Chapter 54: The Season of the Minotaur (3)

And they did find him a throne. A living one.

True to its description, his Land of Darkness Perk was quickly infusing every plant within the Halls of the Minotaur with miasma and animating them, including a particularly ghastly black tree with shambling roots and branches that had human skulls hanging from them instead of fruit. No one knew how they ended up there, but they added a certain mystique that should frighten and awe in equal measure. Simon had his servants carve an oddly comfortable seat into its trunk and placed it in the Muse’s sanctum, with the sealed creature looming behind it. That ought to intimidate anyone visiting him.

Simon then proceeded to mark every creature brought to him with Brands of Sloth to widen his intelligence network, which taught him a few valuable things. First of all, Duchar’s earlier theory that it connected directly to the bearer’s soul proved correct, since he managed to apply it to bodiless creatures like wraiths or entities that couldn’t even speak, like those shambling vine creatures.

Second, non-sentient undead reanimated by his Perk within Dungeon couldn’t bear his brands, probably because they required a willing recipient and mindless automatons had no soul of their own by definition.

Third, the elven seal prevented him from branding the Stone Muse. Simon wasn’t all too surprised by that since the one they put on him in Valne cut him off from telepathically communicating with Belzemine, but that unfortunately removed another means of pressure on the mad dryad should the ritual go wrong. At least his Lovestruck title ought to let him redirect Ailments her way since they were now ‘engaged.’

Afterwards, Simon spent the better part of the month overseeing the Halls of the Minotaur’s repairs and mapping out every corner of it alongside the Darkwood, all the while keeping in touch with Cassandra and Shabram through their Brands. True to Leonard’s forays in the previous reign, the temple was four floors high and built atop a root overlooking a frog-infested, toxic swamp that used to be an elven settlement.

The first floor hosted most of the temple’s old facilities and workshops used by its deceased inhabitants; the second used to be the barracks housing the dryad’s Caretakers; the third, where the fairy ring was located, had been the luxurious home of the Muse’s consorts and favorite artists; and the fourth was the sanctum hosting the lady of the house herself. Simon had taken the third level as his own quarters while allowing Lorimor and Duchar to take over the first.

Most of the place lay in ruins, its shelves and furniture rotted by time, half the rooms having been buried under debris from collapsed ceilings, but it was easily defendable once properly manned and their large workforce quickly focused on the repairs. Moreover, it also contained many elven artifacts that could fetch a high price on the black market and help finance the reconstruction.

“Is there a treasury hidden somewhere?” Simon asked the Stone Muse. “Surely adventurers haven’t stolen everything.”

“Much wealth I have hidden for us to lavish in luxury, and many gifts I shall bestow upon you to celebrate our union,” the Stone Muse replied before craftily putting in her conditions. “Engagement demands a writ in blood.”

“Are you doubting my resolve?”

“Not at all, beloved,” she replied with a cackle. “But love is earned with deeds, not just words.”

In short, he wouldn’t see a coin until he sacrificed Lorimor on the Vernal Equinox. A pity, but not unexpected. “Then perhaps we can start by rebuilding your cult,” Simon decided. “How do you identify potential cultists?”

“I call out those who dream of a higher calling,” she explained with pride. “I visit lost souls who aspire to something greater in their sleep, clothed in my lost beauty, to find students I can inspire! Those who listen, I draw further into my embrace so that their faith might blossom!”

So she could sense potential followers in Whispermire, then proceeded to haunt their dreams until they fell under her sway. An effective way to scout out new recruits for sure, but the process eventually caused its victims to become violently obsessed with the Muse, if Lorimor and the people who tried to kidnap Odette Kano’s son were any indication. She literally occupied their every sleeping moment.

Simon’s deal with the Muse required him to restore her faith, but he couldn’t allow her to drive innocent people insane like she did Lorimor. There had to be a way for her to develop a local following without turning them into violent maniacs.

Community… Maybe that’s just what these lonely people need. His time in the Berwick Islands had taught him much about cults and their rituals, whether it was the Church of Light or the Green Mother’s followers. Their followers formed a community with shared values, social events to reaffirm their faith, and traditions they held dear. They have a hole in their hearts that the Light cannot fill.

“What did your worship involve?” Simon asked the Muse. “Did your followers have to follow certain tenets?”

“I guided the inspired into the forest, where they would frolic in the woods to celebrate love and life, singing sweet songs to the moon!” she ranted, her voice breaking with a relish and nostalgia. “They would give me trinkets and art to honor my beauty, and I would reward them with the forest’s bounty!”

Well, the orgy part ought to appeal to some crowds at least… All in all, her ‘traditions’ didn’t sound all that different from the typical dryad cult like the Green Mother’s. Yes, that’s it. I just need to create a typical dryad cult, without all the madness and bloody sacrifices.

“I have a plan to tighten the noose on Whispermire’s heart, but I require your entire cooperation,” Simon inquired. “Is there a relatively well-hidden place at the Darkwood’s edge? An area where the faithful could gather in secrecy without fearing monsters or miasma?”

“Yes, a clearing in the woods, guided by spiraling trails.”

“Perfect. In that case, you will tell me the names of those who listened to your call, but you will no longer haunt their dreams.” That should avoid a plague of madness. “Your presence is too much for them to bear, so we must approach them more slowly. I will send messengers to communicate with them on your behalf until they become worthy of your direct attention.”

“Ah, you wish to proceed like a gardener, slowly nurturing seeds until they bloom into loving flowers,” the Stone Muse guessed with enthusiasm.

“Indeed. We will gather them at the clearing, where your…” Simon chuckled at the irony. “Your gardener will meet them there to reward their faith and trust.”

Convincing the Muse to go along with his plan was quite easy. She didn’t care all that much about what form her cult took so long as they adored her, so Simon had a lot of leeway when it came to organizing it.

Once that was settled, Simon telepathically contacted Shabram to keep himself updated on the situation in Castle Frightwall. Weeks had passed in the blink of an eye, and tomorrow was the deadline for the elven attack. How fast time flew when one was busy with menial tasks…

“I have finished mapping out all of House Malphas’ agents and assets in Marthrone,” Lady Shabram explained. “I believe I have also found the elves’ spell anchor.”

Now that was a big milestone. “What is it?”

“Marthrone itself.”

It took Simon a moment to gather the grim implications. “Explain yourself.”

“I have connected all registered shell properties associated with House Malphas’ network on a map, and it appears to form a rune of some kind spread across the entire capital and its lake, with Castle Frightwall being conveniently located in its center.” Although she remained as professional as ever, Simon could sense the edge in Shabram’s voice. “The design is so complex I am unsure how to disrupt it even if we were to totally destroy each of the locations, and I still do not understand how our foes will trigger it.”

“Is that a joke?!” Simon inquired in utter disbelief. “How did something so big slip beneath your notice?!”

“Some of the warehouses used to create the rune were built during Overlord Gargauth’s rule under multiple individuals unconnected to House Malphas. I strongly suspect that the Oracle spent over a century planning this strike and placing her pieces on the chessboard so subtly that none of us could notice it.”

The elves… the elves had booby-trapped their enemy’s capital right under their nose over multiple decades?

The Oracle’s degree of foresight was truly frightening. She had planted seeds knowing they would only bloom far into the future, trusting her immortality to keep the scheme afloat. None of Balzam’s notes mentioned the attack either, even if he had at least lived to see the Black Comet visit the world, which meant they had either cancelled the attack due to Belzemine’s presence or simply sat on their secret weapon until the Third Overlord perished.

There would be no way to counter the Oracle without the reigns, Simon realized. The elves’ combination of reach, foresight, and immense patience would have been too great to overcome otherwise. Is that why Mardok implemented the feature in the first place?

Simon would need to spend a reign infiltrating the elven conspiracy in the future. For all he knew, the planned bombardment was only one scheme among many. The Oracle had to have contingencies in place in case that particular attack failed.

“The Malphas intend to leave Marthrone tonight on a ship called the Mermaid’s Daughter,” Lady Shabram added. “I am certain they intend to confront Agnes Firewand within Frightwall at some point today, possibly to evacuate her.”

“Let them try, but have your agents observe them closely,” Simon ordered her. He knew from experience that this would somehow result in the attack’s cancellation, but the details eluded him. “Leave the castle at nightfall, just in case the attack happens anyway, and keep me informed.”

“I have already set up a safehouse for that purpose, Your Majesty. I will report anything new with haste.”

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Good. All the pieces were in place now. Simon would finally learn what happened between the Malphas and Belzemine, while hopefully cancelling Frightwall’s destruction and delaying the civil war.

Once he had finished his telepathic meeting with Shabram, Simon then went to visit Duchar on the first floor. The man had the undead rebuild a destroyed workshop into a tidy laboratory housing shelves full of alembics, retorts, and other substances he brought with them from Telluria, alongside workbenches and biology diagrams on the walls. Half-finished meals were piled up near a simple bed. Duchar eschewed luxury and ostentation.

The necromancer was currently examining Hector, who lay tightly strapped on a stone slab. He was surprisingly awake, breathing in the ambient miasma and making heavy respiration sounds while at it.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” Duchar said. He had been in the process of removing the screws in his son’s skull and sealing the holes with an alchemical reagent of some kind. “Let me introduce you to my son, Hector. Hector, say hello.”

“Majesty…” Hector’s voice sounded surprisingly quiet for a giant golem of stolen flesh, almost gentle. “Who… are you?”

“Simon Magnos,” Simon introduced himself politely. “Lauriane’s brother.”

“Lady… Lauriane?” That brought a smile to Hector’s lips. “Is she… safe?”

“Yes, she is,” Duchar said. “Because of you.”

“I’m glad… but I never…” Hector let out a rattle. “Never… got to bring her… the vase…”

“The vase?” Simon Inquired.

“She likes flowers… I had a spiral vase… from Fablan…” He and Lauriane had been close enough for him to know of her gardening hobby. “My thoughts… incomplete… I have metal stuck in my memories…”

“This new mixture should help clear your mind, my son,” Duchar said once he finished sealing the holes in his child’s head. “I must say, I am very pleased with the quality of local ingredients. This wood’s flowers provide extremely rare solutions that would have cost a fortune to produce anywhere else. Your Majesty’s Dungeon also appears to stabilize his mind. He hasn’t been this lucid in weeks.”

“I have to ask…” Simon hesitated over how to word this as politely as possible. “Why is he so… so mismatched?”

“To my shame, I must admit necromancy was more of a side-project than a dedicated academic focus until my son’s… accident,” Duchar confessed before clearing his throat. “I had to operate on him in the field with the materials at hand.”

In short, it had been a desperate hack job. That probably explained the presence of ogre parts in the flesh golem’s construction.

“This is partly why I feel so enthusiastic about Your Majesty’s project,” Duchar admitted. “Refining the soul capture process would let me transfer him into a new, stabler vessel.”

“I can only bind souls of a lower level than me, and he is stronger,” Simon pointed out. “We could cheat by giving him a lower-level Crestone, but–”

“No…” Hector strained against his restraints all of a sudden, though not so violently as to startle Simon and Duchar. “No… I need… it was a gift… do not…”