Chapter 109: The Cocagne Affair (9)

A week passed after the council meeting, with Remedia delaying their trip to Lafontaine until she could deal with some urgent matters. Everything was more or less going as Simon expected it to.

Remedia’s Shadowguard agents confirmed the existence of the hidden airship base, with a little secret help from Shabram, and she swiftly named Simon a special tactical advisor invited to sit on the council. He immediately exploited the situation by offering Norbelle both information on Cocagne’s internal decisions and to lobby the queendom to support Euphemia in return for concessions on Lauriane and Justine. Simon didn’t trust his half-sister in the slightest, but he knew Euphemia would be pragmatic enough to hold her leash.

His plan for the Elf Conspiracy unfolded, with Patriate Malphas and his daughter being captured and Shabram revealing to the various parties their nature as elven infiltrators. Anselma Flauros was arrested alongside her son and husband, while Justine Eligos ‘miraculously’ avoided the same fate.

Simon had no idea how long the reveal of elven infiltrators in Endymion’s power structure would delay the civil war, if at all. Lauriane thought it would unite his family against the threat of Illusea, but he didn’t share her optimistic vision of their family’s dynamics. Louis, in particular, struck him as having already made up his mind about wiping out all his rivals.

Simon thus ensured Satine’s White Unicorn supporters in Magvolia were spared from the purge in preparation for the conflict he feared was inevitable without an Overlord to rein in the various factions. This should give the Church Party and Cocagne the edge.

Otherwise, Simon spent his mornings trading spells and rituals with Remedia, who taught him four new Tier V tricks for his arsenal: Petrify, the very same curse Balzam so loved to use to turn his foes into statue trophies; Nightveil, to obscure his features behind a veil of miasma; Impwall, a diabolism spell that summoned a small wall of imps to intercept an attack; and Ectoplasmer, a Psychism miasma spell that allowed the user to literally hurl a piece of their own soul at targets in the form of a malevolent dark spirit.

“Isn’t it dangerous for the user to mutilate their own soul?” Simon asked Remedia during their latest practice session.

“What we consider the soul is no more than the core of our mana system,” Remedia replied. “A spellcaster technically spends soul energy every time they cast a spell, because they spend willpower to shape it into tangible matter. Ectoplasmer simply weaponizes the processes by directly firing raw malice at the target to inflict Soul damage.”

“I see…” Simon stroked his chin as he considered the spell’s underlying mechanics. “A normal person transforms their mana into miasma by focusing on negative thoughts, and then they fire it in the form of a corrupted proto-spirit… but since I am naturally producing miasma, I can skip the first part entirely.”

“You catch on quickly, Simon.” Simon had noticed Remedia was calling him by his name rather than his title more often than not nowadays. “We usually call miasma-corrupted soul energy ‘ectoplasm,’ and many intangible undead use it to interact with physical objects. Ectoplasmer was originally created by a past Necromancer to mimic these properties.”

“Would that explain why undead often rise in miasma-tainted areas?” Simon inquired. “Souls whose bodies perish in a dungeon are corrupted into ectoplasm?”

Remedia nodded slowly, a smile stretching on her lips. “You would make a fantastic Mage, Simon.”

Was there any greater compliment coming from a sorceress-queen of her caliber? “You flatter me, Your Majesty.”

“I am simply stating facts. You could easily marry your way into diabolism or necromancy-focused noble houses.” Remedia hesitated a moment before adding, “I could arrange a betrothal.”

She wants to keep me in Cocagne and tie me to her nation, Simon figured. He guessed he should have expected as much. He had already received quite a lot of dinner proposals from senators and noble houses in the past week, especially now that the favor the queen showed him had become plain for all to see.

“I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty, but I was sent here to assist my sister,” he replied politely. “I am likely to leave Cocagne and return to Endymion once I have fulfilled my duty.”

His answer displeased the queen. “I thought receiving my apprenticeship would make you reconsider.”

“It did, to a point.” Simon doubted he would ever find a better magic mentor than Remedia. “However, the Zodiac Fiends’ crystals are spread across the world and time passes far too quickly. I will need to pursue my investigation of them eventually.”

“You would have an easier time tracking them down with my nation’s resources at your disposal.”

Simon chuckled. What an interesting proposition. “Would you give them to me?”

“If you ask,” she replied, returning his smile. “Your advice has been extremely helpful so far, and you have been a good influence on Verdis. I will do what it takes to keep you around.”

Well, well, she has come to trust me a great deal over the past few weeks… Simon was rather flattered.

“We can discuss this more during lunch in Lafontaine, since it is almost time,” Remedia decided. “Have you made the necessary arrangements?”

“Yes, I have informed my sister and retainers that I will be gone for the day.” The latter had protested, and the former simply mischievously smiled at him. What was she imagining?

“Excellent.” Remedia took his arm into her own. “Teleport.”

Reality shifted around them, with the arcane laboratory turning into a nondescript, small apartment with closed windows. Simon assumed it had to be a Shadowguard safehouse the queen could use to enter Lafontaine undetected.

“May I ask which Tier a Teleport spell is?” Simon inquired as he put on a Fiendmask to change his appearance.

“Tier VIII,” Remedia replied, the queen following his example and using her magic to transform into a common, if elegant, woman. “It is a more advanced version of the lower-Tier Recall spell used to create the misnamed teleportation gems. Whereas Recall sends the user to a premarked location, Teleport lets the caster appear at any place they have already visited.”

Tier VIII… What a frightful number. That meant it would take Simon at least thirty levels before he could even try to master that spell, which might take dozens of reigns. That also meant Remedia was likely around level 70 or above, which would put her in the same league as the likes of Dassein or Lauriane.

“Isn’t it counterproductive to keep all those Vassal Crestones on yourself as well?” Simon asked when they left the safehouse. “Isn’t your experience split between all of them when you cast a spell?”

Remedia smiled ear to ear. “Shall I explain it to you over lunch?” she asked teasingly. “The secret to leveling up a Noble Class?”

Lafontaine turned out to be worthy of its reputation as a pleasant and vivacious center of commerce. As vast as any Endymian port, it boasted full piers of ships from Uyo, Fablan, and Scaland on their way to the western continent and back, an enormous market where Cocagne’s magical wonders were sold to worldwide trading groups and adventurous merchants, and an enormous colosseum. Remedia invited him to a beachside restaurant with a direct view of the latter, near a small chapel.

“The more one levels up in a Class, the less experience they receive from mundane tasks,” Remedia said while Simon checked the restaurant’s rather expensive menu. “When I first received the Mage Crestone, learning a Tier I spell was enough to earn me a level. Now the penalty is so great it has become a waste of time.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Then why split that precious experience seventeen ways?”

“Because the lower-leveled Vassal Classes do receive experience from mundane spellcasting,” Remedia replied upon ordering a local alcoholic beverage called champagne. “They grow in power each time I cast a low-Tier spell my Mage Class no longer benefits from.”

Simon immediately caught on to the trick. “And since one can transfer related Vassal Class experience to the Noble one, you can let the former store up experience from those activities and then give it directly to your Mage Class…”

“Now you see the exploit. This still lets me receive experience from mundane tasks I would have done anyway.” She smiled at him. “Of course, there are limits to this technique. First of all, experience is not levels, so sacrificing a level 40 Diabolist Vassal Class may only earn me a fourth of a Mage level’s worth of experience nowadays; and second, I would obviously earn more experience if I practiced high-tier spells or raised castles into the sky.”

“But this lets you rule without sacrificing your level progression,” Simon replied. How annoying that the Overlord had no Vassal Class of its own, or he could have greatly accelerated his level progression with this trick. “This must consume an ostentatious amount of Crestones in the process.”

“The perks of royalty,” Remedia quipped back. “I recommend the bouillabaisse, if you wish to try a local dish.”

“I will trust you on that.” Simon set the menu aside. “Why pick this place? Is it a Cobweb front?”

“No… but the arena is.” Remedia frowned, her gaze turning to the colosseum. “Do you know the status of slavery in Cocagne?”

“I know it is legal, but tightly regulated,” Simon replied, quickly guessing where this was going. “That it’s mostly constrained to slave gladiators.”

“Yes. Gladiatorial combat is an old and honored tradition in Cocagne since nobles started using them to settle disputes as an alternative to spellcasting duels.” Remedia let out a heavy sigh. “The Tellurian slave trade of beastmen was always strong, but it exploded after Endymion began to push north. Slaver ships make a stop in Lafontaine to introduce the men as gladiators, then move west to sell off the women and children as prostitutes.”

Simon scowled in disgust. “And nobody tries to stop this?”

“My husband fought hard to curtail the slave trade.” Remedia smiled at Simon’s slight surprise. “That astonishes you? Filip is the Ranger. He is more sensitive to the plight of beastmen—or shifters, as he calls them—than anyone else in Cocagne.”

“That’s good.” The man had slightly risen in Simon’s esteem. He wondered if he should introduce him to Eole in a reign where they weren’t at each other’s throats… “Why did he fail?”

“Because I shackled him.” The food finally arrived, being made of a mix of seafood, vegetables, and soup. “When I took Cocagne’s throne, our peasants, our serfs, were slaves in all but name. They were bound to their land, denied pay and any higher education, and left at their lords’ mercy. Not being an absolute monarch, I had to make…” The queen cleared her throat. “Concessions to improve their living situation.”