Chapter 72: The Season of the Minotaur (21)

Five airships had begun to rain fire down on the Darkwood’s western edge.

Simon could see the smoke in the sky all the way from the Halls of the Minotaur’s rooftop. The war machines had burned down the outer edge of the Darkwood and created a vast no man’s land of ashes and cinders to prevent its growth from reaching the Goetia Research Center. They then began to advance towards the corrupt manatree. They incinerated everything in their path without care or concern for any civilians trapped below with fire spell bombardments. Telepathic backlashes from dead cultists had continued to buzz in Simon’s mind since their arrival, and his gargoyle messengers sent to discuss terms had been killed on sight. Even light messages using imperial communication methods had been ignored.

They had come to destroy him and his realm, and they would not relent in their quest.

“They will reach us in less than an hour at this rate, Your Majesty,” Duchar pointed out.

And there’s still no sign of that dragon creature, Simon thought. Shabram had no information on the creature, much to her unease, though she confirmed that Lauriane had been working on creating special warbeasts at the Goetia Research Center to help turn the civil war’s tide. Even the spymistress had been kept away from that project and never managed to infiltrate it.

This was a rather big issue. Simon’s plan had been to establish communications with the War Party and share the intel he had obtained from Asterion with Lauriane so they could focus on the greater threat of the Zodiac Parade. He had hoped to turn the Muse’s power into an asset for House Magnos, perhaps optimally using her to secure a settlement with the Church Party.

Alas, this possibility was steadily growing more and more remote. Simon’s best bet for now would be to repel the War Party’s initial foray and capture the crews to use as intermediaries or hostages to open secure communications with Lauriane.

Failing that… failing that, he would take Asterion’s crystal and the Muse’s fruit, then bolt out of the region with Duchar, Cassandra, Hector, and any others he could bring along with him to another location. He didn’t really need to defend this area in particular now that the ritual was complete. As suboptimal as it would be, he could always rebuild his organization elsewhere.

Simon turned to his coven of witches. Cassandra and her fellows had been incantating for ten minutes around a crystal ball to cast a weather-altering spell that should hopefully delay the airships, but it had a long preparation time and required all their focus.

“Muse, it is time for you to show your might,” Simon informed the dryad. Asterion the Minotaur had returned back to the depths of her subconscious after informing them he couldn’t unleash his true power within his current host, but the Muse should remain a powerful being nonetheless. He had taken care to brand her as well to tighten his hold on her soul, which neatly confirmed even dryads weren’t immune to his abilities. “Stop their advance.”

The Muse grunted at the order, but followed through. She waved her hand in the airships’ direction, and the entire Darkwood acted in response.

The earth shook across the entire region as the manatree’s roots squirmed beneath the earth under the will of a singular, malevolent intelligence. The land split open beneath the ashen wasteland and a great tower of wood surged out of it.

Roots thicker than castle walls rose as high as mountains and reached out to the sky, catching one of the airships by surprise. They caught it in midair, seizing its engines and shattering its wings, before pulling it down to its doom. The machine crashed into the earth in a cataclysmic explosion that likely slew everyone onboard.

What power, Simon noted. The airships immediately spread out or ascended upwards as more roots surged out of the earth to try and catch them. Flaming bombardments only burned out the roots’ outer layers without truly halting them, and they soon caught a second airship.

Such displays of strength reminded him why the imperial army was trained to flee dryads on sight. Their control over their manatrees granted them the power of entire armies so long as they were within their forest’s borders; and since the Darkwood’s growth threatened to engulf all of Magvolia, the Muse could turn the entire country into an extension of herself.

Nonetheless, her roots could only extend so far and the rest of the airships had begun to gain altitude beyond her grasp. Flying closer to the Darkwood would have likely enhanced the strength and precision of their fire spells, but less power beat being violently dragged down to earth.

Their ascent soon met darkening skies and blowing winds. Pulses of magic erupted from Cassandra and her coven, reverberating through the Darkwood before spreading out for miles.

“Hailstorm,” the witches sang out as one.

The weather itself answered their command, with mighty winds blowing above the Darkwood all of a sudden. Dark clouds began to pelt the airships with heavy hail that battered their steel hull and wings. The higher their ascent, the harsher the experience.

That should slow them down for a bit, Simon thought. The War Party’s airships were now trapped between the roots below and terrible weather above. Simon telepathically deployed gargoyles, wraiths, and other flying monsters under Grimm and Gregory’s leadership to harass them on top of it. Still no sign of the dragon though. Is it flying too high for us to see, or moving undetected through the clouds? I don’t like this.

Not to mention that there was another source of concern they had to deal with on top of the attack.

“Hector, protect your sister and ensure her coven isn’t disturbed,” Simon ordered. Cassandra’s weather spell would apparently remain in effect so long as she and the others could focus on it. “Duchar, Muse, come with me.”

The group walked up to the point where the Halls of the Minotaur’s roof met the manatree’s thick black bark. The lowest-hanging branch was within arm’s reach, alongside its prize.

Simon had never seen a manatree’s fruit before, and this one was quite the horrible sight. It reminded him of a beating heart of red flesh and blackened purple veins the size of a cart. It sucked life from its parent tree with each pulse, and its outer layer was so thick Simon could hardly see the strange, unborn shadow dwelling in its core.

“My beloved child…” the Muse said with longing, her hand caressing the fruit with what could pass for maternal love. “How long I have waited for your honored birth…”

“It would appear that Mardok’s guess was correct,” Duchar noted upon observing the fruit more closely. “This may be the first miasma tree’s seed in all of creation. A truly unique creature.”

“And one whose birth does not factor into my plans,” Simon decided. Besides the danger the fruit posed, the newborn dryad inside wasn’t bound by the Seasonal Key ritual. Having a second Muse potentially loyal to her bound mother was too much to deal with right now.

Simon opened his Inventory and summoned the Paladin Crestone. The wily item immediately slipped out of his hand and began to roll along on the ground, its radiance startling the Muse, but Simon quickly brought out an empty glass and trapped the runaway Noble Crestone underneath it.

“I know you hate me, Paladin spirit. That’s fine, I don’t like where my power comes from either.” The fact that he had to go through this ritual and vile acts to even level-up properly or get answers had only solidified Simon’s distaste for his own Class. “But I ask you to put that aside for now and help me do some good for once.”

He could have sworn the Paladin Crestone’s glow dimmed for a second. It was listening.

“There is an innocent soul in that fruit that the First Overlord wanted to twist into a monster,” Simon said, pointing at the fruit. “She’s not born yet, but she soon will be… unless you save her. If you have the power to purify her, then do so.”

“What?!” The Muse choked in impotent outrage. “You would deprive my daughter of the Dark’s embrace?!”

“I must say I believe this would be a waste of a unique creature,” Duchar said, though unlike the Muse he quickly rolled with the program. “However, confirming whether or not a Noble Crestone can counter the influence of a miasma crystal ought to prove interesting. The newborn dryad is unlikely to be a threat in her infant state either.”

“Quiet,” Simon said as he removed the glass and picked up the now cooperative Paladin Crestone. Its light had dimmed, and it didn’t burn Simon’s hand like it usually did. The Class indeed had a will of its own; one advanced enough to hear and consider even a non-wielder’s words.

Simon proceeded to press the Paladin Crestone against the corrupted manatree’s fruit. The Muse let out a wail of outrage and horror, only for the contract to silence her. She could only watch on as the Paladin Crestone slowly melded into the fruit. Its mere contacts caused the veins feeding it with miasma to ripple like oil pushed away by water. The Crestone entered the fruit and began to glow within it, purple smoke rising from the fruit in response.

“Is it working?” Simon asked Duchar.

“I think so,” Duchar replied after casting a handful of analysis spells. “The Crestone has started to purify the miasma back into mana, though whether or not that will be sufficient to eventually purify the unborn dryad remains to be seen.”

So far so good, Simon thought. He was cautiously optimistic about this whole venture. The fruit and Crestone should have shown a more violent reaction to the fusion if purification was truly hopeless. I wonder what Frea and Alphonse would have done had I not interfered in this reign… would they have tried to save this child too?

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Why free me only to deny my daughter the Dark’s blessing?” the Muse rasped in incomprehension. “Which side are you on, Simon Magnos?”

“My own.” Simon met her gaze. “Speaking of sides, why did my ancestor betray you to Mardok?”

“My treacherous sisters said he had grown jealous of the elves’ immortality,” the Muse replied. “That he had foreseen his own death through his third eye, and that the Oracle could not change his fate. I think otherwise. He had finally seen the beauty of the Dark and how the Light blinded us.”

“So he went to Mardok and became a lich instead,” Simon guessed.

The Muse looked at him with contempt. “Who do you think taught your ancestor how to become an undead, beloved?”

“And the Oracle failed to foresee this?” Duchar asked with curiosity. “Quite strange.”

“The Light lightens the way to the future, but the almighty Dark blinds her,” the Muse replied with reverence. “It shrouds all in darkness everlasting.”

“She couldn’t see Mardok coming, even before he became the Overlord,” Simon said. Which raised many more questions. Could Anathemic Secrecy have been one of the demon’s abilities before it became an Overlord one?

Death drew him out of his thoughts.

The sudden murder of a dozen of his bound creatures all at once startled Simon, their pain echoing through their Brands; a demise so brutal they didn’t even send him a warning. It only took him seconds to pinpoint which minions had been wiped out.

“Gargoyle squad seven?” Simon called out to the survivors. “Gargoyle squad seven, what’s going on?”

“Something is approaching us from above the clouds!” his minion replied with a voice laced with fear. “A drago–”

Simon felt the echo of the speaker’s sudden death in a final scream, then clenched his teeth and contacted his next line of defense. “Gregory, Grimm, the dragon wiped out gargoyle squad seven! Abandon the airships and intercept!”