Chapter 31: Simon the Adventurer (1)

Simon was getting sick of fire.

How many times had he perished by flames at this point? Four times, five? Each time worse than the last.

When he found himself facing the Crimson Throne again, Simon could only muster a gaping sense of anguish. He had lost the happiest life he had ever had.

He had lost Anna.

Would she be the same person now that he had turned back time? Would one different word of his, one small choice, put her on a wholly different path? And what had happened to the Anna he had loved? Would her timeline carry on beyond his death, with his fiancée mourning his loss or perishing in the flames of Louis’ madness? Or had she been erased alongside all of that reign’s history?

Did anything he do until the final reign even matter?

This is the eighth of your hundred reigns.

You have earned the title of Simon the Lovestruck.

The Lovestruck: You have found love and lost it; and it won’t be the last time. You can transfer any Ailment you suffer from to anyone you are legally married or engaged to, so they share the pain too.

Of course that cursed throne would find a way to twist the knife in his heart.

Simon was also bothered by what the Green Mother said before his death. Elves and their kind had constantly supported anti-Overlord groups over the centuries and the feud remained strong. Did they truly have a hand in Balzam’s final death? Or something to do with Firewand’s disappearance in the last reign?

These questions haunted him even as he woke up to the sight of his sister shaking him awake.

“Put on your pants and come with me,” Lauriane ordered, dressed for a battle she had long been preparing for. “We don’t have much time.”

Simon stared at her, many conflicting feelings swelling in his heart. “Someone gutted father like a fish, alongside his concubine.”

Lauriane’s eyes widened. “Did you see it?”

“That and… other things.” Simon cleared his throat. “Would you burn the Berwick Islands, Lauriane?”

“What?” Lauriane blinked in surprise, before frowning. “Is that a dream you had?”

“I had… yes,” Simon said. He had learned he could mention previous reigns if he worded them as dreams or prophecies rather than the truth. “I dreamt of airships bearing the War Party’s emblem burning the Berwick Islands. It felt as vivid as my dreams about Father’s death.”

Lauriane briefly pondered his words. Simon knew from other reigns that she actually believed he had a prophetic ability of some sort, so she did give it serious consideration.

“Anna is like family to me, and the Berwick Islands are where my own mother is buried–” If only she knew. ”I don’t think I would have it in me to lead such an attack, unless…”

Everything before a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ does not count, Simon thought grimly.

“Unless House Paimon acted against our family.” Lauriane’s face seemed carved from a statue. “Blood is blood, Simon. If I had to choose between saving you, or even Thalas or Norbelle, and invading the Berwick Islands… I would not hesitate. Not for a single second.” Lauriane sighed upon seeing Simon’s expression. “I’m sorry. I can tell that’s not the answer you would have liked to hear, but that is how I feel.”

“No, no… I understand.” Simon shook his head. “It was just a dream.”

Lauriane marked a short pause before answering, “I hope it was.”

She must have thought Lord Paimon held me against my will, or Louis hid things from her, Simon told himself. Still, the fact that she could conceive a raid like the one he had witnessed against their own subjects left him uneasy. That was a side of Lauriane he had never seen before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Simon promised Lauriane he would join her after getting dressed, then sat on his bed in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He had given himself away by asking for too much in the last reign’s testament and then making Casval his catspaw, which had resulted in Dassein somehow tracking down Vouivre and learning the truth. Would he get away with it if he only asked for legitimization and Anna’s hand while sending the court factions on a wild cockatrice chase? He could do the reign all over again, refine it until he could sit out the inevitable civil war with Anna at his side, watching from the sidelines in peace…

No.

Foreknowledge was useless without the power to protect those he loved.

“I have had enough of dying,” Simon muttered to himself. “Enough is enough.”

He needed more experience and levels, especially if Anna’s theory about the Overlord Class only growing in power if he acted cruelly towards others was correct. Louis’ airship fleet proved that the factions at court had been preparing for war for a while now, and that a conflict was inevitable; a battle he had no hope of surviving without obtaining greater strength.

He needed an Adventurer-type Crestone, and he had a good idea of who could help him in finding one.

This time, Balzam Magnos’ testament neither legitimized nor ennobled Simon. It only mentioned letting him pick a handful of slaves as inheritance, then named Laurent Linconnu as the Overlord’s heir. This would ensure that Simon remained beneath everyone’s notice.

Once everyone was too busy with finding a nonexistent Overlord candidate, Simon discreetly petitioned for an audience with Lady Shabram as part of the investigation of his father’s death, which she granted.

Simon had never visited her office in any previous reigns, and he had to admit it looked a lot less impressive than he would have expected. Certainly, it was a rather spacious room with a manticore fur carpet covering the stone floor, a large work desk with its comfortable leather chest, and a sofa, but the only noteworthy pieces of furniture were the vast bookshelves taking up most of the walls and a black piano tucked into a corner. The office lacked any windows and only had one entrance, likely to prevent easy access to the collected information within.

“Greetings, Lord Simon,” Lady Shabram courteously greeted him once he arrived, the door audibly locking on its own once he walked in. He guessed her office was likely the most secure room in the entire castle. “I’m told you had information that could help us elucidate His Majesty’s death?”

Simon skipped the pleasantries. “You know, don’t you?”

She feigned ignorance. “Would we be having this conversation if I knew who had slain your father?”

“No need to play coy. You must have known the moment divination spells failed to affect me, which was likely the very first thing you did when you saw Father’s corpse in his bed. Am I wrong?”

Simon had purposefully avoided falsifying his stats with Anathemic Secrecy II to check his theory, so anyone trying to use divination on him would come up with a blank. The fact Shabram held his gaze, her demure expression turning into a calculating gaze, confirmed his suspicions.

She knew.

She knew, and she had known in all the previous reigns too, yet she never said anything about it.

“So you did forge the testament,” Lady Shabram said, her expression giving nothing away. “Did you kill him? Your father?”

“No,” Simon replied.

“Yet the Crimson Throne still chose you.” Shabram sat behind her desk, legs crossed. “Do you know who killed your father then?”

“No, and I hoped you could enlighten me on that front.”

Lady Shabram quickly dashed that hope. “I have my suspicions, but nothing conclusive. His Majesty had so many enemies in this castle that I wonder if they all somehow worked together to coordinate his assassination. Given his power, multiple parties must have worked in concert in order to bring him down.”

“I…” Simon cleared his throat. “I think an elf or dryad might have been involved.”

“Is that so?” Lady Shabram nodded. “I’ve also had the suspicion that Illusea managed to plant a spy in our inner circle somehow. They always knew too much in spite of our countermeasures to block the Oracle.”

Simon squinted in disbelief. “You’re not even asking how I would know that?”

“Why would I?” she asked playfully. “I was explicitly ordered by your father to take anything you would say to me at face value and act accordingly, should you show up with the Overlord Class. It is proof you are the strongest.”

“The… strongest?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“His strongest child. The most ruthless and capable. The one worthy to sit on the Crimson Throne and to carry the Overlord’s grand quest for world domination.” Lady Shabram scoffed. “Do you think all these disputes at court happened by accident? Your father could have easily resolved them, yet he intentionally let those grudges fester. Why?”

“Divide and conquer?” Simon guessed. That would fit Balzam Magnos’ style. “Factions wasting time fighting each other couldn’t unseat him.”

“That is only half correct; the other was natural selection. He wanted to see which of his children, trueborn or otherwise, would make the cut.” Lady Shambram moved towards a seemingly random bookshelf and began to search through it. “Do you know how Imperial Intelligence works?”

Simon scowled. “Broadly.”

“All information is centralized in my office, often called the Household, which is assisted by a multitude of small organizations like the Topography Office, the Imperial Security Bureau, the Bureau of Statistics, the Naval Intelligence Agency, and a web of agencies so vast you’ve likely never heard of half of them. Among those intelligence services is one we call the Imperial Guard, tasked with the twin purpose of both protecting the royal family and keeping an eye on them.”

The spymistress’ lips stretched into a smile, her hand reaching out for a certain file.

“The division tasked with your surveillance, Simon, is almost as large as all the others combined,” she said. “The office’s very first task, long before I became the Spymaster, was to track you and your mother down. Your father had you under surveillance since almost the day you were born.”