Chapter 38: Simon the Adventurer (8)

True to Silk’s warning, it didn’t take long for news of the imperial civil war to reach Valne’s shores.

Reports of the explosion that shook Castle Frightwall arrived two days after her visit, detailing how a rain of light descended from the heavens and blasted the Overlord’s wicked castle to pieces, only for it to rise again from the rubble. Some attributed it to the wrath of the gods smiting the wicked Overlord, others to a Church or War Party secret weapon.

Whatever the case, Simon was certain it wasn’t a bomb. The fact that it only happened in this particular reign, after he removed Belzemine from court and Patriate had avoided assassination, implied those two had something to do with it somehow.

“A rain of light…” Belzemine whispered when he gave her the day’s newspaper. “There are spells like Heavenly Judgment that behave similarly… but to raze Castle Frightwall, even for a time, it would need to be… Tier X, the highest tier of magic. Only the Oracle or multiple archmages working together would be capable of casting that, Your Majesty.”

Simon knew it. The whole deal with Patriate had something to do with the elves. “Why not use such a powerful spell earlier if they had it all along?”

“A spell so powerful… would have taken very long to refine and required guidance…” Belzemine coughed. Though her health had improved since they started feeding her monster lifeforce, it remained insufficient for a full recovery. “Either someone cast it from inside the castle, or with a… with a guiding sigil of some sort. An anchor.”

Simon pondered her explanations. Could the elves have somehow exploited the lack of Overlord in Castle Frightwall to set up such a guiding rune inside its walls? This seemed the likeliest explanation, and would confirm that they had someone on the inside. Could Patriate Malphas have been in league with them?

That particular mystery was unfortunately likely to end up with a dead end this reign. Lady Shabram, Patriate Malphas, and quite a few generals were reported missing and presumed dead in the explosion. Empress Euphemia, who had been in the castle during the attack, managed to survive it by the skin of her teeth and accused Louis of attempting to murder her. It didn’t help that the Marshal of the Empire had been coincidentally on a trip to Magvolia when this happened. In Simon’s opinion, it looked more and more like a frame job, or at least an attempt to stoke the fires of civil war.

And it worked.

News continued to drizzle in in the following days, starting with the awful destruction of Amnadiel in an airship raid, followed by strategic bombardments on Louis’ enemies that killed thousands in what would become the civil war’s opening volley. High Confessor Mastemo reacted by declaring a holy war in Euphemia’s name, with the Queendom of Cocagne swiftly announcing its support for the empress by sending squads of mages into Louis’ fiefdom of Magvolia.

News said that Lord Paimon had recalled his daughter Anna home to the Berwick Islands and declared his neutrality in the conflict. This time, the two parties left him alone since he wasn’t secretly sheltering the Overlord in his halls.

Another surprise followed a week later, when reports of a certain dragon warlord leading a rebellion in Telluria reached Valne. Simon wasn’t sure if letting Casval run free or Castle Frightwall’s destruction had somehow emboldened Vouivre, but she openly announced herself, began to besiege Beleth, and called upon all Gargauth loyalists to join her in reestablishing the ‘natural order.’

“The War of the Triad?” Simon scoffed upon reading the day’s newspaper with Eole. Nearly two weeks had passed since the attack on Frightwall, and the troubles in Endymion were on everyone’s tongue. “What a ridiculous name.”

“Everyone is talking about it at the Monoceros Guild,” Eole replied. She had grown to quickly master the Valnean tongue, likely thanks to her Songstress Perks. “Half of them want to intervene to retake Magvolia, and the rest want to wait for the imperial parties to bleed each other out. The first war refugees are flowing in, too.”

“I know. City officials visited me to rent out some rooms for newcomers.” It was easy money, though not the kind Simon was all too proud to profit from. At least they’ll be safer with us in charge. Argas would have no doubt enslaved most of them.

The next article detailed how Euphemia’s forces had apparently destroyed ten of Louis’ airships in a battle over the Navarre region by calling upon bound Eidolons to fight them in the air.

Norbelle has the Summoner Noble Class, Simon recalled. It allowed its user to call on creatures to her help, and she had inherited her mother’s Visionary third eye on top of it. Is that the Church Party’s trump card? Enslaved false gods?

So far, the War Party controlled most of the western and northern parts of the empire, the Church Party dominated the south and heartland, and Vouivre was exploiting the chaos to make headways into Telluria even without a demon crystal. Some speculated that Scaland’s scalefolk-heavy population might even declare for her in the near future.

The civil war had barely started, and yet not a day passed without news of some village being bombarded or a fiefdom being sacked for proclaiming allegiance to the wrong group.

“Could I have stopped this?” Simon muttered to himself. So many lives had been lost because of his family’s savage struggle for power. “If I had chosen otherwise, would all these people still be alive?”

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” Eole comforted him. “You said so yourself when we first met.”

“I’m not so sure.” Leaving Agnes at the castle and going to the Berwick Islands had at least delayed the chaos by months until Dassein finally uncovered his identity. “If I had stayed–”

“Your siblings and stepmother would have still fought each other,” Eole replied bluntly. “When you gather vipers in a den, it is not a question of if they’ll bite, but when. You are not responsible for your family’s actions.”

It didn’t feel that way to Simon. Reading the news about the massacres was one thing, but Simon had seen an airship bombardment with his own eyes, and perished in it. He had seen the flames of imperial war machines engulfing the Berwick Islands. The mere thought that such destruction was now happening all across his homeland deeply depressed him.

He had to find a way to nip this civil war in the bud in a future reign. Too many lives were at stake.

Eole studied his expression for a moment before squeezing his hand.

“You have received an evil power and chosen to use it for the good of others, Simon, when your family chose violence on their own,” she said, her delicate fingers warm to the touch. “Many people here owe their freedom to you, and we are set to help many more. In the end, this will make more of a difference in the world than becoming another warlord.”

Simon wasn’t so sure, but her kindness and earnestness warmed his heart. “Thank you, Eole. I appreciate it.”

She gave him one of the loveliest smiles he had ever seen; the kind that could have probably compelled men to duel for her favor on the spot.

She didn’t let go of his hand either.

It felt nice, very nice… until Simon recalled Anna, at which point a wave of guilt overwhelmed him. He pulled back his hand and avoided her gaze.

Eole looked deeply, deeply disappointed for a moment, but she quickly guessed his reason. “You already have someone.”

“I did.” Was the Anna of this timeline the same as the one he had promised to marry? Did he still owe her his faithfulness, even though she was half a world away and unlikely to meet him again? He had never given thoughts to such matters, but the memory of his last reign was too fresh on his mind. “I’m… sorry, Eole, but I’m not ready for romance. It’s too soon.”

“I understand. It was presumptuous of me.” Eole seemed to understand, and didn’t offer any reproach. She simply accepted his choice and moved on. “I would still like to take you and Belzemine to my people’s sanctuary one day. I think you would both like it there. I have so many friends to introduce you to.”

“Perhaps after we find some more manaliths,” Simon replied. Still, he was looking forward to it. “Any luck on that front?”

Eole’s good mood quickly deflated. “The price rises each time I look at them. I’ve heard the army has put restrictions on sales to keep a supply should the war come to Rosanne.”

Simon had feared as much. “I have a plan to make us more money. If it doesn’t work… I might have to knock on the Cobweb’s door.” Eole immediately scowled at the idea, but Simon insisted. “I don’t like them either, but they’re already using the Copper Dragon to smuggle drugs. They could help us obtain manaliths.”

“I am against dealing with them, but… if you think we have no other way, I will trust your judgment. I will keep looking for good quests at the guild in the meantime.” Eole rested her head on her hand. “What plan do you have in mind?”

“A new business.” Simon chuckled. “A jewelry business.”

One of the few rules of war was that it always drove up demand for useful magical items. Everyone wanted to feel safe from conflict, even when it happened an ocean away.

As it turned out, there was a rather lucrative market in Rosanne and Valne for enchanted accessories. Rich people loved to both flaunt their wealth and feel safe; and a beautifully crafted brooch shielding them from poison or fire achieved both aims. Crafting Class users were so rare and valued that most ended up in a guild or under government contract that carefully regulated their activities, so many were willing to pay top money for private, off-the-book commissions.

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Unfortunately, the use of miasma in their creation—which Simon’s Class required—would have immediately brought too much unwanted attention. The Septic family’s contacts among Rosanne’s merchants helped him fence a few, but Argas’ death cost them a few connections; something he had chastised Leticia for. As much as he looked down on the man, he couldn’t have employees putting hits out on each other.

All in all, Simon wasn’t making much progress until a certain woman showed up at his office unannounced.

“You are wasting your time and talents with the local bourgeoisie, Simon,” Silk said, playing with a Ring of Cursed Flame he recalled selling not even two days before. “Custom orders and collectors pay best.”

Simon glared at her. Considering the ease with which she kept infiltrating his office, she had to have a roguish Vassal Class of some kind. “I don’t want your organization’s help.”

“No, but you need it. Besides the lack of profit, you’ll bring the city watch to your door if you keep bumbling your way into our world. You’ve already attracted some attention you could have done without.” Silk smiled at him with the ironclad confidence of someone convinced they had already won. “Your craftsmanship impressed the Prince. He offers you a fifty-fifty share after reasonable expenses, to be paid either in gold or manaliths for your friend’s recovery.”

“Are you—are you spying on me?” Simon scoffed. “Stupid question, of course you are.”

“Please. We spy on everyone.” Silk flipped the ring in the air. “What kind of items can you make?”

“Shouldn’t you already know?” Simon mused. “Or are there cracks in your omniscience?”

“Even we cannot pierce through Your Majesty’s Anathemic Secrecy, which vexes us,” Silk admitted. “But if you try to cheat us, we will know it soon enough.”

Good to know. Simon weighed the pros and cons of revealing something so sensitive to a criminal organization before realizing they would likely figure it out anyway from his deliveries. “Any accessory, so long as I use miasma in its creation.”

“So you can create cursed items?” Silk’s smile turned almost predatory. “Excellent.”

“Do you actually want to buy harmful items?”

“You would be surprised how many people would pay for items capable of discreetly sabotaging their rivals, and how few people can actually make those.” Silk met his gaze. “We will forward you lucrative orders. This would be a purely transactional arrangement, with no hidden strings nor other mutual obligations. In, or out?”

Simon considered the proposal. It looked fair on the surface, though he was pretty sure they would fleece him on the fifty-fifty percent share—since he had no way to actually check how much the Cobweb would sell the products for—and it was clear they would use cursed items for harmful purposes.

Nonetheless… nonetheless, Belzemine’s health required it, and Silk was right. He was getting nowhere with his current arrangements.