The Hundred Reigns 171: Lux Vult (1)

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The air in the empress’ bedchambers was almost electric.

Shabram, Belzemine, Mastemo, and Euphemia had gathered around a table on which lay the corpse of Balzam Magnos, which Simon had teleported from his bedchambers as proof of the succession. Simon himself stood in front of them as he finished his tale. 

“So, if I understand correctly…” Euphemia’s jaw clenched in suspicion. She had kept her Judge outfit on at all times since Simon showed up in her room. “Louis slew your father with an elven weapon supplied by Patriate, who is an Oracle agent–”

“And an elf in disguise,” Simon added. 

“Of course,” Euphemia replied with a tone dripping with sarcasm. “And what proof do we have that you simply didn’t murder your father somehow and invented this far-fetched tale?”

“His New Majesty had an alibi for the moment when his father was slain,” Shabram said. “My spies–”

“I’m asking him,” Euphemia interrupted her gruffly. “We both know you’ll say anything you believe will keep you in the Overlord’s good graces.” 

“Ask Louis then,” Simon retorted. “He won’t even deny it, and I will prove Malphas’ treachery once we settle our current negotiations. Besides, did I ever show the kind of strength required to kill an Overlord?”

“How do you explain the power you command now?” Euphemia shot back. “Don’t tell me teleporting around the castle and learning the details of an assassination you weren’t present for are innate Perks.”

“A new Overlord inherits part of their predecessor’s experience and foresight.” Simon glanced at Mastemo. “Like the knowledge of the Zodiac Fiend crystal embedded in your forehead, Your Excellency.”

The High Confessor remained eerily quiet, as he had been since the moment he was brought into the room.

“I wonder how the faithful would react to learning their High Confessor merged with a fiend,” Simon subtly threatened Mastemo, to show they both held leverage over the other. “Which one is it? The Ram? The Water-Carrier? Or the Maiden? Those are the only three that remain unaccounted for.”

“The demon hosted within my crystal answers to the name of Shin-Drazil, the Flood-Carrier,” Mastemo answered calmly, his hands clasping. “However, I assure you I am not possessed.”

Simon scoffed, until he noticed that Euphemia had only scowled rather than reacting with horror to the revelation. Learning that one of her closest allies hosted a demon in his forehead should have inspired more than mere unease. 

“You are not surprised,” Simon realized. “You knew?”

“It is a well-kept secret of the Church of the Light, known only to Saints and Confessors,” Euphemia admitted. “The sitting High Confessor must prove his faith and divine favor by serving as a living seal for Shin-Drazil and suppressing its spirit.”

The sheer, insane audacity of the process briefly left Simon speechless. “How long has this been going on?”

“The tradition began when the Church of the Light settled into the Lighthouse and took over its safekeeping from the elves,” Mastemo answered. “I am the living proof that the Dark inevitably yields to the Light, Your Majesty.”

Simon couldn’t believe his ears. Mastemo was such a fanatic that his faith actively suppressed the demon. He had forced an incomplete fusion the same way the Stone Muse and Asterion were forced to coexist in the same body rather than merge.

The Cleric Crestone must help a great deal too, Simon thought. But will that equilibrium last when the comet shines on the Water-Carrier? What will happen then, when the crystal overflows with miasma? 

Simon had the intuition that neither he nor Mastemo would like the answer, but they had a year to find a solution. 

“Not even my husband saw the High Confessor without his mask on, as far as I know.” Euphemia turned her third eye to Mastemo. “What do you think?”

“I find his tale plausible,” Mastemo admitted. “We always suspected Prince Simon to have latent Visionary abilities, and that the Overlord had a level of foresight capable of rivaling that of the Oracle.”

“Whether you believe His Majesty or not, the problem remains the same,” Shabram pointed out, her gaze settling on Balzam’s corpse. “How will we handle His Majesty’s death?”

“True enough.” Euphemia studied Simon with her third eye, no doubt trying to find a way past his Anathemic Secrecy’s immunity to lies. “You said you had come to bargain?”

“Yes,” Simon confirmed. “I am willing to back the Church Party and your claim as empress in exchange for certain concessions.” 

“Why come to us instead of Lauriane?” Euphemia asked sharply. As befitting an experienced politician, she remained ever cautious. “You have only ever shown animosity for my son and I. Why support the side you do not get along with?”

“You are right, I dislike your side of the family, but the Overlord’s knowledge helped me reassess my priorities.” Especially when it came to Thalas. “The truth of the matter is that Louis claiming the throne would be a disaster, and that the empire must remain united if it is to survive the second Doom.”

Mastemo’s head perked up. “The second Doom?”

“Our empress here had visions of it during the Reformation,” Simon reminded them. “Of dragons burning the world under a black comet’s glow.”

Euphemia’s scowl deepened. “We’ve destroyed Gargauth. His mad ambitions died with him.”

“His children are still alive and will pick up where he left off,” Simon replied, Euphemia’s third eye blinking in shock. “Shin-Drazil’s siblings will also rise again in a year’s time, when the comet Abraxas comes back to visit our world. Its cosmic power will empower many evildoers, some of whom are currently sealed in our territory.”

“Is that so?” Euphemia pondered his words a moment, but she appeared to at least partially believe them. Her Visionary prophecies probably corroborated at least some of his tales. “It is a short amount of time…”

“Our empire needs to stay united if it is to survive the coming calamity, and Louis would delight in seeing the flames of war engulfing us all,” Simon explained. “As much as I dislike you, you are the least terrible option available to us.”

“But you will not give me the Crimson Throne for free,” Euphemia pointed out warily. 

“I am not giving you anything, Your Grace.” Simon crossed his arms. “I will not be your puppet. I am offering you a partnership, not servitude.”

“A partnership requires strength,” Euphemia replied, her words dripping with scorn. “What proof do we have that you are not simply trying to manipulate us into waging battles you cannot win yourself?”

“You want proof of my power?” Simon chuckled. “Stay here for a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Simon teleported away into Patriate Malphas’ quarters. As he expected, the man was walking in circles with anxiety while his daughter read a book nearby; all color left his face the moment he saw the Overlord manifest right in front of him. “Your Maje–”  

Simon lazily petrified Elaine with one hand before she could even react, then grabbed Patriate by the throat with the other quicker than he could reach for his firebomb necklace.

“Brand of Pride.”

His mind assaulted the shocked Patriate in a wave of pride and aggression. 

The Merchant immediately put up rather solid defenses, likely because he had been trained by the Oracle for such an eventuality, but Simon pulverized them in an instant. His will overwhelmed that of the disguised elf with all the certainty in the world. 

Simon had slain Patriate more than once and bested him so often that the thought he could fail this battle never even entered his mind; he fed on the man’s fear for his daughter and for the fate the Overlord had in mind for him, then hanged by the chains of his iron will. 

Patriate’s screams echoed through his quarters as the baleful Brand of Pride burned on his skin, his knees failing him. Simon didn’t let go of his throat. 

He knew there was a slight risk the Oracle would somehow use Patriate as a conduit to hurt him in case he ever found himself in this situation, but he hoped she would simply put her misplaced faith in her now obsolete anti-brand daggers. Simon wouldn’t require his services for long either way. 

“You are my slave now, elf,” Simon declared, the Brand of Pride weaving his orders into the Merchant’s flesh and soul. “You serve me now. I forbid you from hurting yourself or anyone else, or from working against my interests in any way. Death is a mercy I deny you.”

He then teleported with Malphas back into Euphemia’s quarters, then threw the Merchant at the shocked empress’ feet. 

“Your Grace, Your Excellency, let me introduce you to Barthandelus, elven spy extraordinaire,” Simon declared, Patriate’s eyes widening in horror. “Barthandelus, be kind enough to reveal your true form and confess your crimes against our beloved empire to the Judge here.”

“I will ne–” Patriate’s words of defiance went unfinished as the Brand of Pride overtook his body and mind. He shed his human disguise for his true elven form, the sight of which caused Euphemia to cover her mouth and Shabram to blink. Mastemo and Belzemine alone appeared unperturbed for different reasons. “I am Barthandelus, loyal servant of the Oracle and agent of the White Unicorn. I have used the Changeling Crestone to infiltrate your society for years.”

“He is not lying…” Euphemia muttered in shock. “But if you are an elf, then your sisters–”

“Elven agents too…” Barthandelus hissed as he tried to resist the brand’s compulsion, to no avail. “I… shared sensitive information with the Oracle, smuggled a dangerous weapon into the chapel, and…” He turned to Belzemine, who avoided his gaze. “Plotted to take her… away…”

“I’m afraid your thieving days have come to an end,” Simon replied as he looked down on Barthandelus. “Now, kneel before your master in repentance and praise his name.”

“I…” The elf hissed but moved onto his knees. He called upon every ounce of his will to defy the order, and it proved insufficient. “Forgive me…” He nearly choked on the last word. “Master.”

“See, that wasn’t so difficult.” Simon pointed a finger at Barthandelus. “We will call upon you soon enough.”

Simon petrified the Merchant with a spell, leaving his statue frozen in the middle of the room. The silence was downright oppressive. 

“Do you still doubt my power, Your Grace?” Simon inquired. “Or would you rather that I feed his soul to a demon to continue our demonstration?” 

Euphemia took a deep breath, but didn’t argue his point. “What are those concessions you asked for?”

“First of all, as I said earlier, our association will be an alliance. If you expect me to become your puppet, you will find your rule most fragile and uneasy.” Simon now had the power to assert himself on the imperial political stage, and he would use it. “Second, I will require the Summoner Crestone.”

Euphemia’s cheeks flushed red with outrage. “If you think I will give you my daughter’s own Crestone–”

“I will need it for a mere second,” Simon interrupted her. “The Overlord can absorb certain Perks from other Crestones. I will simply devour it and take the power I require.”

“I saw Balzam use that ability to steal one of the Monk’s Perks once,” Euphemia replied. “It utterly destroyed the Crestone.”

“And yet Fablan recovered it,” Simon pointed out. It didn’t surprise him all that much that his father had favored consuming martial-oriented Perks. “There are spells capable of restoring a Noble Crestone from a Vassal One. The Mage in Cocagne knows one. We can recreate the Summoner as soon as I devour it.”

Euphemia calmed down and considered his proposal, before coming up with a counterproposal. “All I can promise you is that I will talk to Norbelle about it,” she said. “I will not rob my daughter of her Crestone by force, even for a moment.”

Her delicateness surprised Simon. “Even for the Crimson Throne?”

“I don’t expect someone like you to understand my position,” Euphemia replied with a slight sneer. “This is the best you will get.”

Simon pondered her words for a moment. He had studied Shabram’s files on the empress in past reigns and knew her history well enough to tell that nearly all of her decisions were designed to put her children closer to the Crimson Throne, to the point of ordering Thalas to set his betrothal to Antonine aside when a better match proved convenient. He would have expected her to walk over Norbelle on this matter, or at least pretend to in their negotiation. 

How oddly… sentimental. 

Either way, Simon was reasonably certain Norbelle would go along with the plan, if only out of sheer curiosity. His sister was starved for novelty, and seeing her sibling summon two dark eidolons at once ought to interest her. 

“Very well. As for my final condition.” Simon’s hand clenched into a fist. “I want Louis neutralized and the Mana Sword confiscated.”

“That will be difficult,” Euphemia replied. “Louis can be managed and sidelined–”

“Neutralized,” Simon cut in. 

“What Her Grace means to say is that Louis is the marshal of the empire, on top of his high level and popularity,” Mastemo said tactfully. “Removing him now so soon after your father’s death–”

Simon smashed the table so hard it shattered, his father’s corpse rolling onto the floor.

Euphemia summoned her warhammer and Mastemo their staff as they stepped back, but Simon ignored them. 

“Neutralized,” he repeated himself, very calmly. “Maybe not dead, maybe not now, or tomorrow, but eventually? Neutralized.”

Louis was just too dangerous to let run around freely at the moment, and he had to pay for what he did in the Sanctuary. Even if Simon had the slightest of hopes to reform his brother, or at least put his talents to a more productive use than pointless conflict, he couldn’t tolerate a power mad warmonger ruining his plans yet again.

Louis had to be either shackled or out of his way. 

“Fine, eventually neutralized,” Euphemia replied with a deep breath. “However, as much as I share your desire to see that madman out of the way, he is almost as strong as I am and commands the loyalty of many, your sister included. He would not blindly put all of his faith in a sword, even a blessed one.”

“I agree with Her Grace,” Shabram said. “Prince Louis wouldn’t have dared to strike at your father without covering his bases. He must have an escape method or backup plans should the Mana Sword have failed to work.”

“I have powerful Perks, including one capable of potentially trapping him in a pocket dimension, and I am at my strongest in Frightwall,” Simon countered. “We have Thalas too. I can strengthen you all and trap Louis in a room he cannot escape from. Now is our best chance to deal with him.”

“We might have enough forces in the castle to ambush him now, but we will take casualties, and Lauriane would no doubt fight to save her brother’s life,” Euphemia pointed out, her third eye squinting at Simon over her Judge's blindfold. “Unless you are ready to kill her for a mere chance of taking Louis down.”

Simon scowled behind his helmet. While he wasn’t willing to endanger Lauriane, the fact remained that leaving Louis free and in power meant only kicking the can down the road. 

“I am not saying we shouldn’t fight him at all,” Euphemia clarified herself. “But waging a battle without extensive preparations is currently too risky. We must pick a better place for his defeat and isolate him before we move to eliminate him.” 

Mastemo nodded in assent. “I would add that imprisoning or executing the prince before his culpability has been proven might make him a martyr, and cause his supporters to take arms. We must destroy the crown-prince’s support before we move on to his person.”

“Then you suggest sidelining him first?” Simon guessed. 

“Yes,” Euphemia confirmed. “Louis is no fool. He will not pick a battle in which he is at a severe disadvantage. Your bleeding heart of a sister will not take arms against you unless you make the first move, the generals will follow you, and we can convince Maublanc to join us.”

“Prince Dassein will balk at waging a war against his brother and rightful Overlord too, doubly so once accusations of patricide come to light,” Shabram added. “Much of the War Party’s strength can be dismantled, given time.”

Simon had his doubts considering Euphemia attempted a similar strategy in previous reigns… but then again, she didn’t have the Overlord at her side. Dassein and Lauriane felt no animosity towards him, and he remained the rightful ruler of Endymion by the grace of the Crimson Throne. Many of Louis’ supporters would indeed hesitate twice at raising their banners against the Overlord. 

“I could marry Anna,” Simon suggested. “This would get Maublanc on our sid–”

Euphemia interrupted them, her answer sharper than any blade. “No.”

Simon squinted at his stepmother. “Why not?”

“Any children you father with an outsider will be a threat to mine,” Euphemia replied sternly. “I cannot suffer yet another rival dynastic branch threatening to tear our empire apart.”

Simon scoffed in disdain. “You would have me take a vow of chastity?”

“It would certainly be easier if you could keep your manhood in your pants, unlike your father,” Euphemia replied icily. “You have come to bargain, and that is one of the terms I will not budge on.”

“An unwed Overlord will cause all eligible bachelorettes in the realm to flock to Frightwall, and invite dangerous intrigue within our walls,” Shabram pointed out. “Besides, His Majesty is right. Lord Paimon will require a strong incentive to support us against the War Party.”

“We will break Thalas’ engagement to Antonine de Shax and propose a match with Anna,” Euphemia countered, though she couldn’t help but word it as a subtle jab. “Having Anna marry a trueborn prince ought to satisfy him.”

“What a good consolation prize it would be from marrying the Overlord,” Simon replied with a sneer of disdain. “In that case, I ought to marry Antonine to prevent the Shax from flipping to the other side. No doubt she would sadly agree to the trade.”

“Perhaps I should castrate you then. You would find a vow of chastity easier on your soul.” Euphemia pointed her warhammer at Simon. “I do not trust you, and I have waited half of my life enduring Balzam to see the day when my children would inherit Endymion. I will not suffer one of his bastards fathering yet another dynasty to challenge them.”

“Trust? What does a hag like you know of trust?” Simon’s eyes burned with hellfire. “Do you think I forgot how you tried to have me executed in my youth? Threaten me again, and I swear–”

“Your Majesty, Your Grace.” Mastemo moved between Simon and the empress dowager. “I may have a solution to this problem.”

Simon stared at his reflection in the High Confessor’s mask. “Which one?”

“As Lady Shabram pointed out, it would be unwise to leave Your Majesty unwed. Besides the questions and issues it would raise, no doubt it would fail to alleviate Her Grace’s suspicions about the strength of your alliance.” Mastemo cleared his throat. “However…” 

The High Confessor’s head leaned toward Balzam’s corpse. 

“Her Grace is, alas, freshly widowed.”

A tense silence followed his declaration as its implications sank in.

Is he really suggesting… Simon stared at Euphemia, whose expression had gone blank all of a sudden. We can’t possibly be considering that.

To his utter shock, Euphemia didn’t immediately shut down the idea. “Wouldn’t that be an incestuous union, Your Excellency?”

“There have been cases of sons taking their father’s widow as wives in order to either keep wealth within a clan, or to monetarily support the dowager,” Mastemo replied. No doubt he would find a clever way to justify it to the realm and to himself. “Such a union is not contrary to the teachings of the Light, so long as the newlyweds do not share a blood relationship.”

Simon struggled to suppress his disgust at the proposal. “I think both my stepmother and I would rather bed snakes than each other.” 

“On that much, we agree,” Euphemia replied with the same tone. 

“The marriage would not need to be consummated, since only the High Confessor or a council of the Church could annul it,” Shabram said. “A ceremonial union will be sufficient, though it may cause a scandal.”

“A small price to pay to cement this alliance and maintain stability,” Mastemo argued. “Practically speaking, Her Grace and His Majesty would also martially benefit from such an arrangement. Renewing His Late Majesty’s Balzam marriage contract would give us an edge against Louis too.”

“How so?” Simon asked, being somewhat puzzled. 

“My Class lets me create magical contracts and vows that can grant both benefits and penalties to the signatories,” Euphemia explained. “For example, should we kill someone together after signing a marriage contract, you would receive a greater share of the allocated exp at the cost of being forced to contribute a percentage of mana when I cast spells.” She glared at Balzam’s corpse. “I unwisely signed one with your father prior to our battle with Gargauth to ensure we could triumph against him, and it cost me the Overlord Class.” 

Interesting. Simon knew the Judge could manipulate laws and contracts—having learned that lesson by dying at her hand in a previous reign—but he hadn’t considered that his father and Euphemia benefited from one. The effect reminded him of Lovestruck and could synergize well with the Title.

Our Classes could cover each others’ weaknesses, and my Treacherous Title would let me violate any contract’s terms without consequences, Simon thought. And Mastemo is right, it would improve our odds against Louis.  

Did he look forward to marrying his own stepmother, who tried to execute him in his youth and successfully slew him in a previous reign, while potentially freeing Thalas to steal Anna from him again? Absolutely not. Was he willing to do it if it meant preventing the civil war, saving Eole and the Sanctuary, and ensuring the world survived the Zodiac Parade? Yes, without a doubt. 

He had done far worse for far less. 

“A political marriage is an… acceptable compromise,” Simon decided. “Though I will pass on the consummation.”

Euphemia clutched her hammer. “Hypothetically, should we refuse to ally with you… What would happen?”

“War,” Simon replied bluntly. Did she really want him to say it out loud? “I will go to Lauriane, or Maublanc, or maybe I will cross the ocean to join the White Unicorn to befriend the Paladin.” This drew a brief chuckle from Euphemia. “I have already changed father’s will to ensure the Class would go to your enemies should I perish.”

“You preach our empire’s salvation, yet you would be willing to spite us in death,” Euphemia noted. “You are indeed your father’s son.”

“My father wouldn’t have given you a choice at all,” Simon countered icily. “The point is, should you deny me, then you will have to face Louis alone.”

Euphemia gave him a chilly look. “You were never this assertive or calculating before. Balzam changed drastically the moment he put on that armor, too… ” Her lips pursed. “You do more than inherit some of your predecessors’ knowledge and power, don’t you? The Overlord Class affects your personality.”

She was so close and yet so far… “Thank the Light you were spared this Class’ burden. That is all I will say on the matter for now.” 

“We will have words about this later, trust me.” Euphemia glanced at Mastemo, who nodded in agreement. “This alliance’s framework will suffice, at least until we deal with Louis.”

“I do not believe Prince Louis will surrender this Mana Sword without a fight,” Shabram pointed out, a fact which Simon knew to be correct. “It helped him destroy one Overlord. He will not be foolish enough to give it away to his successor.”

“Avoiding a costly battle, shepherding Princess Lauriane to our side, and ensuring a peaceful transition of power will be victory enough for now,” Mastemo argued. “The crown-prince will have a fight if he proves foolish enough to force one, but we must make sure he is seen as the aggressor.”

“Do we have a deal then?” Simon offered Euphemia his hand. “In return for recognizing me as father’s heir and granting me the Church Party’s support, I will take you as my empress and secure your children’s future against Louis.”

Euphemia stared at his hand for a very long moment, considering all the myriad possibilities and outcomes of her decision, and then realized she had only one path to salvation. 

“The Church Party stands with you,” Euphemia said, shaking his hand firmly. “Overlord Simon.”

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