Simon could tell the difference in the way she quickly absorbed the incredible news of his father’s death and regained her composure, her thoughts immediately turning back to practical matters.
“If your father is dead, who rules in the capital?”
“Euphemia and Louis,” Simon replied. He knew his retainers might take it the wrong way, but the more sensitive information he shared with Vouivre, the more she would trust him and lower her guard in return. “They have something of a truce until they find the new Overlord.”
“Which of them killed Balzam?”
“I don’t know,” Simon replied. “Honestly, I thought you might have done it.”
His response seemed to amuse Vouivre. “I would be sitting on the Crimson Throne if that were the case,” she replied, her brief smile fading into a thoughtful expression. “I had a plan to strike him down should he dare to take the field against me, but I suppose I will use it against his spawn and wife instead.”
She made no mention of Firewand, which told Simon two very important things: one, that she had likely counted on luring Father out of the capital by forcing a crisis in Telluria; and two, that she had no ally in Frightwall who could have relayed orders to Firewand or informed her of Father’s passing.
Father also didn’t mention Firewand in his list of deaths, Simon recalled. He probably never knew she was compromised because she had never been used against him, or it did happen in one of the deaths he never wrote down.
“This situation serves us well nonetheless,” Vouivre decided, a predatory smirk stretching on her lips. “I can imagine the state of those weaklings in the capital: confusion, bickering, and recriminations. This is the perfect opportunity to strike. The beastmen will flock to us once Telluria falls and no Overlord comes to defend it.”
She had immediately analyzed the situation and figured out how to exploit it. Vouivre was no brute drunk on her own power, and that made her even more dangerous than Simon assumed.
“Simon, you will reveal to me all you know about Beleth’s defenses.” Vouivre glanced at Eole. “I will take the kish as well.”
Eole, who had been trembling like a leaf without a word, now froze in place to the point Simon couldn’t hear her breathe. She didn’t understand the common Endymian tongue, but she could tell the dragonlord wanted her.
“What?” Simon asked, though he had heard her well enough.
“I require her,” Vouivre stated flatly. “You will be compensated for her loss. You will have your pick of slaves to choose from.”
Simon had expected the dragons to request Eole’s assistance—the whole reason he brought her along was to use her as a lure—but he thought they would at least let him keep her rather than resort to blatant extortion. Simon sent a sideways glance to Eole. She dared not meet his gaze, but he could see the sweat dripping down her forehead, her trembling fingers grasping the grass, and the shivers of dread. She was begging all the gods she knew for mercy.
“No,” Simon said.
The word escaped his mouth before he knew it. Perhaps it was Eole’s obvious pain and despair tugging at his heartstrings that pushed him, or the fact that he too had lived in fear of stronger people too long not to sympathize, or just distaste of Vouivre’s brutality that compelled him. Whatever the case, it caused the air to grow heavier.
“No?” Vouivre repeated, her voice sharper than a sword. Casval shook his head behind her, as if to convince Simon to shut his mouth.
“I said no,” Simon replied. It was too late for him to back down. All he had read on dragons and scalefolk taught him they only respected strength. Giving in now would only make her greedier later. “Eole’s my property. I’m not giving her away.”
Vouivre laughed at him. “Man’s only property is what he can defend by force, and I could kill you where you stand easily enough. You are not that valuable.” She dismissed his defiance with a wave of her hand, like an adult ignoring a child. “Now quiet with you. I will take her.”
“Do that and I will trigger her slave crest,” Simon replied. “She’ll die.”
That threat took Vouivre aback. Her condescending behavior gave way to confusion. “You would kill your slave rather than let me take her with me?” she asked in utter disbelief. “Why?”
“Because what’s mine is mine.” Simon dared to meet the dragonlord’s gaze. “No one steals from my hoard. No one.”
The comparison with a hoard was calculated to appeal to Vouivre’s frame of mind. The only thing that matched a dragon’s power was their legendary greed, and to steal from their hoard was the ultimate insult none of their kind could let go unchallenged.
Of course, Vouivre was likely to consider a human’s attempt to compare himself to her draconic ancestors an insult, but it was the only way Simon could phrase his refusal without inviting violent reprisal.
She stared at him without a word, her gaze steely, her expression unreadable. Simon didn’t give an inch, even as he felt his heart pounding so hard in his chest it began to hurt. It was like staring at a hungry lion.
Vouivre was strongly considering killing him on the spot.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever. Simon’s own retainers had their hands on their weapons and clearly expected a violent fight to break out, and Casval had taken a step back. Simon half-prepared himself to meet the Crimson Throne again…
But then Vouivre cracked a small smile.
“I’m impressed. Here I thought you were a weathervane and a weakling, but you do have a backbone.” Vouivre shrugged her shoulders. “Very well, I will allow you to keep the kish.”
Simon’s immense relief was immediately followed by the discreet thrill of a level-up.
Overlord Level 15 Perk: Devil Brand II (Active): You can mark a willing target with the demonic Brand of Gluttony. This brand magnifies the bearer’s senses, including feelings of pleasure, allows them to consume and survive on any food or drink with no ill effect, and grants them immunity to Poison, Disease, and Fatigue; in return, you can also drain the target’s mana from any distance at will. You may remove the brand at will, inflicting heavy damage on the subject while you do.
Simon guessed that impressing a vicious dragon into sparing his life would count as a heroic feat. He thanked the Light that outsiders could not see his System notifications, or else Vouivre would have likely changed her mind. Eole let out a heavy breath, though she was still too frightened to show relief.
“Now, for the rest of your retinue.” Vouivre forgot about Simon’s existence and turned to his bodyguards. “I believe your names are Leonard and Meredith? Raise your heads.”
Leonard and Meredith exchanged a wary glance, then obeyed.
Vouivre waved her hand, and two heads rolled to the ground in a shower of blood.
The attack moved so fast that Simon could hardly catch a glimpse of it. He saw a blade of sharpened wind escape Vouivre’s fingers and travel across the air at blinding speed, then the rain of blood staining the grass. He gasped in shock and horror as his retainers’ corpses hit the ground behind him with a thump.
“I could smell their doubts from here, and your brother Dassein will be suspicious of your survival unless he finds a few corpses,” Vouivre said with the blood of Meredith and Leonard dripping from her hand. Her tone hadn’t changed, nor had her expression. The act of killing aroused no emotion from her. “It will serve me better if the world believes you dead and buried.”
Simon trembled with impotent rage upon glancing at his allies’ corpses. Leonard, who had given his life for him once before, had perished in an ignominious end for no other reason than someone stronger wished for it. Meredith’s head was forever trapped in a silent scream of horror.
“What is yours is yours… but do not challenge me again, or things will not end well for you.” That was no threat, but a statement. Vouivre had spared Simon this one time, and would never do so again. “Do you understand me, human?”
Simon’s jaw clenched in frustration. “Yes, I do.”
“Good. Now you are going to tell me everything you know about Beleth’s defenses, then follow my brother east to claim a certain artifact for me. Complete this task, and you will stand among my commanders when I take Telluria.” Vouivre’s fangs peeked through her lips. “Welcome to the winning side, Simon Magnos.”
Simon would watch Vouivre’s head roll on the ground one day.
He promised himself that.
Vouivre ‘magnanimously’ allowed Simon to keep both Leonard and Meredith’s Crestones, then grilled him extensively on what little he knew about Beleth’s defenses—showing particular interest in the academy’s layout—before finally giving him standing orders.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“A potent relic hides within the kish palace’s ruins,” Vouivre explained to Simon. “My troops have excavated most of it and cleared it of monsters, but the deeper levels are sealed by vexing spells. Only a true-blooded kish like your slave can break them open.”
“What’s this relic’s power?” Simon asked.
“You don’t need to know that yet. You wouldn’t be able to use it anyway.” Vouivre smirked. “Prove yourself by bringing it to me, and you’ll see it in action soon enough once we march upon Beleth.”
She didn’t trust him with such information yet, but she implied it would ensure their victory against Dassein. Most troubling.
“What is this artifact like?” Simon questioned her. “I’ll need a description to identify it.”
“Fair enough.” Vouivre raised her thumb and finger. “There should be a miasma crystal roughly this size, bearing the constellation of the Twin-Tailed Fish carved on its surface. Its exact shape is uncertain, but even a non-Class user should be able to sense its power.”
A miasma crystal bearing a zodiac constellation? Simon had a pretty good idea what this ‘relic’ might be, and what the kish palace had turned into. “You want us to fetch a Dungeon crystal?”
“You know about them?” Vouivre raised an eyebrow. “I am impressed. Yes, I am looking for a particular Dungeon crystal.”
“Then that means the place will be crawling with monsters.”
“As I have said, my troops have cleared most of the palace, and even my weakling brother should be more than enough to handle whatever might lurk behind the remaining seals.” Vouivre’s lips stretched into a vicious smirk. “Besides, you now have two new Crestones to level-up with. You should welcome the experience.”
This dragon bitch.
“That’s quite the important task you entrust me with,” Simon replied with skepticism. “What’s the catch?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Simon. The only reason I’m sending you is because the kish slave belongs to you.” Vouivre scoffed. “Moreover, your loyalty is ensured.”
She leaned forward closer until Simon could feel her rancid breath on his lips.
“You are a traitor who sold out his own half-brother to his house’s worst enemy,” Vouivre said with cruel amusement. “You will be marked for death the moment the truth comes out. They will never take you back.”
The worst part was she was right. Not even Anna would forgive him for leading Thalas to his death. His family would never trust him again for the rest of this reign.
“We are your only chance of survival now,” Vouivre said before dismissing them. “Casval shall carry you to your destination. Speed is of the essence, so do not delay.”
Casval quickly transformed in response. His full dragon form differed from his sister’s in a few ways. His scales were a crimson shade of red, and most importantly, he was only two-thirds his elder’s size. While still impressive, no one in their right mind would bet on him should he and his sibling fight it out. No wonder he went along with Vouivre’s wishes.
“Don’t take it personally,” Casval told Simon as he took him within one of his immense reptilian hands and grabbed Eole with the other. “My sister likes to break my minions too when I get uppity. We will find you new ones.”
Break. New ones. Was this a dragon’s version of giving their sympathies by likening living beings to toys?
Only Eole’s words of gratitude soothed his anger.
“Thank you,” she said in the kish tongue, her voice of genuine sincerity for once. “Thank you for not surrendering me.”
“For what little good it did us,” Simon replied in the same tongue, to ensure Casval could not understand them. “She will have no use for you after we recover the relic from the dungeon. I will remove your slave mark and let you go free by then.”
Eole didn’t believe him. “They will never let me go. Dragons never let anything go.”
She was probably right, but Simon remained confident that Eole could at least slip away. “You will have an opportunity to flee. They will be too busy warring with my brothers to bother with you once they have your people’s treasure. The world is vast, after all.”
Eole gave him a long, thoughtful look. She seemed to weigh her words, briefly checking if Casval understood them, and then spoke. “I came from a place where my people fled after the Doom. A sanctuary neither your people nor the dragons have despoiled yet. I could take you there.”
Her offer took Simon aback. Was she offering him a chance to run away with her? Protecting her from Vouivre must have left a strong impression on Eole if she offered him hope, however foolish.
“No,” Simon said. That plan was doomed from the start. “They’ll have no use for you, but plenty for me. They will come for me. It’ll only endanger you and your people. You should go on alone.”
Eole scowled, then gave him a small nod. “You are a nobler soul than I thought.”
“What are you mumbling on about?” Casval said as he expanded his wings to take flight.
“Your sister,” Simon lied. “Is she always like that?”
“No, she was in a good mood today. You do not want to see her angry.”
Casval flapped his wings with the strength of a hurricane and instantly took flight.
Simon had already flown in an airship, but dragonflight turned out to be a much more uncomfortable experience. Casval was faster than any bird and soared through the sky at immense speed, so the wind blowing upon his face felt like a storm. The burning grass where Thalas perished quickly became a black spot on the ground, then ashes in a sea of grass.
Simon would have loved to see the landscape, but the gust on his face proved so terrible that he had to spend the whole bumpy ride covering his eyes.
“Duchar?” Simon telepathically called out to his allies in Beleth. “Does the archive have a way outside the city?”
“It indeed has an escape route for emergencies, Your Majesty.” Duchar marked a short pause before adding. “Why the question?”
“Prepare to evacuate on a moment’s notice. The city will be under siege soon.” Simon had no idea when Vouivre would launch an attack on Beleth, but it would likely be within the next few days. “I need you to relay information to Princess Anna and my half-brother Dassein.”
While it might have been wiser to let the attack unfold in order to gather information, Simon simply couldn’t stand idle while Vouivre prepared to assault Beleth, especially with Anna, Tiella, Cassandra, and so many innocent civilians inside. He had witnessed those he cared for perishing at a dragon’s hands all too often.
He hoped Dassein would believe his warnings. He had to.
In any case, Duchar took the news with disturbing calm. “I understand, yet Your Majesty need not worry about the archive. I can seal Your Majesty’s Dungeon until his return, and we have all that we need to survive underground.”
“I see.” Simon then turned his attention to another retainer. “Lorimor, search my father’s list of mentors. Find anyone related to Lore, Valne, or Muse.”
Simon had a few ideas what to spend his next reign on now that he had confirmed Vouivre had nothing to do with his father’s death. The fact that someone murdered Simon in the castle implied the real assassin was still afoot, so he was better off leaving Frightwall again. He had a few ideas on how to gather power quickly and save Anna from her arranged marriage should the stars align in his favor.
Afterwards, Simon spent the rest of the flight guiding Lorimor through the lists and interrogating Vouivre’s hellhound on the scalefolks’ movements. Vouivre hadn’t checked on him, nor did he notice an increase in activity near his territory. Simon guessed it would take time for the dragon to mobilize her troops.
Vouivre had spent years gathering shifters under her banner according to Eole. Would those numbers suffice to invade the empire? A coalition might be enough to take Beleth, maybe all of Telluria, but Endymion’s army would surely crush them once it mobilized. Vouivre had to know it as well.
Why would she believe that a miasma crystal would change the situation?
These thoughts occupied Simon’s mind well into the night, as Casval continued to fly east. He began to slow down once dawn rose over the horizon, which allowed Simon to finally see the shadow of a flooded city crowned in sunlight.
It must have been a magnificent metropolis, larger than Beleth once, from the great stone spires and obelisks Simon could see, but the city had long drowned into a massive lake. Deep waters had sunk the streets, leaving only upended trees, broken heron statues, and cracked stairways that led nowhere. The wind blew in ruins of crumbling stepped pyramids and broken bridges tall enough to let the likes of Vouivre fly beneath their archways. Vegetation had overgrown them, paving walls with vines and moss.
Nonetheless, the place was far from uninhabited. Tents stood atop sunken islands, campfires burned inside pyramids, and a few boats carried scalefolk soldiers along the sunken streets. Vouivre had indeed assigned a sizable force to secure the area.
The greatest and most well-preserved building was a soaring temple made of diamonds, with iridescent walls covered in stained glass mosaic and a great dome brighter than the stars. A marble stairway traveling through a garden of quartz trees led to a pair of open gates protected by a camp of scalefolk. Twin statues of herons stood on the threshold, their beaks pointed to the sky.
Casval landed near the entrance and gently dropped his passengers before transforming back into his human form. “Here we are,” he said. “Follow me.”
Simon squinted upon noticing that he kept his clothes while transforming, like his sister before him. “Are you wearing a Class outfit, Casval?”
The dragon smiled in response. “Even friends can keep secrets.”
His evasive response only strengthened Simon’s suspicions. Was that how they could pass for humans? Thanks to some Class allowing them to polymorph into a human form?
Eole didn’t say a thing as Casval guided them inside the palace and into a great hall of crystal columns. Her gaze lingered on ice statues of winged kish people inside, only for her faint lips to twist into disgust when she spotted scalefolk guards keeping watch. The temperature had sharply dropped inside, and Simon noticed signs of battle in the area—from marks on the walls to dried blood and broken stones. A majestic set of marble stairs led upwards.
“Is it me, or is it getting colder?” Simon wondered.
“It gets chillier the closer you get to the prize,” Casval said with a faint smile. “I tried to warm this place up with my flames, yet the cold always returns.”
“Evil is afoot in these halls,” Eole whispered in the kish tongue. “My people shed many tears here.”
Simon thought as much. He could feel the miasma in the air, as potent as the evil he had woken up with his own Dungeon. Vouivre’s troops had only suppressed the evil lurking in these halls for a time, but it would return the moment they left.
Casval guided them up the stairs towards a sprawling throne room with a floor of polished crystal and a throne of white ice. Frozen corpses and skeletons flanked the walls, forever trapped in time. The scalefolk had excavated a hole behind the throne, which further led into an icy tunnel so cold that Simon’s breath turned to mist inside.
That secret passage ended in a small, shallow chamber covered in ice except for one tall stele adorned with sapphires shaped like the Two-Tailed Fish constellation. Inscriptions written on it glowed with magic, and dense miasma seeped from the gemstone. Simon was certain the Dungeon was located right behind it.
“Here it is,” Casval said. “We’ve tried to break through, but the ice grows back instantly. Even my sister couldn’t melt her way through. Can you read the inscriptions?”
“This is kish,” Simon said, his Overlord class allowing him to translate the words.
Let no woman of the people enter those cursed halls, for her voice always calls to her blood.
A lady’s heart is easily set astray by power’s promise, for all men are beasts in her eyes.
Sing the song of release at your peril, for bitter tears shall soon rain down your cheeks.
Quite ominous. Some inscriptions looked vaguely familiar, though Simon failed to translate them for some reason. They seemed to be akin to music notes.
Eole soon confirmed it. “Those are notes written in my people’s traditions,” she explained, her hand traveling along the inscriptions. The frost didn’t seem to bother her. “They teach how to sing the Song of Release.”
Oh, that made sense. His Perk allowed Simon to understand spoken languages, but music might not entirely count.
“Which will open this seal should you sing it,” Simon replied in the kish language, so their dragon keeper would not understand them. “And release whatever is inside.”
Eole nodded darkly. “And that shall be the moment when I am not needed anymore.”
“Yes,” Simon said when he turned to the smiling Casval. “Yes, it will be.”
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