The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 159: The Sanctuary in the Sky (8)

Simon stood still like a statue as Vayan’s question sank into his heart. His first instinct was to play the fool, to deny and delay, but a single look at his audience convinced him otherwise. Most had no idea what the Sky-Father was referring to, and while Lady Junon looked a bit anxious, he sensed no hostility nor revulsion from any of them.

“Did you tell them?” Simon asked Eole. He wouldn’t blame her if she did, considering the danger threatening her people.

Eole avoided his gaze. “They figured it out on their own.”

“I suspected the truth as soon as this Overlord matter came up,” Vayan declared. “The truth wasn’t hard to glimpse after what happened with Carbuncle. I assume you feared the Adventurer’s wrath or that we would expel you were we to learn of your power.”

“You needn’t worry about that, Simon,” Lady Junon reassured him. “I gave shelter to the old kish, who built an empire on the backs of countless shifter slaves. We will not hold your origins against you.”

“Your kindness does you credit, Lady Junon, though I fear it is born of ignorance rather than understanding,” Simon replied bluntly. He still found their naivety and acceptance endearing. “If you knew more about my Class, you would have been wiser to expel me.”

“You are a scion of the Librarian and you have brought a cherished child back to us,” Vayan reminded him. “Moreover, you would only have needed to bring your nation’s armies here if you wished us harm.”

“We will judge you on your actions, Simon, not on what you are.” Lady Junon cleared her throat. “But if you are to help guide our champions, then we require honesty on your part.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Simon replied. He wouldn’t have trusted a foreigner with arming his people with Crestones without taking some precautions either. He briefly exchanged a glance with Eole, who encouraged him with a nod, then gathered his breath. “Very well. See me as I am.”

He put on the Overlord armor in a flash of miasma.

His Class burst out of him like a beast roaring back to life after spending too much time caged and shackled. Waves of darkness erupted out from his body, throwing back the kish and elves gathered closest to him. The harpies screeched all at once, with Queen Zeal reeling in dread as Unquestionable Ruler’s true strength hit her head on. Only the likes of Eole, Vayan, and Junon didn’t recoil, and only the former didn’t look unsettled by his mere presence.

Every Class user present put on their outfits, Tybalt and Queen Zeal included. The former put on heavy, red and gold armor with an eye symbol on its chest, which Simon recognized as the Guardian outfit, Vassal to the Paladin; while a metal corset and choker covered in spikes appeared over the harpy queen. Her whip crackled with lightning when she grabbed it, but her grip was weak and unsteady.

“So foul…” Lady Junon covered her mouth. “How could such a terrible Class exist in this world?”

“Such overwhelming evil…” Tybalt muttered to himself as he moved in front of his children to protect them. “I’ve never felt anything like it before…”

I haven’t even activated Dreadful Aura, Simon thought. Unquestionable Ruler alone was enough to intimidate everyone present. Most of them wouldn’t get past the Forbidden Keep’s front door.

“I am Simon Magnos, Fourth Overlord of Endymion,” Simon introduced himself. “I seek no quarrel with you. Though I hid my identity, my words and warnings were true. A great evil threatens you, and as it stands, you will all perish at its hands before the year is done. I could conquer your lands on my lonesome.”

Queen Zeal scowled in defiance. “Prove it.”

Suit yourself, Simon thought as he raised his hand. “Come forth, my steed.”

A draconic abomination roared to unlife in a flood of darkness and screams.

Reaching over thirty feet in length and matching Casval in size, the horrific creature took the shape of an emaciated, rotting carcass of a dragon with curved black horns, milky white eyes devoid of life, and rows of fangs jutting forth from an exposed jaw. Its bones shimmered with an unsettling glow while its black heart pulsated with miasma and purple abyssal energies, its batlike wings unfolding to cast the elves, kish, and harpies in its shadow.

His audience erupted in screams of fear and shouts of alarm, many quaking in dread and backing away from the terrible stench alone. Vayan expanded his wings and roared at the undead dragon, while even Lady Junon recoiled in horror.

“Even the souls of dragons yield to my might!” Simon declared from atop the creature’s back, looking down on an astonished Queen Zeal. “A beast as powerful as your Sky-Father answers to me!”

His undead dragon proved his words by unleashing its breath at the heavens above, briefly darkening the sky with a cloud of noxious fumes and wretched purple smoke. Vayan quickly blew it away with a mighty wind conjured from a flap of his wings, but the demonstration had cowed everyone present into silence.

“A stray thought of mine could kill all of you!” Simon warned them. Well, a handful would survive his Dreadful Aura, but ‘most of you’ didn’t have the same ring to it. “If this is what I can do without lifting a finger… then imagine what the demon trapped in the Forbidden Keep can do when he escapes in a year’s time? He will destroy and consume you all, because his kind only deals in two commodities: your screams and your souls.”

Although his words demoralized many, Simon quickly commanded his audience’s attention by dismissing his dragon, transforming his scepter into a sword and dramatically planting it in the ground while standing on his own two feet.

“And yet, I bring you a message of hope, and gifts aplenty,” Simon reassured them as he opened his Inventory and presented them with his latest creation: a newly crafted Witch Crestone. “For the Heroes of old surpassed me, and their strength is yet within your grasp. With my help and your determination, we can protect your home.”

A long silence answered his declaration. Simon didn’t mean to give a speech, but he guessed such things almost came naturally to him after so many reigns spent commanding demons and armies.

Vayan spoke up with his thundering voice, commanding everyone’s attention. “Simon speaks true. While the enemy that threatens our home is strong, our people have survived the Doom once already. I have faith in our ability to pull through, and we eidolons will fight by your side to the end!”

“You all volunteered to be here, but this was only the first test of many,” Lady Junon added. “We only have resources to equip a limited number of champions, so we will have trials to select a chosen few.”

“First, Anaximander must confirm that none of you were born under the Goatfish’s sign, which would open you up to the demon’s influence,” Simon insisted. While only Eole’s family showed strong Darkblood potential—which Simon assumed to be from them descending from the Kish Empire’s royal family—every last one of the shifters present had at least a small drop of it. Simon didn’t think a Zodiac Fiend could possess a thin-blooded host, but he wouldn’t take the risk of providing Nodens with more vessels. “You may be entrusted with non-combat roles, but you will not be allowed anywhere near the frontline.”

Simon expected some pushback, but nobody questioned him. It was as if everyone present just tacitly accepted his authority and wisdom on the matter. Unquestionable Ruler might have helped with that, alongside Simon’s intimidating display of power, but it still felt weird for them to treat him with reverence rather than distrust or suspicion.

Then again, the Overlord is mere hearsay to them, Simon thought. Revealing his true Class didn’t seem different than introducing himself as the Necromancer or the Rogue. They think the Overlord is a darker kind of Noble Hero rather than evil given form.

“Why do you trust me so readily?” Simon asked Vayan and Junon as Anaximander and other elf astrologers present interviewed each recruit to confirm their birth signs.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Lady Junon replied innocently. “You saved Eole’s life, warned us about a danger we ignored, and have been nothing but helpful to us so far.”

“You’ve sensed my Class and seen its power,” Simon warned them. “I lied to you about it. I just don’t understand why you can so readily trust me after that.”

“I told you before that the Abyss’ power is always dangerous, but not evil by itself,” Vayan reminded him. “I stand by those words. Your power is dangerous, that is true, but there may come a time when it is necessary.”

Simon scoffed. “Yet it is a demon that threatens your home right now, Sky-Father.”

“Demons are evil, the Abyss itself is not.” Vayan rested on his talons. “Have you ever heard of creatures called the qlippoths, Simon?”

“The qlippoths?” Simon stroked his chin. “Only vaguely. They’re abyssal entities, cousins to demons.”

“Qlippoths are more ancient than demons, and exist in the depths below Hell’s bowels,” Vayan replied. “When the world was young and mortals learned of the Abyss’ existence, qlippoths were the very first of its inhabitants that diabolists attempted to summon and bind.”

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Truly?” Simon frowned. “I don’t recall ever coming across summoning spells for qlippoths.”

“Because diabolists quickly learned that they had few things that interested them,” Vayan explained. “Qlippoths derive no pleasure from mortals’ fear and suffering, seek no domination, and require no worship to sustain their existence. Some would trade knowledge for our lore, but most simply sought to return to the Abyss and treated the material plane with complete indifference. Would you call such creatures ‘evil’?”

“I suppose not,” Simon admitted.

“Yet diabolists would not be turned away from their obsession for the Abyss’ power, and through their greedy search, they came upon forces of the Dark willing to bargain with them: formless entities of miasma that would model themselves after their fears and desires to prey on them. Thus, the first demons came to be and became the focus of diabolism.” Vayan grunted. “There was also once one of my kind that craved human sacrifices to bless his followers with rain and good harvest, simply because his followers fervently believed a god should need the blood of mortals to grant them his blessings. The Light we cherish had birthed a hideous creature by the people’s wicked will.”

“Why are you telling me these things, Sky-Father?”

“What you must understand is that while the Abyss contains wicked creatures and the Dark can cause great harm, neither is truly evil by itself; just as the Light’s power can be misused to foul ends. Every atom of this universe and every soul in it bears a touch of light and darkness. They are not opposites, but complementary forces.” Vayan’s burning eyes shone with a warm light. “Your Class being rooted in evil power does not mean it cannot be wielded by a good person for good purposes.”

Simon pondered the eidolon’s wisdom. His reasoning made sense, considering how mana and miasma reinforced each other when used together instead of clashing into mutual annihilation. They were two fundamental forces of the cosmos.

Still, the Overlord was a Class created by a demon for a demon. Simon hoped Vayan was right and that he could still make the world a better place whether with it or in spite of it, but that remained to be proven.

Which brought Simon to the question that had bugged him since Vouivre first brought it up: what was his idea of a better world?

Thus began what would become known as the month-long Contest of Champions.

While Simon worked on crafting Vassal Crestones, Vayan, Junon, and the island’s eidolons put their candidates to the test to see which of them would be worthy of them. Those who already had a Class like Tybalt, Zeal, Eole, and Ruto were automatically selected, as were a handful of elves like Anaximander who had centuries of magical or martial expertise. One of them had apparently spent centuries in the sky practicing swordsmanship as a hobby.

However, watching this swordsman and Anaximander in action taught Simon that no amount of skill could compensate for stats, Perks, and levels.

It wasn’t that they were harmless, far from it. Anaximander’s magic would have made him a threat to most of the imperial population, but he simply couldn’t perform like a mage empowered by a Crestone. His Tier VI fire spells packed less power than Simon’s Hellfire, simply because of his much weaker magic stat, and there was only so much an expert swordsman could do when his sword lacked the strength to get past a Class outfit.

On the plus side, they should quickly progress in their chosen Classes simply by practicing advanced moves. A Scholar casting a Tier VI spell as soon as they earned their Crestone would shoot up to level twenty in a blink.

Otherwise, Simon suggested summoning weak demons like imps to help the recruits gain levels before they tackled more dangerous challenges in the Forbidden Keep, and agreed to lend the Sanctuary Champions some of Belzemine’s Crestones. She would keep Healer since she had the highest level in it and could still cast Pyromancer spells without the Crestone, albeit at weaker potency, and the rest would go to the selected heroes.

“It’s odd,” Simon told Eole when she visited him at his and Belzemine’s house on Boreas, bringing him a pipe organ the kish had built for him. The design was rudimentary, with its tubes crafted from manatree wood and seashell keys, yet he found it lovely. “I came here to find some peace and yet I’ve spent all my time working.”

“Some people simply can’t stay idle,” Eole mused as she checked the home he shared with Belzemine. The decorations were relatively sparse, but their elven neighbors had given him plenty of art pieces. “You’ve accumulated quite the collection.”

“Sorry,” Simon apologized, his fingers testing the organ’s keyboard. The sound was a bit higher-pitched than expected, but still good enough. “Your people set up a home on Zephyr for us and we haven’t used it since we arrived.”

“I don’t mind, since it’s for Agnes’ sake.” Eole sat on the organ’s console. “How is she doing?”

“She’s… making some progress.” In that she had only asked him to reapply the brands three times per week rather than every day. “Gardening with the other elves and Carbuncle helps, but centuries of trauma won’t vanish in mere months.”

Eole nodded gravely and crossed her legs. “What about you, Simon? Are you happy here?”

“It’s… nice,” Simon replied while playing a few notes. “I don’t think a peaceful community like yours could have developed in the wider world without being conquered or destroyed, but I’m glad it exists.”

“I didn’t ask you if you found life peaceful here, Simon.” Eole met his gaze. “I asked if you were happy.”

Simon’s fingers froze on the keyboard.

Was he happy? Simon should be. He had found a community so peaceful, so serene and kind, that its people accepted the Overlord among their numbers without hesitation. He had been granted a home, a degree of authority, and the people’s trust. His instincts kept telling him it was too good to be true, only for him to be proven wrong time and time again. This place was a paradise and a unique wonder, even if it lived on borrowed time. He felt compelled to help preserve it from destruction.

But being there didn’t make him happy, no.

Simon felt much better than after those terrible final days when he spent fighting his loved ones in the previous reign, and he enjoyed spending time with Eole, or practicing spellcasting with Anaximander… yet he felt like a man who was in the wrong place.

“Something’s missing,” Simon admitted. “There’s nothing wrong with this place, but… I feel something’s missing, and I don’t know what.”

Eole nodded in understanding. “It was the same for me. I have everything here, and yet I always felt I was lacking something important.”

“Is that why you left the Sanctuary?” Simon guessed. “Because you were looking for a purpose?”

“Yes,” Eole admitted. “The more I learned of our people’s past, the more it convinced me that we had a historic responsibility towards the shifters we mistreated and abandoned on the surface. My resolve only hardened when I found our people crushed under your empire’s foot.” She looked down in shame. “I thought I was doing the right thing…”

“You were,” Simon reassured her. “You did your best to help them. You couldn’t have freed Telluria without sullying your hands and shedding blood.”

“No, no, you don’t understand the issue.” Eole bit her lower lip. Simon could tell she hesitated to tell him something, before deciding to confide in him. “Do you think you can be a good person if you do good deeds for selfish reasons?”

“Who cares? At the end of the day, the world will be better for it.” Eole remained silent, and it only took Simon a second to guess what left her so distraught. “You’re thinking about what Carbuncle’s mirror showed you.”

“Yes,” Eole confirmed as she let out a heavy breath. “The people in the vision… they were free, but they were setpieces. Props acclaiming me and celebrating my actions.” She looked through the window. “I think… I think I didn’t set out to help Telluria because saving shifters was the right thing to do, but because it would make me feel important and righteous. It shames me.”

Simon stared at her for a moment, and then burst out laughing. His response startled Eole and shook out of her funk.

“What?” she asked, blushing. “What’s so funny about this?!”

“Are you seriously feeling guilty for trying to free a country from slavery because it would make you a little vain?” Simon teased her. “Doesn’t that sound a little overblown?”

“Shut up, you evil Overlord,” she replied lightly without really meaning it. “Don’t lead me astray with your corrupting questions!”

“Give me a week, and I’ll turn you into a heartless demon,” Simon joked as he resumed playing. “You’ll give sweets to orphans to tempt them into a life of gluttony.”

“That’s the last time I pour my heart out to you, my shoulder devil.” Eole smiled at him, the joy having returned to her. “Seriously, you believe I’m overthinking this?”

Simon pondered her question. He thought back to the two reigns he spent with Eole in Valne, when they got a secret anti-slavery ring off the ground the first time, and then when they infiltrated the Cobweb in the second. Eole had put aside her pride in the latter case, first by accepting his Devil Brands in order to destroy that vile spider’s web from within, and then to form a deal with Vouivre for the sake of giving the shifters a better future. While some of those actions might have been motivated by a need for purpose and recognition… When push came to shove, Eole had been willing to sacrifice her reputation and sully her hands for the greater good.

“I believe that should you be in a position to choose between your ego and a better future for your people, you will always pick the latter,” Simon concluded. “You are a better and stronger person than you give yourself credit for, Eole.”

Eole smiled fondly at him, like the sun shining after a cloudy day. “Thank you, Simon,” she said warmly, “that is sweet of you.”

“It’s the truth,” Simon replied upon returning her smile.

She rested her head on her palm. “What did the mirror show you, by the way?”

“I only caught a glimpse of the Overlord on it, and nothing more,” Simon replied with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, aren’t you even a little bit curious to learn what it would have shown you?”

Simon’s jaw clenched on its own. “No.”

“You’re afraid to find out, aren’t you?” Eole guessed sharply. “What would truly make you happy? You fear it will be something ugly.”

While Simon hated to admit it, she might have hit the nail on the head. He had found pleasure in inflicting cruelties on others, even if they deserved it.

“Maybe, or maybe I’m afraid the mirror would have simply twisted the vision,” Simon replied evasively. “Either way, I won’t force Carbuncle through that transformation again, so I’ll have to find happiness on my own.”

“It doesn’t have to be your own. I’m here to help.” Eole winked at him. “When do you laugh the most? Besides when I say something foolish?”

Simon thought it over a moment before answering, “When I make a woman I like laugh with me–” which caused Eole to chuckle, “and when I utterly crush a hated enemy.”

“Spoken like a true Overlord,” Eole teased him back. “It’s not worrying at all.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” Simon would forever cherish the Attic’s destruction, and he continued to look forward to the day when he could personally dispose of Verney. “They deserved it.”

“Is that how you gained your levels?” Eole’s smile faded away. “How did you become so strong in such a short amount of time? Your father died only days before we met.”

Simon wanted to deflect with a lie, but he was starting to run out of believable excuses. “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I could tell you.”

“Even if?” Eole frowned at him. “Does your Class prevent you from sharing certain information?”

Simon sensed icy hands press on his throat before he could open his mouth. He remained silent, which proved to be an answer in itself.

“It does,” Eole guessed with a scowl. “We should ask Lady Junon for a way to remove it.”

“She can’t,” Simon replied. Not unless she could somehow pulverize the meteor-sized Crestone about to bring ruin to civilization.

“There has to be a way to do it. No one should be a slave, Simon, not even to the strongest Class in the world.” Eole’s scowl deepened, as a suspicious thought crossed her mind. “Do you want to be the Overlord, Simon?”

“I have no choice.”

“But suppose you do. Suppose we find a way to remove or destroy this Class without harming you or anyone else.” Eole locked eyes with him. “Would you do it?”

And Simon Magnos, Fourth Overlord of Endymion, had no answer to that.