Simon toured the fully restored Halls of the Minotaur with both pride and anxiousness. The workshops were functional, purified water flowed into the bathhouse—courtesy of a newborn Soap Slime—the armory’s racks were full of weapons crafted in the smithy, the holes in walls had been repaired, and every entrance was guarded.
In short, a visitor could have mistaken the Dungeon for a normal fortress, if not for the undead workers toiling in the corridors and the gargoyle guardians. His new majordomo should help put guests at ease at least.
We are ready to withstand a siege if we must, Simon thought grimly, knowing the civil war would begin tomorrow based on Shabram’s latest intel reports. Come what may.
He had spent two months on the sidelines, practicing his spellcasting and crafting, completing the repairs, building the foundation of his cult and network in Whispermire… all while keeping track of the wheels turning in the wider world.
Simon had died a little inside when Shabram informed him that Paimon had agreed to betroth Anna to Thalas, with the wedding being planned on the Berwick Islands on the first day of the year 404 After Doom, right after the Vernal Equinox. Antonine had thrown a fit at the news, but a marquise’s opinion didn’t hold any weight with the princes of the blood. Shabram told Simon that Thalas’ side of the family had likely made a lifelong enemy of the Shax family, which they likely considered a small price to pay to gain control of the Berwick Islands.
Simon had sacrificed Anna’s happiness for knowledge. What a bitter price to pay.
Otherwise, Dassein had apparently encountered Vouivre in Telluria and crushed her rebellion in the crib there, forcing the dragon to flee to the Light knows where. Shabram was trying to track her down, to no avail, and she confirmed that many beastmen tribes agreed to support Louis’ bid for the throne in return for citizenship, army posts, and greater rights. Since Thalas had been forced to leave for the Berwick Islands, this had put all of Telluria firmly under the War Party’s control.
In a way, the events Shabram reported matched those that unfolded during Simon’s own stay in the Berwick Islands, except that Lord Paimon had decided to throw his lot in with Euphemia rather than the secret new Overlord. The time each faction gained without the elf bombardment of Marthrone had given them all time to solidify their alliances and holdings.
What worried Simon the most was that Louis intended to open the civil war on the day of Anna’s wedding with his planned continental bombardment.
The more reports Simon received and the more he analyzed the situation, the more insight he gained into each faction’s strategy. All in all, it seemed that Euphemia had been hoping to win the throne without firing a single spell. She had spent three months forming diplomatic alliances with the Berwick Islands, Cocagne, and the imperial nobility in order to slowly form an unstoppable power bloc, yet didn’t draw up any plans for a first strike that Shabram could decipher. Simon suspected she had been planning to force the War Party into compliance with the threat of violence rather than an actual purge.
By contrast, Louis focused on strengthening the army by accelerating airship and Crestone production, recruiting mercenaries from abroad, and conscripting goblinoid and beastmen troops. He was also determined to annihilate his foes with a decisive and devastating first strike. The airship bombardment had been planned for months, with the only questions being its launching date and the number of targets.
Unfortunately, Paimon’s alliance with Euphemia meant that the Berwick Islands had joined the target list. Lady Shabram had warned the Commander—the same way she had told Louis about the wedding in the first place, to keep his favor—who would ensure Anna’s safety during the bombardment, but neither could stop the inevitable.
“Both sides look evenly matched, but I would rather ally with the War Party when lines in the sand are drawn,” Lady Shabram told him. “With your permission.”
“I told you you were free to do as you wish,” Simon reminded her, though he was a bit curious as to her motive. “I assume it is because they promise shifters more rights?”
“I am surprised Your Majesty would call us that rather than beastmen, but yes, I have more chances to keep my position with the War Party than with the Church one,” Lady Shabram confirmed. “No word of your activities in Whispermire has reached either faction otherwise. Its lack of strategic utility and nominal allegiance to Lady Lauriane means it is not on the list of bombardment targets.”
That is likely to change once the Church of the Light officially declares for Euphemia, Simon guessed. Its abbey will become suspicious.
Well, as sinister as it sounded, they needed a priest who didn’t believe in the Muse for the ritual. This could actually further Simon’s plans.
“What of the Merchant Crestone and Elaine’s Spy one?” Simon asked. He recalled that Shabram had seized them both after the Malphas’ demise and lied to the factions about them having been lost.
“They are both still in my possession, as insurance,” Shabram confirmed. “Does Your Majesty want me to send them to you? This might bring unwelcome visitors your way if word of their presence in Magvolia reaches certain ears. Noble Classes yearn to find worthy holders, and keeping the Merchant hidden has already proved difficult.”
Simon wondered what to do. He had two empty Devour Crestone Perk slots to fill, but he didn’t know enough about the Merchant to tell whether or not its abilities could help him. Not to mention that bringing the Noble Crestone to his doorstep might indeed cause others to track it down to his location.
The Spy Class could be useful too, now that he thought of it. Its Perks might help grow his network and provide insight into the Prince of Spiders’ Rogue Class, of which the Spy was a vassal of.
“Send me the Merchant and Spy Classes’ schematics so I can understand their Perks better, but keep the Crestones otherwise secured for the time being,” he ordered, sending her one last message before breaking the communication. “I might find use for them in the near future.”
The last three months had been mere preparations for his real work. Today would be a milestone.
Simon waited at the gates of the Halls of the Minotaur for their honored guest to arrive. He spotted her arriving atop a mutated horse, wearing a face mask that allowed her to breathe the potent miasma in the area. Simon had her transported here the long way, since he didn’t trust her with the knowledge of the fairy ring yet.
“Miss Kano, how good of you to join us tonight,” Simon said, his human majordomo arriving to take her belongings. “I hope you had a good trip.”
“It was passable enough,” Odette replied warily. She had agreed to come alone, but Simon was certain her hand always remained within reach of a teleporting gem. “I never ventured so deep into the Darkwood.”
“I’m sure the scenery was to your liking,” Simon replied with a smile. “Now, please relinquish the divination necklace. You can recover it after the ceremony.”
Odette frowned, but grabbed her necklace and surrendered it to the majordomo. “How did you know?”
“Please, as if I couldn’t see the magic on your belongings.” In truth, Simon had Duchar cast divination spells on her from afar and confirmed it. “It wouldn’t be the first time the Cobweb has tried to infiltrate my demesne, and it won’t be the last.”
While Silk was a powerful Assassin and the Cobweb had a few talented scouts in their employ, they could only venture so far into a living forest before being discovered. Trees had ears, wolves kept watch, and toadmen patrolled the mud. Simon had sent monsters to politely ‘escort’ the intruders back out of the Darkwood the first time, and then had the next ones hanged at the forest’s edge as a warning.
Silk wisely stopped sending in people after that, but didn’t entirely give up on discovering what was happening within. Duchar and Lorimor had found a divination spying device in the last manalith shipment.
“I would be insulted if they didn’t try,” Simon said before waving at his majordomo, a young handsome man who had taken to imitating Duchar by wearing sorcerer robes in spite of his lack of power. “Our majordomo, Grius, will attend to your needs.”
“Grius? The missing farmer?” Odette’s eyes widened in disbelief as she assessed the man from head to toe. “Why is he so–”
“So young? So alive?” The cultist smiled ear to ear and then revealed the Brand of Lust on his arm. “I was chosen to bear the Mark of the Bloom!”
“Grius was rewarded for his faith and made a champion of our brotherhood,” Simon replied.
When the second full moon came and over forty cultists gathered to meet the ‘Old Man in the Woods,’ Simon had proceeded to single out Grius and grant him the Brand of Lust as a reward for his devotion and a sign that he had been deemed worthy to serve the Muse directly. The sight of one of their own losing a good forty years and regaining his lost youth had solidified the faith of his burgeoning congregation. It was nothing short of a miracle to them.
This move also had the benefit of taking away an unstable cultist from Whispermire before he did something stupid. Grius wasn’t as bad as Lorimor, but zealots could rarely hide for long.
“You wield great power,” Odette Kano said with cautious interest. “I wonder if it would be worth the price.”
“That is all up to you,” Simon said after inviting her inside and taking a route around the pit trap hidden in the entrance hall. “One of my blessings would help you take your business to new heights.”
“I have been considering your offer,” Odette admitted. “Your Witch does seem to have a knack for attracting desperate customers. I will reach a decision soon.”
“I look forward to it,” Simon replied. Further tests of Cassandra’s Brand of Greed had given Simon a good idea of its catch, which he still wondered if he should inform Odette Kano of. Branding her would put her under his thrall, but Simon’s first encounter with Vouivre had taught him the limits of magic-compelled loyalty. Honesty might be the best policy when it comes to this woman. “I foresee that your little empire will tear itself apart starting tomorrow, when great machines take to the sky to rain down fire on their own people. There will be many opportunities to seize.”
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“I have already invested in forges and weapon production facilities as you suggested,” Odette said. “I would expect trouble if you are correct about war descending upon us. Conflict always brings in a steady flow of adventurers and mercenaries to my town in search of fame and fortune.”
“If visitors come, they will be well-received,” Simon replied, though he knew she was right. Adventurers hadn’t been too much of an issue so far, with most only exploring the Darkwood’s edge and sticking to ‘easy’ areas, but bolder sorts of explorers would soon arrive: Class users wishing to gain levels, mercenaries seeking treasures, and desperate rabble with nothing to lose. “Now, I must ask again, are you sure you want to witness it? The Muse will be there.”
“I said I wouldn’t miss it, and that creature does not frighten me.” It was an obvious lie, but Odette Kano had enough composure to make it sound believable. “My only concern will be the impact on the Crestone production.”
“It will be minimal.” Simon and his allies could produce around two to three Crestones per month, half of which he kept for his personal use. “Suit yourself.”
They climbed the stairs to the Stone Muse’s sanctum, where Duchar and a cadre of gargoyles awaited them around a wooden altar under the Stone Muse’s watchful gaze. Lorimor was bound to it by ropes, naked as the day he was born, and his chest covered in bloody scars he had carved into his flesh himself.
Simon half-expected Odette to grow horrified upon seeing her husband’s state, but nope. She simply glared at him with all of her contempt and disgust.
“Pathetic,” Odette muttered under her breath, her gaze turning to the Muse. “You left me for a stone?”
“Watch your mouth in our Lady’s presence!” Grius snapped at her, though his mistress proved more welcoming.
“Your insolence I shall graciously forgive one time only, mother of the vessel,” the Muse whispered so sweetly she almost sounded friendly for a moment. “Your son I still crave. Twice his weight in gold and many gifts I can offer in return, a fair price given.”
“No deal,” Odette replied with a glare. Although she tried to keep her composure in the Muse’s presence, her back had tensed up like a bowstring. “I was promised safety for my son and me in return for my cooperation.”
“And that promise we shall fulfill," Simon promised while squinting at the Muse. “You would not dare break a promise to me, would you, my dear?”
“Of course not, beloved,” the Muse replied obsequiously, deferring to his authority. “But a sacrifice willingly offered, I shall never turn away.”
“That ship has already set sail,” Simon replied imperiously. “You may watch so long as you do not make a sound, Miss Kano.”
Now that everything was in place, he walked forward to the altar and put on the Overlord outfit, using Fiendmask to hide the armor behind a demon-shaped disguise. Duchar helpfully provided him with a specifically prepared sacrificial black spike.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the sacrifice of Lorimor for his failures,” Simon said. “Any last words before we begin, Lorimor? Your wife is here.”
“Forgiveness!” he shouted back, not as a plea for his life or an apology to the wife whose son he nearly sacrificed, but the call of a desperate fool asking a heartless mistress to return her affections. “Forgive me for my failures, Mistress!”
“Only in death you shall receive it,” the Muse replied without pity, while Odette Kano glared at him with contempt. “And only if you are quiet and brave to the last breath.”
Madly devout to the end, Simon thought with a mix of contempt and sympathy as they began the ceremony. Duchar led the gargoyles and Grius into chanting words of power in ancient Abyssal, as they had rehearsed over the month. The volume rose before it slowly diminished into a quiet whisper, a hushed meditation, a calm before the storm. Simon sensed the flow of miasma slowly rerouting itself around the altar. He basked in the darkness, feeling it flow through him and guiding his hands until the fateful moment came for him to speak up.
“Great trapped fiend, accept this bloody gift, sacrificed on freedom’s altar,” Simon chanted in the language of the Abyss as he raised the spike high. “A follower who failed you slain at your feet, to bring forth the Spring of Slaughter upon all beings!”
He drove the spike into Lorimor’s heart, and the Muse howled in delight.
Simon had to give it to Lorimor; he didn’t scream as his life faded away, though that might have been because Simon slew him instantly. Green lightning erupted from his wound as his blood splattered the altar and lit up the sanctum, startling Odette Kano and delighting Duchar. Demonic symbols glowed in the air with unholy radiance, and the temple’s wraiths appeared to dance around the sacrifice. The entire building trembled, shaken to its foundations by tremors rippling through the corrupted manatree’s roots.
Simon’s vision briefly went black; his world drowned in darkness. The image of four ghostly chains holding a stone flashed before his eyes, one shattering instantly and filling him with power. An immense rush of experience flowed into him as the true magnitude of his act echoed inside his soul.
Level 37 Overlord Perk: Lord of the Demon Castle IV (Active): You can rearrange Castle Frightwall’s layout once per day.
The pyrotechnics concluded as Simon returned to reality, holding the spike that ended Lorimor’s life in one hand and a black gem of miasma in the other. The corpse wriggled on the altar like any other undead hollow shell, except his soul was still bound and within reach. Duchar had been right, the letter and motions of the ritual spell mattered more than its spirit.
The Seasonal Key ritual had now begun in earnest, and Simon had cheated it.
“Yes, yes!” The Muse howled with delight once the tremors calmed down. “Oh, beloved, how glad I am to see my affection returned! This granite burden has become so much lighter!”
“Remember our agreement,” Simon replied through telepathy as he handed the miasma gemstone to Duchar, which he slotted into a wand of carved wood. “I have delivered my end of the bargain.”
“Of course, my love,” the Muse replied with honeyed words. “A door has opened on the third level, full of treasures and gifts for you alone.”
Simon dispersed his Fiendmask and Overlord outfit, then used the still bloody spike to free the undead Lorimor from his bindings. Duchar then waved the wand at him and asked, “Do you hear us, young Lorimor?”
“Yes, I do, my master,” the corpse replied, a bleeding black hole expanding where the heart should have been. “I hear the whispering shadows crawling on my skin…”
Odette Kano, who had watched the entire ceremony with calm detachment—and a hint of satisfaction at her husband’s death—blinked in surprise. “Is he still…”
“Alive?” Simon scoffed. “No, he isn’t.”
“I have bound young Lorimor’s soul to the wight-wand,” Duchar explained with glee. He sounded quite proud of himself. “Whoever holds it can command him at will. A temporary situation until I find a way to reattach the soul to the body, of course…”
“I forgive you for disappointing me, my child,” the Muse told the undead Lorimor with all of her magnanimity. “I thus welcome you back into my and my beloved’s service.”
“What pleasure, what joy, Mistress,” Lorimor rasped, his newfound undeath having done little to change his disposition. “The Dark has chosen me… I sense its cold kiss on my soul… what rapture… all pain has turned into the most sinister pleasure… all in good service.”
“How disappointing,” Odette said. Clearly she would have preferred to be rid of him for good. “He would be better off dead.”
“But he’ll be more useful undead,” Simon quipped as he invited his followers down the stairs. “Come with me.”
True to the Muse’s promise, a secret room had mysteriously opened in the fairy ring hall and led straight into the one place which had eluded Simon: the temple’s treasury. Stone pillars supported a vault with carved walls, and at the center of which stood the pearly white statue of a splendid dryad Simon assumed once depicted the Muse before her unlucky joining with the Minotaur.
And she had accumulated quite the treasury. Chests filled with ancient elvish coins, silverware from a bygone age untarnished by the miasma in the air, old scrolls drawn in elvish, beautiful statues, figurines, and works of art, magical jewels…
And Crestones.
The Muse’s statue held a good dozen Crestones in her hands, each glittering with mana. A true hoard of Classes preserved by long-dead elves.
“What a splendid discovery,” Duchar said with excitement. He immediately checked their glyphs and runes to identify their Classes. “Courtesan, Juggler, Acrobat, Pictomancer, Songstress, Illusionist, Orator…”
“Vassals of the Bard, the Dancer, and the Crafter, master,” Lorimor rasped.
“Fitting for a Muse’s court,” Simon mused before observing Odette Kano, who could hardly suppress her greed. “These are mine, but perhaps I can provide handcrafted copies… if you behave.”
“I could increase this fortune tenfold if you lent it to me for fencing,” she said, her eyes wandering to the vast hoard gathered here. “Collectors would pay their weight in gold for centuries-old elven artifacts. We will become the richest people in all of Magvolia once we reinvest this hoard.”
“We?” Simon teased her. “Yes, immense wealth and prestige are now within your reach, Miss Kano… but not for free.”
Odette didn’t hesitate for long. She had seen enough to come around, as Simon suspected. “Alright, I give in. I want your power–”
“Wonderful,” Simon replied.
“–and his wand,” Odette added, pointing at Lorimor. “I want my ex-husband and the device to control him.”
“You want to keep him as your servant?” Simon guessed, taking her silence for confirmation. It didn’t surprise him, considering how she had refused to bury him in the previous reign after he tried to kidnap their son, but he decided to feign morbid curiosity like a good demon archfiend. “Why so bitter towards one who shared your bed once?”
“I emigrated to Whispermire from Uyo after the empire relocated my community to make room for factories,” Odette said. “He was kind to me back then, and a scholar with prospects. I admired his intellect, his lust for knowledge, his… ambition.”
“What happened?” Simon inquired, slightly curious.
Odette snorted. “She happened.”
“That’s not quite true,” Simon replied. “She can only reach out to the dissatisfied. She fills a hole in people’s hearts.”
“I guess I outgrew him,” Odette admitted. “By the time I realized that my husband’s ambitions didn’t extend beyond academic credentials, I already had a child on the way and a thriving business. He began to drag us down rather than help us rise. His research papers failed to earn him the adoration of his peers, so he began to delve into the Darkwood in search of elven knowledge against my wishes. I had to raise our son alone while he ignored us to serenade his newfound dream visitor.”
“Because you couldn’t see!” Lorimor snapped at her angrily. “Your love was cold and conditional, while my Muse overflows with forgiveness!”
“My first order to you will be to have you serve in silence.” Odette met Simon’s gaze. “Do we have a deal?”
“Of course.” Simon opened his palms and called upon the Brands of Sloth and Greed. “These marks will bind you to my service. You will progress faster in your Class, and we will be able to communicate through vast distances. The other mark will grant you luck in commerce and wealth, alongside the ability to turn lead to gold, at the cost of ten percent of your assets each month… a tribute that will never go down.”
Odette squinted, suddenly wary upon catching on to the trap. “So even if I earn less than the previous month, I will still have to pay a minimum tribute?”
“Indeed. I can forgo the tribute, and the luck you receive should more than offset the penalty… but make no mistake, you will work for me from now on,” Simon warned. “You and your corpse-husband will produce Crestones on my behalf alone. Betraying my secrets means death."
And if she tried a double-cross by forcing Lorimor to give away important information, well... Lorimor still bore the Devil Brands and would inform Simon in an instant, not to mention that Duchar included a few failsafe mechanisms in the control wand.
"This is a loan on your future," Simon concluded. "Perform well, and I will bestow other gifts on you.”
Odette considered his words and briefly glanced at the hoard. Simon could tell she was running the numbers in her head, weighing the price of the arrangement against its benefits, before finding it satisfactory enough to pull up her left arm’s sleeve. Simon happily applied the Brands onto her skin and recruited her fully into his retinue.
“I have the feeling we will do great things together,” Simon mused as Duchar surrendered Lorimor’s wand to Odette.
“Master, if I may–” Lorimor complained, only for his wife to force him to shut up with a wave of her newly found acquisition.
“Much better,” Odette said with immense relish. Simon had the feeling that Lorimor would find their second honeymoon quite torturous. “We should run an inventory of this treasury, see what we can sell or keep.”
“Certainly,” Simon agreed. “Duchar, if you would kindly help her?”
While his servants worked to catalogue all the treasures in the room, Simon assessed the carvings on the walls. Most represented frolicking scenes of artists in the woods or what he assumed to be scenes of life in the ancient elven settlement that used to be the Darkwood, but one particular picture caught his full attention. That one represented a group of twenty-two individuals, including elves, humans, and shifters wearing Noble Class outfits. Unlike pictures of the twenty-two heroes shown in storybooks and history grimoires, the representation was quite precise, enough that he wondered if the artist had actually seen them.
One of the figures had been partly defaced, but Simon still found it awfully familiar. He immediately recognized the hooded figure, the face not yet rotten… except that a third eye glared at onlookers from the middle of his forehead instead of the Librarian Crestone.
It seemed that his ancestor, Elios Magnos, had been born with three eyes.
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