The Hundred Reigns

Ascending up a mountain was a mystical experience.

Located west of the League of Valne, the Stone Crown formed a barrier of mountains separating it from the Kingdom of Lore. The highest of them, Mount Colt, used to be a volcano, though it had slumbered ever since the Year of the Doom.

The three of them—or rather, Simon and Belzemine, since Eole could simply fly—had been trekking up the mountain’s slope for a day now, passing by mountain cabins whose chimneys let smoke rise into the clear blue sky, narrow roads, and wooden bridges binding different sides of small ravines. They barely encountered a soul besides the occasional bear or lynx fleeing at their approach.

Mountains were so quiet, so peaceful. The sensation of the pure air flowing into his lungs, the faint song of the wind, the clear sky… Simon couldn’t recall any other place that had left him feeling so serene. In fact, he enjoyed it so much that the group agreed to stay the night in a cave they had found carved into a cliff two-thirds of the way up to the summit. They spent the night there, cooking around the campfire and looking into the clear horizon. They could see the green land fading into the sea in the distance, and Simon would count the memory of watching the sunset with Eole and Belzemine among his favorites.

The next morning topped it, however, when he woke up to find his companions staring at something beyond their refuge’s jagged entrance.

“Shush,” Eole had whispered while inviting him to come closer. “Look.”

Simon moved closer and held his breath when he spotted a couple of winged horses with two foals grazing not too far from the cave. They hadn’t noticed their presence yet.

“I’ve never seen wild pegasi before,” Simon muttered. The species was extremely rare on the eastern continent, since the imperial army mostly trained Berwick-born griffins or more aggressive wyverns.

“They used to live in Endymion once, back when elves still lived there,” Belzemine said with… Simon wouldn’t call it nostalgia, but her voice did betray a certain fondness.

“Some of them often fly all the way to my homeland,” Eole replied with a bright smile. “They usually travel in large herds, so the others mustn’t be too far away.”

One of the pegasi’s heads perked up, perhaps due to having heard or smelled them. It let out a sound, and the entire family quickly took flight. They vanished in an instant that felt like half a lifetime.

After all the wars, the assassinations, the undead, and the monsters, it was nice to see that the world was still full of beautiful things.

“I will miss the food,” Eole said once they had breakfast. This might be their very last occasion to taste Valnean pastries, though they had set aside a few as gifts for their future kish hosts. “We have none of that honey and sugar at home.”

“Are all of your people vegetarians too, Lady Eole?” Belzemine asked. It had taken two months, but she had started to speak up without prompting.

“Yes and no,” Eole replied. “Our elders strictly regulate hunting to ensure the animal population of our sanctuary replenishes itself, so we are only allowed to eat meat at certain special times of the year. Many of us still prefer to avoid meat entirely, even during those periods.”

“I wonder what kind of fauna would have evolved on a flying island,” Simon mused. “I’m surprised our airships never discovered your existence.”

“The sky is an ocean, vast and wide, and your airships do not fly high enough to reach us yet.” Eole stared at her coffee with unease. “I fear the day when they will.”

“Well, it won’t be for a very, very long time,” Simon reassured her. “Endymion will be too busy rebuilding itself once the war ends to look up, no matter who wins the civil war. Your people will have years to prepare.”

“True. I hope the elders will listen to my warnings. We have stayed hidden for so long, the world has moved on without us.” Eole watched the clouds in the sky. “Maybe it is not such a bad thing. For all the corruption and wickedness I have encountered in these lands, I have met good souls such as yours as well. I am sure our elven community will be happy to make your acquaintance, too, Belzemine.”

“I…” Belzemine’s fragile joy quickly faded away at the mention of her true name. “I hope so as well. It has been a long time since I last visited an elven village.”

Eole immediately picked up on it. “I'm sorry. I did not mean to open up old wounds.”

“Worry not, Lady Eole.” Belzemine straightened up in embarrassment and quickly changed the subject by presenting Simon with a handwritten note. “I have finished analyzing your elemental affinities while you slept, Your Majesty. My findings are relatively imprecise since divination spells fail to gather information on you, but I ascertained much by studying the miasma and mana you poured into your creations.”

“Oh?” Simon checked the note. Belzemine had classified his affinities on an axis from strong to weak.

Very Strong: Soul, Darkness, Ailments.

Strong: Physical, Mind, Corrosion, Metal, Fire, Earth, Frost, Lightning.

Neutral: Support, Water, Wind, Mythic.

Weak: Wood, Life.

Very Weak: Light.

“What does Support cover?” Simon inquired. “And what’s Mythic?”

“Support usually covers non-elemental magic that strengthens or weakens oneself or others, like stat alterations,” Belzemine explained. “Mythic is power that transcends the elemental spectrum, such as raw magic.”

“And I suppose ‘Life’ covers healing spells?” Simon guessed. “I can forget ever becoming a healer then.”

“I see no cause to complain, Simon,” Eole mused upon reading the text. “You have been blessed with more advantages than disadvantages from what I see.”

“There are Classes capable of altering one’s elemental affinities, Your Majesty,” Belzemine comforted him. “I myself only received a strong Fire affinity because of my Pyromancer Class.”

Interesting. Simon wondered if it would be worthwhile to devour Crestones that could compensate for his weak affinities. Not that he was in a position to do anything about it at his current level, but that was something to keep in mind.

“Thank you, Agnes,” Simon said. Hearing her slave name pleased the elf as much as it disappointed Eole. Hopefully the sanctuary’s elven community could help improve her state of mind.

Once they had finished their breakfast, the group packed up their belongings and continued their ascent along a trail. The air grew thinner as they worked their way upward, but their Classes and enhanced stats allowed them to bear it.

They finally reached the summit by midday. It was surprisingly flat for a sleeping volcano’s caldera. The dusty floor of the crater was covered in pumice gravel, and at its center stood an old and primitive stone temple. It was hardly bigger than a house, with old walls, a cracked roof, and a hole for a door.

“What’s this?” Simon asked as they walked up to it. “This place looks abandoned.”

“I’ve heard the locals built a temple here after the Doom to honor the volcano’s spirit,” Eole replied as she grabbed her oud. “Climbers often leave offerings there.”

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“I guess we can leave a pastry behind,” Simon mused out loud. “So, how long until your friends answer your call?”

“That depends on how quickly my song will reach them. Hours, maybe?” Eole chuckled. “They are rather quick.”

“Well, I guess we can check the temple then–” Simon sensed Belzemine’s hand move in front of his chest, stopping him midstep. “Mmm?”

The elf was tenser than a bowstring, her gaze squarely set on the stone temple’s threshold. Simon followed her gaze and–

Thump.

It can’t be. That same familiar malaise overwhelmed Simon’s senses once again, boiling the blood in his veins and quickening his pulse. That’s not possible.

And yet it was.

Ser Alphonse of Lore stepped out of the temple, sword drawn.

Belzamine changed into her Pyromancer Class Outfit without warning, and Simon imitated her by putting his false Dreadnought armor on. Two women adventurers who had followed Alphonse at the Monoceros Guild stepped out from behind the temple alongside that elf, Frea, and a grizzled, hooded knight.

Simon glanced at the trail behind them to see a handful of warriors he had seen at the Monoceros Guild close their escape route. Half a dozen archers and mages also stepped out of hiding from behind the caldera’s jagged edges.

“I do not understand,” Eole muttered in shock and disbelief, her hands clutching her oud as she activated her Songstress Class.

I do, Simon thought. He knew it the moment he saw the look of pure contempt and hatred the Paladin sent his way. Fiendmask would not save him. He can sense the Dark in me, as I the Light in him.

“Simon of House Magnos, Fourth Overlord of Endymion,” Alphonse said, his voice dripping venom. Pristine, plated white armor materialized over his skin, alongside a large, rounded shield. A single horn glowed out of his helmet, a blue cloak bearing the symbol of a white unicorn fluttered from his shoulders, and his sword soon began to radiate a holy light that displeased the Overlord in Simon’s heart. “In the name of the Holy Kingdom of Lore, the League of Valne, and the Mana Goddess Herself, you are hereby under arrest.”

They knew.

Nay, they had been warned.

“How did you know we would be here?” Simon inquired. He could only think of one possibility, and it infuriated him.

The old, hooded knight deigned to enlighten him. “You’ve been sold out, Ser, and not cheaply. The Prince of Spiders auctioned off your identity and location one day after you departed Rosanne.”

Simon’s anger was only matched by Eole’s sheer fury. “Those traitors!” she cursed with anger. “After they forced us to close our eyes to their actions!”

“Did you really think crooks like them had any honor?” one of the women adventurers asked, some redhead rogue wielding a longsword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

They sold me out the second our association was no longer profitable, the bastards. Simon knew they were spiders, and he still let them bite him. I hope that Prince has eight limbs, so I can tear them all off!

Simon swore revenge, whether in this reign or the next. Treachery would never go unpunished on his watch.

But he had to survive that betrayal first.

“A battle is pointless!” Simon argued. “We are about to depart this land, and with no intention of ever returning!”

“Lies,” Alphonse replied coldly. “Even now, you cloak yourself in a Class that’s not yours. I can sense your malevolence from here, the evil boiling in your cursed soul. It hates me. It wants me dead, and to destroy all that I cherish.”

“Simon is not his Class! It does not define him!” Eole shouted with sincerity. She stepped in front of him, a hand on her chest. “I owe him my life and freedom, as do hundreds of souls in Rosanne! He has broken the chains of slaves, fed the poor, and nursed the sick back to health!”

“A web of deceit to hide his crimes!” the hooded knight argued back. “How many seeds of destruction has he sown with those cursed items of his? It will take us months to recover them all! Imagine the harm they will do in the meantime!”

“But–”

“Eole, you are wasting your breath,” Simon cut in. He could see the cold, ugly truth written all over their faces. “They made up their minds a long time ago.”

They would not let him leave here without a fight.

The elf, Frea, summoned a staff to her hand and faced Belzemine. “Step away from him, Belzemine.”

“No, Frea,” Belzemine replied without emotion. “I will slay all of His Majesty’s enemies. Even you.”

“Does his slave brand compel you to defend him?” The elf scowled in genuine concern. These two knew each other more than Belzemine let on. “I will have to incapacitate you then.”

“I will not let you kill His Majesty,” Belzemine insisted.

Frea appraised her for a moment before answering, “He will not die.”

She said it so flatly, so coldly, that Simon immediately knew her proposal was both sincere and would result in an outcome even worse than death.

“You want to seal His Majesty away,” Belzemine guessed, “If he dies, his Class will pass on to another.”

“The cycle of the Overlord has to stop, for the good of the world.” Frea turned to Simon. “It will be painless. Like a dreamless sleep.”

“No thank you,” Simon replied, his grip on his sword tightening.

“If you are truly as noble a soul as your companion believes you to be, then throw down your weapon,” Frea said, unperturbed. “The kish and Belzemine will be spared and taken care of. You have my word.”

Her word was worth nothing, and Simon refused to spend eternity trapped under some rock or magical sigil, begging for eons until something finally killed him and restarted the next reign. There had to be a way for them to walk away from this trap.

They outnumber us, but they haven’t attacked yet, Simon thought. He could taste the fear in the air. They have no idea how strong I am due to Anathemic Secrecy, and they know exactly what Belzemine is capable of.

Could they win? Belzemine would likely need to do the heavy lifting since he was only level 26, and Eole could only do support, but Simon had seen her pulverize high-level individuals with a single spell. However, she only had so many manaliths in reserve to replenish her mana…

Whose order are they waiting for to strike? Simon’s gaze turned to Alphonse, whose posture reminded him of a manticore assessing whether or not to pounce. You. You’re the weak link.

“You, Paladin.” Simon pointed his blade at Alphonse. “Raise your sword and come fight your battles. I challenge you to a duel.”

Alphonse glared back at him. “A duel?”

He didn’t blow it off immediately. Good. “If I win, my companions and I go free, and I swear I shall not return to these lands in my lifetime. If you win…” Simon grunted in frustration. “I will surrender, and you will let my companions go.”

Frea scoffed. “Your bargaining position is highly dubious.”

Eole returned her contempt. “Ambushing an innocent while you outnumber us five to one… is that what a coward calls chivalry in Lore?”

The elf and the adventurers clearly couldn’t care less, but Simon could see Alphonse’s narrowed eyes through his helmet. Her words had rattled him.

It all revolved around Alphonse. Members of the White Unicorn were honorbound to follow him into battle and he was young, unbloodied, sheltered by an ancient elf archmage, forced to hide in his father’s shadow until the day his handlers deemed ready. Something he probably chaffed at.

It probably stung each time people praised his father as the paladin, both because he had to hide his true skill and because it put another in danger for his sake. He had waited so many years for this moment when he could finally show his true self and earn the glory all young knights craved.

I know your kind, you wellborn prick with something to prove.

Simon had spent enough time around Thalas to learn how to handle these people.

“Wait, could you be afraid?” Simon asked Alphonse with a mocking, scornful laughter. “Is that why your Guild only allowed you to hunt monsters? Because you were too weak and scared to fight me without a hundred levels?”

“I do not fear you,” Alphonse replied hatefully. “I accept your terms.”

His entourage gasped, none louder than the old knight. “Alphonse, don’t! That’s exactly what he wants!”

“You are not ready for this, Alphonse,” Frea warned him, which Simon took as a very good sign.

“I have been ready my whole life.” Alphonse stepped forward. “All of you, step back. I will deal with him.”

His men exchanged worried glances, but to deny their chosen one the duel he was literally prophesied to fight was too much even for them. Frea scowled darkly, even as she stepped back alongside the others.

She wouldn’t abide by the duel’s terms even if Simon won. He could tell.

Simon glanced at his allies. Eole bit her lip in concern, and Belzemine’s face was ice cold, but they trusted him enough to step back. Soon their audience formed a wide circle while the Paladin and the Overlord faced each other.

“You are fighting the wrong man,” Simon warned Alphonse. “I hope you understand that.”

“I don’t think so.” Alphonse adopted a fighting stance, shield and sword up. “I sensed your presence at the Guild all those weeks back; a corruption in our midst. Yet you were gone before we could identify you, and hid yourself well. No more. Today, you pay for what you have done.”

“I have done no harm to you or these people,” Simon argued back. “And if my family harmed you, I had no part in it.”

Alphonse scoffed behind his helmet as he began to circle around Simon, who imitated him; neither daring to strike first. “Thirteen years ago, my uncle traveled to Magvolia to trade with your people, and your empire rewarded him with torture and murder.”

Thirteen years? Could it be… Simon shook his head. If it was that man… “I was seven back then.”

“And I was seventeen when your assassins murdered my teacher, who should have inherited the Paladin Crestone instead of me. Do you know what they said to me when they were done gutting him in his sleep?”

The Paladin’s sword somehow glowed even brighter with the flames of his anger.

“‘With love, from Simon Magnos.’”

Simon meditated on that answer, then took a long, deep breath. “Would you believe me if I said it was just my father being a colossal prick?”

“No.”

“Pity.” Simon dropped the Fiendmask, shedding his false Dreadnought armor for the dark steel of the Overlord. So many onlookers recoiled at the sight of his true self, but not Alphonse. “Then come lose your horn, if you dare! Dark Saber!”

Miasma shrouded his claymore in shadows as Alphonse lunged at him like a leopard, his longsword shining like the sun.

Their blades soon clashed, and with them, Light and Dark.