Chapter 25: Lord of the Berwick Islands (3)

He dreamed of his father again.

He was younger, not yet the grey corpse he saw at the beginning of each reign. He was a red lion of a man, the spitting image of Louis’ handsome features merged with Dassein’s bulk. His face was twisted into a snarl of rage as his hands closed around Simon’s throat. He recalled coughing and kicking and scratching, yet his father’s fingers were colder than ice and stronger than steel. They forced Simon onto the bed and choked the life out of him until his own body went stiff, and as his final wisp of life left him, he recalled his father’s lips stretching into a vicious smile.

Then he awoke to find a woman in his room.

Simon only caught a glimpse of her white figure facing the window before she disappeared into the sunlight, a pale ghost long departed. All that remained was unnaturally cold air and the faint smell of regrets.

“Were you trying to speak to me?” Simon wondered out loud. “Or to torment me in my dreams?”

His questions were met with silence, as they were last night. Lord Paimon had Priests and Exorcists double-check the area after he had heard the voice in his head since he arrived. Neither noticed anything wrong besides the haunting, which they insisted was utterly harmless. Ghosts were echoes of the departed, who could do little besides whisper or appear around the place. Anna had grown up with it enough to reassure Simon that the voice was likely just their local poltergeist playing a prank on him, and he had been too tired to argue with her.

Nonetheless, his gut told him there was more to this story. Simon quickly put on the Overlord outfit, and immediately sensed spiritual whispers brushing at the edge of his mind.

“Help… help…”

“Who are you?” Simon was certain the presence didn’t belong to the ghost who had just visited him. “Where are you?”

“The Dark… below…”

The Dark? Was that why Simon could only hear the voice when wearing the Overlord Class outfit? Because of its affinity with miasma? “You mean below the castle?”

“Help… below…”

Simon knew that listening to a phantom voice inside a notoriously haunted castle was probably not his best idea, but he had spent enough time in Duchar’s company to understand the dangers of the Dark. He had to investigate and at least confirm that no harm would come to Anna or his retainers, no matter their insistence this was nothing unusual.

Simon removed his Class outfit when he heard a knock on his door. “What is it?”

“Forgive me for waking you, Your Highness,” Meredith’s voice answered. “The maids have come to dress you for the dawn prayer.”

The dawn prayer? Oh, true, the Church of the Light had its adherents pray for the rising sun to conquer the darkness. One of the few perks of being a bastard meant that Simon didn’t have to attend those ceremonies, but his legitimization had changed that.

I wonder what the priests would say if they knew an Overlord was among their flock, Simon thought when servants came in to dress him, something he had to do himself back in Frightwall. Would they burn me at the stake?

The Church of the Light had decried the Overlord as the incarnation of darkness and evil—Mardok having massacred their saints and Gargauth regularly oppressed their faith—until Balzam Magnos took over. Having already been married to their living saint, Euphemia, and requiring their political support to maintain his newly won empire, he had come to an agreement with the High Confessor: the state would recognize the Light of Pharis as its official faith in return for legitimacy. Since then, the Church portrayed Balzam’s ‘conversion’ as the proof that darkness always bent to the holy spirit, and the Overlord had at long last submitted to the ‘true faith.’

Of course, Balzam Magnos violated every single tenet of the Light of Pharis and recognized no authority except his own, but the alliance served him and the church well enough that no one called him out on his blatant hypocrisy.

Once the maids had dressed him in a black velvet doublet decorated with the crowned golden manticore of House Magnos, a purple doublet, and gold pants, Simon was escorted out of the room by his retainers. Anna and Tiella were waiting for him outside.

“Did you sleep well?” Anna asked with mirth. “I must say, I am very disappointed that you didn’t try to sneak into my room.”

“Sorry, a ghost visited me and I could not turn her away,” Simon quipped back.

“You would rather enjoy the company of an old ghost than your living fiancée? Shame on you!” Anna boldly took his arm into her own, as if they were already a couple. Simon found it both awkward and endearing. “It is fine if we sleep during the dawn prayer, by the way. You should keep your wits sharp for the audience.”

Simon frowned. “The audience?”

“Father is away this morning, so he entrusted us with petitions and matters of justice.” Anna smiled from ear to ear. “To give us formal experience, he said.”

“He wants us to learn lordcraft and to be seen delivering justice, so the commonfolk and nobles come to see us as authority figures,” Simon guessed. He knew how the game was played.

“My, you catch on quickly. Isn’t there anything more romantic than deciding to hang some thief as a loving couple?” Anna teased him. “I can be the iron hand, and you the velvet glove.”

“Or we can switch it up to keep them guessing,” Simon quipped back as they walked down to the chapel on the first floor. It was far less grandiose than the one in Castle Frightwall, with griffin tapestries in place of the statues Balzam Magnos loved to collect, but its marble altar had a certain charm to it.

The priest—some old man named Father Donell—proceeded to give a sermon as dawnlight filtered through the stained glass window of Saint Pharis, who had promised the Overlord Mardok Endymion that she would return to bring him to justice the day he had her murdered. Simon had heard the holy words a thousand times already and mostly pretended to listen. He noted that most of the people present were either retainers or soldiers, except for two figures at the back: a grey-haired nobleman in his fifties or so, wearing a rich mantle embroiled with gold and rings glittering on his fingers; and a taller, black-haired man in his forties wearing armor, with a square jaw and a fearsome scowl.

“The tall one is Count Landar Ipsos, and the old one is Marquis Ronlaw Naberius,” Anna whispered into Simon’s ear. “They’re my father’s bannermen and constantly at each other’s throats. I’m sure we’ll have to play peacemaker with them after the sermon.”

“I’m already looking forward to it,” Simon replied with the driest, most unenthusiastic tone he could muster.

Once the sermon was done, they moved to the castle’s throne room on the third floor. While it paled in comparison to Castle Frightwall’s, it still remained an imposing hall with hanging tapestries of griffins, a huge fireplace, and an iron throne draped in golden silk and velvet cushions. An expensive chair was placed next to it. Simon moved to sit there when Anna pulled him back.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked with a laugh. “You’re the prince, you sit on the throne.”

“What?” Simon choked. “That’s your father’s seat!”

“He gave you permission to represent him, remember? Besides, Your Highness Simon Magnos is a gallant prince now. You technically outrank him.”

Simon stared at the throne uneasily for a moment before he dared sit on it. It immediately felt wrong to do so, almost uncomfortable, even though his own father used to rule from it a long time ago. It took him a moment to realize why.

It was too small for him.

There was only one throne worthy of the Overlord Class, and its spirit made its displeasure known to Simon. He could feel its distaste at having to hide its true identity when called upon to rule, mixed with its eagerness to judge others and enforce its authority.

I wonder if I would gain experience from sitting on the Crimson Throne, Simon thought as Lorimor ascended the dais to stand at his right. As a Scholar, he was well-learned about imperial law and thus could provide advice on matters of justice. Three cases had been put forward today and would be judged according to their severity.

The castle seneschal and an individual wearing the armored outfit of the Inquisitor Class brought a man forward. The Inquisitor waved his hand and caused a luminescent, mouth-shaped rune to appear on the floor, then forced the defendant to stand on top of it.

“That is an Inquisitor-made Rune of Confession,” Anna explained to Simon. “It can detect lies and punish them.”

“Unless they possess defenses against divination,” Simon pointed out. Almost no one used it in litigation involving nobles because everyone with deep enough pockets could easily buy an item to shield themselves against it.

“True, but most defendants don’t have the means to buy themselves that luxury. I swear you’ll find it very useful.” Anna smiled at the defendants and accusers alike with regal dignity. She clearly took her role of Lady of Carcas to heart. “Court is now in session.”

“On behalf of the army, I submit that cadet Ramsay, here present, was found looting the corpses of his fellow soldiers who died fighting bandits,” said the castle’s seneschal. “Fellow soldiers caught him reselling stolen goods, and he confessed his crime when confronted.”

“Is that true?” Anna asked Ramsay without skipping a beat. Simon could tell she had much experience delivering judgment in her father’s stead. “You looted your fellow soldiers?”

“I won’t lie, Your Highness, but there was no victim,” the defendant said. “Why would the dead need trinkets? We, the living, need everything the dead can’t use. Besides, I wasn’t keeping the money all for myself. I gave a few coins to my comrades.”

The seneschal scoffed. “As bribes, no doubt.”

“The rune didn’t trigger, though,” Anna noted. “I believe the punishment for looting corpses is flogging, right? Seems pretty clear-cut to me. I don’t think he deserves worse.”

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Simon hesitated. He had spent enough time in the capital’s court to develop a certain instinct when it came to liars. Something about this Ramsay bothered him.

“Were they all dead?” Simon inquired.

Cadet Ramsay looked up. “Your Highness?”

“The people you robbed. Were they all dead when you stole their belongings?”

The question took Cadet Ramsay aback. “Y-yes, of cour–”

The rune at his feet lit and zapped with an electric shock, startling everyone present. Simon scowled in distaste as he put two and two together.

“Alive then,” Simon said. “Which means you stole goods from one or more of your fellow soldiers before they expired rather than bring them to a healer.”

“You left someone to die?” Anna asked the cadet, her horror giving way to outrage.

“He was barely breathing!” The man defended himself. “There was so much blood, I’m sure not even a healer could have saved him–”

The mark zapped him again, which only deepened Simon’s disgust. He turned to Lorimor. “What’s the punishment for leaving a fellow soldier to his death?”

“Death by beheading, usually by other soldiers so they can level-up.” Lorimor cleared his throat. “I will remind Your Magnanimous Highness that death sentences can always be commuted into slavery ones.”

“We operate salt mines north of the Berwick Islands,” Anna added, her gaze steely and harsh. “Conditions there are so terrible that we struggle to hire miners. It will make him wish for death.”

“You’re harsher than I would have expected,” Simon commented. Anna was always such a carefree soul, so it took him aback to approach matters with such sternness.

“His actions killed another human being–a comrade even–for the sake of greed,” Anna replied, showing a side of her Simon had yet to see before. “He’s lucky to keep his head. If anything, the mines would be exceedingly generous.”

“My lady has spoken,” Simon said as he raised his voice. “Cadet Ramsay, death is a mercy I shall deny you. You are condemned to hard labor in the salt mines as a slave until you reimburse twenty times the value of the goods you’ve stolen.”

Guards dragged away a screaming Cadet Ramsey out of the room, then brought in the newest accused before them. This one was a middle-aged woman, likely a commoner from the look of her clothes, and Simon didn’t fail to notice her black eye.

“This is a religious case, Your Highness,” the Inquisitor said. “This woman, Isanne of Balmosa, stands accused of faking her conversion to the Light and persisting in the sin of idolatry by worshiping the Green Mother.”

“The Green Mother?” Simon asked. “Is that a dryad or an eidolon?”

“A dryad bound to the islands’ manatree,” Anna confirmed. “Her faith is still popular in forest villages and backwater communities, but you know… all non-Light religions are outlawed nowadays.”

“We have already secured a written confession,” the Inquisitor said. “All we require is your written approval to burn her at the stake.”