Chapter 34: Simon the Adventurer (4)

After three long days at sea, the Valnean port of Rosanne finally appeared over the horizon.

Simon had taken the time to read about the city during their journey. A thriving center of the transcontinental trade, Rosanne covered two sides of the great Vilan River’s mouth as it flowed into the Dragonsea, with the two riverbanks being connected by a colossal archway bridge said to be among the biggest in the world. Simon was tempted to believe the tales when he saw its massive frame loom over the waters. The texts said it hosted a thriving bazaar and countless shops where slaves, spices, and goods from all over the world were exchanged.

The northern side, located on cliffs taller than the southern ones, housed the noble palaces, merchant-prince mansions, guild offices, and mining company headquarters that formed the heart of the city’s economic dominance. Meanwhile, the southern half included its ports and silver mines. Simon could tell that it was the poorest area the moment he saw its packed together brick homes compared to the great marble buildings of the wealthier side.

Yet this Prince of Spiders made his lair there, according to his father’s journals.

Simon had tried to identify the title’s meaning and came up empty. Neither Belzemine nor the ship’s passengers had ever heard of the person—if they were a person at all. It had to be a codename of some kind.

Considering Balzam Magnos had turned out to be even more cruel and evil than his son could have ever imagined, Simon worked to master more Tier II curses from Belzemine in case this new ‘mentor’ proved treacherous. The one he was currently studying, Blindness, inflicted the eponymous Ailment on a target within sight. It should prove quite useful in a fight. Belzemine also mentioned another school of magic that focused on miasma, though Simon wasn’t so sure about learning that one…

“Diabolism?” Simon asked her, slightly uneasy. “Isn’t that demon sorcery?”

“Diabolism is indeed a school of magic focusing on summoning, bartering with, or harnessing the power of demons,” Belzemine confirmed. “For example, Impcantation involves summoning lesser fiends called imps to do the caster’s bidding, and Energumen would allow evil spirits to empower your Majesty’s Strength and Vitality. Both are Tier II spells powered by miasma.”

Simon wasn’t sure that using either of those sorceries would be wise. While the Empire allowed the use of diabolism spells for military purposes, Classes using that branch of magic were strictly controlled by the state. Other nations reviled or forbade the practice outright. Eole wouldn’t take kindly to it either, especially since Simon had yet to tell her the truth about his Class.

But then again, it doesn’t hurt to learn those spells even if I don’t use them, Simon thought. He had already raised corpses with necromancy, which was hardly any more civilized. They could help in a pinch, and studying diabolism might give me an edge against the Zodiac Fiends in time.

But Simon decided he would seek to secure a safe house or home before giving more thought to the whole diabolism thing.

The Wanderer soon docked into a bustling harbor whose size put those of the Berwick Islands to shame. Eole threw away her robes the moment they reached the land, unfolding her wings for the first time in over a week. She caught the eyes of quite a few fishermen, sailors, and passengers who had taken to listening to her playing the oud during the trip.

“You’re bringing attention to yourself,” Simon warned her.

“So what?” Eole asked with a frown. “You said we would not fear capture here, and I have been looking to stretch my wings for a very, very long time.”

“I understand, but…” Simon shut his mouth upon realizing the damage was already done, and it wasn’t like they could have hidden Eole’s shifter nature forever. “Just be wary. We are in a foreign land now. We should avoid making waves for as long as possible.”

“Neither you nor Lady Eole need to fear anything so long as I am around, Master Simon,” Belzemine insisted, being ever so eager to please him.

Eole glanced at the immense line of warehouses, brothels, and taverns that occupied the waterside. “Should we look for a nest to settle in, then?”

“That’s the plan, but I need to meet my contact first,” Simon replied, shifting in place. “They should be close, although–”

“Although?” Eole squinted at him, once again proving to be a sharp observer. “You sound uneasy about this meeting. Is this contact of yours dangerous?”

“I’m told they might help us, but the procedure to contact them screams either spy ring or a cult,” Simon explained. Not to mention that the last mentor Balzam Magnos saw fit to trust with his secrets was a closet necromancer with a complete lack of scruples. That other contact had to be equally shady somehow. “So no, I don’t trust them, and they are likely dangerous.”

Now Eole appeared worried for his safety. “What is so important that you would risk a meeting with that kind of person?”

“I’m looking for a specific Crestone.” Simon crossed his arms. “I’ll be fine with Belzemine at my side, but you don’t need to involve yourself in this matter if you don’t want to.”

“I am not afraid,” Eole replied with a shrug. “I am curious now. I’ll follow you.”

“Fair enough.”

It took them a good half an hour of searching, but the trio quickly found what they were looking for: a butcher’s shop stuck between a brothel with red lanterns glowing over the doors and a blacksmith’s forge spewing smoke through its two chimneys. A sign bearing the image of a bull hung over the entrance, and the smell of fresh meat filled the air when they entered. Eole pinched her nose in disgust—Simon had noticed that she was a rather strict vegetarian—while a smiling man greeted them behind a greasy counter. His predatory expression immediately sent shivers down Simon’s spine.

“Greetings, strangers,” he said in Valnean, which Simon’s Perk quickly translated. “What are you looking for?”

“Red widow meat,” Simon replied, following the procedure noted in the journals.

The man raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “I’m sorry, we don’t sell that here. What’s your name?”

“Wolf Cellar,” Simon replied, even as his companions sent him strange glances, which the butcher didn’t fail to notice. Everyone quickly realized they were talking in code.

“I see. What’s the purpose of your visit, Wolf?”

Here goes nothing, Simon thought as he uttered the password in his father’s journals. “The emperor over the sea told me that the blue widow spun a pretty web of pain.”

Simon had no idea what the sentence meant, but the butcher’s face became as if it was carved out of stone. “Fourth door on the left,” he said, pointing at the space behind the counter. “Alone. The others are not in the know.”

Shady it is. Simon scowled, but agreed to the conditions anyway and turned to face his companions. “Wait for me here.”

“Master–” Belzemine said, but Simon didn’t let her finish.

“Stay here. I won’t be long.” Simon then sent her a message through telepathy. “I’ll call you if anything happens, Belzemine.”

Belzemine straightened up upon sensing his words through the Brand of Sloth, but acquiesced quickly. “Very well, Master.”

Eole, who had been staring at the butcher since they walked in with a suspicious frown, finally spoke up. “You aren’t human, are you?”

The butcher’s lips stretched way too far, and he soon answered in perfect kish, “No, I am not a human. I’m just meat.”

Eole bit her lip. “Be careful,” she warned Simon quietly. “We’ll force our way in if you don’t return soon.”

“You don’t need to,” Simon replied.

“No, but we will do it anyway.” Eole glared at the smiling butcher. “I don’t trust people who wear masks, and neither should you.”

Quite the ironic warning. Simon powered through his unease as he walked behind the counter at the strange man’s invitation, ignoring the worried glances his companions sent him. A long hallway of sixteen doors, eight on each side, stretched ahead of him. Simon immediately realized it was far too long for the small shop to contain. Was it an illusion spell of some sort, or clever construction?

In any case, the fourth door on the left was painted yellow with a black handle, with an eye carved on the wood. Simon took a deep breath and opened it, only to find thick and impenetrable darkness ahead.

“Is there someone there?” Simon asked. He stepped through the threshold when he received no answer, only for the door to shut close behind him the moment he entered. He nearly summoned his Overlord Class Outfit to protect himself, but kept his composure and waited patiently. No one would go through such an elaborate procedure just to kill him on the spot.

The light of a candelabra suddenly cleared the darkness, revealing a small, rounded mahogany table and five seats. Simon spotted a ghastly, twenty-foot-tall statue of a spider with eight sinister ruby eyes that all seemed to be watching him next to it.

An elegant young woman sat near it, her mid-length hair dyed a dark shade of blue and her eyes pale like sapphires. She was dressed as if she planned to attend both a ball and a battle, with a violet, off-the-shoulder blouse with puffed sleeves disappearing under a black, high-laced corset cinching her narrow waist. Lace-patterned stockings and knee-high boots covered her legs. A rapier hung from her belt, and a thick grimoire encrusted with a pinkish stone sat upon the table within her reach next to a pipe.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Sit down, Simon Magnos,” she said, her voice sharper than any blade.

A shiver traveled down Simon’s spine. No one had called him by his full name in days. “Are you the Prince of Spiders?”

“No.” She pointed at the spider statue. “But he’s watching.”

Simon scowled and sat down at the table. He had the harrowing feeling he had just walked into some monster’s den. His secret cult theory was looking more and more likely by the second.

While he sensed magic coming from the statue, it paled in comparison to the aura radiating from the woman’s book. Simon squinted at the gemstone encrusted on its surface, his eyes widening in shock when he spotted a familiar symbol carved on it: that of the zodiac sign of the Crab.

“Precious stone,” the woman said, a thin, feline smile on her lips. “Familiar stone?”

“Where did you get that?!” Simon asked immediately. That was a miasma crystal, no doubt about it, but its evil power appeared muted; nay, sealed. “Do you have any idea what it is?!”

“We ask the questions here. Behave, and maybe the Prince will enlighten you.” The woman brought the pipe to her lips, a spicy fragrance filling the room. “Who taught you the password?”

“My father, Overlord Balzam.”

“Before or after his assassination?”

Simon’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. “How do you–”

“Answer me now, or take the door,” the woman replied sharply. “You came to the Prince seeking an audience, so you play by his rules.”

Simon wondered what to do. He now realized it had been a mistake not to gather information on this Prince of Spiders before meeting with them. Everything about this situation smelled more rancid than a week-old fish.

“After my father died, I read secret notes saying that I could contact a ‘potential mentor’—” The woman stifled a dark laughter at the last word, “—for help. They included the procedure needed to come here.”

The woman’s smile reminded Simon of a shark. “You have no idea where you are or who we are, do you?”

Simon clenched his teeth. “I imagine you’re some kind of spider-god cult?”