Chapter 4: The One Act Play (2)

The empire’s High Council gathered on the morrow to debate Simon’s proposal. He wasn’t invited to the deliberations, but when Lauriane came to bring him to Frightwall Castle’s dungeon, he knew they had tentatively accepted his offer.

There were two ways for a man to gain experience and level up. The first was to act according to the archetype of their Class, so that the soul would grow in tune with the Crestone. An Alchemist had to practice his craft, and a Warrior to train with his blade.

The second, and the quickest, was to fight and kill.

The state always kept a few prisoners alive in its dungeons so Class users could sharpen their claws, though others with useful skills often received a slave brand instead. The dungeon of Endymion’s Frightwall Castle held six prisoners scheduled for execution as far as Simon knew.

Lauriane guided him up towards the dungeon on the second floor, to a set of bronze doors adorned with gruesome carvings of demons massacring the Overlord’s enemies. They walked past them into the dungeon’s foyer, a vast room tiled with blood-red marble and an ebony altar. Four prisoners were forced to kneel atop it, bound and gagged, under the watchful gaze of mages beholden to the court’s two main parties. Simon guessed they were there to take notes on his leveling.

Gourmand the Jester was here too.

“The old master is dead, all hail the new master!” Gourmand greeted Simon with that annoying voice of his. “All crows in the realm weep for your father, who fed them so well!”

“Thank them for the eulogy,” Simon replied dryly. He guessed that one silver lining about this situation would be that he could finally fire the creep.

Father’s pet jester and executioner—the two went hand-in-hand—Gourmand was one of the most repulsive creatures in the late Overlord’s employ. A gaunt scarecrow of a skeletal undead clad in a motley outfit of green and black leather with its own hood, he cut quite the intimidating figure with the sharp, curved scythe he always carried with him. Pale yellow eyes glowed in his painted skull’s empty sockets, and his teeth stretched into a bloody grin.

Gourmand had always been Father’s pet, largely because Balzam Magnos rarely settled on simply executing political dissidents; no, he always loved to make a spectacle out of it. Gourmand’s macabre performances included juggling with freshly bloodied skulls or throwing a mermaid out of a window to show the court a ‘flying fish.’ Half the courtiers hated him, but he didn’t particularly care. His job provided him with a steady diet of souls on which to feed his gruesome appetite.

“The good Gourmand has prepared you a most fitting feast,” the jester said as he waved his scythe at the four prisoners on the altar. “A minstrel appetizer, a killer starter, a charlatan for the main course with a sauce of false piety, and a live ogre for dessert!”

Simon glanced at the prisoners. All of them were men, though only three were humans. The fourth’s bulkiness, orange skin, and tusks identified him as a man-eating ogre. Their kind often served in the imperial army as shock troops, but most were barely better than savage predators and highwaymen.

The first poor soul on the chopping block was a handsome, boyish young male with sandy hair and a wisp of a mustache, silently weeping beneath his blindfold. He had been stripped naked, his skin showing bruises and other marks of beating.

“You are to kill them one after the other, with the mages recording your level and new abilities after each execution,” Lauriane explained while handing Simon a sharp sword, her expression stern and resolute. “We will repeat the process until you unlock the Anathemic Secrecy perk.”

At which point, they’ll never let me level up again for the rest of my life. As Simon guessed, the empress and Louis only wanted him to be just strong enough to hide his identity, but not enough to become a threat. “I only see four prisoners out of six.”

“The missing two have Vassal Class levels,” Lauriane replied. “Killing them might provide you with too much experience.”

“And the sixth is such a pretty little thing,” Gourmand said. “Your father wanted to check out the goods in case she was worthy of receiving pillow amnesty, if you know what I mean…”

Simon shuddered at the euphemism. His Father often chose to enslave female prisoners so he could take them as concubines and had sired at least one bastard that way.

He gathered his breath and summoned his Overlord armor. However, the sword grew heavier in his hands when the prisoner whimpered at his feet. From the awful smell rising in the room, he had soiled himself.

“What did he do?” Simon inquired hesitantly.

“He sang off-key!” Gourmand cackled. “That should spell death for any singer!”

“He drugged and raped at least three women,” Lauriane replied with disgust. “Does that make it easier on your soul, brother?”

Simon’s tongue clicked in his mouth. She had seen through him easily enough. He had never killed a man, let alone a bound one. It felt dirty.

Simon tried to tell himself that it would only be temporary, that the man had it coming and would return from the dead the moment this reign ended anyway, yet it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He could feel the gaze of his captors on his back.

“Just close your eyes and focus,” Lauriane suggested. “Picture yourself before a log of wood. You’ve cut wood before, yes?”

Yes, he did, back when he lived with his commoner mother. Those early years seemed so distant that he could barely remember her face, yet those times felt so much happier than the long years he spent in Frightwall Castle.

Simon closed his eyes, and he had to admit that visualizing a log of wood helped. It is you or them, he told himself, his hands tightening their grip on the sword. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. They’ll be back once the clock turns back.

He brought down the blade and chopped a soft piece of wood clean. He heard liquid splattering his armor, the unpleasantness of the sound swiftly replaced by the rush of energy rising from deep within his soul. He sensed power coursing through his veins like lightning and words floating in his mind.

Level 2 Perk Unlocked: Unyielding Essence I (Passive): Immune to Instadeath, Petrify, Polymorphy, and Curse effects, except self-inflicted ones.

So that’s how it feels to level up, Simon thought as he basked in the sensation. His heartbeat quickened, and shivers of pleasure traveled down his spine. The rush was brief but intense, like the afterglow of passionate sex or a sense of triumph after a hard-won victory.

And all it cost was the life of a man. The tide of guilt returned the moment he opened his eyes to stare at the beheaded corpse at his feet. By the Light, there was blood everywhere.

Simon had watched enough executions to grow numb to the sight, but it nonetheless left a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had just killed a man with his own hands. Worst of all, Gourmand had picked the severed head and gave it a bloody kiss on the lips. A faint shimmer of ectoplasmic substance floated out of the dead man and into the jester’s mouth. Simon had heard Gourmand had to steal a soul within a minute of death or risk losing it, but his eagerness was all for gluttony with no practicality.

“Delightful,” he cackled while putting the head in a bloody sack. “So full of pride and vanity… those taste the best!”

Simon suppressed a shiver of distaste at the sight. Father had allowed Gourmand to feast on the souls of the dead because it allowed the jester to extract some of their stolen memories, and so they would never reincarnate.

“Is that truly necessary?” Simon wondered out loud in disgust. “Death is punishment enough.”

“This is standard procedure,” Lauriane reminded him. “These souls might hold information that could prevent future victims.”

“Indeed, good Gourmand is so very useful,” the jester said with a mock bow. “Would it please Your Majesty to learn the name of the alchemist who sold this singer the sleeping draught he used to steal kisses from fair maidens?”

Simon ground his teeth in distaste and remained quiet. He had the feeling this only amused the awful jester.

The mages cast spells on Simon to read his stats and took notes. Lauriane glanced at them, nodding to herself. “Ailment immunities. Useful.”

“You didn’t know Father had it?”

“I didn’t know the content of his Perks nor his defenses’ limits, no. Which makes me wonder what could kill him in one blow… or whom.” Lauriane bit her lip and then commanded that the next sacrifice be brought forward with a pitiless taskmaster’s resolve. “Next.”

“You’ve done this before,” Simon guessed.

“We all did.” She took a long, deep breath. “It’s a family tradition. Get used to it.”

And perhaps that was the problem. Simon turned to the second prisoner after the mages dragged the first one’s corpse away. He was bigger, with a barrel chest, a gut, and a missing arm. “What did this one do?”

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“This man was a well-liked smith and loving husband, until he caught his wife cheating on him with his apprentice.” Lauriane sneered at the prisoner with contempt. “Both of whom he beat to death. The city watch had to cut off his arm lest he endanger more in his drunken rage.”

“The dead ought to thank Gourmand for eating this soul, for he will spare them another lovers’ quarrel,” the jester said.

“I see.” Simon took a deep breath, then closed his eyes again. He tried once again to imagine himself chopping wood when he lowered his blade on the smith’s neck. It didn’t make it any easier.

The thrill of a new level did.

The rush of power washed away whatever shame and unease he felt at executing a helpless man. The hit was somehow even greater than last time. The increased stats sharpened his senses and strengthened his arm, filling him with purpose.

Level 3 Perk Unlocked: Dreadful Aura I (Active): You can inflict the Terror ailment on weaker creatures capable of sensing your presence.

“Active?” Simon wondered out loud when he opened his eyes. “How do I activate it?”

“Passive skills are always on, while active ones both require your class outfit and intent to trigger,” Lauriane explained while Gourmand hungrily picked up the new rolling head to consume its soul. “In short, you will keep the former even if you lose a Crestone; whereas the latter will become unavailable until you reclaim it. Mentally focus on the Perk to activate it or speak its name aloud.”

Simon nodded and immediately put his ability to the test. “Dreadful Aura.”

His armor immediately began to exude an intense, invisible pressure. The air grew chillier, and the flames of the nearby torches wavered. The last human prisoner screamed through his gag and wriggled within his bindings in a failed attempt to escape.

Nobody else flinched. Not the mages, not Lauriane, not Gourmand nor the guards. Even the bound ogre seemed unaffected.

They were all stronger than he was.