Chapter 57: The Season of the Minotaur (6)

“Elios Magnos?” The Stone Muse’s dark chuckle echoed through the sanctum. “A cursed name indeed, although I may not remember it…”

“There is a carving of him in your treasure room,” Simon replied sternly. The rotten tree was playing coy with him. “You promised me knowledge and answers if I shattered your chains.”

“Rewarded you already, did I not?” she replied with amusement. “Have I not shared my treasure with thee, beloved? One step towards communion you have taken, but three more vows we must renew before answers I give.”

Simon grunted in annoyance. She still didn’t trust him and wouldn’t budge on her leverage so long as he hadn’t completely shattered her seal. The Muse would hoard her knowledge like a dragon until he coaxed it out of her.

“But other secrets I can share with you, beloved,” the Muse said. “Dark spells most wonderful, for you to cradle our foes into an early grave with.”

An apology bribe? Well, Simon would never spit on new magic. “What kind of spells?”

“Spells that command nature’s very elements.”

“My affinity for miasma makes learning those difficult,” Simon pointed out. After a few failures at learning conventional sorcery with Duchar, he had mostly begun to practice the Mire spell, a poison-focused malediction that inflicted both Corrosion damage and sapped the target’s Vitality.

“But not those I know; Hellfire, Hellwind, Hellthunder, Hellfrost… these are diabolism spells that draw strength from the Abyss itself. Lightning that strikes the spirit, cold that chills the soul, fire that burns hope, wind that carries miasma…”

Elemental spells that drew power from the Abyss? Even Duchar hadn’t heard of those, though that might be because of his focus on necromancy.

“Very well, I accept this gift of knowledge,” Simon replied as he left her sanctum. “We shall begin training tomorrow after we complete the inventory.”

“I look forward to us spending time together, my dear Lord of the Dark.”

A sentiment that Simon didn’t return, but he would gladly bear if it meant gaining more strength. He moved down to Duchar’s workshop, where he found the old mage studying the Crestones they had gathered. His son was back in a deep slumber, a staff very similar to Lorimor’s wand lying on the nearby bench.

“So?” Simon asked.

“I have completed a cursory analysis of our newly collected Crestones,” Duchar said. “Seven remain functional, but the rest have been corroded by too much miasma exposure. They can no longer sustain a Class.”

Simon had feared as much. Four hundred years spent soaking in demonic energy had taken its toll. “What about their Perks?”

“I doubt any of them will interest Your Majesty, but I have compiled a list. I suggest assigning them once I finish extracting their schematics. The more a Crestone is used and its wielder strengthened, the better it will stave off miasma corruption.” Duchar stroked his beard. “Otherwise, I have not found any blood relationship between House Magnos and Empress Euphemia’s line preceding her union with Your Majesty’s father.”

“So we aren’t distant cousins?” Simon inquired. “I thought it might have been the case since both Euphemia and my ancestor were three-eyed Visionaries.”

“Visionaries have been known to appear in the most random of places across all Tribes,” Duchar replied. “Though I do wonder if your wise father partly decided to marry Lady Euphemia in the hopes that the fruit of their united bloodlines would yield a Visionary child.”

“He certainly did.” Which was why Thalas had disappointed him since birth. “Is it some form of mutation? I know the Church of the Light considers it a mark of sainthood, but Elios Magnos is anything but holy.”

“I suspect it is a mutation, yes, but I never had the pleasure of studying a Visionary… the things I could learn from a visisection…” Duchar cleared his throat. “I do know that they possess a myriad of gifts, such as the power to see the flow of mana in the air, the power to bind Eidolons without the Summoner Noble Class, even receive visions of the past and future, but the Church of the Light is the only organization to have extensively studied them, and they hoard their knowledge.”

Again with the Church of the Light… Simon was wondering more and more whether he should spend a reign infiltrating them to access their astrology and Visionary research papers. It might also grant more insight into Euphemia’s plans.

Let us see where this life carries me before I consider the next, Simon thought as he studied Duchar’s new staff. I might survive beyond the ritual’s conclusion with some luck. It would be nice to die of old age for once.

“This is a more advanced design than Lorimor’s wand,” Simon said, his gaze wandering to Hector. “Are you building one for your own son?”

“Only as a safety measure until I can correct his body’s design flaws,” Duchar replied without doubt or hesitation. Most would have hesitated about creating a magical item to control their own child, but not him. “I must thank Your Majesty for it. The insight your soul-stealing Perk provided into our spiritual condition was most enlightening.”

“I don’t want any incidents,” Simon replied before he heard the familiar noise of airships in the distance coming through the Dungeon’s thick walls. It seemed Louis had begun his bombing run. “But I do agree we will need more guardians.”

War was finally upon them.

Two weeks had passed since the Vernal Equinox heralded the beginning of a new imperial year on the 1st of Germinal, and that of the imperial civil war.

True to Shabram’s warning, Louis opened the conflict with an all-out bombardment that stretched from Magvolia to the Berwick Islands. Towns and cities burned all across the empire, and though Whispermire was spared, the sight of airships flying across the region had already become a common occurrence. The war machines bombed cities in the Church Party’s territories, returned home to refuel, and then flew back on new assignments. The thick cloud of miasma covering the Darkwood prevented the airships from seeing the Halls of the Minotaur from the air, but Simon could still observe their vague silhouettes when he looked at the sky at night. Odd to imagine that a town burned each time they moved east.

Louis had also bombarded cities deemed disloyal across the region, and while barbaric, it had turned out to be a tactically sound decision. Magvolia had been cowed into obedience by the fear of devastation from the sky and failed to rise in rebellion as it had in the past reign. Even local abbeys kept silent in spite of High Confessor Mastemo’s call for arms on behalf of Euphemia. It seemed people’s fear of fire raining down from the sky outweighed their faith.

This had a knock-on effect that prevented Norbelle and Cocagne from attacking the Goetia Research Center and thus left Lauriane firmly in charge of the empire’s Crestone production. The current battlelines had moved to the Navarre region and Cocagne’s borders in the south, whereas Dassein and the Tellurian Shifter tribes pressed on from the north.

And there was still no word of Vouivre.

At least Shabram confirmed that Anna and her father had survived the Berwick Islands’ bombardments, though the knowledge that she had officially wed Thalas enraged Simon each time he was reminded of it.

True to his objectives for this reign, Simon kept up with the news while working on his spellcasting and crafting. He had quickly mastered the Mire spell and practiced the Hell series spells under the Muse’s tutelage. She had proved to be a surprisingly good teacher so far, clearly explaining the underlying mechanics behind her sorcery and being attuned enough to miasma to effectively guide Simon. He could see why she had taken a liking to mentoring artists in the past.

The ‘Hell’ series of Tier III spells worked by blending the major elements and miasma to ensure half the damage they inflicted was aligned with the Soul type, which meant they could partly ignore elemental immunities. Training with them also put the issue of affinities to the forefront. Although Simon had an easy time learning the likes of Hellfrost and Hellfire, Hellwind came more slowly to him due to his neutral Wind affinity. It would likely take a month or two before he mastered all of them. He had also experimented with his Lord of the Demon Castle ability and confirmed he could reshape the Hall of the Minotaur at will, with the restriction that he could not move the Muse’s sanctum around due to the seal locking it in place.

Otherwise, he had also distributed the Crestones to his followers after copying their schematics and confirming none of them had Perks worth devouring. A few went to cultists who had proved loyal enough. Simon also experimented by giving a handful of Crestones to monsters. He already knew that demons could use Classes—Mardok came to mind, and the empire employed a few as shock troops—but it seemed that any sentient creature could call upon one. Carrock the treant, gargoyles, imps, toadmen, and even a sentient slime had proved capable of using Crestones.

There were a few exceptions. The Songstress and Courtesan Classes could only be used by female users due to the archetypes they represented, and trying to give Orator to an animated tree had resulted in a miserable failure. At least the Juggler gargoyle had proved surprisingly amusing.

The Vassal Class’ Perks didn’t change, no matter the user, but a monster’s biology could synergize with them in surprising ways. For example, Ulmos the slime quickly learned to use its own body to fuel the Pictomancer’s paint requirement, and Carrock’s control of the forest let him mix traps with Illusionist-fueled mirages. Trying to maximize the use of each Crestone was quite the interesting subject.

And I suspect they’ll all be put to the test soon, Simon thought as he entered the Midnight Market under the guise of a Fiendmask. It was his first time visiting Whispermire in person after the beginning of the civil war, and the adventurers’ den was already packed with local youths. He also spotted a few guards bearing the Magnos manticore’s seal among them.

“Emperor Louis wants you for his regiments!” the crier called out across the hall. “The usurper Euphemia would keep you poor under a burden of taxes while nobles and the Church of the Light revel in unearned luxury! Can you follow a woman who murdered her own husband for power?! Would you rather fight for a leader who keeps you in chains, or one who offers rewards, toil, and sweat?!”

Lauriane isn’t wasting any time going for the throat, Simon thought as he paused to listen for a bit. Both sides were accusing the other of murdering Balzam Magnos to garner support among imperial loyalists.

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“Enlist today, and a Class will one day become yours! Poor, commoner, highborn or lowborn, it does not matter! Endymion thirsts on the strength of its people, no matter the tribe and station! Hail Endymion!”

“Hail Endymion!” a horde of would-be adventurers, drunk on alcohol and dreams, shouted back… but many remained silent or half-heartedly raised their hands so as to avoid reproach. Many probably resented the War Party for its bombing run, but it was always dangerous to speak up against those in power.

Soldiers went on to distribute enlistment papers, with Simon grabbing one on his way to the stairs.

True to Louis’ meritocratic ideals, the army promised a job to anyone enlisting and a Crestone to anyone making it to the rank of officer. Simon wasn’t sure if even the Goetia Research Center had the output to fulfill that promise, but the promise of a Class would motivate the masses.

Which would lead to issues when they looked for places where to level up new recruits…

Simon put the enlistment paper in his pocket and ascended the stairs to Cassandra’s apartment. Two guards—both cultists—kept watch over the door with sheathed swords.

“Master,” they greeted Simon upon recognizing him. He nodded back at them and stepped through the door as they opened and closed it behind him.

The smell of potions and alchemic fluids reached Simon’s nostrils the moment he crossed the threshold. Odette had afforded Cassandra her largest suite, and the witch had transformed its main hall into a witch’s workshop. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters next to shelves filled with magical ingredients. Cassandra herself was near the fire pit placed underneath the chimney, using a large spoon to stir green liquid inside a black cauldron.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted him with a faint, kind smile.

“You can call me Simon,” he replied courteously. “We are friends now, not just subordinates.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she replied with a curious expression. “Since when?”

“Since… I don’t know? Friendships happen naturally.” He unloaded his bag. “I don’t remember assigning you bodyguards. Did something happen?”

“No, your worshipers took it upon themselves to protect me after some bar patrons bothered me.” Cassandra paused a moment before adding, “I think they hope I will invite them inside to have sex with me one day.”

Simon scowled. Cassandra had the power to easily repel any unwelcome attention, but he would rather avoid an incident. “Do you want me to send them away?”

“It is fine. I do not mind them, and they fear me too much to try anything too overtly.” She let go of her spoon and checked Simon’s bag. “Did you bring the slime oil I asked for?”

“Yes indeed,” Simon confirmed. He had had success breeding various elemental jellies in the Darkwood’s swamp. “What kind of potion are you making?”

“Oil for the skin and salt baths.” Simon’s surprised expression amused Cassandra. “I have a private bath.”

“Oh, alright.” Simon didn’t know she was into those things. “Doesn’t the Brand of Lust make skincare routine redundant though?”

“The Brand of Gluttony makes it pleasurable.”

“I see.” Sometimes Simon forgot it also magnified the bearer’s senses.