Chapter 39: Simon the Adventurer (9)

Ascending up a mountain was a mystical experience.

Located west of the League of Valne, the Stone Crown formed a barrier of mountains separating it from the Kingdom of Lore. The highest of them, Mount Colt, used to be a volcano, though it had slumbered ever since the Year of the Doom.

The three of them—or rather, Simon and Belzemine, since Eole could simply fly—had been trekking up the mountain’s slope for a day now, passing by mountain cabins whose chimneys let smoke rise into the clear blue sky, narrow roads, and wooden bridges binding different sides of small ravines. They barely encountered a soul besides the occasional bear or lynx fleeing at their approach.

Mountains were so quiet, so peaceful. The sensation of the pure air flowing into his lungs, the faint song of the wind, the clear sky… Simon couldn’t recall any other place that had left him feeling so serene. In fact, he enjoyed it so much that the group agreed to stay the night in a cave they had found carved into a cliff two-thirds of the way up to the summit. They spent the night there, cooking around the campfire and looking into the clear horizon. They could see the green land fading into the sea in the distance, and Simon would count the memory of watching the sunset with Eole and Belzemine among his favorites.

The next morning topped it, however, when he woke up to find his companions staring at something beyond their refuge’s jagged entrance.

“Shush,” Eole had whispered while inviting him to come closer. “Look.”

Simon moved closer and held his breath when he spotted a couple of winged horses with two foals grazing not too far from the cave. They hadn’t noticed their presence yet.

“I’ve never seen wild pegasi before,” Simon muttered. The species was extremely rare on the eastern continent, since the imperial army mostly trained Berwick-born griffins or more aggressive wyverns.

“They used to live in Endymion once, back when elves still lived there,” Belzemine said with… Simon wouldn’t call it nostalgia, but her voice did betray a certain fondness.

“Some of them often fly all the way to my homeland,” Eole replied with a bright smile. “They usually travel in large herds, so the others mustn’t be too far away.”

One of the pegasi’s heads perked up, perhaps due to having heard or smelled them. It let out a sound, and the entire family quickly took flight. They vanished in an instant that felt like half a lifetime.

After all the wars, the assassinations, the undead, and the monsters, it was nice to see that the world was still full of beautiful things.

“I will miss the food,” Eole said once they had breakfast. This might be their very last occasion to taste Valnean pastries, though they had set aside a few as gifts for their future kish hosts. “We have none of that honey and sugar at home.”

“Are all of your people vegetarians too, Lady Eole?” Belzemine asked. It had taken two months, but she had started to speak up without prompting.

“Yes and no,” Eole replied. “Our elders strictly regulate hunting to ensure the animal population of our sanctuary replenishes itself, so we are only allowed to eat meat at certain special times of the year. Many of us still prefer to avoid meat entirely, even during those periods.”

“I wonder what kind of fauna would have evolved on a flying island,” Simon mused. “I’m surprised our airships never discovered your existence.”

“The sky is an ocean, vast and wide, and your airships do not fly high enough to reach us yet.” Eole stared at her coffee with unease. “I fear the day when they will.”

“Well, it won’t be for a very, very long time,” Simon reassured her. “Endymion will be too busy rebuilding itself once the war ends to look up, no matter who wins the civil war. Your people will have years to prepare.”

“True. I hope the elders will listen to my warnings. We have stayed hidden for so long, the world has moved on without us.” Eole watched the clouds in the sky. “Maybe it is not such a bad thing. For all the corruption and wickedness I have encountered in these lands, I have met good souls such as yours as well. I am sure our elven community will be happy to make your acquaintance, too, Belzemine.”

“I…” Belzemine’s fragile joy quickly faded away at the mention of her true name. “I hope so as well. It has been a long time since I last visited an elven village.”

Eole immediately picked up on it. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to open up old wounds.”

“Worry not, Lady Eole.” Belzemine straightened up in embarrassment and quickly changed the subject by presenting Simon with a handwritten note. “I have finished analyzing your elemental affinities while you slept, Your Majesty. My findings are relatively imprecise since divination spells fail to gather information on you, but I ascertained much by studying the miasma and mana you poured into your creations.”

“Oh?” Simon checked the note. Belzemine had classified his affinities on an axis from strong to weak.

Very Strong: Soul, Darkness, Ailments.

Strong: Physical, Mind, Corrosion, Metal, Fire, Earth, Frost, Lightning.

Neutral: Support, Water, Wind, Mythic.

Weak: Wood, Life.

Very Weak: Light.

“What does Support cover?” Simon inquired. “And what’s Mythic?”

“Support usually covers non-elemental magic that strengthens or weakens oneself or others, like stat alterations,” Belzemine explained. “Mythic is power that transcends the elemental spectrum, such as raw magic.”

“And I suppose ‘Life’ covers healing spells?” Simon guessed. “I can forget ever becoming a healer then.”

“I see no cause to complain, Simon,” Eole mused upon reading the text. “You have been blessed with more advantages than disadvantages from what I see.”

“There are Classes capable of altering one’s elemental affinities, Your Majesty,” Belzemine comforted him. “I myself only received a strong Fire affinity because of my Pyromancer Class.”

Interesting. Simon wondered if it would be worthwhile to devour Crestones that could compensate for his weak affinities. Not that he was in a position to do anything about it at his current level, but that was something to keep in mind.

“Thank you, Agnes,” Simon said. Hearing her slave name pleased the elf as much as it disappointed Eole. Hopefully the sanctuary’s elven community could help improve her state of mind.

Once they had finished their breakfast, the group packed up their belongings and continued their ascent along a trail. The air grew thinner as they worked their way upward, but their Classes and enhanced stats allowed them to bear it.

They finally reached the summit by midday. It was surprisingly flat for a sleeping volcano’s caldera. The dusty floor of the crater was covered in pumice gravel, and at its center stood an old and primitive stone temple. It was hardly bigger than a house, with old walls, a cracked roof, and a hole for a door.

“What’s this?” Simon asked as they walked up to it. “This place looks abandoned.”

“I’ve heard the locals built a temple here after the Doom to honor the volcano’s spirit,” Eole replied as she grabbed her oud. “Climbers often leave offerings there.”

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“I guess we can leave a pastry behind,” Simon mused out loud. “So, how long until your friends answer your call?”

“That depends on how quickly my song will reach them. Hours, maybe?” Eole chuckled. “They are rather quick.”

“Well, I guess we can check the temple then–” Simon sensed Belzemine’s hand move in front of his chest, stopping him midstep. “Mmm?”

The elf was tenser than a bowstring, her gaze squarely set on the stone temple’s threshold. Simon followed her gaze and–

Thump.

It can’t be. That same familiar malaise overwhelmed Simon’s senses once again, boiling the blood in his veins and quickening his pulse. That’s not possible.

And yet it was.

Ser Alphonse of Lore stepped out of the temple, sword drawn.

Belzamine changed into her Pyromancer Class Outfit without warning, and Simon imitated her by putting his false Dreadnought armor on. Two women adventurers who had followed Alphonse at the Monoceros Guild stepped out from behind the temple alongside that elf, Frea, and a grizzled, hooded knight.

Simon glanced at the trail behind them to see a handful of warriors he had seen at the Monoceros Guild close their escape route. Half a dozen archers and mages also stepped out of hiding from behind the caldera’s jagged edges.

“I do not understand,” Eole muttered in shock and disbelief, her hands clutching her oud as she activated her Songstress Class.

I do, Simon thought. He knew it the moment he saw the look of pure contempt and hatred the Paladin sent his way. Fiendmask would not save him. He can sense the Dark in me, as I the Light in him.

“Simon of House Magnos, Fourth Overlord of Endymion,” Alphonse said, his voice dripping venom. Pristine, plated white armor materialized over his skin, alongside a large, rounded shield. A single horn glowed out of his helmet, a blue cloak bearing the symbol of a white unicorn fluttered from his shoulders, and his sword soon began to radiate a holy light that displeased the Overlord in Simon’s heart. “In the name of the Holy Kingdom of Lore, the League of Valne, and the Mana Goddess Herself, you are hereby under arrest.”

They knew.

Nay, they had been warned.

“How did you know we would be here?” Simon inquired. He could only think of one possibility, and it infuriated him.

The old, hooded knight deigned to enlighten him. “You’ve been sold out, Ser, and not cheaply. The Prince of Spiders auctioned off your identity and location one day after you departed Rosanne.”