The Hundred Reigns 59: The Season of the Minotaur (8)

Previous Chapter

-------

He dreamed of Elios Magnos that night.

He was still a living man in his dream, with pale skin and blonde hair framing three grey, red-rimmed eyes. His shaking hands gripped Simon’s clothes with immense dread.  

“You must walk away, Waybright!” he pleaded, his voice heavy with despair. “I have foreseen it! If you join us in the upcoming battle, you will die!”

“You cannot take on that creature without my help,” Simon said with a voice that wasn’t his own, followed up by a warm, confident laugh. “Besides, you know me. I’m always up to challenging the odds.”

“This is no joking matter!” Elios Magnos snapped at him with concern. His voice was nothing like the cavernous echo of the lich he had become. “The light of the comet shines upon the Goatfish! However weaker they might be compared to the Maiden or the Minotaur, their powers have now reached their apex!”

“But all the other eleven have been dealt with, and their seals still hold firm. The Goatfish’s the last of them.”

“And so are we!” Elios snapped. “The Oracle and we are all that remains of the first generation! The new recruits are green, untrained!”

Simon remained resolute. “You know what will happen if that monster is allowed to complete its foul ritual. The death toll will be immense.”

“Even so…” Elios seethed, looking down. “Don’t do it, please. I don’t want to see another of our own perish. Not again…”

Simon felt his lips stretch into a smile, one that hid his fear behind its confidence. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said, his hand reaching for Elios’ shoulder. “I will not die, that I promise you. I’ve stockpiled a fortune just for this moment. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. This war will soon be over.”

And they both knew it was a lie.

Simon’s eyes snapped open to find a ceiling of wood above his head. He returned to reality and to his room in the Midnight Market, his head clouded with questions. 

Was that a memory of the first Merchant? It sounded too vivid for a mere dream or hallucination. 

The Merchant Crestone had denied him its knowledge, but it seemed an echo still reverberated through Simon’s dreams. He was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of spiritual sensitivity. He was convinced he had seen echoes of his father’s past reigns in his slumber and glimpsed Balzam’s memory of murdering his first wife back on the Berwick Islands. 

Could he have inherited some of Elios Magnos’ Visionary gifts, even without a third eye? 

And what should he make of that memory? It astonished Simon that the cruel lich he had encountered back in Berwick could care for someone else, but Elios Magnos had sounded genuinely concerned for the Merchant’s sake. He seemed to have foreseen his colleague’s demise with his Visionary power, a prophecy that came true in the battle that followed. 

And then… then there was the timing. 

Eole told him that the Sanctuary had been torn away from Telluria during the Year of the Doom. The Goatfish came after the Archer in the Parade’s order, so that battle had to have taken place about four hundred years ago, when the comet last graced the planet with its presence. Since Xenophon said Waybright had been his first contractor, this meant the original generation of heroes continued to linger until the Doom at least, and that Elios hadn’t become a lich back then.  

‘But all the other eleven have been dealt with…’ that's what Waybright said, but there are thirteen signs, Simon thought. Did Mardok somehow manage to evade their notice until the Doom? 

Did traces of that battle remain in the Sanctuary? Whatever the Goatfish had been planning there, it threatened the heroes enough that they chose to risk their lives to stop it. He should have at least asked Eole for a way to contact her. Her homeland would suffer dearly when the comet arrived and freed the monster sealed away there. 

“Are you awake, Lord Belias?” Odette called out to him through telepathy. “Would you care to join me for a private breakfast? I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” Simon asked with curiosity. “How kind of you. I’m on my way.”

After dressing up and briefly checking on Cassandra to find her still soundly asleep—he had learned she was something of a night owl—he made his way up to Odette’s apartment. Guards stepped aside and opened the door to a long hallway. 

He found Odette signing documents at a large dining table while an undead Lorimor set the tableware. A middle-aged man bound by ropes to a chair struggled against his bindings, his screams dulled by a gag, his eyes and ears bound by a thick blindfold. A pendant bearing the Church of the Light’s glowing sun glittered around his neck. 

“I see we have a guest,” Simon noted. “A priest of the Light having breakfast with a demon?”

“You asked for one alive,” Odette reminded him after setting aside her documents. “This here is Father Rodrigue, priest of the local abbey. Lady Lauriane ordered me to arrest and execute him for secretly corresponding with High Confessor Mastemo. As far as the papertrail goes, he has… disappeared.”

“Good. We have cells to hold him in.” That took care of the sacrifice for the Summer Solstice, at least. “Where is your son? I would have expected to see him in your quarters."

“Away,” Odette replied sharply, holding his gaze. “He’s no longer in Whispermire.”

“Truly?” Now that surprised Simon. He thought she would rather have kept her son close. “Did you mistake me for a liar? He has nothing to fear so long as you serve me well.”

Odette held his gaze defiantly. “I trust you to be a demon, Lord Belias, bound by your interests. You may very well end up disposing of me should you begin to think I am no longer of use to you…” She then glanced out of the nearest window. “Not to mention that the mad princeling might decide to bomb my house from on high should he learn of our dealings. I thought it safer to evacuate my son to a safer place.”

“I see…” She wasn’t wrong either. The war could come to Whispermire’s doorstep at any point, whether it took the form of airship bombardments or Norbelle’s Eidolons. “Most wise.”

Odette scowled. “Why him? Why did your vassal want my son?”

“The fortune of his birth,” Simon replied. “He bears the sign of the Minotaur.”

“One person out of twelve is born under that sign, yet no other family in Whispermire was targeted.” 

“There are other parameters at play,” Simon replied evasively. He had personally reached that same conclusion. One person out of twelve was born under the Minotaur’s auspices, a fraction which only increased when taking ascendant signs into account, yet the Muse only tried to claim a handful of people as her new host. A compatible birthsign was a key requirement, but there had to be others he didn’t understand yet. “Does it matter? So long as you serve, he shall never come to harm.” 

“Yes, I understand that,” Odette replied as she went to put her documents on a nearby shelf between registries. “So far, our alliance has served me well. My fortune grows exponentially in spite of your taxing tribute, even though I can already tell it will eventually become unsustainable.”

“Eventually can be a very long time,” Simon replied as he checked the room. It was his first time visiting Odette Kano’s living space, and she seemed to be quite the art collector. Her living hall was closer to a curio cabinet, with hundreds of items on display behind vitrines or on small cupboards. 

The objects ranged from portraits representing Odette and her family to marble busts of renowned scholars and statuettes, but most objects appeared to come from the southern province of Uyo: sinister wooden masks adorned with reed crowns, a giant dire leopard’s hide, burnished copper bowls etched with runes Simon translated as offerings to forgotten gods, a priestly wooden scepter… his host was clearly in tune with her heritage.

One painting caught his gaze more than the other. It represented a vivid depiction of an ancient, primeval city half-buried in a dense jungle, with gilded walls and the shadows of giant apes looming between trees. The sketch was rougher than the rest of the gallery, yet strangely detailed too. 

Odette returned and walked up to him to stare at the painting. “Have you ever heard of the City of Rhapta, Lord Belias?”

“That name means nothing to me,” Simon replied. 

“It is a lost city located somewhere in Uyo’s jungle that was abandoned during the Doom, and my people’s ancestral home. I met my worm of an ex-husband when we were both researching it at the local academy.” A glint of nostalgia lit up Odette’s gaze, though that brief display of emotion didn’t last long. “Many adventurers explore the jungle in the hope of finding it and claiming its treasure.”

“Do any of them find it?”

“I did,” Odette replied, much to Simon’s surprise. “When I was a child, long before I arrived here, I lost my way and saw it past the trees, so eerily silent I could hear my footsteps. I had to run and flee before the local monsters could catch me, but the sight of that place remains forever seared into my memories.”

Simon squinted at her. “Did you paint this yourself?”

“I did.” She sounded quite proud of it, too. “When I was forced to leave my homeland, I swore to myself I would one day return to Rhapta and recapture it.”

“I see. Is that why you created a business dedicated to assisting adventurers? So you could recruit the allies, resources, and contacts required to raise an expedition?” Simon nodded in appreciation. And here he thought she hoarded wealth for its own sake. “Quite the ambitious goal. You will go far.”

“Thank you,” Odette replied warily. “I’m not certain what to make of a demon’s compliment.”

“Take it and keep it.” Come to think of it, didn’t one of his father’s notes mention the possibility of a Demonbarrow in Uyo? A lost city abandoned after the Doom sounded rather similar to the Kish empire’s capital… “Have you marked down this Rhapta’s location?”

“I was a child when I saw it, so I can’t pinpoint its location with complete accuracy,” Odette confessed. “But I have narrowed it down to one region of the jungle.”

“I would be curious to see it,” Simon replied, before moving on to more important matters. “Any news about the upcoming imperial raid?” 

“Yes and no. The War Party’s army does not share details of its operation with me. I remain a civilian leader in spite of my shows of loyalty. They do not trust me.” Odette crossed her arms. “However, I know imperial scouts have already been dispatched into the Darkwood for the purpose of reconnaissance. I would suggest wiping them out to discourage more incursions.” 

“Yes, that would indeed be wise.” And regrettable. “To never come back is a message in itself.”

Killing a few visitors might dissuade more from coming. 

—---

After having breakfast with Odette and ordering his cultists to secretly transport their priest guest to his new ‘permanent residence,’ Simon traveled outside town with Cassandra to further experiment with his Inventory Perk away from prying gazes. Two of their followers, a farming couple, kindly lent them their tools and possessions for experimentation. 

First of all, Simon tried to check what counted as an object for the Perk’s purpose, a definition which proved both vast and narrow. Trying to store large structures like houses simply resulted in error messages, as did his attempt to store trees or cows. However, he did manage to store large crates—though not their contents—and even an entire carriage. 

“It would seem the Perk doesn’t have a size or weight limit,” Simon noted, “or if it does, it must be quite large indeed.”

“It didn’t take the wheat piles that were inside the crates or carriage, though,” Cassandra pointed out. Simon tried to add them to his inventory and succeeded, though they appeared in a separate slot. 

“In all likelihood, the object must be whole or part of one,” Simon replied, a theory he confirmed after summoning the carriage back and removing a wheel. His Inventory then proceeded to store them in two separate slots. “Seems I was right, but why can I store wheat and not a tree? They’re both plants, and the crates and carriage are made of wood too…”

“The wheat is dead,” Cassandra replied. “It is no longer a living thing.”

“Yes, I think you must be right.” Simon stroked his chin. “But how does the Perk determine if an object is whole? Physical continuity?”

“Classes are born from the System, and thus the world’s collective will,” Cassandra replied with much wisdom and insight. “The Perk must base itself on common sense and public perception. I wonder if it perceives a corpse as an object too...”

“Well, a pile of wheat is a plant’s corpse, so I would assume so. I should try to store undead too when I return to the Darkwood, just in case.” Simon crossed his arms and stared at the carriage. “A pity we do not have anything bigger on hand. I wonder if I could store something as large as a galley or airship…”  

He was pondering what other tests he could put the Perk through when he sensed Carrock the Treant trying to establish telepathic communication with him. “What is it, Carrock?” 

“Pardon me, Lord Belias, but multiple groups have entered the Darkwood’s heart,” the treant replied. “Class users, strong and skilled.”

“The imperial scouts… stay on high alert, and do not let them reach the Halls of the Minotaur. I will teleport back to support you soon.” Simon cut communication and turned to Cassandra. “I’m sorry, but I have to cut this short. I must go wipe out some intruders.”

“I understand.” Cassandra cleared her throat. “If I may ask, could you take my brother and father with you?”

“Hector too?” Simon asked. “Oh, I see. You want to see your family?”

“If it is not a bother,” Cassandra said shyly. “I haven’t seen them for months now, since I cannot enter the Darkwood.”

“I can arrange a meeting, yes. We’ll come visit you after we take care of our uninvited guests.” 

“Thank you, Simon.” Cassandra smiled at him. “Besides… I believe my brother will appreciate some exercise.”

—---

And so, for the first time since they arrived in the Darkwood, Simon decided to take Hector and Duchar Honorius with him out on a patrol. One of the first things he tried to do was to store Hector in his Inventory, just in case.

It failed miserably. It seemed animated corpses were too alive by half for the Perk’s purpose. 

It didn’t take them long to find their first batch of intruders. They had been following a dry, murky riverbed up to a hollow in the woods when they stumbled upon a campsite by a group of four imperial scouts trying to establish a relay point in the area. 

What followed was… well, a one-sided massacre. Simon barely had time to raise his hand and prepare a spell to cast when Hector had activated his Crestone and lunged at them in a blink. 

The Executioner’s outfit was as simple as it was intimidating: black clothes covering the entire body alongside a conic cowl with a hangman’s rope dangling from the neck down. Hector looked rather eerie and fearsome with his monstrous headsman’s axe in his hands, doubly so when it tore through two men in the blink of an eye. He slaughtered the entire group before Simon could even finish spellcasting. 

“Well… that was quick,” Simon said as he looked over the smeared blood and entrails spilled all over the place. Cassandra hadn’t been exaggerating when she called her brother a peerless warrior.

“I fight to kill…” Hector rasped, wiping someone’s brain off his axe. “Better critical… instadeath… anti-heal… buffs… the more I kill, the stronger I become…”

“The Executioner is a purely offensive Vassal Class that focuses on killing single targets in a single blow,” Duchar summed it up. “While it lacks versatility or a Berserker’s raw might, it is excellent for one-on-one combat.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Simon noted as he checked the bodies for anything useful. He found a Crestone, only for the device to turn grayer than granite at his touch. “What the–”

“These Crestones are locked,” Duchar noted. “I’ve heard that newer generations of mass-produced Vassal Crestones include such security mechanisms. They only respond to specifically identified users to prevent the enemy from reusing them.”

“So they're useless?” Simon grumbled. “Can you break that encryption?”

“Perhaps with time,” Duchar replied hesitantly. “I suspect it would be quicker to craft our own than unlock those, however.”

“Disappointing,” Simon complained as he added the locked Crestone to his Inventory. Thankfully, non-Merchant Crestones could be placed within it without issue. I should check with the other Noble Crestones the moment I get the chance. “Anyway, how are you feeling around me so far, Hector? I recall that the sight of the living can infuriate you, so I wonder if that includes me.”

“No, I… I do not feel hostility towards Your Majesty… I sense we share a…” Hector hesitated. “A kinship.”

Unquestionable Ruler only compelled obedience in lower-level creatures, but the Overlord still radiated the power of the Dark. Undead and demons had recognized him in the past. Hector was probably no different. 

A wave of pain echoed through a couple of his Brands of Sloth, startling Simon. He was almost numb to the death of followers rippling through their bonds—one of his bound monsters perished now and then—but more than one had been slain in quick succession. That was cause for alarm. 

“Imp five?” Simon telepathically called out to the squad leader in the area. “Treant four?” No answer. “Will-o-wisp three? Do you hear me?”

“Yes, O’Lord of Dark,” the spirit answered. 

“Something wiped out all groups south of our location. Do you see intruders near your assigned area?”

“Yes, I do… hounds that hunger for blood… Knight clad in blue steel… an orc with sword o’ steel… mage calling thunder… woman archer, thirsting for battle…” 

A knight clad in blue steel, strong enough to cleave through monsters? It couldn’t be… 

“Duchar, could you obscure our location and movements?” Simon asked. “And keep Hector under control? An enemy party is approaching our location, but I want to observe them first.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” Duchar replied as he put on his Class outfit and cast a spell. “Obscuring Mist.” 

A fog of ambient miasma swirled around them, creating a cloud of mist that kept the group shrouded from sight. They took cover behind a small mound and watched as a group of imperial soldiers matching the will-o’-wisp’s description perfectly walked by: an orc using a swordsman-type class, a human archer, a mage with a staff and blue robes similar to Belzemine’s Pyromancer outfit, and two mastiffs sniffing around for trouble. 

At their helm was Leonard himself. Simon could recognize that armor anywhere. 

What is he doing here? Simon cursed. Did he decide to do some recon himself ahead of the raid drill? 

Ugh, of course he did. It was Leonard, too brave and honorable by half. 

“They seem… experienced…” Hector whispered. 

“Use the Brand to communicate, Hector,” Simon reminded the Executioner, who wasn’t yet used to his new gifts. The imperial hounds guiding the group hadn’t yet noticed them. Simon quickly broadcasted relevant information to his allies. “The Dreadnought is the one that will be leading the imperial raid next month. He was level forty-three when we last crossed paths, maybe more now.”

“Oh, then this is an excellent opportunity.” Duchar nodded to himself. “We should kill him where he stands.”

A chill traveled down Simon’s spine. “Why?”

“Well, assuredly killing the upcoming raid’s leader will convince the army that sending troops so deep into the Darkwood is not worth the risk when they have a war on their doorstep,” Duchar pointed out. “Losing a level forty-three commander will be a harsh blow to their morale. This will spare us a more determined effort in the future.”

He’s… not wrong, Simon conceded, though he remained wary on top of not being particularly comfortable with the idea of killing an old friend. His sister will swear revenge, though. I know she will, and Louis might take it as a challenge… 

The idea of killing Leonard truly horrified Simon. The Dreadnought had put his life on the line to save him multiple times, taking a number of lethal blows for him across several reigns. He had been a friend, and his sister served as Simon’s mistress at one point. As much as killing him might be the most expedient solution to the upcoming raid on paper, he just couldn’t kill him like a common soldier. He knew it was irrational, especially considering Hector had slaughtered an imperial scouting party mere minutes ago, but every fiber of his being told him his retainer did not deserve to die a cruel and expected death in a swamp. 

But if they continue this way, they’ll eventually reach the ruins near the Halls of the Minotaur, Simon thought grimly. If they see it, the War Party might try to seize it in case it contains useful elven artifacts or magic. This could jeopardize everything.  

“I owe the man a favor, so I would rather avoid killing him if possible,” Simon decided as he put on a Fiendmask to shapeshift into his Old Man of the Woods disguise. “Stay behind, both of you. I will try to talk them out of advancing any further. With luck, they might listen and keep their distances from the Halls of the Minotaur.”

Hector leaned forward, his gaze through the executioner’s hood turning absolutely menacing. “And if they… do not?”

Do you really want me to say it? 

“Then…” Simon clenched his teeth. “Then I will understand.”

------

Next Chapter

-------

A/N: phew that was a rough one. Not gonna lie, wasn't too happy with how the first version went so rewrote it from the ground up and even then it still feels rougher than usual. Day has been pretty stressful.

Otherwise, no chapter tomorrow since gonna work on B&C + TPR stuff, so next one will be on Saturday.