Chapter 33: Simon the Adventurer (3)

Reading Louis’ file in the dining car proved to be an interesting experience.

The eldest of the imperial princes at twenty-six years of age and the first child of Balzam and Eleanor Magnos, Louis had learned to wield a sword and cast a spell almost as soon as he began to walk. He received his Hellblade Crestone at eight and was knighted at fourteen during the Scaland Conquest, where he distinguished himself for his keen strategic mind, combat mastery, and spellcrafting. His father raised him to the rank of Marshal of the Empire at sixteen, a position he had held on to since. He would then spend four years meticulously planning the conquest of Magvolia, which he spearheaded by slaying its crown prince in single combat and taking the Warrior Noble Crestone off his corpse at the tender age of twenty. He mastered the Class over six years of relentless warfare against Tellurian beastmen, insurrectionists, and hostile foreign states alike.

Imperial Intelligence’s most recent reports estimated his level at roughly eighty, the third highest in all of House Magnos, behind Euphemia and the late Balzam Magnos. At no point had he been reported to lose a fight. Ever.

As Leonard had put it in a past reign, Louis Magnos was a god of war.

More than thriving in strife, Louis craved it. When the empire’s expansion slowed down after dominating most of the eastern continent and it began to focus inward, he founded the War Party to push for world domination through continued militarization. This put him on a crash course with Euphemia’s already established Church Party, with the two having been bitter political rivals since. Tensions between them further escalated due to Louis’ push to incorporate ‘demihuman’ tribes—like goblinoids, beastmen, and scalefolk—into the army to fuel the soldier shortage in exchange for citizen rights, which the Church Party opposed for fear of destabilizing the current imperial power structures.

Ironically enough, while Louis had been gathering private resources in preparation for a civil war, the airship fleet that devastated the Berwick Islands wasn’t one of them. Its construction was actually the result of a secret imperial decree signed by Balzam Magnos himself, ordering the construction of thirty dreadnought-class vessels to provide a ‘permanent solution to the elven problem.’ The airships were currently assembled in a secret Magvolian facility, with twenty having been completed according to the latest report, which Louis conveniently staffed with loyalists.

It seemed Balzam Magnos had been planning a surprise campaign against Illusea before he kicked the bucket. Simon wondered if his assassination had something to do with that. The Illusean Oracle might have foreseen a fleet of imperial airships destroying their lands and acted to nip the threat in the bud.

Imperial Intelligence’s report also included a psychological profile describing the crown-prince as a ‘megalomaniacal warmonger with delusions of world domination, and the skills to carry it out,’ along with an advanced description of his Perks. While it had a few holes and some of the Warrior’s abilities remained unknown, they included Perfect Proficiency in all weapons, the ability to summon legendary artifacts from a pocket inventory dimension, elemental versatility… not to mention he still retained his Hellblade Vassal Crestone to fall back on should the Warrior Class fail him in some way.

In short, fighting Louis in battle would be assisted suicide.

No wonder so many bet on him inheriting the Crimson Throne, Simon thought as his hand reached out for his coffee cup, only to find it empty. Oh, I’ll have to ask the waiter for more–

Agnes Firewand, who had been sitting next to him, immediately poured coffee into his cup before he could raise his hand. The liquid let out a small cloud of steam, when it should have grown cold by now. Firewand must have heated it up with a spell.

“Is it hot enough for you, Master Simon?” Agnes asked.

She had resorted to this title since she could neither call him Your Highness nor Your Majesty in public, but it still managed to unsettle him.

Simon briefly glanced around him to check if anybody was listening in. The dining car was only half full in the morning, and everyone was too busy with their breakfast to pay attention to them… with the exception of the third person at their table.

Eole hadn’t said a word for the entire morning, her eyes constantly darting from Simon to Agnes. Simon could almost feel the weight of her silent judgment.

Great, now she thinks I tormented Firewand somehow, Simon thought grimly as he answered Agnes’ query. “It is… it is good.”

“Would you want croissants to go along with it?” The tone, though calm, carried a slight edge of needy desperation. “Or entertainment?”

Eole’s gaze was becoming downright unbearable. She had noticed it too.

Agnes Firewand’s behavior had changed for the worse since yesterday. Although she had regained some of her near-mechanical composure, having the slave mark stripped from her had clearly shaken her to her core. Her every action and movement betrayed a slight sense of unease, an eagerness to please that was almost saddening. She hung to Simon’s words like a dog waiting for a command.

In short, she now feared that he would discard her unless she continuously proved her usefulness.

“Actually, I forgot my books on magical ring crafting in my cabin,” Simon lied. The books were indeed there, but he had planned to study them later. “Can you bring them to me?”

“Yes, Master.” Agnes rose from the seat so fast it was almost rude and immediately left the dining car with haste.

“What did you do to her?” Eole asked the moment Firewand left, a dangerous edge to her tone. She clearly suspected foul play.

“I emancipated her,” Simon replied with a heavy sigh. “She… didn’t take it well. Believe me or not, but she outright begged me to put the slave mark back on her. I had to put a token brand on her to stop her screaming and crying.”

Eole studied his face for a moment, biting her lip. It seemed she did believe him. “How long has she been a slave?”

“She has served the Overlords for nearly four hundred years.” Simon couldn’t even imagine what kind of horrors she had seen during that period. “She’s older than the empire.”

“She must have been a slave longer than she was free.” Eole looked to the landscape passing them by beyond the window. “I have met shifters like her in Telluria. I sought to help them break their chains, to free them from slavery, yet they would spit on my assistance. Chains no longer feel like a burden once you wear them too long, but as part of yourself… and their absence becomes a disturbing change.”

Simon looked at his reflection in his coffee. “What am I supposed to do, Eole? I want to help her, but how do you melt through four hundred years worth of ice?”

Eole pondered her answer for a moment before responding, “We could bring her to my home to recover.”

“The kish sanctuary?”

“Yes. A small elf community lives there, near our manatree. They can heal her scars, physical or otherwise.”

Simon pondered the plan before quickly rejecting it. “I need to travel west, and I don’t think she will react well should we split. Unless your sanctuary is located on the western continent–”

“It is not.” Eole shook her head. “Then we must proceed with patience and gentle guidance. We need to remind her of the joy of freedom, that life is all the more beautiful without shackles, that she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

“You think she’ll eventually recover if we do that?”

“I do,” Eole replied with deep, calm confidence. “It will take time, but everyone yearns for freedom once they conquer their fear and pain.”

Simon hoped she was correct. The sight of Firewand collapsing to her knees and begging for slavery would haunt him for many reigns. He just couldn’t look at the elf without thinking about it, nor stand her misery.

“Her true elven name is Belzemine,” Simon said. “Agnes Firewand is a pet name the Overlords gave her.”

“Then let us call her by her free name from now on.”

“Yes. It’s not much, but it will be a start.”

“You are wrong; it will be a very consequential step,” Eole replied as Agnes returned with the books. She then addressed the elf in a tongue that Simon didn’t recognize. “What kind of games do you enjoy playing, Belzemine?”

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Agne–Belzemine’s head perked up at the kish in slight surprise. “You speak Elven?”

“A bit,” Eole replied. “There is an elf community near my homeland.”

“I see.” Instead of answering the previous query, Agn–Belzemine–it would take a while for that mental change to stick–turned to Simon, silently waiting for his permission to engage in conversation.

“Eole will be our companion going forward, Belzemine.” The elf clearly suppressed a wince when Simon called her by her real name. “You may treat her as such.”

“Understood.” Ag–Belzemine nodded and then answered Eole in Elven. “I like any game my master asks me to play.”

Eole and Simon exchanged a glance simultaneously, and he could have sworn the same thought crossed their mind.

This would be a very, very long road to recovery.

Simon spent most of the trip west practicing his crafting. Thankfully, Belzemine–the name finally stuck mentally after a few dozen times–had a wealth of expertise on the subject due to her age and proximity to the previous Overlords and eagerly assisted him.

According to the books Simon had gathered, crafting magical items required three things: crafting knowledge, which his Class now provided; components like raw material or the finished item ready to be enchanted; and the spells or enchantments needed to be woven into the object.

It was the last part that bothered Simon. “So if I understand this right, all I can craft are items imbued with the few miasma spells I already know? Like a ring empowering my weapons with my Dark Saber or a brooch allowing me to summon Shadowchains? Even if I learn mana spells, I won’t be able to weave them into items.”