The Hundred Reigns 285: The Five Sovereigns (2) (Patreon)

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“So, if I understand correctly…” Norbelle slouched in her seat. “A Second Doom will be upon us in a year’s time at the hands of twelve ancient archfiends, and you want to learn Teleport so you can hop around preventing disasters before they happen?”

“Your own mother has foreseen this new Doom too,” Simon pointed out. “No doubt you’ve seen it in your dreams too.”

“But you didn’t go to Mother, even though you clearly could negotiate an alliance with her against Louis and take over the empire,” Norbelle pointed out. “Don’t tell me you don’t want the Crimson Throne. I won’t believe it, and we both know you could do much more with the empire’s resources at your back.”

Moments like this reminded Simon that Norbelle was a keen political operator in spite of her whimsical personality. “An empire is a great and slow beast that requires a steady hand, when I currently require speed. I also foresaw that Euphemia will keep the empire in one piece once Louis is out of the picture.”

“I’m glad someone else in the family has realized that. Louis is completely insane.” Norbelle put a finger on her temple, a smirk stretching across her face. “Yet, that’s not the full story, is it? You don’t actually think you’re ready to rule, because since you just inherited your levels rather than earning them, you have power without mastery.”

Simon had earned his levels, but she wasn’t exactly wrong. “Yes, I do need more training.”

“Which you could have gotten if you had gone to Mother.”

“We both know she would do everything in her power to cripple my growth,” Simon pointed out. It had taken months of hard work before the two of them could even approach a small degree of trust during their marriage. 

“Come on, Simon, you clearly have the power and connections to negotiate with her. You didn’t because you don’t want to compromise.” Norbelle gave him a knowing look. “Suppose we prevent the Second Doom. You’ll return to Endymion and take back the Crimson Throne before the dust even settles, am I wrong? The Overlord Class wouldn’t have picked a quitter.”

Simon pondered his answer for a moment. Many lies came to mind, and he knew for certain that someone as sharp as Norbelle would immediately see through them. Deceit would only result in her distrusting him.

His best bet was to be fully honest with her, come what may. 

“When I inherited this power, I swore I would become the strongest creature on this planet,” Simon admitted, his hand clenching into a fist. “I will gain the might to bring peace to Brimir, one way or another; and if the likes of the Oracle or the White Unicorn won’t allow it, then I will force them.”

“In short, like any good Overlord, you want to become the almighty ruler of everything.” Norbelle’s gaze turned dangerous. “And where does my side of the family fit into that grandiose vision of yours?”

“Well…” Simon cleared his throat. “I could marry your mother and adopt Thalas as my heir.”

Norbelle stared at him for an unbearably long moment, before her hysterical laughter broke the awkward silence. She fell onto the ground and rolled on it, holding her sides. Simon sighed and waited for her to calm down. 

“Oh my… I just pictured Tham-Tham’s face…” Norbelle said as she rose, wiping away her tears with her finger. “Imagine his expression if you impregnate Mom and give us a sister-niece.”

“Norbelle, I’m serious.”

“I’m just saying…” His sister put a hand on his shoulder and tiptoed to whisper in his ear. “If you want to commit incest, you have options closer to home…”

“Norbelle…”

“I’m sure Lauriane wouldn’t mind. She loves it when the family gets along.”

“You’re insufferable,” Simon complained as he pushed that cackling goblin of a woman away from him. He had known it would come to this the moment this reign started. “Are you in or not?”

“Depends.” Norbelle calmed down a little, her expression wistful. “Are you serious about marrying Mother?”

“If that’s what it takes for our family to get along.” Simon had managed to establish something that approached cautious respect when he married Euphemia, and he was certain he could do better the next time over. “I want House Magnos to prosper. I know we have it in us to mend the rifts splitting us apart.”

“So you would tolerate Tham-Tham?” Norbelle mused. “You would tolerate Louis?”

“I fear Louis is a lost cause unless magically leashed, but… part of me believes he can still be salvaged somehow.” Though Simon would never make the mistake of trusting and enabling him again. “As for Thalas, he’s what our father made of him. I see that now.”

“Mmm… a family that gets along, I don’t know whether I should call it boring or heartwarming.” Norbelle whimsically put a finger on her lips. “You ask for a lot, my dear brother, and you will have to prove your good faith before I even decide to entertain your request. I considered having you seduce Remedia to drive a wedge between her and Filip, but Mother won’t take her sloppy seconds…”

“We don’t need to resort to that to sideline the Militarists,” Simon argued. As much as part of him craved to crawl into Remedia’s bed again, doing so soon after losing Elsa didn’t sit well with him. “In fact, I think I can convince Filip to support your match and our assimilation of Cocagne.”

“And how would you achieve such a miracle?” Norbelle changed her mind. “On second thought, don’t tell me. Keep it a surprise.”

“Let’s just say I know how to get a…” Simon couldn’t help but smirk at his own private joke. “A raise out of him.”

—---------------

A wave of nostalgia assaulted Simon when they walked into the palace’s royal gardens with Belzemine in tow.

They found Verdis sparing with his father under the Wildguard’s watchful gaze, as well as that of Chastel the wolf. Simon immediately recalled the day he dueled Filip there, humiliating him and catching the eye of Remedia. He still looked fondly on that day even now.

“Lady Firewand,” Filip greeted Belzemine with courtesy, before sending a shrew glare Simon’s way. It almost convinced him to put the Ranger in his place again. This insecure little man immediately saw him as a threat to his position before he did anything to deserve the hostility. 

However, that jealous wariness swiftly turned to tension and a hint of dread. Chastel also bolted to his feet and bared his fangs at Simon rather than simply study him from afar. 

“Father?” Verdis asked as Filip put on his Ranger outfit and protectively stepped in front of his son. The rest of the Wildguard instantly tensed up in response as they formed ranks around their leader. 

“Behind me, Verdis.” Filip didn’t raise his bow at him since threatening a guest might start a diplomatic incident, but he was clearly one wrong move away from doing so. “Lord Simon, I presume?”

Perhaps I gave him too little credit, Simon thought. They did say the Ranger had the best Perception of all the Noble Classes. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, King Filip.”

It was a lie, and nobody bought it besides Verdis. 

“This one… this one is as bad as the Warrior, brother,” Chastel warned Filip with a growl. “Perhaps even more so.”

“My brother Louis is still stronger than I am, unfortunately,” Simon replied, the wolf freezing in place upon realizing he could understand him. “But thank you for the compliment.”

“My, my, since when did you learn how to talk to wolves?” Norbelle teased him before offering Filip a bow. “My apologies, Father. I thought my brother could teach my dear Verdis a few things about Endymion’s style of combat. I would say even you are no match for him.”

She had used the same ploy to force a duel in Simon’s last reign in Cocagne. Filip had preferred to take the bait back then rather than lose face in front of his son and soldiers, though it did cost him anyway. This time, however, he simply assessed Simon the way a deer would size up a manticore on the other side of a river. 

“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice cut through the tension. 

Simon managed to keep a straight face as his eyes, and those of many others, turned to gaze up at Remedia. She looked utterly divine from her balcony, her necklace of Crestones glimmering around her neck, her beauty in full display. 

However, whereas she once stared at Simon with curiosity and desire, she only spared him her caution and wariness. Her husband’s unusually strong reaction had raised alarm bells. 

“I am Queen Remedia of Cocagne, Prince Simon, Lady Firewand,” she introduced herself with courtesy, though mostly to defuse the situation. “I would be loath to risk having such honored guests be harmed on the very first day of their stay in Cocagne.”

It was a very polite way to tell everyone to knock it off, which Simon graciously took… in a matter of speaking. “It is just as well,” he said. “My Class lends itself more to spellcasting than direct combat anyway.”

Filip frowned warily. “Spellcasting?”

“My Class lends itself to summoning, curses—” He caught the Ranger scowling so hard he probably broke a tooth, “—and Libromancy spells...”

As expected, Remedia immediately took the bait. 

“Libromancy?” she asked with newfound curiosity. She simply couldn’t resist the allure of gazing into magic’s unexplained mysteries, including one that had vexed her for most of her life. 

Stay professional, Simon told himself. Now was not the time for entanglements, and he had to keep it purely professional. Impressing Remedia might give him an alternate means of securing Teleport should Norbelle refuse to play along. “Would Your Majesty want a demonstration? I’ll need a brave volunteer.”

Remedia nodded warily, being unable to suppress her curiosity, but she selected one of her guards rather than either her son or husband. She remained cautious still. 

Simon answered the challenge by summoning his Abyssal Chronicle to his hand in the form of Lorimor’s Grimoire. The mere act of conjuring a book out of thin air drew looks of interest and whispers. Norbelle grinned from ear to ear. 

“Darkest Fear: The Thirteen Terrors of Man,” Simon cast, his miasma coursing through the book’s pages and weaving a spell into existence. 

A cloud arose from the Grimoire’s flipping pages. It soon solidified into the shape of a particularly disturbing giant spider with human eyes and a venomous maw. The guard let out a shriek of utter terror the moment he saw the creature and fell back on his ass in surprise, his hands waving his spear so frantically that his fellow guards had to take a step back. 

He screamed when the spider lunged at him, only for Simon to snap his book shut and cause the illusion to dissipate. 

“Sorry I spooked you,” Simon apologized, while Norbelle’s laughter and the other wildguards rang into the gardens. “It was a mere trick.”

“You undersell yourself, Prince Simon,” Remedia said from the balcony, her voice brimming with fascination. “That spell gave shape to its target’s fear and terror, which suggests a mind-reading component, and you used a book as a material focus… what Class do you use?”

“I’m unfortunately not allowed to share this state secret yet, Your Majesty,” Simon apologized upon unsummoning his Abyssal Chronicle. He already knew what conclusions Remedia and the others would draw from his display. “Perhaps I will be allowed to discuss my spells at length once my dear sister and Prince Verdis join our families into one great house.”

“Yes.” Remedia smiled faintly while Filip’s scowl deepened. “I look forward to that day.”

—--------------

Simon kept his guest bedroom’s door unlocked at night, and patiently read the reports on his father’s statue garden near the open window while waiting for his visitor.

Balzam Magnos had indeed gathered quite the gallery over his two decades of Overlord rule. Shabram had only identified a third of the two hundred petrified enemies of the state, most of which were august figures including defeated warlords, rulers of conquered city-states, brutalized rebels… they together formed a monument to a long history of crushing defeats. Many of them also had had their mouths and noses defaced to ensure they would die the moment anyone tried to lift their curse.  

A few individuals drew Simon’s attention since they stood out from the rest: an elven seer that had apparently served Illusea as an Augur before his ignominious capture; a mathematician-poet; and a humble shoemaker of all things, with no particular history to speak of. Simon was rather tempted to at least unseal that one to figure out what he had done to draw the Third Overlord’s ire.

I wonder if any of them are connected to the Biographer project, Simon wondered. He couldn’t unseal any of these people easily without drawing attention, but it might prove worthwhile. Did you leave any other contingencies among their number, Father? 

A faint noise coming from the window drew Simon’s attention. A rope attached to an arrow flew out of the night and into his room, hitting the ceiling and allowing a certain green-hooded figure to leap into the bedroom. 

The Ranger was no Rogue for sure, and ill at ease in a fortress of stone. 

He’s out of sync with his Noble Class, Simon thought. The Ranger belonged in the wilderness rather than in marble halls. A fish trying to crawl on land.

“You could have used the door, King Filip,” Simon said as he set the reports aside and pointed at drinks nearby. “My retainers had strict orders to let you in. I even prepared you tea.”

“Let’s cut the chitchat and empty courtesies, Magnos,” Filip replied coldly. He pointed his bow at Simon as if it was supposed to intimidate him, but all he could see were the ways Artisan of Wonders could improve the design. “Who are you really? And why did you come to Cocagne?”

“You could say I’m an… emissary,” Simon replied ambiguously, while dismissively pushing the silver arrow pointed at him aside with his finger. “Who I am matters less than what I can do for you, King Filip.”

“Bring shame to my home and my land to ruin?”

“Lifting the curse that robbed you of your manhood,” Simon replied bluntly, going straight for the throat. 

A brief blush of humiliation and impotence painted the Ranger’s face red. How long had it been since someone dared to voice that horrible truth out loud outside of the confines of his family’s bedchambers? Simon might have felt sympathy for him had the man not been pointing a weapon at him at the moment. 

“Your people did it,” Filip guessed, his fingers shaking as they pinched his bowstring. “Remedia could never fathom why you would do something so absurdly petty, but it was always your goal to deny my family an heir and bring my country to ruin.”

“Something like that.” Simon wasn’t sure whether Balzam truly intended to pave the way for Norbelle to take over Cocagne from within when he cursed Filip rather than simply being petty, but he could have killed two birds with one stone. “Take solace in the fact that the person who cursed you is no longer an issue, and that I can offer you an… amicable settlement.”

Filip’s scowl deepened in his disgust. “You have sickened me, and now you intend to blackmail me with the cure. Do you truly think I’ll go along with this farce?”

“Actually, yes, I do. My spell, Darkest Fear, reveals an individual’s deepest phobia… but I don’t need it to tell what you dread most.” Simon leaned forward and peered into Filip’s soul. “Your wife holding her belly, and whispering into your ear that it’s not yours.”

Filip fired his arrow.

It was quick, yet so painfully slow compared to Algozoa’s projectiles, that Simon actually wondered if he should use Arrow-Snatcher or dodge rather than act on instinct. He decided against further humiliating the Ranger and simply moved his head slightly to the side, with the arrowhead getting stuck into his chair. 

“You’ve seen the way your wife looks at the younger Wildguard recruits,” Simon taunted Filip by targeting his insecurities. “The way she looked at me. Every rueful smile betrays her frustration. She’s a boiler, Filip. If you can’t help her release the pressure, she’ll explode.”

Filip gripped his bow so tightly Simon could hear it crack from there. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” Simon replied bluntly. “You will cease your foolish opposition to my sister’s wedding, stop obstructing your wife’s effort to integrate Cocagne into Endymion’s sphere of influence, cut ties with the White Unicorn, and disband the Militarist faction.” 

“You want me to surrender Cocagne to your lot on a silver platter.” Filip spat on the ground. “Never.”

“Please, you’re lucky I’m offering this deal.” Simon personally thought Filip was utterly unworthy of Remedia and a poor excuse for a Ranger, but he guessed he was at least a good father to Verdis. Helping him solve his marriage troubles would count towards his self-therapy. “I could simply stand on the sidelines and watch you trip up on your own, or reveal the truth to the public and let civil disorder engulf your nation. How many of your supporters would abandon you to try and steal your throne then?”

Simon might as well have punched him in the face, because he was utterly right. Filip stood in an utterly precarious position, and only the polite fiction that he and Remedia would eventually conceive a princess—alongside the ties of marriage—had kept Cocagne somewhat intact. 

“In return, I promise we’ll cure you of your affliction,” Simon swore, as much as it pained him. Magic Eraser might literally beat the curse out of him, the right cocktail of mutagens might let him compensate for his weakness, Belzemine might be able to use her latent Light powers to cure him, or they could use whatever technology Lauriane used to clone him to help Remedia mother a princess of Filip’s blood. They had many, many options to explore. “You’ll be able to sire a princess of your blood who shall inherit Cocagne after you.”

“As another of your conquered territories!”

“As a vicequeen of Endymion with near-complete autonomy,” Simon clarified. “Cocagne will know neither war nor conquest, retain its institutions, and continue to prosper.”

“You profess many sweet promises, Magnos, but we both know you’ll kill me and my family as soon as I outlive my usefulness,” Filip guessed. “Your treacherous snake of a sister will bear a rival claimant of Magnos blood, and then you’ll purge us. Your kind does not share power.”

Simon would have called him paranoid if it hadn’t been Norbelle’s entire plan from the start. Alas, it seemed Filip was under a certain delusion that he needed to be cured of, for his own good and that of Cocagne.  

“You’re half-right, our family does not share power.” Simon scoffed. “Not with the weak.”

He rose from his seat, and Filip took a step back. Simon didn’t put on his Overlord armor, cast a spell, or activate his Dreadful Aura. He simply stood, and the Ranger folded, because hierarchy wasn’t something written on paper or on an organigram; it was a truth as obvious and inescapable as gravity.

“You felt it in your bones the moment you saw me; the gulf in strength that separates us,” Simon stated as he took a step forward. “The knowledge that I could do anything to you, and that nothing would stop me. Your wife had to save you, when it’s your job to protect her.”

“Back off!” Filip said with his bow raised, but the fear and helplessness lurked behind the bravado. “I won’t miss this time.”

“Can you fathom the horrors I could put you through, Filip?” The mere memory of what Balzam came up with in his little black book unnerved Simon to this day. “Your Mage cannot lift a curse we cast; the youngest of our bloodline is of a higher level than you are; and my sister is about to enslave your god. You are already at our mercy.”

“I’m warning you—” His back hit a wall, his posture reminding Simon of a cornered animal failing to make himself look bigger than he was. 

“Yes, we will destroy you as soon as you outlive your usefulness… so never stop being useful to us.” Simon leaned forward, the shadow of his presence looming over a disturbed Filip. “Train until you become so mighty we would rather have you on our side than beneath our heel. Grow so talented that the hassle of replacing you will never cross our mind. Become the family man you pretend to be, and sacrifice your pride for their prosperity.”

Filip had lowered his bow by now, his pride crushed by the same laws of nature his Class compelled him to follow. 

“You live in a Magnos world, so be a good Ranger: adapt or die.” Simon looked beneath the Ranger’s hood. “Now, Your Majesty… will you hunt with us? Or will you join the trophy wall of the defeated?”

His silence was an answer in itself. 

“Good.” Simon pulled back and smiled at his newest recruit. “Welcome to the winning team, Your Majesty.”

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