The Hundred Reigns

After the rather tense meeting with the Cobweb, the group rented rooms as far away from the port as possible.

The Copper Dragon inn was a fine place in Simon’s opinion. A three-story building located near the city’s western gates to cater to inland merchants and visitors, it included a vast feasting hall large enough to host hundreds of people alongside private alcoves for people wanting to conduct personal business away from prying eyes, a large flaming hearth, and even a stage for performers. It also housed stables where visitors could house their mounts or rent out horses, wyverns, pegasi, and even the rare griffin.

The private rooms were a bit pricey at five silver a night per person, including breakfast, but at least it afforded them some privacy. Simon had enough funds to let them stay for one or two months without worrying too much, though they would eventually need to find work beyond that point.

“So you tell me Quick Learner will stay as it is?” Simon asked Belzemine. The two of them had taken residence in his bedroom to discuss the Freelancer Class, which the elf had thankfully encountered before and studied during her long centuries of life.

“Innate Perks never change nor evolve, no,” Belzemine confirmed. “They represent a Class’ core features.”

“So there’s no hope Quick Learner will evolve into a stronger version of itself?” Belzemine shook her head. “Fifty percent more experience is still a pretty good deal… and it is a passive Perk, so it means it will continue to affect me even when I don’t wear the Class outfit.”

“Yes, it will thus affect your Overlord Class progression, or that of any other Class Your Majesty unlocks in the future.” Belzemine dutifully offered him a piece of paper. “I have written down all the Freelancer Class Perks I can remember.”

Simon studied the notes and quickly grimaced. The Freelancer was a jack-of-all-stats Class, which meant most of its Perks were almost entirely focused on utility. It taught the user how to cook and sew, how to paint, how to do first aid… in short, how to do a little bit of everything without ever excelling anywhere. It didn’t even offer anything beyond medium weapon proficiency. While it would be a tremendous help to any commoner looking for employment, leveling-up the Class held little appeal to Simon. Quick Learner was very much its only interesting Perk.

Simon considered what to do. Only Overlord levels and Perks carried over through reigns, so he would lose Quick Learner the moment he died. He could also hold back on Devour Crestone to use on another Perk and simply recover the Freelancer Class in future reigns…

So far, I could only obtain it by crossing a continent and dealing with the Cobweb, Simon thought. There might be other ways, but it would be a lot of extra work, and Quick Learner will always be useful even if I somehow max out Overlord… not to mention I’ve been assassinated nearly a dozen times by now.

He was tired of death striking when he least expected it and ruining all prior progress. Better be safe than sorry.

With his choice made, Simon put on the Overlord Class and seized the Freelancer’s Crestone into his gauntleted hand.

“Devour Crestone: Quick Learner.”

Miasma gathered in his hand the moment he uttered the words, with darkness coiling around the Crestone. Simon could have sworn he saw the outline of a shadowy serpent eating the jewel and consuming it before he sensed the power flowing into him.

Images flashed before his eyes in a jumbled, confused mess. He saw himself facing a woman smiling at him in front of a great crystal the size of a house, placing the Freelancer Crestone into his hand as blood flushed his cheeks. He remembered himself with a younger boy tending to sheep, only for a rumbling noise to echo in the distance and the ground to tear itself apart. The earth sundered into a chasm spewing darkness, with the younger boy falling within. Simon reached out to him, but he was too late, and the boy plummeted into the darkness to his doom. Simon recalled crying and praying, yet when he went to a river to weep, a face other than his own stared back at him.

The visions flashed forward to a forest, where he bashed a goblin’s face in with the help of his true companions. They rejoiced and laughed, and they teased him about his crush on the vestal… but their joy swiftly turned to unease when cowled men emerged from the shadows, crossbows in hand. There was no warning, no offer to parlay; only the pain of a rain of bolts striking him in the chest and the fading darkness. The last thing he recalled was a hand reaching out for his Crestone, the vestal’s gift, and tearing it from his weakening grasp.

Simon jolted back to reality with the thrill of both a new Perk and level-up.

You have assimilated the Quick Learner Passive Perk. It shall now replace Devour Crestone I.

Level 24 Overlord Perk: Devil Brand III (Active): You can mark a willing target with the Brand of Lust, granting them a host of benefits such as eternal youth—though not immortality—a high bonus to Charisma, and the ability to drain the lifeforce of others at will through physical contact; you are immune to this ability. In return, you can drain lifeforce from the branded target at will to heal your wounds.

Quite the ghastly ability, but at least this proved that the Quick Learner Perk worked as advertised. The flow of experience felt sharper, stronger.

“Is Your Majesty feeling well?” Belzemine asked with concern.

“I saw… memories, I think?” Simon replied upon removing the Overlord Class outfit. “Memories that weren’t my own.”

“All Crestones remember their users,” Belzemine explained. “What Your Majesty saw must have been a previous wielder’s feelings.”

Was she saying he had consumed echoes of their ghost? Simon briefly wondered what the Overlord Class would remember of him the day it inevitably passed on to someone else.

Simon pondered what to do now. He had fulfilled the objective he had set for himself during this reign, warned his allies about Vouivre’s plots, and fled to a place far away from the empire’s inevitable civil war. The future was a blank page full of possibilities.

What should he do next? Stay in Valne and take bounty jobs to level-up? Travel westward to see more of the world? Investigate the Zodiac Fiends, or live in peace?

Although he wouldn’t go as far as to put himself in her shoes, Simon started to realize why Belzemine found her newfound freedom so daunting. To face the future with uncertainty was a most displeasing feeling.

“Your Majesty?” Simon suddenly sensed Lady Shabram’s mental voice speaking through the Brand of Sloth. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?”

“You are not,” Simon replied mentally. If anything, part of him welcomed the unexpected call. “Is something happening on your end?”

“I am not sure yet, but I need to report troubling information,” the spymistress confirmed. “I have covered up your disappearance and convinced Lady Lauriane that I had exfiltrated you to a safe area to shield you from Euphemia’s supporters. Most have accepted my explanations with one exception: Patriate Malphas.”

“Malphas?” Simon suddenly realized that the Lord-Treasurer’s fate had completely slipped from his mind. “What of him?”

“He has been investigating Agnes Firewand’s departure, investing significant coin in investigators and spies to locate her. I would not usually report something like this, but his sudden interest in the elf is… unusual.”

Interesting. Malphas’ murder coincided with Belzemine’s disappearance in the previous reign, and Simon had perished early the one time he took her away from court…

“He and his daughter are set to be assassinated next week, likely by Euphemia,” Simon informed Shabram. “Keep an eye on them and try to ensure their survival, if possible.”

“I shall. Otherwise, I am coordinating with Lord Dassein on the dragon matter. We have decided against arresting Casval for the moment, as per your recommendation, but we are keeping close watch on him in the hope of eventually entrapping his sister.”

“Very well. Keep me informed should anything happen on that front.” As much as Simon was loath to involve himself in House Magnos’ affairs again, he would certainly celebrate Vouivre’s demise.

“Did you have any specific contact with Patriate Malphas?” Simon asked Belzemine after cutting contact with Shabram. “He’s been looking for you specifically.”

“I have no particular relations with the Lord-Treasurer, nor any affection for him,” the elf replied with apathy. “I never talked to him outside of the High Council.”

Strange. Where did the sudden interest in Belzemine come from then? Or was he simply afraid to approach her while Balzam Magnos still lived? Simon’s gut told him there was more to this story than a passing fancy.

“What would you like to do now, Belzemine?” Simon asked.

“Whatever His Majesty wishes of me.”

This is not helping at all. “What do you enjoy doing in your free time? Do you have, I dunno, hobbies? A dream you wished to fulfill?”

His question only seemed to cause the elf further distress. “I have no other wish nor desire than to serve Your Majesty.”

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“Don’t you even wish to return to Illusea, or to reunite with your kindred–”

“Please stop, Your Majesty.” Belzemine covered her eyes with her hand, and for a second, Simon thought she would start crying again. “I have nothing outside of you and what purpose you seek to assign me. Please stop asking me those questions.”

“Alright, I’m… I’m sorry.” What was Simon supposed to do with her? “Well, Eole has been gone for a while. We should go check on her downstairs.”

Belzemine meekly acquiesced and the two walked down to the feasting hall, where they found Eole playing a song for a rather wide audience that mostly included humans and a handful of shifters. The kish seemed absorbed in her performance, her oud’s entrancing music echoing across the hall.

The first thing Simon had done when they arrived at the Copper Dragon was to reveal his true Class to Eole in private. The kish had taken the truth better than Simon expected; namely, she had slapped him and then refused to talk to him for a full day, but neither left nor tried to sound the alarm as he feared she would have. She had spent the better part of the day playing music in the hall for patrons and enjoyed enough success to earn herself a rather hefty purse of coins.

Eole completed her melody and bowed to her audience, receiving thunderous applause, whistles, and a rain of silver and copper coins. The kish then looked around, spotted Simon and Belzemine, and then calmly pointed at a private alcove. The message couldn’t be clearer.

The three of them gathered at the table, with Eole studying Simon for a while before asking him in Kish, “Why?”

“Why what?” Simon replied in her tongue, to ensure no one else would understand them.

“You are a prophet blessed with demonic power and an empire’s throne, yet you cast it all aside,” Eole said. “Why?”

“Because this power was forced upon me.” In more ways than she knew, since Simon had been fated to become a knight of the White Unicorn without his father’s intervention. “I never asked for it, but it is now joined to my soul until death.”

Eole scowled. “I was told the Overlord’s power only passed on to their killer.”

“The tales are wrong. There’s another mechanism at work, one I do not fully understand yet.” Though Simon couldn’t tell whether that was the result of Balzam’s testament or something else. “Everything I told you at the palace was the truth. Endymion will soon tear itself apart in a great disaster that I cannot stop, even with the Overlord’s power.”

“So you chose to run rather than be complicit in your empire’s atrocities.”

“Yes.” Simon sighed. “It may not sound glorious, but I lack the strength to change things. Foreknowledge and will are useless without the power to back it up.”

“I understand.” Eole shifted in her seat and nodded to herself, as if their discussion had helped her reach some kind of conclusion. “I am sorry I slapped you earlier.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

“When you showed me your true Class, I thought you meant to deceive me to access my people’s sanctuary. That you had lied and exploited my trust to serve foul ends. Your meeting with the Cobweb did not improve my confidence in you either.” Eole shook her head. “But after thinking about it, I do not see how freeing slaves and fleeing west would serve any vile goal. I believe you are sincere, and I am sorry for doubting you.”

“It’s fine, I would have expected the worst too,” Simon replied as the waitress—a shifter with raccoon ears and a slave collar around her neck—came to take their order. He and Belzemine asked for beers while Eole declined to take anything, though she did pay her with her newly won coins.

“That girl is a slave,” Eole told Simon once the waitress left. “Vouivre enslaved her tribe and sold her off last year.”

“The waitress told you that?” Simon asked, suddenly uneasy. Although Eole couldn’t speak common Endymian or Valnean, she did know the shifters’ native tongue.

“Yes, among other things.” Eole’s expression twisted in disgust. “They keep slaves like her in the backrooms. The girls are used as prostitutes after their shifts, and the males fight in gladiatorial pits. Clients bet on them like dogs.” She turned away. “I had hoped such horrors stopped at your empire’s borders.”

As horrifying as it sounded, it didn’t especially surprise Simon. Slavery was legal in Rosanne, and that always opened the door to some unsavory activities. “Do you want to help that girl and this establishment’s slaves?”

“I wish to, but what can I do?” Eole replied grimly. “Even if I freed her and the others by force of arms, where would they go? We are half a world away from Telluria in a foreign land none of us know much of. There is nowhere to run to.”

“We could buy and free these slaves, or negotiate their emancipation,” Simon suggested. “They wouldn’t be able to return to Telluria, but it would allow them to rebuild their life here or somewhere else.”

“You… you would help me save my kind?” Eole stared at him in a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Why? You have nothing to gain from this venture.”

“Honestly, I have nothing better to do, and it would be nice to do some good for a change.” Simon still hadn’t figured out his long-term plans for this reign besides finding hotspots for leveling, so giving himself an objective might get him back on track. “We’ve been traveling together for a while, and it matters to you. That’s all the reason I need.”

Eole remained speechless, her expression shifting from incomprehension to joy when she realized he was serious.

“Eole?” Simon asked.

“I… thank you, Simon.” She slightly bowed her head. “I am grateful to the gods for letting me meet a noble soul like you.”

Simon smiled back at her. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No. You are merely giving yourself too little.” Eole crossed her arms. “However, I am not keen on buying my kind’s freedom. Paying slavers only teaches them that their crimes pay and encourages them to keep at it.”

“Even if we bust the slaves out by force—” Which they could probably do easily enough with Belzemine on their side, “—it would only be the start of our trouble. We would need to pay to transport them somewhere safe, maybe hire mercenaries to start a diversion… and that wouldn’t even dent Rosanne’s slavery business.”

“True… I would rather find a permanent solution,” Eole said, biting her lip. “We’ll need a great deal of coin no matter what we choose, more gold than you have or that I could earn with my singing alone.”

Indeed. They needed a very well-paying job that would let them earn a quick buck.

Simon could only think of one solution that would bring both money and easy levels.

The Guildhall of the Monoceros Guild was pretty much what Simon expected.

Located near the city’s central bridge, the manor was apparently the property of some merchant-prince who had agreed to turn it into an adventurer lodge. Secretaries and receptionists welcomed dozens, if not hundreds, of sellswords, mercenaries, and aspiring heroes gathered in its central hall. One of them—an enthusiastic lass with a bright smile—was kind enough to welcome them at the counter when Simon showed her the badge the Cobweb gave him.

“Very well, Mr. Simon Legredo,” the receptionist said before presenting him with a piece of paper. “You only need to sign this to complete your registration.”

“That is all?” Simon asked. It all felt way too easy.

“The Monoceros Guild works on a recommendation basis. Only high-ranking members of our organization are allowed to grant badges like the one you received, which fast-tracks the recruitment process.”

Then their organization had either been thoroughly infiltrated by the Cobweb or the badge was a highly convincing forgery. That didn’t inspire much trust in their operational security.

“Moreover, this contract is magical,” the receptionist explained. “Any violation of the guild’s code of ethics will result in a magical brand flagging you as a violator and allowing the guildmasters to track you down through divination. Those who do not align with our values rarely last long.”

Simon carefully read the contract. The code of ethics was relatively simple and in line with what he would have expected from an organization allied with the White Unicorn: to never knowingly harm an innocent, to never violate an adventurer contract, pay the guild’s dues on time, to never wound a fellow guild member without special authorization from the guildmasters, to answer the Paladin’s call to arms, and of course, to never to be a friend to the Overlord.

Well, technically, I’m not a friend of the Overlord, Simon mused. That was quite the glaring loophole. And one of my titles should let me violate these clauses without consequences, at least in theory.

“So, will we all have to sign it?” Simon asked. Neither Belzemine nor Eole could ignore the penalty.

“Not necessary. The invitation was made to you alone, so your companions will be considered hired helpers rather than fellow guild members. You will be paid in full, and allocating the reward will be your responsibility.”

Simon nodded and then signed the paperwork. Since no brand of treachery appeared on his skin, he figured his title worked as advertised.

“Welcome to the Monoceros Guild, Simon,” the receptionist said with a smile as she collected the paperwork. “Can I ask why you enrolled?”

“I want to make a difference,” Simon replied, which wasn’t a total lie, and much more socially acceptable than answering with ‘money and levels.’

“And you will,” the receptionist said with enthusiasm. “You are part of the White Unicorn movement now. Most adventurer guilds are only in it for fame and profit, but we fight the good fight. When the Overlord’s armies come for the west, they’ll find that our shores have teeth. We’ll throw him back into the Abyss where he belongs.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sorry, I get a little fired up just thinking about it. I hope the Paladin will lead us to battle in my lifetime.” The receptionist cleared her throat. “Let us get back on track. I read that you are a level 24 Dreadnought, so you’ll be given a C-rank license. This means you can accept C-ranked quests and below from our board.”

She proceeded to explain to Simon the basics. The quest system was more or less identical to the one Dassein introduced to Simon when he explained the bounty system: quests were ranked from E to S depending on the expected danger, which ranged from killing monsters to escorting caravans or VIPs to stranger tasks like collecting certain ingredients for alchemical potions.

The main difference was that adventurers couldn’t take requests above their own rank for their own safety unless they received special permission from the higher-ups. This annoyed Simon since it meant the most lucrative jobs would be gatelocked, but on the other hand, asking for better ones would probably require revealing Belzemine’s true power. A level seventy elf was bound to bring unwelcome attention.

Everything seems clear and simple enough, Simon thought as the receptionist explained how to contact clients, recover their rewards, and what other benefits the guild brought to its members, like lodging and training facilities. Was the Prince of Spiders playing a joke on me? If this place has a secret, then I can’t see–

Thump.

Simon’s head abruptly snapped to the side as his heart pounded so hard in his chest. A buzzing noise echoed in the back of his head.

“Simon?” Eole asked upon noticing his unease.

Simon struggled to focus on her words. His Overlord Class was sensing something extremely dangerous in the vicinity. The effect wasn’t as suffocating as when he stood in Vouivre or Elios Magnos’ presence, but still noticeable.

Belzemine looked tense, too. Her eyes had turned to a group of adventurers walking into the hall, and most specifically, to a female elf among their numbers. She had skin slightly darker than Belzemine's, with long silver hair tied in a ponytail and ageless green eyes. She carried a mage scepter, but though she radiated the calm confidence of an experienced fighter, she wasn’t the source of the feeling–

There.

At the center of the newcomers’ group was a young man of twenty, as handsome as a god of legends, with fair skin, curled azure hair tumbling over eyes that looked like liquid steel. A white cloak fluttered over his tunic that showcased his lithe yet strong body, and his hand rested on a silver sword at his belt. A small court of women escorted him like hens did with a rooster, and though he seemed to speak to them with courtesy, he didn’t smile at any of them.

That man looked like any aspiring knight, but… something about him shook Simon to his core. He could feel the Overlord spirit react to his presence like a snake in the presence of a mongoose, a beast recognizing an ancestral enemy.

The stranger seemed to share the same feeling, too, for he suddenly froze in place and looked around. Simon hastily focused back on the counter to avoid his gaze, praying the man wouldn’t single him out from the hundreds of adventurers present.

“Who is this guy?” Simon asked the receptionist.

“Alphonse of Lore, son of Ser Richard of Lore, the Sword Saint,” she replied with stars in her eyes, clearly being smitten with the man. “They say his dad is the next Paladin, if you can believe it.”

“I don’t,” Simon replied. The rumors were wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

The Class had picked the son over the father.