The Hundred Reigns 291: The Five Sovereigns (8) (Patreon)

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“No,” Simon answered immediately.

“Why not?” Norbelle protested. “She seems about as compatible with the process as any Visionary. All we have to do is open her mind a little, and then we’ll find the answers we’re looking for.”

“Agnes is already undergoing a sensitive medical treatment that Remembrances might interfere with.” Simon’s research on memory alteration showcased how malleable the mind was, and allowing past life echoes to fill the void left behind from removing the past Overlords’ atrocities was a surefire way of causing an identity crisis. “Besides, it should remain her choice whether or not to go through with it.”

“Simon, she’s a slave, she’s always consenting by default.” That comment ranked rather high among all of Norbelle’s nasty words, and that was saying something. “She’ll do whatever you ask of her.”

And that’s exactly the problem, Norbelle. “I’m not putting her through that, and I’m not surrendering her to an eidolon either. My decision is final.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.” Norbelle’s scowl of frustration twisted into a ghastly grin. “Wait… do you care about the elf? Did you spare that White Unicorn mage because you have an elven fetish?”

“I won’t dignify that comment with a response,” Simon replied in annoyance. Besides, she was wrong. He had never slept with an elf in his many lives. 

“Did you know they like it if you pull on their long ears? It’s an erogenous zone to them.” His silence only appeared to encourage the brat to tease him more. “Dad checked.” A horrible image of Balzam pulling on Belzemine’s ears crossed Simon’s mind and filled him with disgust, which was exactly Norbelle’s plan. “Aha, you imagined it! You imagined it, and now you’ll never forg—”

He slapped her. 

The blow came in an instant, almost like a reflex. Norbelle didn’t see it in time to teleport out of the way, the hit causing her to reel back a bit as her cheek turned bright red. Norbelle stared at him in shock and incomprehension, as if her own mind struggled to put two and two together.

No one had ever dared to discipline her in her entire life. 

“Do you have any idea of what our father put her through?” Simon snapped at her angrily. Memories of Belzemine coming to his side on the Sanctuary, crying in the night as old nightmares returned to haunt her flooded his mind. “The things he did to her?!”

“So what?!” Norbelle snapped back, her angry scowl a mirror of Euphemia’s. “She’s a slave. She’s furniture with a pulse!” 

Simon’s hand aimed for her other cheek, but his sister saw it coming this time and teleported out of the way. She reappeared a few feet away with a scowl of disdain. 

“Are you serious right now?” she asked while the guards and Valshaf watched on from afar, unsure whether or not to intervene. “You’re fighting your own flesh and blood over a slave? She has sap for blood!” 

“She’s no slave!” Simon snarled back at her, the urge to put on his Overlord Class outfit and teach this brat a lesson proving near-overwhelming. “She’s a living being!”

“That didn’t stop you from claiming her as your property, did it?”

“I’m trying to heal her!” Simon snapped back. “If I let her go, she’ll harm herself! She needs help!”

“Then why didn’t you give her away to the Paladin, stupid?” Norbelle sneered. “You would have if you really cared.”

Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “What did you just say?”

“The truth. Do you know what happens when they get her back?” Norbelle removed her diadem and exposed her third eye, her finger pointing at it. “Because I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen nothing,” Simon replied. “If the elves get her back—”

“They heal her.”

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt, all of his excuses and reasons crashing into a wall. 

“They heal her, Simon. It takes a very long time, but she eventually remembers how to smile. And they do it without you.” Norbelle glared at him with all of her three eyes. “That’s the part you can’t get behind, isn’t it? She has to heal on your terms.”

“Of course she must!” Simon defended himself. “If they get her back, the elves will flee the planet and leave the rest of Brimir to die! This is for the greater good of all—”

“The greater good?” Norbelle scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain and contempt. “There is a Class that embodies everything lesser people consider ‘good,’ and you cast it into Hell.”

“Because it keeps getting in my way otherwise!”

“Why would the Paladin get in your way if you’re working for the greater good?” Something about the question needled at Simon more than it should have. “You didn’t even attempt to talk things through with him.”

“I tried!” Simon felt a choking pressure on his throat and the Overlord Class’ urge to enslave his sister into silence the same way he did Lauriane, but he was too angry to listen to either. “But our father and the Oracle poisoned that well!”

“Then you clearly half-assed negotiations. All Paladins are gullible.” Norbelle put her diadem back on. “You still don’t get it, do you? Why everyone who isn’t Lauriane can tell there’s something wrong with you with a glance?” She met his gaze, all serious. “Because the only thing more disturbing than a monster who owns up to what they are is a monster that pretends to be human and fails.”

The icy, cold waters of shame and guilt doused the flames of his anger. “I’m not a good person, I won’t deny it… but I will never be a monster.”

“Yes, you are. Everyone can tell you’re a manticore trying to put on a man’s skin. It is as unsettling as it is pathetic.” Norbelle looked at her nails. “Yes, Simon, I’m a monster too. An evil princess who delights in tormenting others and crushing countries beneath her heel. I just have enough class to admit it to myself.”

Simon’s hands clenched into fists. “Does that make you happy? Taunting others about their pain?”

“Yes, it does amuse me.”

“I didn’t ask if it amused you,” Simon said sharply. “I asked if it made you happy.”

She had no answer to that, and couldn’t come up with one either. Her face darkened with doubt, and the knowledge that she was simply filling a void in her heart too. 

Simon glanced at the onlookers, from his spooked retainers, to Belzemine, to silent guards and watchful eidolons. He unsummoned Einganah with a gesture, his mind a stormy sea of dark thoughts and doubts. 

“I need to clear my head,” Simon said upon activating Darkflight and took off. “Don’t come looking for me.”

He left the Dragon Shrine and Dinopolis behind without a word to be alone with his thoughts. 

Nobody followed him. 

—--------

Scaland was quite the soothing beauty from above.

While he left Dinopolis itself, he didn’t wander all that far from the outskirts in case he had to return in a hurry. He flew over the marsh encroaching upon the city and traveled to drier lands. It quickly became clear to him that the locals had exploited the scale-like structure of their homeland to its maximum potential by digging mines in the cracks and raising villages on the flat top of the ‘cells’. Armies of small kobolds dug up the mineral wealth that fueled Scaland’s trade with external powers, including fossilized dragonbone trapped in the earth below. 

One of the most unusual aspects of the landscape were strange, wooden pillars topped with dragon skulls. Simon had read that Scaland’s dragon cults used those as a way to revere and communicate with their gods’ spirits, though he sensed no magic coming from them. However, they all seemed to point straight towards the Dragon Shrine. Simon guessed the locals used them as a way to indicate a safe path to their holy ground. 

Come to think of it, we’ve yet to see any dragons. Simon had flown past many monsters ranging from wyverns to winged lizards, but Unquestionable Ruler ensured none of them bothered him. He liked it, the way they looked at him. That wariness, that fear, and the occasional adoration… I have grown a taste for it.

That thought somehow filled him with shame. 

Simon landed in a clearing near the marsh’s edge to clear his thoughts. A vast mining pit had been dug in its center, coating the land with yellowish mud. The remains of an abandoned camp surrounded it, and it only took Simon a ‘Poison negated’ notification to tell him the ground was contaminated with some poisonous material. The locals must have abandoned the operation for safer digs. 

In a way, the silence served Simon well as he sat at the pit’s edge and gazed into the mud. Norbelle’s words gnawed at him. Of course he cared for Belzemine and wished only the best for her. He simply took the world’s well-being into consideration, since he couldn’t allow the elves to abandon Endymion’s population to its fate and take all the manatrees during the Zodiac Parade. 

What else was he supposed to do? Nothing? He had tried that, and it led to his family and other nations tearing themselves apart! No one would step in to save the world, except him!

But Norbelle is not wrong… I could have talked to Alphonse’s team instead of petrifying them. They were reasonable fellows, as was Alcyone. His failure at bringing her into the loop about his activities eventually alienated Voltobauta and cost him his last reign. Illusea is the real enemy, so why didn’t I even think of parlaying? 

Petrifying Eole spared him many headaches, but petrifying first and asking questions later might have already become a bad habit. Following in his father’s footsteps was never a good idea.

Simon used to be good at infiltration, at feigning weakness without arousing suspicion. Had his nature changed so much that no disguises could fit him anymore? 

Simon had realized some time ago that he felt more at home among dragons and demons than his own kind, and little had changed in spite of his attempts at offsetting this moral decay of his. Exiling himself to the Sanctuary, attempting to rule justly, trying to cure Belzemine, going to Muse for self-therapy… nothing had stuck yet, and nothing made him happy. 

Why am I so bad at being good? Simon wondered as he threw a pebble into the poisoned mud. I don’t want to become a monster. What am I supposed to do, retire like those Fablan hermits on a mountain and meditate until I find enlightenment? Or should I build the Palabot now?

Simon refused to believe he would inevitably become like his father. He had had the potential to become the Paladin once. Surely there was a seed of light within him he simply needed to nurture somehow…

Simon mulled over the situation when he sensed a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find a manatree bark arrow pointed straight at his head. 

The last person Simon wanted to meet stood behind him with his bow drawn. 

“I’m impressed, you’ve managed to sneak up on me without me noticing,” Simon replied, more annoyed than intimidated. “I take it you’ve followed my advice and leveled-up?”

“I did,” Filip of Cocagne confirmed, his wolf Chastel sneaking out of the marsh without a sound. His fur now matched that of the vegetation, granting him natural camouflage similar to Algozoa. “It would be so easy to kill you right now. Sweet too.”

“Then why don’t you let go of your bowstring? Besides the fact you’ll die trying?” Simon looked back at the mud below in a supreme show of disrespect. “Go away, Your Majesty. I need to think.” 

“Not until you cure me, as you promised. I did as you asked already.”

“I promised I would do it after your son married my sister. If that’s too late for you, then move up the wedding date.”

“So you can set up a ‘mysterious accident’ for my son during this trip?” Filip spat into the pit and pressed the manatree arrow against Simon’s temple. “I’ve given away enough already.”

“You’ve given away nothing; I took what I wanted.” Simon glared at this annoyance. “And if I lifted your curse, what good would it do? You can’t satisfy Remedia. Not physically, not politically, and certainly not intellectually.”

Filip’s glare hardened beneath his hood. “You want her for yourself. You lust for my wife, just like your bastard father.”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve a woman like her,” Simon replied harshly. “Look at you, Filip. I’m sure you gained more levels in the last few weeks than you did in the last decade, and you had to abandon your queendom and kingly duties to do it. You’re a poor Ranger, and an even worse politician. You’re the wrong man in the wrong place.”

For a tense moment, Filip of Cocagne held himself from releasing his grip on the bowstring and firing his arrow. Simon readied a Chaos Wave to fire at the first sign of movement, consequences be damned. He would feed the Ranger’s corpse to his dracozombie and blame it on a beast. 

The moment stretched into minutes, and the attack never came. Filip of Cocagne’s anger turned into a thoughtful scowl, then some kind of acceptance, and finally a sentence Simon never expected to hear. 

“You’re right.”

Simon had lived over thirty lifetimes, and some words still managed to catch him entirely off guard. “What did you just say?”

“You’re right. I’m the wrong man in the wrong place.” Filip lowered his bow and stared at the horizon. “I hate these games of politics, all this pointless pageantry. I gained more levels slaying wyverns in Uyo and taming a behemoth here than I ever did in leading noble hunts or assassinating political enemies back home.” 

“You did your best, brother,” Chastel reassured his partner. “For her, and for the cub.”

“But that wasn’t enough. Even before… even before the curse.” Filip grit his teeth. “Never enough.”

Was Simon dreaming, or was the Ranger finally self-reflecting on his own mediocrity? The absurdity of the situation left him unsure how to proceed. Moreover, he saw an echo of his own frustration written all over Filip’s face. 

“I met a few other people out of sync with their Classes,” Simon admitted, Voltobauta and Shabram coming to mind. “Maybe the Ranger’s role as king-consort fit its archetype well-enough back when Cocagne was a barbarian land struggling to secure its own borders, but it doesn’t suit an industrialized queendom anymore.

“I suppose not,” Filip admitted, his gaze tracking the flying lizards in the sky. “My place should be here, in the wild, keeping the balance between nature and civilization. That is where I thrive. That’s where my Crestone calls me. You can teach tigers a few tricks, but they’ll never fit in a pen.” 

“Then return to the wild,” Simon replied dismissively. “It’s not like you can defend Remedia in your current state, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m not a good king, but you’re not worthy of Remedia either,” Filip said harshly. “My wife is still too good for you.”

‘Make me happy, my Overlord.’ “I’m worthier than you’ll ever be.”

“Really?” Filip squinted at him. “Maybe you’ve more in common with her than I do, being a spellcaster and all, but can you dedicate yourself to her? Will you set aside everything to help her rule her queendom, be her arm and shield, and raise a daughter with her? Would you give up everything for her?” The Ranger stared back at the sun. “Because I did.”

Simon’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. He wanted to say that of course he could set aside everything, that he had sacrificed much to avenge her already, that he would gladly abandon even his empire for her… but that sounded like a lie even in his own head.

He couldn’t abandon his quest to defeat the Zodiac Parade even for Remedia, when so many lives were at stake. He couldn’t renege on Lauriane, or House Magnos, or his empire; and more than anything, he feared the thought of siring a child, only for time to wash them away once he died and the reigns started everything anew. He could compromise, yes… but only to a point. 

“I’m not sure,” Simon admitted. 

“Then you don’t love her,” Filip replied. “You just want her, the same way your empire wants our land so it gets the pleasure of growing a little bit bigger. You keep taking more, and when you have something, you won’t let it go even as you move on to the next conquest.” 

“Beneath the pretty words, it’s always greed,” Chastel added with animal wisdom. “Ravenous greed and overwhelming pride.”

“I don’t want to be like that,” Simon said, the words coming out of his mouth on their own. Why was he even telling that to Filip of all people? “I want to be better than that.”

“Then be better, or don’t.” Filip shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to be a good king, but I don’t think I’m built that way. Maybe you were just born a bastard, in all the ways that count.”

I can’t accept that. I refuse to accept that. They didn’t understand. Simon could rewind time and continuously grow stronger. He wasn’t even a third of the way through the reigns, and he was already close to matching the likes of Louis Magnos. He was less than two years away from becoming a demon god. In the end, there’ll be no one left to stop me if I go off the rails. 

The only thing protecting the world from Simon Magnos was himself. He couldn’t let his Class and darker impulses win. He could have been the Paladin once, so there was nothing inevitable about his fate.

“Be better, you say?” Simon decided as he rose to his feet. “Alright, I’ll play your game.”

Filip frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’ll be the better man, and cure you here and now.” Simon could think of a few solutions to lift his curse, and summoned a mace to his hand to begin with the most pleasurable one. “We’ll start with a Magic Eraser treatment, and work our way up from there.”