Why study this disease rather than simply squash it? Just close shop and send everyone involved to the nearest city watch!”

“Slavery is still legal in Endymion, Valne, and even some parts of Muse. The Cobweb is one of these nations’ main suppliers, especially when it comes to shifters, but far from the only one.” That business existed many years before the organization even formed, after all. “The institution will endure so long as there is a demand and suppliers. If we don’t fully understand the trade routes used, the dynamics at work, the people involved… then the issue will sprout back up like a weed.”

Eole bit her lip. “You think someone else will fill the void we leave behind?”

“Yes, I do.” Simon clasped his hands. “This is why I need an outside observer to help me assess the situation. The more we understand how everything works, the more changes we can enact.”

Simon had encountered similar issues during the reign where he allied with the War Party. Outlawing slavery and recruiting shifters into the army had helped, true, but Odette had informed him that debt-bondage cases had spiked during the same timeframe. Powerful individuals simply defaulted to more legal forms of constraints to keep their chattel under their thumb. 

Some problems couldn’t be solved overnight with a mere decree. 

“I understand, but…” Eole shook her head. “Can’t you send someone else? Standing in the same room as slavers makes my skin crawl.”

“I don’t think anybody else in my employ would care—truly care—about how to end the practice,” Simon replied. The sisters had already tried to convince him not to bother with it. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Eole was too brave and determined to avert her eyes from the issue. “Alright,” she said. “And if my final recommendation is to throw all the slavers in jail?” 

“Then we’ll do it.” Those he didn’t need, at least. “I’ll take you at your word.”

“Thank you, Simon.” Eole nodded at him. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t,” Simon replied as he called over two demotaur doorkeepers to guide her through the Attic. He was mere weeks away from phasing out the fetches for more loyal employees to manage his pocket dimension. Besides, demonic minotaurs seemed more stylistically appropriate guardians for a maze than smiling, soulless human imitations. “Please take her to Borsh.”

“Are these minotaurs?” Eole asked warily, wincing in slight fear when she noticed their burning, demonic skulls. “Are they… demons?”

“They’re uplifted cows, granted strength and intelligence by my magic,” Simon reassured her. “I assure you, beneath that fiery exterior lies the heart of a peaceful grazer.”

“The Rancher-Shepherd took us from our pastures and showed us the world beyond the fence,” one of the demotaurs professed his faith. “His guidance is like the sun shining on the plains.”

“The Rancher-Shepherd is life,” said the other guard. “You too will feel his love one day, milady.”

Eole paled like chalk, much to Simon’s sorrow. “I can call female mephisgoat servants if they’ll put you more at ease—”

“No,” Eole cut in, clearly eager to leave. “This… this is fine, Simon.”

It wasn’t, but Simon didn’t insist. 

He felt a dash of guilt as he watched Eole leave. He knew from experience Borsh’s words would cause his friend to reassess her idealized vision of shifters. This would give her more perspective on the real issues plaguing her people, and hopefully make her open to reaching an agreement with Vouivre. 

Simon knew he was manipulating her in some way, but he told himself he was simply teaching her how the world really worked outside of the Sanctuary; that reality wasn’t as black and white as it first appeared. Was it any different from any teacher enlightening their student? 

He simply wished for her to grow wiser. 

“I’m just surprised you didn’t brand her,” Velvet said when she stepped out of his office’s shadows. He had grown used to the sisters popping up without warning by now. “Do you actually care about that kish girl? I do admit she’s easy on the eyes…”

“You will find no vulnerability to exploit there, Velvet.”

“I’m not looking for blackmail material, I’m just curious. An Overlord interested in ending slavery sounds utterly nonsensical to me.” Velvet smiled ear to ear. “Don’t tell me you’re doing it to please that bird? You think entertaining her abolitionist fantasies will open up the path to her bedsheets?”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Velvet,” Simon warned her. “Do you have anything to report, or did you just come here for my company?” 

“Both.” She crossed her legs on his desk. “I commissioned the Coils as you asked.” 

“Did they ask questions?” 

“They did, but a bag of gold provided all the answers they needed,” Velvet mused. The couple was in no position to refuse a mysterious patron’s request at the start of the reigns due to their debts. “They were quite surprised by your magical pictobox prototype and the blueprints you provided. I do wonder why you want a non-magical version of something you’ve already built.”

“The device is very big and clunky as it is, on top of requiring magical resources that can be interfered with,” Simon explained. “A smaller, purely mechanical variant could be discreetly carried by spies and used in areas with magical defenses.”

Velvet’s eyes lit up. “Like the Crafter’s Tower?”

“Among other places,” Simon confirmed. They needed a little more intel on the structure before they launched their assault, especially on the Crafter Crestone’s precise location. Moreover, purely mechanical pictoboxes couldn’t pierce through the puppet impostors’ disguise, so the Godmind shouldn’t suspect any foul play. “My spies in Endymion will find it useful too.”

Many possibilities would open up should Jym Coil manage to create miniature pictoboxes. Simon quickly imagined ways to insert them into small golems under his control with the task of detecting and reporting suspicious activity. Having pictoboxes overlooking all of Marthrone’s streets would help reduce criminal activity and help the citizens feel safe under their Overlord’s gaze—

Simon’s head perked up when a jolt coursed through his spine. “Huh.”

“What?” Velvet asked. 

“I just gained Overlord experience when I imagined a pictobox-powered surveillance state. Not creating it, merely conceptualizing it.”

“Well, good for you.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t think it is.” The Overlord archetype really liking an idea was an enormous red flag. “Not that I am in any position to make it a reality for now, anyway...”

“You’re an odd one,” Velvet said as the Attic door opened again to let Silk and Renal step through. The latter carried a miasmic curved sword Simon had gifted him to better fulfill his duties. “Sister, back so soon?”

“The mission proved easier than expected,” Silk replied with a thin smile. “You should have seen their faces when they climbed down from their mountain to find us surrounding them from all sides.”

“Your intel about the Monk’s students was deadly accurate, New Boss,” Renal said gruffly. He hadn’t entirely gotten over his demotion yet, though his new gear and magical enhancements mollified him somewhat. “It was over in a minute. They’re either petrified or asleep in our care.”

“Good,” Simon said. Supplementing the Cobweb’s Fangs with Devil Brands, cursed equipment, and mephisgoat auxiliaries had greatly bolstered the organization’s deadliness. 

“I’ve gotta say, New Boss, your brands’ stat boosts and immunities do come in handy.” Renal stared at his palm and then clenched his fist. “I’ve never felt so strong and sharp before. It’s like I skipped a few levels.”

“I see you are in a better mood than when we last met,” Simon noted. “And here I feared you wouldn’t move on from my predecessor.”

“I’m a professional,” Renal replied gruffly. “Valravn was the Boss and Prince of Spiders, so I followed his orders without questions. The end.”

Simon was tempted to believe him. He had feared Renal would be a closet-demon worshipper considering Valravn trusted him enough to defend demon host labs and wield Exodeos’ crystal in a previous reign, but his Heart’s Desire simply showed him at the pinnacle of skill; a master Ninja who had reached the apex of his craft. 

In short, he was little different from the likes of Dassein; a man loyal to the position rather than whoever occupied it, who preferred to follow orders rather than give them, and with few lines they wouldn’t cross should their superior order them to. 

“If you seek more power, you only need to ask,” Simon said. “I can provide more.”

“I won’t spit on that,” Renal replied warily. “I ain’t interested in becoming one of your cows, though.” 

“I had something else in mind. One of my Perks lets me create magical tattoos with unique properties.” Simon had intended to test out the ability alongside ‘Skillbooks,’ and Renal could make for a good test subject. 

“I’ve heard about those.” Renal stroked his chin. “Fablan has a few Inkmasters capable of applying enchanted tattoos.”

“Truly?” That caught Simon’s interest. “I don’t recall seeing any Fablan locals with tattoos.”

“Tattoos are almost always either associated with criminal rings, ninja clans, and especially the northern goblinoid tribes,” Silk explained. “Wearing one will get you barred from many public places.”

“Not really a problem for Renal,” Velvet mused. “No one will see them beneath his Ninja clothes.”

“We can discuss that later,” Silk said, being all business as usual. “We better interrogate the Monk’s students before somebody notices their absence.”

“Yes, let's not waste time,” Simon decided as he issued telepathic orders to two of his retainers. “Come to me now.”

Demotaurs soon guided Hector and Lorimor into his office. The two changed quite a bit over the last few days, the former wearing a restored Verney’s corpse like a glove, and the latter having transformed into a scholar of dread with hundreds of eyes. The sight of their deceased employer being transformed into a meatsuit did put the sisters in a good mood, and left Renal rather disturbed.

“Your Dark Majesty,” the demonic hybrid which used to be Lorimor said with a bow. “What is thy bidding?”

“I have a job for you.”

—------------------

It took many screams, but they learned much about the Royal Mausoleum. 

Combining Heart’s Desire, Lorimor’s psychic powers, and the mind-reading application of Hector’s helmet allowed the group to quickly extract all the intel they needed from the Monk’s three students. The process proved rather… strenuous and a bit sickening for Simon himself, but the use of Memory Snatcher to erase the traumatic experience from their minds assuaged his guilt a little. 

The Royal Mausoleum’s location wasn’t exactly a secret. Simon had learned from Shabram that it was hidden on a small lake at the bottom of an ancient ravine said to have been torn open by a clash between the eidolon Azulbolla and an ancient demon which was almost certainly the Zodiac Fiend Hashtur. However, the entrance would only appear to a member of the royal House Vepar who followed a specific procedure; one which one of the three students, Yashamaru Vepar, had been made aware of as a family secret. 

“The Royal Mausoleum is kept in a pocket dimension,” Hector explained after he had finished delving into their prisoner’s mind. “A member of House Vepar must cross five portals in a specific order for them to enter it, and they must remain in physical contact with any guest during the entire process.”

“I can fill in for the boy, so long as we have the door order,” Silk said. “Anything we should expect there? Traps? Guardians?”

“The upper levels are relatively safe besides a handful of terracotta and golem guardians meant to protect the tombs,” Hector replied. “The lower levels have become a dangerous Dungeon due to the presence of sealed demons. Viceroy Koryu refused to let his students train there until they reached level 50, so they have no idea what to expect there.”

“We should be overqualified,” Simon mused. He wished he had learned of this Dungeon earlier. It would have given him much-needed training. “We’ll bring Voltobauta with us, just in case. What better than the Necromancer to safely navigate a mausoleum?” The poor pirate king would certainly complain about them robbing the dead, but such was life. “Anything else?”

“Yes, the Monk sounded much more fearful about goblinoid invasions from the north than they let the empire know in their reports,” Lorimir said. “He sent his precious apprentices to curb their activities in the Misty Mountains and discourage an invasion.”

“Interesting.” Simon truly needed to dedicate a reign to Fablan one day. He had the feeling that he would learn many esoteric secrets and Techniques there. “That isn’t truly our problem for now, but we’ll monitor the situation.”

“I must thank Your Dark Majesty for all the inspiration they provide me,” Lorimor mused gleefully as he scribbled notes on fear in a book. “It has afforded me many ideas for my treatise on fear.”

“Take your time completing it. The more exhaustive, the better.” Simon cleared his throat. “No more torture, however. This treatise must be as theoretical as possible.”

He was convinced Lorimor’s Darkest Fear: The Thirteen Terrors of Man had become a miasmic Grimoire. Simon hadn’t understood the book’s significance and true power in the past, but he would be sure to record it in his Abyssal Chronicle once his retainer recreated it from scratch. 

Intellectual property theft would be the least of his crimes. 

—----

Since he would rather quickly placate Chrom Cruak and secure his loyalty, Simon assembled a party to raid Fablan’s Royal Mausoleum the moment they released the Monk’s students back into the Misty Mountains. 

Silk, Renal, Voltobauta, and Chrom Cruak himself joined together through an Attic door and then on a short dracozombie ride to their destination. They flew over a vast ravine under the cover of the night, and then reached a lake surrounded by five strange rectangular vermillion gates. The dozens or so unprepared guards there were easily petrified. 

So far so good, Simon thought once they made landfall. Cobweb spies confirmed Koryu Vepar was busy with an official visit, so they shouldn’t suffer any surprise interruption on his part. He still summoned a few branded demons to keep watch over the area. Better safe than sorry.

“To think my first task in your service would be to rob a mausoleum,” Voltobauta complained. “You truly are evil incarnate, Overlord Magnos.”

“I’ll hold my end of the bargain,” Simon reminded him. “Perform well and I’ll introduce you to my kish ally.”

“Don’t make that face, vampire,” Silk replied. “Imagine all the treasures we’ll find in this place. They’ll finally serve the living rather than gathering dust.”

“A dead person is entitled to their material possessions, whether in this world or the next,” Voltobauta grumbled back. “You’re almost as bad as a certain Adventurer I know…”

“Before we delve into the Mausoleum… please hand me your Crestone,” Simon ordered Voltobauta, who immediately tensed up. “I will give it right back, I simply wish to check its Perks.” 

Voltobauta hesitated for a very, very long time before reluctantly handing over his Crestone. Simon seized the Crestone and put on the Necromancer outfit, a skullish mask and dark robes growing over his skin. It suited him relatively well like the Adventurer before it, likely because he died and raised more undead than any other person in history. 

Checking the System screen finally assuaged his curiosity. 

The Necromancer: The gravekeeper and gravedigger, the bridge between the living and the dead, who speaks for the departed and quells the grief of those they left behind.

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

Unfinished Business (Passive): Should you perish with unfulfilled oaths and promises, you will linger as a specter until you fulfill them, with the Necromancer Crestone serving as a spiritual anchor. 

Speaker of the Dead (Active): You can summon the ghost of anyone whose name you know and compel them to answer your questions to the best of their knowledge. The more details you know about the individual, the greater your chances of summoning the ghost you are looking for. 

Limbo (Passive): When targeted by a magical effect, using an item, or casting a spell, you may count as alive, dead, or undead, whichever is most advantageous to you. If you attempt to become an undead creature, such as a vampire or lich, then the procedure always succeeds on you with no chance of failure.

Gravelord (Passive): Mindless undead never attack you unless provoked and always obey your orders, while intelligent ones instinctively see you as an authority figure. You cannot lose control of undead you have created unless you allow it. Your spells can target undead as if they were the living creatures they used to be, bypassing any resistance or immunity they receive from their undead status. 

Level 1 Perk: Dark Arts I (Passive): You can learn and cast Tier I spells of the Necromancy, Thaumaturgy, Psychicism, Diabolism, Chronomancy, Conjuration, Shamanism, Ritual, Witchcraft, and Divination schools of sorcery; you automatically channel miasma or mana when casting spells of those schools at no cost to yourself. 

“Unfinished business?” Simon chuckled. “I see why you are a man of your word.”

“I am very careful about that,” Voltobauta admitted. “One of my predecessors made so many oaths that they ended up bound to the Crestone for over three hundred years. The spiritual pressure of those unfulfilled promises drove them mad.”

“Wouldn’t they be happy to stick around?” Renal asked. 

“You cannot understand,” Chrom Cruak rasped. “A promise is wind for the living… and a spiritual fetter for the dead. Would you like to constantly carry an anchor around your neck?”

Renal shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, a living hell is still living.”

Simon briefly pondered devouring one of the Necromancer’s Innate Perks before returning the Crestone to Voltobauta. He didn’t see anything he couldn’t obtain by other means besides Unfinished Business, and he was pretty sure the reigns’ mechanism would interfere with it. None of the previous Overlords had become an undead by their final reign in spite of the obvious advantages, and his father outright dismissed Duchar’s offer to become a lich. This suggested he had tried it and failed, as the Crimson Throne claimed his soul anyway. The device likely served as a kind of phylactery for all Overlords anyway. 

With his curiosity satisfied, the group held hands and followed Silk through the gates, crossing one after another in a complex pattern. Simon’s Dark Visionary senses noticed subtle shifts in space around them with each threshold they passed, until reality itself warped once they completed the sequence. 

A thick, silvery fog immediately fell upon them without warning and shrouded everything beyond the lake, from the sky to the ravine. It was a different kind of mist than those summoned by Simon’s Perks, being made of pure mana. He hadn’t breathed air charged with so much of it outside of a manatree’s proximity. 

“This is a demiplane,” Voltobauta noted. “I’m impressed. They built a threshold between the Worldsoul and the material plane.”

“Can one physically travel to the Worldsoul?” Simon wondered. “The only creatures I know who do so are eidolons.”

Voltobauta nodded. “The Worldsoul is closer to Hell’s counterpart than the Abyss. It is a border region between the material plane and the Empyrean shaped by the collective memories and will of souls transiting through the manatree network, and thus relatively hospitable.” 

Simon frowned behind his helmet. “The Empyrean?”

“The plane of the Light.” Voltobauta took delight in his confusion. “What, did you think this world was all there is?”

“Wait,” Silk cut in, her chin pointing at the lake. “Look.”

Simon and the others soon spotted a structure rising out of the shining waters; a strange island with gardens full of vast ponds of lotus flowers, cherry trees, and stony shrines dedicated to the deceased. A massive stone structure the size of a keep shrouded in mist dominated it. 

Fablan’s Royal Mausoleum welcomed them.

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