“You cannot believe how happy I am to find someone who can speak my tongue, Your Highness,” she said with a wide smile, her hand holding her steaming teacup. “I thought myself trapped in a foreign land filled with barbarians.”
“Knowing the Kish language is a very rare skill,” Simon said. Of course, his Overlord Class simply helped him automatically understand and speak it in turn. “Only a handful of our citizens have any interest in the Beastmen Tribe.”
“The Beastmen? Is that what your people call us, Your Highness?” Eola sounded saddened. “We call ourselves the Shifter Tribe. A far less demeaning term.”
“I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Now Simon felt embarrassed. Of course the beastmen wouldn’t refer to themselves as beasts. “I hope I did not come across as insensitive.”
“No harm done. You have shown me more kindness than any of your kindred so far. I will not push my luck.” Eole glanced at the rest of the airship salon, which was deserted. “I am thankful you agreed to let us talk in private. I do not feel comfortable in public spaces, considering the way humans look at me...”
It was difficult to blame her, considering her beauty… and Simon had his own reason to set up this private meeting. This was something of a test of her personality, and while she played the part of the pleasant foreigner happy to interact with someone who could understand her, Simon had spent enough time in a court full of flatterers to smell deceit in the air. He wanted to see the real her, and how far she was willing to go. Leonard and Meredith–who he had been introduced to again when they were about to depart for Telluria–were waiting in the next room over to intervene should anything happen.
“I understand,” he said before springing the bait. “Still, its quite the shame. I’ve heard the Kish were amazing singers.”
“Your Highness is well-educated. We have a strong musical tradition, which I inherited—alongside my Crestone—as my clan’s songstress.” She smiled demurely. “Would Your Highness like to hear me sing??”
“Of course.” Time to see her true self. “I am all ears.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Eole closed her eyes, gathered her breath, and then sang like no other.
Her voice was like ringing crystals, echoing with a subtle vibration that slowly rose in strength and intensity—notes followed in a slow crescendo that gently carried away the senses towards ecstasy. Listening to Eole was a bliss for the ears, and for a moment, Simon felt truly content.
Unfortunately, he sensed something else layered within the song, a faint caress he could feel grasping at his very soul. A vibration seeking to harmonize with his thoughts and reshape, only to hit the iron wall of the Overlord’s power.
Charm Ailment negated by Indomitable Crown.
Clever girl. Simon pretended to be entranced by Eole’s song until she finished her performance, at which point she dropped her mask of friendliness and revealed her true nature.
“Undo the seal that binds me, manling,” Eole ordered him.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Simon replied, startling her. “Not with that attitude at least.”
Eole glaring back defiantly. Gone were the courtesy and easy smiles, replaced with coldness. “It was worth a try.”
“It was pointless and would have gotten you executed on the spot.” Leonard had predicted she would try something like that the moment he learned she had twelve levels in the Singer Class and suggested gagging her during the flight. Simon would never allow her to be alone unsupervised after confirming that she was willing and able to mind-control others. “I told you: cooperate with me, tell me what I want to know, and you will earn your freedom.”
“Cooperate?” Eole sneered. “Your army enslaved my people; enslaved me. I have seen what your empire does. You burn fields, put chains on necks, make the world a desert, and call it peace. There is no cooperation with the likes of you.”
“I am not responsible for my nation’s actions.”
“But you still contribute to them. Your soul is tainted by evil.”
“Like you have a foot to stand on. Didn’t the Kish enslave their fellow beastmen to build their own empire?”
Eole recoiled as if slapped. That had hit a nerve. “I… that…” She gulped in shame and embarrassment. “That was in the past…”
“Truly?” Simon squinted at her. “You know, I’ve asked a teacher of mine why the Kish were so rare or why they failed to re-establish their empire in the last four hundred years.”
Eole turned away rather than meet his gaze.
“He told me that after the Kish Empire collapsed during the Year of the Doom, other beastmen hunted your kind to near-extinction so you wouldn’t force them back into servitude. In fact, they killed so many of you he was surprised to learn the imperial army had caught a living Kish.” Simon squinted at her. “According to the report, it was the same beastmen you were trying to spur into rebellion who surrendered you to the imperial army.”
“I never used my songs to enslave others,” Eole replied coldly before straightening up in her chair. “My ancestors deserved the Doom, but they are dead and buried. Their empire has crumbled, while yours continues to stand on the backs of my people. I will tell you nothing.”
By the Light, this was going to be difficult. “You realize that I could just force you to answer my questions, right? A single word of mine will cause your slave crest to flare up and inflict tremendous pain on you.”
She held his gaze. “Why haven’t you uttered that word yet, then?”
Now it was Simon’s turn to flinch. She had called his bluff.
“Because I don’t want to… because I don’t torture people,” Simon told himself that, but then again, he thought he would never kill people either and he still executed unarmed prisoners for level-ups. Still, torturing a prisoner of war for information felt like a bridge too far. “And because it’s not that important in the grand scheme of things.”
That took Eole aback. “Not important?”
“I’m not really interested in your people’s treasure, if it even exists,” Simon confessed. “My late father was interested in your old capital for some reason; he called it a ‘Demonbarrow.’ I simply wondered if all those things were related somehow.”
Eole bit her lip, her expression thoughtful.
“They are?” Simon guessed.
“I know of no secret treasure buried in our old capital,” Eole said. Or if she did, she wouldn’t tell him so. “But there is a tale that the first Kish Emperor defeated a great demon in the early days of our people; a vicious hag who would devour Kish children to keep her youth. The emperor lulled her out of her hideout with a song, entranced her with a dance, and then lured her under the sun whose rays burned her to cinders.”
Simon nodded. “Continue…”
“The great Kish Emperor feared that the demon might one day rise again from her ashes, so he scattered them across the valley of his home, buried them beneath the earth, and ordered his people to raise a city on top of them; a land of prosperity whose people’s songs would keep the evil asleep.”
“You speak of your old capital?” Simon quickly put two and two together. “Is that why it is called a Demonbarrow? Because an archfiend was buried beneath its foundations?”
“Your wicked father must have sought the evil power our people’s songs pacified,” Eole replied with disdain. “If so, he died a fool. The Doom woke the foulness beneath our city, and it consumed everything. You will find only death there.”
“I see…” Simon was tempted to believe her. It would fit Balzam Magnos’ ambitions to seek traces of demonic power wherever he could find them. He must have hoped to ransack the old capital for fiendish artifacts or sorcery to use in his conquests. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity.”
“If you are thankful, then release me,” Eole immediately insisted.
“To go where?” Simon replied. “You were arrested for sedition, and the only reason why you haven’t been executed is because you are my property. Your freedom will end with your life under an executioner’s axe if you stay in Endymion, and the beastm—shifters of Telluria do not want you.”
“I… I will go home. To a place your people have not yet despoiled and beyond your reach.” Eole glared at him. “I will not tell you where it is, manling.”
“Whatever.” Simon didn’t particularly care. He was just being a little curious. “I am not entirely sure you have told me the truth, but I am as good as my word, Eole. I shall remove your slave brand once I have confirmed your story.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Words are winds, and only songs have meanings,” Eole replied. Simon guessed it had to be some sort of Kish proverb. “Remember your promise.”
Since interrogating Eole went so well, the first thing Simon did upon arriving in Telluria was to give his other new recruit a job interview in the carriage to the Academy. Unfortunately, everything he had heard about the man made Simon wary of him.
“I’ve heard you have a wife and child at home?” Simon asked Lorimor.
“I do, Your Highness. My son Georges celebrated his first naming day two months back.” The man smiled wistfully, which chilled Simon to the bone. “Would you permit me to send them letters? Those I wrote in prison were never delivered.”
“They were delivered, you just never received any replies.” Which Simon couldn’t exactly blame Lorimor’s wife for, according to what he read on the man. “If you care so much for your son, why did you do it?”
“Do what, Your Highness?”
“Try to sacrifice your child to a fiend.”
Simon would have expected Lorimor to wince or tremble at such an accusation, or to at least react with outrage. Instead, the hints of instability Simon had picked upon earlier blossomed like poisonous flowers.
“I did not try to sacrifice a life, I was saving one,” he insisted, his eyes gleaming with madness. “My muse had lost interest in her current vessel, you understand, Your Highness? It was old and spent, Your Highness, old and spent. Her beauty couldn’t shine through the wrinkles and rot. She was in pain, Your Highness, but even an unworthy vessel is better than none, because the Dark… the Dark is hungry, your Highness. It keeps the soul from passing on and reincarnating, gnawing at it with vicious teeth.”
There was something deeply unsettling about the feverish zeal in his gaze, his look of contentment, and the way his fingers trembled in adoration for whatever creature had seduced him. Few worshipers of the Light showed half as much sincerity.
“She had chosen him, Your Highness,” he said without raising his voice. “Chosen my Georges to become her new vessel, to share her soul with his flesh. How could I have refused after she showed me so many wonderful secrets? She would have given my son the wisdom of the ages. How could I have refused?”
Simon shifted in his seat and glanced at his retainers. While Eole seemed merely uncomfortable in Lorimor’s presence and Firewand showed no emotion, Meredith stared at the man with undiluted disgust. As for Leonard, he kept his hand on his sword’s grip, ready to cut Lorimor down the second he threatened his charge.
He would not make any friends here.
“Can you cure him?” Simon asked Firewand.
“I tried,” she replied calmly. “I cleared the miasma that shrouded his mind and the bewitching enchantments that whatever demon he trafficked with put on him. Unfortunately, there is no cure for lies that men want to believe in.”
“I am not mad, Your Highness,” Lorimor insisted, which only further proved that he was. “You would understand if you met her. She would open your mind like she did mine.”
“Right,” Simon replied with a deadpan tone. Well, at least Lorimor’s clear obsession with the Dark should ensure he would focus on the task Simon had in mind for him. “If I understand correctly, your Scholar Class trades pure spellcasting power for improved learning and document comprehension.”
“That is correct, Your Highness. Do you want me to conduct research on your behalf?”
“I will have some documents for you to study.” Simon wasn’t foolish enough to bring the madman to Duchar’s underground library, but bringing carefully selected documents for Lorimor to study should be fine. “Do your task well and you will be given the opportunity to rebuild your life.”
Lorimor smiled sinisterly. “That is all I wish for, Your Highness.”
Everyone in the carriage could see it for the blatant lie it was. Nonetheless, Simon hoped he would be smart enough to play along until he could obtain an official pardon. Otherwise… otherwise there would be consequences.
Afterwards, Simon split from the group with Agnes to visit Duchar’s home. His retainers didn’t question him, unlike in the last reign, largely because being in Agnes Firewand’s vicinity was one of the safest places in the entire empire.
To ensure that she blended in in public without attracting too much attention, Simon had asked Agnes to change her wardrobe from crimson robes to a black, low-cut bodysuit with a white ruffled trim along the bustline, alongside a bolero, boots, and a rounded fur hat to cover her ears. It made her look rather lovely, and she caught quite a few gazes from passersby.
Upon checking that no one had followed them, Simon mentally contacted Duchar, who sent his daughter to open the door.
“My father has been expecting you,” Cassandra said politely upon welcoming them inside. Her neckline was exposed, with no Brand of Sloth on her skin. Simon had guessed as much when he failed to telepathically contact her as well. His marks didn’t travel back in time with him.
Duchar greeted them in his salon, just like in the last loop. “Lord Magnos, it is such a pleasure to welcome you to my humble abode,” he said with a slight bow. “I am most honored to meet the great Firewand herself in person as well. Your work on human and inhuman anatomies has been invaluable in my research.”
Agnes answered the praise with a glare. “You stink of the Dark, wizard.”
“Your sensitivity to magic is as sharp as the tales say.” Duchar stroked his chin and turned to Simon. “Yet she seemed to have missed Your Majesty’s true nature.”
Agnes’ eyes widened slightly. “Your Majesty?”
Simon responded by calling upon the Overlord Class outfit. The sight of her master’s armor managed to take Agnes Firewand aback.
“That is right, I am the Overlord, your lord and master by the brand you bear,” Simon confirmed. “This information shall not leave this room.”
“I… yes, I understand, Your Majesty.” Agnes Firewand lowered her head in submission in a gesture Simon could tell had been rehearsed a thousand times. “I live to serve.”
“Then answer me this: of your Classes, which one do you value the least?”
“Gladiator,” she replied without hesitation.
Huh? Simon had expected the Game Master. No matter, that suited his plans just fine. “I want you to lend me its Crestone for a time. I shall return it eventually.”
Agnes didn’t particularly seem to care about it. Her hand reached out for the back of her jacket, slipped it inside, and then brought out one of the Crestones once encrusted in her spine with casual ease. Simon thought the extraction would have been more painful.
He studied the stone for a moment. It was a small brown pearl decorated with an axe-like rune on its smooth surface. Simon could feel the mana radiating from it.
“Which Noble Class is the Gladiator the Vassal of?” Simon asked Duchar.
“The Berserker, Your Majesty.”
Simon scoffed. It would be such a sweet irony if he were to beat Thalas with a Vassal of his own Class. “How do I activate it, Agnes?”
“Focus on the Crestone as you utter its name,” she replied. “One cannot wear two Class outfits at once, not even the Overlord, but Your Majesty can switch between those they have access to at will.”
Simon thanked her with a nod, then held the Crestone as he uttered the word. “Gladiator.”
Mana erupted from the Crestone in waves that enveloped him whole. He immediately sensed the Overlord Class’ first instinct to resist it, yet it yielded to its wielder’s will and stepped back. New armor replaced his previous Class outfit. Made of sharpened steel, it was far lighter than the Overlord one, leaving his chest and belly exposed while keeping his arms and legs protected. A masked helmet appeared to hide his face, and a curved axe in his hand.
Simon could instantly feel something was wrong. Nay, scratch that; he felt wrong. He felt constrained by clothes that did not fit his size. The Crestone’s mana clashed with his now natural affinity for miasma, with his true power lurked beyond the threshold, waiting to reemerge.
Simon was no true Gladiator; he was the Overlord pretending to be a Gladiator. He could tell the difference on a fundamental level. The Crestone granted him its power, but there was a small disconnect between him and the Gladiator Class; and that would likely have consequences. Keeping that Class outfit on already felt a lot more draining than the Overlord armor. Perhaps he would level-up slower too, or suffer another penalty.
No matter. One could still wear a shoe that didn’t fit their size when the need arose.
You have unlocked the Gladiator Class.
Gladiator: A firebrand arena warrior who fights for coin and fame alike. Strength S, Vitality B, Agility C, Perception C, Magic E, Intelligence E, Charisma A, Luck C.
Innate Perk: Finisher (Passive): You gain a temporary bonus whenever you finish off an opponent in a way that impresses onlookers.
Innate Perk: Crowd Favorite (Passive): You gain a bonus to your physical stats proportional to the number of spectators.
Level 1 Perk: Melee Master 1 (passive): Can wield all melee weapons with medium proficiency (x1.5 damage).
The Gladiator Class was clearly weaker than the Overlord one. The Warmonger Perk covered ranged weapons, unlike Melee Master, and Overlord surpassed Gladiator in nearly all stats except for Agility, and even then the difference was marginal.
Nonetheless, it had the distinct advantage of not being hunted down by every imperial powerbroker.
“This will do,” Simon said upon changing back into the Overlord. The miasma armor immediately felt more comfortable because it fit him. “Cassandra, Agnes, I will now apply upon you the Brand of Sloth, which shall grant you increased experience gain and allow us to remain in contact… if you want it, that is.”
“It would be an honor to bear the mark, Your Majesty,” Cassandra replied with enthusiasm, as Simon expected her to.
In stark contrast, Agnes simply nodded obediently. “As Your Majesty wishes.”
She has no will of her own left. At least this will ensure she cannot betray my secrets and that I can call her anytime. Simon proceeded to apply the Brands of Sloth to those two, marking Cassandra on the throat and Agnes on the back so no one could see it in public. Something’s wrong here…
Simon had begun to grow somewhat aware of whenever he gained experience, like a subtle shiver in his spine or a subtle feeling in the back of his head. He sensed that when he branded Agnes, but not Cassandra.
Could it be…
“Duchar, I need to test something,” he said. “Bring me some of your undead.”
Simon confirmed his suspicions the moment he smashed a skeleton’s face in with his morning star and felt nothing.
Duchar agreed to let him wreck a few of his undead thralls, all of which Simon had demolished in the previous reign. This time, returning them to the Dark didn’t so much as provide a whiff of experience while he wore the Overlord outfit. Simon could only think of one explanation.
He could not gain experience in the Overlord Class twice for the same reason, even across multiple reigns.
Granting Cassandra the Brand of Sloth meant he would never grow stronger from doing it again in a future lifetime. That also went for the people he slew. Executing Lorimor a second time would likely fail to provide any benefit.
To progress in the Overlord Class meant to strive for new and ever greater conquests.
On the other hand, Simon could indeed gain experience in non-Overlord classes so long as he channeled the appropriate Class outfit. He had managed to gain a second level in Gladiator from beheading a skeleton with his axe, though it immediately disappointed him.
“Why didn’t I gain a Perk at my second Gladiator level?” Simon told Agnes. “I gained one from Overlord.”
“The Overlord is the world’s most powerful Class, Your Majesty, and Vassal Classes are limited imitations of the original Noble Classes they derive from,” Agnes replied calmly. “Gladiator is simply inferior.”
Was that why Father disdained all other Classes other than Overlord then? Because it was simply the best option? Simon still doubted that was his reason. Other Classes could do things even the Overlord couldn’t. There had to be a limit of some kind he hadn’t found out yet.
Otherwise, his inability to gain experience twice for the same thing proved a real issue. It was only a matter of time until Duchar ran out of undead Simon that hadn’t yet destroyed. He needed other ways to level-up, other foes to kill, and he could think of one person who could give him exactly that.
It was time to meet with Dassein.
Heya next chapter will come out on Monday! I'm still considering the schedule but I'm leaning towards 4/5 chaps a week, either from Monday to Friday or once per day except Tuesday and Saturday (since I publish Board & Conquest then). Will keep you updated ;)
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