The Hundred Reigns 272: King of Spiders (14) (Patreon)

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They blew up the Goetia Research Facility and scoured the new disease in flames.

Afterwards, they transferred Lauriane to Hector’s—or rather Verney’s—castle, where she was placed in the Honorius family’s care after Simon confiscated her Crestones for her own good. Valravn’s former facilities were easy to repurpose into an infirmary to host his sibling. 

Simon ran around in circles in front of the door until it finally opened up. He briefly caught a glimpse of Lauriane sleeping in a bed with Hector sitting at her side, holding her hand, before Cassandra and Duchar stepped out of it. 

“So?” Simon asked once they closed the door behind them. 

“She’s asleep,” Cassandra explained. “Her Alchemist Perks increased my potions’ positive effects, so she’s calmer now.”

“Her Highness is showing severe signs of paranoia, depressive episodes, delusions of persecution, extreme mental stress, and intense hallucinations,” Duchar replied with professional detachment. “My son has a way of calming her, but the best we can do is let her rest for now.”

This is all my fault. From Lauriane’s point of view, she had lost her father and two brothers in the span of months, on top of all her unresolved issues with Hector and her mother’s death when she was a mere infant. I should have talked to her. 

Simon had opted for extreme caution this reign to better hide his identity. He thought minimizing his interactions with the world would help along his plans best, but it had cost him and the world much. Such were the wages of his careless disdain for his sister’s emotional needs. 

Next time… next time… He always kept telling himself he would change things for the better next time, but it didn’t erase the issues he caused during this current reign. Can I still salvage things? 

“When will she recover?” Simon asked. If she could recover. “When do you think I can see her?”

Duchar hesitated. ”I cannot say. She is not even convinced you are real, Your Majesty.”

Simon winced at his words, which Cassandra picked up on. “I can help my brother take care of her,” she suggested. “I have experience managing Hector’s violent episodes, back when his body kept failing him.” 

“Yes… yes, I would appreciate that,” Simon replied, his heart overflowing with sorrow and guilt. “If you need anything, just ask me. Price is no object.” 

Should he use Memory Snatcher on Lauriane and erase some of her trauma? It might improve her mental state, though the idea of erasing his own sister’s trauma made his skin crawl. His previous experiments on Lorimor had also been disappointing. 

Why was the human mind such a fragile and complicated thing? He ought to dedicate a reign to mastering Psychism magic one day to cure Belzemine and his sister at the very least. 

For now, he would follow Duchar’s lead and see if Lauriane could recover with rest and more mundane treatments before using anything more drastic.

“What about the cure?” Simon asked. He had coaxed notes on the Fleshplague out of Lauriane, confiscated her potions for analysis, and shared them with Duchar. “Did you find anything?”

“Based on the information Your Majesty received from your sister, the Fleshplague appears to be a self-replicating disease spirit that specifically targets its victims’ immune systems,” Duchar explained. “Her Highness tailored this supernatural virus to the Human Tribe’s core attributes and its cousins.”

“So it only affects humans?” Simon guessed. He supposed Lauriane hadn’t yet been insane enough to create something capable of destroying the entire world’s biosphere. “I guess it could also infect elves, shifters, and probably most goblinoids, since we share common ancestors.”

“Yes, yes indeed. What Her Highness’ vaccine does, really, is apply a ‘marker’ to the inoculated individual’s body that tells the Fleshplague to stay dormant. I suspect this is why the infected tend to ignore vaccinated individuals.”

“They still carry the disease in a dormant form, so the mutants identify them as one of their own.” Simon considered this information. “Could we spread this marker without the vaccine? Maybe create another strain capable of protecting the whole population?”

“It is theoretically possible,” Duchar confirmed, albeit with caveats. “However, besides the fact that creating such a thing will likely take a while and many resources, it won’t cure those who are already infected; nor preclude the possibility that the Fleshplague will further adapt.” 

In short, all they could do was prevent the disaster from getting worse at the very best. Simon would still take what good news he could. 

“Radhag and all of our Chemists will be mobilized to the task,” he decided. Verney had a strong public philanthropist reputation, so he doubted anyone would bat an eyelash at him gathering many healers under his roof. 

They would also share their findings through patsies to the likes of the Crafter, the Church Party, and the White Unicorn. All those factions had an interest in preventing the Fleshplague from spiraling out of control, so he could at least count on them to work on a cure. 

Afterwards, Simon retired to his office through the Attic and considered his options. He had confirmed with Shabram that Norbelle had taken over the smoking remains of the Goetia Research Facility, but the Church Party didn’t yet assume Lauriane to be dead. He would have to create another false corpse, have an agent plant it among the debris, and hope it would settle the matter. 

Simon summoned the Alchemist Crestone out of his Inventory and studied it. Odd to think something so small could cause so much destruction. He put on the outfit and it felt like it fit him like the Mage. The Class had likely recognized all his great contributions to mutagenic cattle production. 

The Alchemist: The master of transformation and transmutation, the healer of ills, the brewer of wonders whose search into life’s secrets pushes science ever further.

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

Innate Perk: Alchemical Inspiration (Passive): You have an intuitive grasp of medicine, alchemy, viruses, and all sciences related to life and chemical processes. 

Innate Perk: Chemical Analysis (Active): You can instantly identify any item that falls under Alchemical Inspiration on sight or taste, including its effects, original materials, and composition. 

Innate Perk: Mutable Metabolism (Passive): You are immune to all body-related Ailments and the Corrosion element. Moreover, when consuming a potion or medicine, you always get their benefits and suffer no ill-effects. You cannot be affected by polymorphy effects unless you choose to.

Innate Perk: Ailment Mastery (Passive): Any Ailment you inflict will pierce through Resistance, but not Immunity. 

Level 1 Alchemist Perk: Synthesis I (Active): You can instantly fuse two potions you touch into a single concoction greater than the sum of its parts, with no risk of failure. 

The Perks looked somewhat underwhelming at first glance, but Simon only had to read one of Shabram’s reports on the pandemic to tell how deceptively powerful the Class truly was. Alchemical Inspiration could create terrifying weapons with sufficient resources, Ailment Mastery ensured they could punch through most protections, and Mutable Metabolism ensured the Alchemist was protected from their own creations. 

A familiar presence stepped out of his shadow. “What are you going to do with it?” Silk asked, sitting on his desk and lighting up her dreamshade pipe. “Hopefully you won’t let it rot in your Inventory.”

“I don’t know yet,” Simon admitted as he removed the outfit. “I won’t return it to my sister in the near future, at the very least.”

“We would be better off giving the Alchemist to Radhag, so she can transfer over her Chemist levels,” Silk pointed out with a frown. “Why keep your sister alive? She’s in no state to make a cure, if she can develop one at all, and she’s a security risk.”

“I put her in my Party,” Simon replied. He was too tired to be angry with such suggestions anymore. “She’s under Anathemic Secrecy. The world will think she's dead.”

“We only have five of these Party slots. Permanently giving one to her seems like a waste.” Silk gave him a puzzled look. “I just don’t understand why you’re taking so many risks for her.”

Wasn’t it obvious? “Because she’s my sister.”

“Blood ties didn’t stop you from killing Prince Louis.”

“Lauriane is different, and very important to me,” Simon admitted. “She was the only one who showed me affection when I needed it most, so… she could murder half the world, and I would still love her.”

Yes, it was a deeply hypocritical position considering everything she had done, and he would ensure she didn’t cross those lines in future reigns… but that was how he felt. 

Silk gave him a long, puzzled look. She didn’t say a word and simply stared at him with a blank, thoughtful expression. 

“Go on,” Simon said, knowing what was on her mind. “Tell me how foolish I am to tell you this.”

“You are a fool to reveal a weakness like that.” Silk let out a ring of smoke from her mouth. For perhaps the first time since they had met, he caught a hint of… he wouldn’t say sympathy, but something close. “But I am a fool with a sister too.”

“I suppose we do make quite the pair.” Simon sighed. “Don’t make my mistake, Silk.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“I didn’t talk things through with my sister when I had the chance.” He should have confronted Lauriane much earlier, maybe even told her about his fake death from the very start. “I let her issues fester until it was too late, and planted the seeds from which this disaster grew.”

He half-expected Silk to blow him off or scorn his advice, or to tell him to mind his own business… but she didn’t. She actually appeared to ponder his words for a moment, taking a deep dreamshade inhalation and letting the drug clear her thoughts.  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she finally said. 

—-----------

Simon spent the next week splitting his time between checking on Lauriane, dealing with the plague’s consequences, and preparing for the Crafter heist. 

Simon followed Silk’s advice and entrusted the Alchemist Crestone to Granny Radhag, who promptly converted her Chemist levels to it. She would serve as a good substitute for Lauriane until he found a way to heal her mind and get her to work on a cure. 

The hag was unfortunately lagging behind his sister when it came to overall talent, and while Simon’s resources had extensively grown over the months, the Cobweb couldn’t replicate the Goetia Research Facility’s infrastructure. They could at least produce custom vaccines, which they sold off to paranoid Lorean and Valnean clients for a high price. 

Ironically enough, the pandemic proved to be quite the boon towards Odette’s efforts to develop Einganah’s cult. Little threw people into the arms of a serpent goddess of renewal more than fear of catching a deadly disease. 

He wasn’t the only party trying to contain the disaster. The Crafter and Muse’s scientists had managed to copy Lauriane’s War Party vaccine and planned to mass-produce it, while the Oracle provided guidance to Lore and Valne to ensure no infected victims reached their shores. She made no effort to share a cure with Endymion, however, and appeared content to watch the Fleshplague and Vouivre run rampant. 

Simon had secretly delivered vaccines to Euphemia through Shabram, but unfortunately lacked the means to mass-produce it with the Lighthouse under siege and the Goetia Research Facility lost. The outbreak had also caused their grip on Magvolia and Valendre to weaken, and though Euphemia was doing her best to contain the situation, the empire might soon lose control over its outer territories. Lauriane’s ‘death’—Shabram having successfully passed over a fake corpse as her own—had also caused Dassein to pledge his allegiance to Vouivre, now that he blamed the Church of the Light for both of his siblings’ demise. He likely had nothing left in his life other than revenge at this point. 

Simon wanted to privately meet him and tell him about Lauriane without somehow informing Vouivre, having now learned the cost of keeping secrets from his loved ones, but he was too far behind enemy lines for now. 

In short, it was a total mess.

As Simon suspected, a group matching Alphonse’s crew—minus Satine herself—also showed up in Whispermire around that time. The Cobweb had long removed any operation there besides the manalith mine, and settled on observing them. What that group would do after reinforcing Asterion’s seal remained a mystery for now, but he had the sneaking suspicion they might come into contact with his operations in the future. 

It was becoming clear to Simon that Illusea had decided against peace with Endymion and hoped the empire would fragment after the Zodiac Parade. Either the Oracle had lost confidence in Euphemia’s ability to form a lasting compromise, or losing Belzemine had convinced her to let her enemies kill each other to better weather the storm. 

Everything the Oracle did revolved either around the Overlord or Belzemine. It was a clear pattern. 

Still, he had other things on his plate to worry about in the short term. The operation to seize the Crafter’s Crestone would begin any day now, and he needed to be ready. 

“We are ready to proceed with the test,” Bert said as Simon stepped into their manor’s amphitheater. Four animated puppets armed stood on the stage, each of them equipped with various weapons ranging from swords to spears, axes, and bows. “These are the best turks money can buy, and I further tweaked them according to Voltobauta’s specifications.”

“I still wonder where the name came from,” Simon admitted. “Turks. What’s the significance?”

“They were named as such because of the noise the earlier models produced.” Bert let out a scornful sound. “It stuck.”

“I see. Hopefully these ones will prove worth the investment.” Simon put on his Overlord outfit and anchored himself. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen next, so you might wish to move to the stairs and watch from afar.” 

Louis died as a level 85 Warrior and a level 70 Hellblade, according to Voltobauta. He had perished a little over a month after their father’s death without a war to fuel him, so he shouldn’t have gained more than one level since the reign started, if any. 

To think that Shabram’s Imperial Intelligence reports assessed him to be at level 80. Simon was pretty sure Louis had done his best to hide the full extent of his abilities in the hope of catching his foes by surprise when he inevitably launched a coup. And yet Euphemia still beat him, which means she starts out the reigns even stronger than him. She has be pushing level 90.

Simon’s brother was a truly terrifying beast. He knew over one hundred weapon Techniques and knew how to cast various Tier VI Hellblade spells to further bolster his combat potency. His Armory included thousands of collected weapons, including powerful artifacts gathered from Endymion’s various conquests, which his Warrior Perks let him duplicate, empower, and customize. 

In short, Simon was pretty sure Louis could single-handedly match an empowered Nodens in battle, and maybe even win with the Mana Sword. Fighting him head-on would certainly result in a loss without heavy preparations or allies. Besides Louis’ greater level, his superior combat tactics, arsenal, and flexibility gave him a strong edge… unless Simon’s new abilities helped him compensate for it.

Bert had followed Simon’s advice and moved to the amphitheater’s stairs, at which point he activated his newest Darkbound Perk. 

“Archfiend form.” 

Simon Magnos shed his humanity and became a demon.

He had been wary about using this ability, considering how he lost control of himself while in his Wicked God form, and this process felt rather similar. The dark strength of the Abyss flowed into him from the depths of his soul, infusing his flesh and bones with Hell’s might. 

However, rather than transform him into a towering demon god, this one felt more… graceful. His size increased until he reached twelve feet in height, his nails lengthening into blade-claws, and two wings grew out of his back; the right one feathered and white, the left black and bat-like. A cloak of miasma fluttered between them. 

However, it was his armor that changed the most. Simon sensed that it had merged with his flesh and bones until his skin turned to metal, the demonic breastplate shifting into a single, cyclopean miasmic eye. His crown of horns became golden wings shining like the sun, and the Overlord’s ominous helmet shifted into a mouthless, expressionless mask. 

And finally, his armor turned pearly white. 

That was perhaps the most shocking change. Nearly every trace of black was expunged from him until his steel became purer than snow, and golden lines appeared at the edge of each piece to further refine his majesty. Only his clawed hands and feet remained stained with darkness, like a subtle indication that darkness lurked beneath his false holiness. 

You have become Simon Magnos, the Wicked Angel. 

“What a farce,” Bert commented from the stands, chuckling gleefully. “You look more like a Paladin than an Overlord now!”

Yes, Simon realized in annoyance, as the full weight of his Class’ cruel joke dawned upon him. A fallen Paladin. 

What represented evil best in this world? A monster born wicked like a demon, or purity twisted into something perverse? The Overlord Class had answered that question pretty well. 

Simon felt strong, mighty, graceful, but more than that, he felt incomplete. He could tell his Wicked Angel form was an intermediary step between his human and Wicked God form; a transitory state between mortality and godhood. The power coursing through him was as satisfying as it was frustrating, for he had tasted greater heights that remained beyond his reach. 

At least my mind remains my own, Simon thought. And being half a god is better than being a full mortal. 

Simon immediately lunged at the turks to test his newfound might. He expected his wings to slow him down, yet it was as if he was born with them. He moved in the blink of an eye and tore apart the archer turk in a single swipe of miasmia-seeped claws. They tore through the puppet’s steel armor, wooden skin, and gear bones as if they were made of butter. 

It was impossible for puppets to completely mimic Louis’ power and talent, but Bert’s customized turks gave it their all. They immediately spread out around Simon and lunged at him from different angles, one of them swirling in the air like a whirlwind of swords, and another striking with a lightning-coated spear. Their speed was rather impressive for machines, and would probably compare to the likes of Meredith or Shabram. 

Yet they seemed slow to Simon. 

He moved with a dancer’s grace on the stage, flapping his wings to step out of the blade whirlwind’s way and avoiding the spear’s thrust with a sidestep. The third turk struck at him with its axe from above, but he simply pivoted on himself and kicked it in the head. The blow was enough to shatter it. 

I’m faster, Simon realized. So much faster.

The Overlord’s main weakness lay in its lack of speed, which had forced Simon to compensate with various rings that shifted his stats around. Rather than give him his giant Darkbound state’s immense Strength and Vitality, his Wicked Angel form had instead vastly improved his Agility and Perception; maybe enough to rival the Paladin he could have become. 

Wait, I think that is it. Simon quickly checked his stat screen and confirmed that the Class bonus had changed from a meager 20 Agility to 82, while his Perception had increased by 20. His Vitality and Charisma had also both received a sizable increase too, whereas the others were unchanged. I have the stat modifiers of either the Paladin or Overlord, whichever is higher in a given category. 

He felt more graceful too, lighter than a feather, and more flexible. He bent and moved in ways his normal armor wouldn’t have allowed, and the third eye on his chest offered him a larger field of vision. His hands and feet had become weapons benefiting from Warmonger's damage boost. 

Time to test out potential synergies. “Clothed in dark shall the cursed lords rise! Bring us victory in this fight, Jungle Terror Gargunza!”

His dark eidolon appeared on the stage with a roar, his Jungle Fury auspice filling him with immense strength. Simon rushed at the two remaining turks faster than they could react, grabbed each of them by their torsos—which his clawed hands easily enveloped—and then slammed them onto the stage.

Although his Strength stat hadn’t changed in the slightest, the impact utterly smashed the stage and caused half of it to collapse on itself. Both puppets were pulverized into scraps and pieces, while the floor collapsed all the way to the basement in a tremor that shook the entire room. 

However, the strain… the strain of maintaining a dark eidolon on top of his current Wicked Angel form proved taxing on his mind and quickly tired him out. The connection quickly faded away when Simon proved unable to maintain it for long, causing Gargunza to disappear as quickly as he appeared.

There are definite synergies, but I need more Summoner-based training before I can exploit them to the fullest, Simon realized as he flew out of the hole he had made. Not having to spend miasma on maintaining Darkflight proved yet another unsuspected benefit. So many areas that require steady improvement… 

His audience clapped for him, or rather, half of it. While Bert sulked at his stage’s destruction, a certain Assassin was completely supportive of her lover.  

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” Velvet said. “I didn’t want to interrupt the show.”

“You didn’t sneak up on me,” Simon mused. He had spotted her lurking in the room the moment he transformed. “Was my performance to your pleasure?”

“It was splendid.” Velvet smirked as she studied him head to toe. “Not gonna lie, you look far more dashing in this armor. Godly, even.”

“Well, my Charisma does double in this form,” Simon mused as he gracefully flew to her and then regained his human form. “Where were you?”

“I never left, you just had little time for me. Not that I blame you, with everything that’s been happening lately…” Her arms coiled around his neck and his own around her waist, while a look of concern flashed on Velvet’s face. “How’s your sister?”

“She’s… unwell,” Simon admitted. “Hector keeps me informed of how she’s doing, but… she has a long way to go.”

“So I’ve heard.” Velvet nodded. “You know, your plight actually touched my sister’s heart. She reached out to me.”

That surprised Simon. “She did?” 

“Yes, and I think I’ve found a way to settle our differences.” Velvet smirked from ear to ear. “How would you feel about a double-date?”

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A/N: heya, about to board a plane for Shanghai when you see this message, so next few chapters will be auto-posted since I may not have internet for some time. Hopefully there won't be any issue.