Chapter 67: The Season of the Minotaur (16)

It had been a costly victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The Paladin’s attack had cost Simon about two-thirds of all his troops, including nearly all of his Class-using monsters and their Crestones. The fairy ring had been permanently disabled to cut off the party’s escape, and Duchar doubted they could repair it at all. The resources they had spent on Pictomancer art supplies, bombs, equipment, alchemical fire flasks, and so on wouldn’t be easily recouped either.

All in all, it probably went almost as well as it could have, in spite of victory’s toll. Simon walked away with a neutralized Paladin and a proper sacrifice for the Autumnal Equinox. The Darkwood’s growing influx of new monsters would let them replenish his troops with reinforcements in due time, and morale was sky high among Simon’s human cultists after their victory. As far as they were concerned, his triumph was now inevitable after defeating the Paladin.

Simon would take the opportunity to bless the bravest of them with new brands as rewards for their service while reminding them of observing strict operational security. He didn’t want to deal with another near-disaster like this one ever again.

However, victory brought its own set of problems. A princess, a duke’s son, a marquise, an elven archmage, and the secret Paladin had disappeared into the Darkwood. Satine’s treachery had yet to be revealed, so as far as the War Party knew, they had been in honest negotiations over Magvolia’s future. The White Unicorn needed the princess for their planned rebellion, and the Oracle would no doubt investigate the Paladin’s disappearance.

Expeditions into the Darkwood could last days, so Simon had some time to react and prepare for the inevitable reactions. He had already taken measures to ensure he wouldn’t have an army knocking on his doorstep, but it wouldn’t hurt to gather more information.

“This would be much easier if you would just tell me more about your planned rebellion, Your Highness,” Simon told his prisoner while in his demon disguise. “I cannot guarantee the safety of your allies still in my custody if you insist on being stubborn.”

The princess glared at him silently. Her hands and feet were bound to a flat wheel by sturdy manacles keeping her stretched out and unable to move. Wraiths regularly drained her of mana to prevent her from casting any spells—Simon’s Perks cancelled her Prayers, but it didn’t hurt to be thorough in case she knew how to use other branches of magic—and gargoyle guards kept her under close watch.

The interrogation wasn’t going well so far. They had already fed her a ‘truth potion’ Simon had brewed with Duchar’s help, but Satine either had a passive Perk protecting her from the effects or had been extensively trained to resist such methods. All of Simon’s attempts to coax answers out of her had been met with defiance so far.

“Your taciturn tendencies do you credit, but I require answers,” Simon insisted. “Do I have to bring one of your comrades here and execute them in front of you to untie your tongue?”

The princess sneered at him. “You have an Illusionist and shapeshifters in your employ. I trust neither my eyes nor ears in this place. Either my friends will save me…” Her expression darkened considerably. “Or you’ve already killed them. Either way, I will tell you nothing.”

“How about a trade then?” Simon suggested, changing his approach. “As I told you, all my Lady wants is to be freed. She has no designs on your nation, and would be more than willing to help your White Unicorn so long as her safety is ensured. Surely you realize it would be wiser to befriend us than continue this foolish, pointless feud.”

The princess answered him with contemptuous silence.

She’s not making it easy for me. Gregory and Grimm had already suggested skipping the threats and moving straight to torturing the answers out of her, an idea which Simon had put down. I feel the only reason she’s not biting her own tongue off rather than risk betraying her allies is the hope they will come for her.

“Leave her to my tender care, beloved,” the Stone Muse said. “I can convince her to sing us sweet songs.”

Simon scowled behind his Fiendmask. He only had to ask Lorimor’s corpse to get an idea of what the dryad’s ‘convincing’ entailed. She would haunt the princess’ mind day and night until she obtained the answers they sought. It would be a harrowing experience that might drive Satine mad.

They were unfortunately running out of nonviolent alternatives, and Simon’s demonic minions suggested starting a questioning session by cutting off Satine’s fingers. The Muse’s whispers and nightmares were comparatively the lesser evil here, especially if their prisoner relented after a few days.

Simon loathed the mere idea, but the danger was too great and their time too precious. If the White Unicorn or the monarchists had an army nearby, ready to storm the Darkwood to rescue their missing princess, he had to know it now.

“Very well, you may proceed with your ‘convincing.’” Simon felt sick just uttering those words through telepathy. “I will come visit her tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after until she gives in.”

“Worry not, my love.” The Stone Muse’s laughter sounded like the most ominous of all requiems. “By the end, she will sing and dance to my whims.”

It’s just this reign, Simon told himself once more as he left the cells, fighting against the unease in his throat and gut. This is the best way to gain levels to protect those you love and knowledge of how to prevent a disaster. Power through.

He had to see this foul ritual through. This couldn’t have all been for nothing.

Afterwards, Simon met with Duchar in the Halls of the Minotaur’s morgue, where the necromancer was busy stitching up his sleeping son’s stomach. He had laid the fully restored corpses of Alphonse’s allies on nearby stone slabs, their wounds healed and any damage inflicted restored… with one exception.

Simon glanced at the sixth corpse. He had no idea who it belonged to, or if Duchar had crafted it from nothing, but it now looked like a perfect duplicate of Princess Satine. The resemblance to the woman trapped in his dungeons below was uncanny.

“I take it the princess wasn’t any more forthcoming today?” Duchar guessed after completing his son’s stitching.

“Give her time,” Simon replied before congratulating Duchar on his creation. “Excellent work. Will this fool autopsies?”

“Yes, though probably not advanced divinations,” Duchar replied. “Planting this fake corpse among five real ones will muddy the waters somewhat, but an expert might be able to tell a counterfeit apart.”

“I will see to it that the investigators do not delve too deep.” Simon provided Duchar with a note. “Here are the alterations and wounds I require.”

Duchar squinted as he read it off. “Sliced throat… dagger wounds… are we making it look like an assassination?”

“Yes, indeed,” Simon confirmed. The instructions came from Lady Shabram herself after they finished hashing out the cover-up. “Their deaths will have happened in the Darkwood, but through no fault of our own.”

Simon had hoped to spend this reign sticking to observation when it came to the empire’s political situation in order to learn how the war would go without him influencing the outcome, but he had no choice but to give fate a little nudge. His best bet to prevent the War Party or the White Unicorn from pushing into the Darkwood was to have them at each other’s throats.

Odette Kano was currently conducting an official search of the princess’ and the Flauros’ estates on behalf of Emperor Louis, where she would either find evidence linking them to the White Unicorn movement or outright plant it. The Cobweb had happily provided them with damning documents showing that the Magvolian monarchists were in discussions with Euphemia to betray the War Party.

The official story would be that Satine and her cohorts were secretly using the Darkwood as a cover to meet with rebels without oversight. Lady Shabram would have caught on and sent agents to catch them in the act, only for things to turn sour and lead to a massacre. She would then present Louis with intel on the planned landing.

If everything went to plan and Louis acted as he had always done–with brutality–then he would react by purging the Magvolian royalists and hopefully turning his gaze westward to prevent an invasion. The Illuseans would hopefully be too busy trying to save their assets to investigate the Darkwood further, or blame the Paladin’s death on the War Party. As for the Church Party, they would be too busy defending their heartland from Dassein’s and Vouivre’s incursions. Their lack of influence over Magvolia was half the reason they even agreed to an alliance with the White Unicorn in the first place.

There was, however, one tiny detail about that whole endeavor that bothered Simon. Something which Frea mentioned and that could throw a wrench into his plans.

“Duchar,” Simon said. “A manatree blooms when it is about to reproduce, correct?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Duchar confirmed, his eyes widening as he caught on to the issue at hand. “Did the elf and the Paladin mention the possibility of our manatree blooming during the battle?”

“They did,” Simon confirmed. “Which puts Mardok’s actions under a new light.”

He had read enough about manatrees in the past to gather some understanding of their lifecycle. These ancient beings devoured nutrients in the ground and produced mana, drawing in souls to recycle them in an endless cycle of growth until they accumulated more souls than their area could sustain.

When overpopulation threatened the manatree’s prosperity, it would accumulate the souls inside a once-in-a-millennium’s fruit. Elven caretakers would then usually take this sacred seed away to a faraway place and plant it into the ground so it might grow into a new manatree with its own dryad. This was the process that had allowed life to progressively conquer the planet since the Worldtree first bloomed in eons past.

Which begged the question… What kind of fruit would a miasma-corrupted dryad produce?

“Mardok may have been trying to cultivate miasma trees by binding the Stone Muse to the Minotaur crystal,” Simon guessed. “He must have hoped to create more wellsprings of demonic life and spread them across the globe.”

“Fascinating… truly fascinating…” Duchar stroked his beard, his eyes alight with morbid curiosity. “This would explain why the elves sealed our host, too. This interrupted the tree’s lifecycle and froze it in place.”