The Hundred Reigns 172: Lux Vult (2)

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The High Council of Endymion and its generals were gathered in the throne room. 

Simon observed everything from his own room through Lord of the Demon Castle, having Belzemine apply her known buffs on him and casting some of his own. Euphemia, Mastemo, Shabram, a secretly enslaved Malphas, and the generals they had brought into the conspiracy had done so as well. While the Church Party would rather avoid a fight with Louis at this point in time, they still prepared for one should the worst come to pass. 

“They are all here, Your Majesty,” Shabram informed him through her newfound Brand of Sloth. “We are ready to proceed.”

Simon gathered his breath. This would be a very, very tense encounter, but one that would determine who ruled the empire until the Zodiac Parade came knocking. He glanced at his father’s greatsword, Balefire, a thick and sinister black blade stained with crimson streaks which had been forged from Gargauth’s bones after the wyrm’s demise. Though his dracolith had crumbled to dust after his death—likely because the Crimson Throne had consumed the dragon’s soul rather than let him enjoy a private afterlife—enough of his corpse remained to be repurposed into terrible weapons. The ruby-encrusted handle and blade both radiated searing heat. 

Would it be enough to challenge the Mana Sword should it come to it? Vouivre told him Balefire had once split a hill in two when swung by his father, but Balzam had heavily invested in martial Perks. Morning stars still fit Simon better. 

At least the terrain should favor me, Simon thought. He had convinced Euphemia and the rest to go along with his own plot to expose Louis’ guilt in front of the court. This should shake Lauriane’s faith in her brother and prevent hostilities from spiraling out of control. And if not… we will be ready.

Simon teleported into the throne room with Belzemine, clad in the Overlord armor, his father’s greatsword and a bloody bag in his hands. The room went silent as he materialized, his Fiendmask turning him into the perfect copy of his late father.  

The room went silent at his presence, the dozens of guards present standing up in regimented order, the generals and councilors bowing low. Thalas and Lauriane both saluted him, neither knowing about the truth, but Louis simply sighed in resignation. He had expected his father to have survived his assassination attempt after failing to obtain the Overlord Class, and Simon was happy to play into his preconceptions. 

Nonetheless, the way Louis looked at his ‘father’ put the latter ill at ease. Simon had the stark suspicion his brother was calculating the space between them, and the odds that he could skewer him with the Mana Sword before the Overlord could react. 

It said something about Louis Magnos’ confidence that he was still considering a battle in these circumstances. 

“Did you really think you could kill me so easily, my son?” Simon asked, his voice a perfect imitation of his father’s own. “With an elven blade, of all things?”

“Yes, I did,” Louis replied without remorse. 

“What’s going on here?” Lauriane asked. Though the location had changed, this conversation did not deviate much from the last time Simon lived through it. 

“Your brother ambushed me in my bedroom and failed to kill me,” Simon said. “Pathetically so, I might add.”

“What?!” Lauriane glanced at her brother in disbelief. “Louis, is this true?” 

“You traitor!” Thalas snarled as he put on his Berserker outfit. Simon and the others had chosen not to put him in their confidence yet, since his genuine reaction would provide some credibility to the setup. “You dared strike at our father?!”

“Do not tell me you wouldn’t have done the same in my position, Thalas,” Louis replied coldly. “I saw an opportunity to take the throne and seized it.” The prince stared at his father without fear or hesitation. “Is this supposed to be my execution site for failing?”

He has a backup plan, Simon thought. He was doubting Euphemia’s warnings earlier, but he was convinced of it now. Nobody would be so confident surrounded by foes and doubters without an ace-up-their-sleeve. 

Still, Simon doubted he expected this. 

“That depends on you, my son. There are still some unclear elements in your conspiracy.” Simon snapped his finger, and Malphas was compelled to reveal his true appearance to all witnesses. “Barthandelus, did you deliver the Mana Sword to our chapel on the Oracle’s orders?”

‘I…” Patriate choked as the Brand of Pride compelled him to answer. “Yes, I did… but I didn’t know who would pick it up.”

Euphemia sneered at Louis. “You collaborated with an elven spy to betray our nation?”

“I knew our Merchant was a snake, stepmother, but his elven nature eluded me,” Louis replied, frowning at Simon. “Why make my chastisement a public spectacle, Father? To shame me for using an elven weapon to strike you down rather than relying on my own strength?”

“Partly.” Simon tossed him the bloody bag. “Here’s the fruit of your treachery.”

Louis caught the bag, warily opened it… and then paled when he saw the contents. He looked up to Simon in silence, no doubt trying to figure out what was going on. 

“Go on,” Simon taunted him. “Show them.”

Louis recovered his composure and tipped the bag over, the head of Balzam Magnos rolling out onto the floor. 

Everyone not already aware of the Overlord’s demise gasped in shock and horror, none louder than Lauriane. Thalas himself was too astonished and horrified to say a word, staring at Balzam’s head in disbelief. 

“Father?” Lauriane rushed to the head’s side and put on her Alchemist Class outfit. No doubt it revealed the truth to her. “By the Light…”

“Your foolish attempt on our father’s life did succeed,” Simon informed Louis, his Fiendmask fading away. “You are guilty of both patricide and kingslaying, Louis.” 

While Louis remained quiet like a stone, Lauriane’s eyes widened as she recognized his voice. “Simon?”

“No way…” Thalas grit his teeth, his eyes ablaze with fury. “What are you doing in Father’s armor, bastard?!”

“It is mine now, Thalas,” Simon replied, planting his father’s greatsword in the ground. “The Crimson Throne has passed over our murderous brother and chose me instead.”

“Liar–”

“Your half-brother speaks true, Thalas,” Euphemia interrupted her son, her hammer pointing at Louis. “Our crown-prince colluded with an enemy spy to murder his own father, and the Overlord Class disavowed him for it. He is a coward, a traitor, and a kinslayer.”

No sooner did she move that a metaphorical weight fell upon everyone in the throne hall; an inviolable order that others could only defy at their own peril. 

Judge Euphemia issued the following Law: The use of one-handed swords inside Frightwall is forbidden. 

Judgment: Gleipnir. 

Louis’ eyes darted to the empress and back to Simon, his face betraying a small hint of tension. No doubt he was starting to see the strings and the trap he had walked into. Lauriane was too rattled to side with him, and he was alone in a room full of dignitaries who had witnessed his confession. Even those who had no love for Balzam couldn’t be seen collaborating with a kinslayer and an elven agent. 

“I can see your plan in your eyes, brother,” Simon said. “You wonder if you should escape, or run across the room to strike me down where I stand. Let me help you clear that confusion.” He raised Balefire at his sibling, his allies moving to surround Louis from all sides. “There is no future where you keep the Mana Sword and live.”

He caught a scowl on Euphemia’s lips and the slight tension in his allies’ body language. They had asked Simon not to push for an unnecessary battle by making harsh demands, and they knew there was no way Louis would surrender the Mana Sword without resistance, but Simon knew better than to leave Louis running around with that weapon. The Church Party couldn’t exactly stand down should the crown-prince attack either, especially not after their public accusations. 

Thankfully for them, Louis didn’t strike; nor did he surrender the sword.  

Instead, he laughed.

Although Simon had already heard that dry, small chuckle before, it never failed to unnerve him or his audience; doubly so when it was met with a dreadful silence.  

“You find this funny?!” Thalas snarled at his brother. 

“Don’t you? He outplayed us all from the very beginning, your mother and I both.” Louis calmed down and faced his bastard brother with a bemused smirk. “I will surrender the sword to you if you can answer me one question, Simon.” 

Euphemia’s jaw clenched in disdain. “You are in no position to–” 

“Ask away,” Simon cut in, ignoring her.

Louis’ head tilted to the side in genuine curiosity. “Why were you chosen instead of me, if I indeed slew our father?”

Why indeed? On paper, Louis was the perfect heir for the Magnos legacy; talented, intelligent, perceptive, and well-connected. He had a startling lack of empathy that rivaled that of dragons, a naked lust for destruction, and grandiose ambitions born of a megalomaniacal ego. He would have made a natural Overlord, for fools who didn’t understand what the Class was truly about. 

But Simon had had the displeasure of seeing how the crown-prince acted over two dozen reigns. Although they had all strongly diverged, the way Louis approached them had always been the same: naked violence and brutality. 

And that was why he had failed to kill his father as many times as Simon did; and why he would never become the Overlord. 

“How many people have you killed with a sword, brother?” Simon asked. 

“Countless,” Louis replied. 

“Did your sword ever level-up?” 

Louis’ lips pursed into a scowl. “No, it did not.”

“Of course it didn’t. Why would the System reward a tool for serving its function?” Simon met his brother’s gaze. “The truth, Louis, is that for all of your talent and intelligence… you are just a weapon.” 

Every time Louis had encountered a problem, his solution had been to try to fight and kill it. Yes, he adapted his approach to different circumstances, but in the end, he more or less treated war as an end in itself. Even his alliances usually devolved into further infighting. He couldn’t keep what he conquered and did more damage to Endymion than the White Unicorn and Vouivre combined. 

Louis was the perfect warrior, but a poor Overlord. No doubt that had been their father’s design. 

“You think you can kill all of your problems, and that makes you so predictable the Oracle only had to put a shiny sword in your path to know you would murder your own father with it,” Simon told Louis with utter sincerity. “The Overlord Class is not evil for its own sake. It is the power to rule, pure and unrelenting. The strength to bring peace and discipline to a world filled with chaos and uncertainty; an aptitude which you utterly lack.”

Louis’ expression turned into one of vague amusement, with a hint of fascination. “And you believe yourself different, Simon?”

“I alone can save the world from itself, Louis.” And Simon believed every single word of that statement. After all, he had learned that from experience. “I will be able to make things happen; things you wouldn’t believe are possible. You will not recognize our empire when I’m through with it.”

“I see.” Louis studied his sibling for a moment, then nodded to himself. He had reached a conclusion of his own. “Infinite Armory.”

The Mana Sword appeared in his hands, pale and shining with power. Its radiance was almost overwhelming to Simon’s Dark Visionary senses. 

No sooner did it appear that Euphemia’s magic took effect. A rune-encrusted iron rope as thin as a ribbon and stronger than any mortal chain materialized out of the ground, binding Louis’ hands, feet, and neck. The crown-prince looked unperturbed. Simon readied himself to teleport out the moment Louis attempted to free himself, and he spotted his followers muttering words of power to fire spells on the fly at the first sign of provocation. 

Yet the only noise that echoed in the room was that of Louis’ knee hitting the ground. 

“Here is the blade I killed our father with, Overlord Simon.” Louis offered him the Mana Sword. “I surrender.”

The silence that followed was so oppressive, so absolute, that Simon could cut the tension with a knife. He hesitated for a very long moment, then glanced at Belzemine. His friend and ally moved to take the Mana Sword from Louis without resistance, the blade immediately glowing in her hands the moment she seized it. The divine power within echoed with whatever inner light Belzemine possessed. 

It was the Mana Sword. The real Mana Sword, not a replica. 

“I admit I am surprised, brother,” Simon confessed. His sibling’s reaction left him utterly puzzled. What was he playing at? “I expected you to give me a fake.”

“I do not need that sword to kill you, Simon,” Louis replied with absolute confidence, and not the misplaced kind. The nerve of this man… “Besides, you did teach me a valuable lesson. I ought not to be so… predictable.”

Simon squinted at Louis, then pointed Balefire at his throat, much to Lauriane’s protests. “Simon!”

“Do not mistake my mercy for weakness, Louis,” Simon warned his half-brother. “I know about your secret airship fleet and all of your assets. Any betrayal will be met with a swift and severe punishment."

“Why would I betray you?” Louis asked while shrugging his shoulders. “I give it less than a year before you reach the same conclusion I did and come around to my way of thinking.”

Simon squinted behind his helmet. “Which one?”

“That we are set to inherit an empire unworthy of our rule.” Louis smirked, bloodlust and anticipation glimmering in his pale grey eyes. “That there can be no peace with our enemies.”

This is far too easy, Simon thought. He is plotting something. Or does he think he can bide his time until Euphemia and I come to blows? 

Surrendering the real Mana Sword rather than a fake suggested Louis was at least willing to play the obedient prisoner for now in exchange for his life. Simon guessed he could at least play along for now, if only to avoid making an enemy of Lauriane and Dassein. Keeping Louis under close surveillance and away from his Crestones—both the Warrior and Hellblade—should at least contain his influence. 

Simon might as well take a look at the Warrior’s Perks too while at it. He had the intuition he was more likely than not to fight for that one in the future. 

“We shall see about that.” Simon pointed at his councillors with his chin. “Take the prince’s Crestones and escort him back to his quarters. Keep him under watch until I decide what to do with him.”

“Since you have verbally agreed to surrender, Louis, you are now under House Arrest,” Euphemia informed Louis, her magic causing light to swirl around the crown-prince. “We shall not harm you; in return, you are forbidden to leave your assigned residence, resist our representatives, or communicate with outsiders without our authorization. Violating those terms will result in immediate execution.”

“Yes, yes, I know how your Class works, stepmother,” Louis replied dismissively. “No need to remind me of my rights.”

Simon knew this was a joke, since Euphemia’s Arrests required her to inform the target of what they could or couldn’t do to work. From what he had gathered, House Arrest prevented the target from leaving a set area by any means, including teleportation, and punished attempts at violence. In return, neither Euphemia nor her allies could harm Louis so long as he respected their terms. 

This should neutralize the crown-prince without turning him into a martyr. Besides the fact that executing Louis after he surrendered without a fight would send the wrong message, Simon wouldn’t find another level eighty Warrior anytime soon. If Louis was indeed willing to play along for now, his talents might be put to better use than starting a civil war. 

“Now that this is settled,” Simon said, “I command the High Council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation and upcoming wedding.”

“Your… wedding?” Lauriane repeated, completely at a loss for words at this sudden turn of events. 

“I lay claim to all that which my father owned.” Simon gallantly extended a hand to Euphemia. “For the sake of stability and a peaceful transition of power, this shall include his widow.”

Thalas’ cheeks flushed red with rage, his axe catching fire all of a sudden. “If you dare lay a hand on my mother, bastard–”

“Enough, Thalas.” Much to her son’s and Lauriane’s horror, Euphemia reluctantly took Simon’s hand, her touch cold as ice. “He is taking nothing that I have not willingly offered.”

While Simon had moved on from such petty pleasures, he had to admit he struggled not to laugh at Thalas’ face. That look of sheer disbelief, horror, impotent fury, and pure despair all rolled into one was truly one of a kind. 

No, I shouldn’t laugh at him, Simon told himself. His feelings on Thalas had mellowed out after his stay in the Sanctuary had helped him clear his mind. His half-brother wasn’t beyond help. I should make an effort to get along with him this reign. 

Simon was, after all, going to become like a father to him.  

“You are too bold by half,” Euphemia whispered to Simon as he moved to seize his rightful seat of power. “This could have easily spiraled out of control.”

“The results speak for themselves,” Simon replied. “Tomorrow belongs to us now.”

The Crimson Throne welcomed him, its clock striking four the moment Simon sat on it. A terrible, droning noise echoed out of the malevolent device, its ruby eyes glowing with malice. All of Frightwall shuddered like a beast roused from its slumber. None could deny the fact that the Overlord’s castle and throne had accepted Simon.

For the first time since he inherited his Class, the Fourth Overlord would rule in his own name. 

“For now, I’ll demand oaths of fealty!” Simon ordered his family and subjects. “So kneel! Kneel before Simon Magnos, the Fourth Overlord!”

And then they did. 

His slaves, from Belzemine to Malphas and the generals, were the first to do so, followed by true believers and allies like Shabram and Mastemo. Lauriane bit her tongue and hesitated, but she followed through. Thalas looked fit to gag, his teeth biting his tongue; only when his mother sent him an icy glare did he finally submit like all the others. Euphemia alone remained standing at her future husband’s side, as an empress should, a thin smile stretching on her lips as she looked down on the throne room. 

The flow of experience and pleasure that followed was perhaps the most intense Simon had ever experienced. 

Level 68 Overlord Perk: Unquestionable Ruler V (Active): You have learned to delegate your evil. You can now select a willing creature to serve as the centerpiece of an Edict you cast. The creature serves as the focal point of the casting, with its radius being proportional to the creature’s level, and the Edict’s escape clause becoming the creature’s death. The creature cannot leave the Edict’s area of effect, but is immune to its penalties. You learn the Edict of the Wounded Earth. 

Edict of the Wounded Earth: The land howls in pain, causing terrible earthquakes and lava streams to devastate the countryside. Hot winds leave the air dry, Frost and Water effects are weakened, and Fire and Earth ones are empowered. 

Everything was finally in its proper place.

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