Simon set three goals for himself on his seventh reign: defang Vouivre’s conspiracy, ensure Anna wouldn’t be trapped in a marriage with Thalas, and obtain a Perk that would let him gain experience more quickly.

  And he had figured out a way to do all three at once.

  Simon struggled to keep a straight face when his family gathered to listen to their father’s false testament for the seventh time. His entire body trembled in anticipation as the Keeper dropped the bomb.

  “I, Balzam Magnos, officially legitimize my bastard son Simon as a true son of House Magnos.”

  The chorus of shocked gasps, choking outrage, and astonished silence was such music to Simon’s ears.

  And Thalas’ expression… the way his face twisted into a mix of disbelief, impotent anger, and then the blood-curdling glare of pure resentment he sent in his half-brother’s way… Simon would savor and treasure this moment for all his following lifetimes. Euphemia’s reaction was more subdued, but the way she paled betrayed her own thoughts.

  And then came the finishing blow.

  “He shall be entrusted with the freshly conquered Princedom of Purson to the west of Magvolia as his new birthright, alongside his pick of five slaves to serve as his staff,” the Keeper read. “It is my final will that he be engaged to the daughter of my truest follower and blood-brother, Maublanc Paimon, so that our united bloodlines may rule the Berwick Islands of our youth.”

  And like that, Simon had just become one of the most powerful people in Endymion.

  Simon had cursed himself for never thinking about legitimizing himself in previous reigns. The opportunity was perfect; the dying wish of an abusive father trying to make up with his child after his departure from the living. It was such a good story, such a human moment, unexpected from Balzam the Cruel. The proof that he had a father’s heart, shriveled as it was.

  Of course, the news of Simon’s legitimization paled with the revelation that Balzam Magnos had picked Casval Ashmodai to entrust him with the Overlord Class. That ploy served a double purpose: setting Vouivre on Casval would both neuter the threat he represented to both Anna and the academy in general, on top of weakening the dragon conspiracy. This would ensure Simon could leave Castle Frightwall with a clear conscience.

  For the first time in a while, he would not be attending the Imperial Military Academy. In fact, he wouldn’t be getting anywhere near Telluria. His recent experience with Vouivre had taught him he needed levels if he hoped to defend himself from House Magnos’ many enemies. Simon had an idea how to accelerate his growth, but that journey would take him west rather than east.

  Purson is right next to the Dragonsea and an intercontinental trade hub, Simon thought. It will give me the perfect excuse to go there and use the imperial resources needed to secure an Adventurer-related Crestone. Meanwhile, my official engagement to Anna will prevent Thalas from bothering her. It’s a perfect plan–

  “This document is a forgery!”

  Simon’s head snapped in the empress’ direction. “What?”

  “I had my doubts, but now I am sure of it,” Euphemia replied, her teeth grinding against each other. “My husband did not write this testament.”

  This is new, Simon thought, completely taken aback. Euphemia had gone along with the testament in all previous reigns. And very bad.

  “My husband spent twenty years keeping his bastard from any position of power, however meager, refusing him titles, Crestones, and even denying my suggestions that he join the Church’s Templars,” Euphemia stated, her baleful glare focusing on Simon. “He would never shower him with so many gifts, nor choose a complete stranger to inherit the Overlord Class.”

  “It comes from the Keeper of the Throne,” Lord Patriate pointed out. “It is beholden to the Overlord’s will.”

  “Yes, indeed, it is bound to the Overlord’s will, including whoever killed my husband.” Euphemia turned to the Keeper. “Did my husband truly write this document?”

  “This testament is the will of Balzam Magnos himself,” the Keeper replied, having been briefed to lie on the matter by Simon earlier. “Penned by his hand.”

  Louis narrowed his eyes at the Keeper. “But if the new Overlord asked you to lie to our face, you would.”

  “Yes,” the Keeper replied honestly.

  Damn it, Simon cursed. This is spiraling out of control!

  He barely had time to spot Thalas lunging at him, grabbing him by the throat, and slamming him against the nearest wall. “It was you!” the Berserker snarled, his voice and eyes brimming with anger. “You killed our father so you could legitimize yourself, bastard!”

  “I’ve done nothing!” Simon half-lied. “I didn’t kill him!”

  “Thalas, release him immediately!” Lauriane ordered, drawing her sword. “I am warning you–”

  “Or was it you?!” Thalas glared back at her. “Did you murder Father so you could give a gift to your pet?!”

  “How dare you?!” Now it was Lauriane to glare back in outrage. “You little brat–”

  “Enough!” High Confessor Mastemo stomped the ground with his staff, catching everyone’s attention. “Whether this testament is legitimate or not, the fact remains that the Overlord Class has been given to a stranger unknown to us. Our priority should be to locate it first.”

  “I can quickly confirm whether anyone here has an alibi for His Majesty’s death,” Spymaster Shabram added. “Including young Simon.”

  Euphemia glanced at the other people in the room, realized that they were that close to an all-out brawl, and then wisely de-escalated the situation. “Put him down, Thalas,” she said before scowling at Simon. “You are under house arrest for now until we’ve cleared this up.”

  And like that, all of Simon’s best laid plans fell completely by the wayside.

  As the days went on with him unable to leave his room, Simon realized he had gravely miscalculated.

  The fact that the factions at court had gone along with whatever he wrote in his father’s testament during his previous reigns had lulled him into a false sense of security. He had been too greedy, pushed his luck too far, and that had led Euphemia to call his bluff. She couldn’t prove the Keeper’s testament was forged, but the doubt was enough to sow chaos at court. At least Shabram’s investigation quickly let him off the hook for Balzam’s murder, which likely spared him from immediate execution.

  Balzam Magnos had been such a horrible person that throwing his Overlord Class into the wild to screw his descendants was seen as plausible, but showering gifts on one of his children on his deathbed was instantly disbelieved.

  Then again, what I was expecting by trying to portray someone called the Cruel as remorseful? Simon cursed himself. Even acts of kindness from beyond the grave would fall flat. I’ll have to ask for less next time.

  Simon was excluded from council meetings for days until Lauriane showed up at his door with an uneasy scowl. “I have good and bad news,” she said. “The good news is that we’ve managed to reach a settlement. Louis and I have strenuously argued your case, and High Confessor Mastemo was sufficiently amenable to the idea of your legitimization to mollify Euphemia. She is willing to recognize your legitimization in exchange for concessions.”

  For once, Simon was thankful that the Light’s teachings condemned violating someone’s last will. Nonetheless, he could read between the lines. “Concessions which are all bad news, I take it.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Lauriane sighed. “I am truly sorry, but you will have to officially surrender your claim to the Princedom of Purson and all its associated privileges. You would gain too much influence to ignore.”

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  Simon thought that giving himself as much power as the state would allow without officially revealing himself as the Overlord would grant greater freedom of action than either, but it was the complete opposite. The factions at court now perceived him as either an asset or a danger, so they would not let him be.

  Simon guessed he would have gotten away with legitimization if he hadn’t put a princedom and an engagement to Anna on top of it. That bold gamble had backfired beyond words.

  “Wait, what about my engagement to Anna?” Simon asked. “You didn’t mention that part.”

  “Maublanc agreed to it, since your legitimization would give his line a stronger claim to the Crimson Throne,” Lauriane replied. “You are the only male in the royal line not to be engaged to someone else besides Dassein, who’s in the War Party, so Euphemia will go along to ensure the Berwick Islands do not fall into our hands.”

  Simon pondered those words. Putting the engagement in Father’s will meant Euphemia didn’t have time to prepare the terrain for her son and put the question of Anna’s hand at the High Council’s feet. She had become an apple of discord, and Simon was the safest option to resolve it.

  It… it wasn’t such a bad outcome. Simon would now have Maublanc’s support, which should make obtaining an Adventurer-related Crestone easier, and he had kept Anna from risking an unenviable marriage to his family’s rotten apple.

  “I’m truly sorry, Simon,” Lauriane apologized. “I wish I could have done more, but that’s the best deal I could get you. The situation is too unstable for now, with Father dead and the Overlord Class running around. You’d be dead within the week if we didn’t reach a settlement.”

  “It’s okay, I thought I would lose my head over Father’s whims for a moment.” Simon chuckled. “So we are equals now?”

  “We are. You are a prince of House Magnos now, by law and blood.” Lauriane cracked a rare and genuine smile. “Take heed. That was the proof that our father loved you in spite of everything.”

  No, he didn’t. “Well, then I guess I will pack my belongings and depart for the academy.”

  Lauriane’s smile faded away. “No, you won’t.”

  Simon’s head perked up. “What?”

  “You’re a prince engaged to the heir of the Berwick Islands, remember? Maublanc has called you two lovebirds home to settle in your new nest.” Lauriane shook her head. “You’re going back home, Simon.”

  Simon had been planning to claim Agnes Firewand as slave this time around in order to better check her slave mark and hopefully disable Vouivre’s password-powered backdoor into it, but he was too much on thin ice to do so this reign. He regretted leaving a poisonous dagger like her in Frightwall, but revealing the weaknesses in her slave mark would have brought many unfortunate questions and unwelcome scrutiny.

  Simon did, however, secure Lorimor and Eole’s release. He knew from experience that the former would become fanatically loyal the moment he revealed the Overlord Class to him, but the latter… he wasn’t sure how she would react to what he had in store for her.

  “What is this, manling?” Eole asked him on the day he summoned her to his bedroom. From the defiant and cagey way she had entered it, Simon could tell she was expecting nauseating things to happen to her.

  Hence her surprise when he gave her a folded piece of paper rather than take her to bed.

  “It’s an important document,” Simon replied in kish, startling her. “Hold still.”

  Simon pressed his index finger against the slave mark on her chest, then spoke a certain sequence of magical words. The slave mark swiftly faded away until it left Eole’s skin pale and pristine.

  “I… I don’t understand,” Eole muttered in disbelief.

  “That document bears my house’s seal and confirms that you were lawfully freed, granting you the rights of an imperial citizen,” Simon explained upon pointing at the paper. “It’s as much legal protection as a shifter can receive in these lands. It will allow you to return to Telluria unmolested should you wish for it, though I would strongly advise against it. Vouivre is looking for you.”

  “Vouivre?” Eole gasped, utterly confused. “The scalefolk warlord?”

  “She is no scalefolk, but a vile dragon in disguise, if you can believe that,” Simon replied. “The kish palace contains a dangerous, demonic artifact she covets. Only a kish like you can break the seal as far as I can tell. You would be better off returning to your peoples’ sanctuary, for your sake and that of everyone else.”

  Eole stared at him for a very, very long time. She pondered his words, processed them, and then the questions flooded. “Who are you? How do you know all of that? How do you know our language?”

  “I am Simon Magnos, a prince of the empire. You could say I’m something of a prophet.” Simon sighed. “Believe me or not, but I’ve had prophetic dreams and I’ve seen what Vouivre will do to you should she find you. This is how I learned your language, among other things.”

  “No, I believe you. You simply know too much, and my people’s tales speak of chosen individuals with foresight.” Eole scowled. “This is all a plot to protect your empire from an outside threat, isn’t it? You are strangling a threat in the crib.”

  “If that were the case, I would have had you killed rather than released.” Eole flinched at his blunt honesty. “I’m taking a big risk by letting you go if you decide to go back to Telluria.”

  “Why don’t you kill me then?” Eole pushed in disbelief. “Is it a publicity stunt? An attempt to look kind by freeing a slave?”

  “No one will know nor care. The institution of slavery is bigger than any of us in Endymion.” Simon shook his head. “The truth is… I don’t think you deserve to die, Eole, and you will die if you go back to Telluria. Your return will allow Vouivre to spread pain and sorrow both to your people and mine, and I don’t want that.”

  Eole met his gaze for a moment, her expression softening into sorrow when she finally realized he was sincere. “I came to Telluria to free my kin from its oppressors, yet you see that my destiny is to end in shackles myself?”

  “I’m sorry, Eole.” Her distraught expression tugged at Simon’s heartstrings. He could tell that she cared about her fellow shifters, so to have a prophet telling her hopes would only lead to disaster had to be truly crushing. “I have plans to travel beyond this land to an island beyond the sea. You are welcome to join me if you wish, or return home. I haven’t seen where either future leads, so those are for you to write.”

  Eole bit her lip and shifted in place. She rubbed her arms, pondering his offer, and then steeling her resolve once her choice was made.

  “No.”

  Simon had expected that answer, as much as part of him would have preferred to hear otherwise.

  “I am sorry, I… I am well and truly grateful beyond words for your act of kindness, Lord Simon.” That was the first time she had ever called Simon by his title with sincere respect, as far as he could remember. “I did not think good people like you remained untouched in this corrupt land… but I cannot, and will not, serve a prince of your empire. However generous you may be, your nation enslaves and oppresses my kin. I cannot forgive this.”

  “I understand.” Simon didn’t fault her for this choice. Had he been in her place, he likely wouldn’t even have hesitated. “I can give you money if you need it to travel.”

  “It will not be necessary. My wings shall carry me through. If your document is truly my shield, then I shall return safely once I leave this city.” Eole hesitated an instant. “You could come with me.”

  “With you?” Now that surprised Simon. “To your people’s sanctuary?”

  “Yes. This empire is rotten to the core, and its Overlord is a demon wearing human skin.” If only she knew… “You will find neither peace nor happiness here, prophet. Surely you must have seen this in your dreams, too. This place will gnaw at you like a worm.”

  “It’s… not that simple.” Simon found the offer tempting, especially if this sanctuary was beyond the empire’s reach, yet he could not abandon Anna to her fate. “But I wish you luck.”

  Eole scowled, yet seemed to understand. “You have duties to fulfill, do you not?”

  Simon scoffed. “Don’t we all?”

  Eole nodded with sorrow—Simon had the distinct impression she pitied him—and then plucked a red feather from her wings.

  “In my culture, individuals exchange feathers as a show of friendship, so that a part of the other always remains with us,” she explained before presenting the feather to him. “You may not have wings, but I would like to offer you this gift nonetheless, Lord Simon.”

  “I… I didn’t know.” Simon took the feather in his hands. It was so soft, like breathing silk. “Thank you, Eole. I will cherish it dearly.”

  “May it grant you luck and bliss, Lord Simon. If the gods are willing, we will meet again.” Eole bowed to him; truly bowed to him rather than faking it. “I will tell my people that hope can prosper even in darkness’ heart.”

  She flew away from his window, and never returned.

  On the day after Eole left, Simon was summoned to Maublanc Paimon’s airship for immediate departure to the Berwick Islands.

  He hadn’t visited the place in years—since the emperor’s last state visit, in fact—and had never particularly been interested in it beyond its association with Anna. Sure, it was the origin of House Magnos and his father’s birthplace, but his own mother had been a mainland peasant. Simon was a child of the continent.

  Nonetheless, part of him was happy to go there, even if it had been unplanned and would cost him direct access to his father’s archive. It was, however, far away from Thalas, Vouivre, and Frightwall’s intrigues. It might prove a breath of fresh air from the academy for once, even if Eole wouldn't be part of his retinue this time. Only Leonard, Meredith and Lorimor would follow him for this reign.

  In any case, Lord Maublanc Paimon invited—or rather, summoned—his future son-in-law to the airship salon. The ruler of the Berwick Islands had Simon sit at his table, alone, with neither retainer nor staff to listen. That alone aroused Simon's suspicions.

  “Un–” Simon stopped as he wondered what to call the man. Maublanc Paimon had been Balzam Magnos’ blood-brother during the war against Gargauth, the only vassal he ever fully trusted. His loyalty had earned him a title of Prince of Blood, the Magnos family’s old ruling seat before Castle Frightwall, the Commander Noble Class, and countless other honors. The Magnos children had come to consider him an honorary uncle and often called him as such.

  Yet Lord Maublanc didn’t greet Simon with warmth or the affection one would have shown at their future son-in-law; only a deep, wary stare.

  “Lord Maublanc?” Simon inquired uneasily.

  He was met with silence.

  Simon shifted in his seat. Had he offended Lord Maublanc somehow? He didn’t recall any particular incident, and they had interacted amicably enough in a previous reign. Did he resent the fact that his daughter was engaged to a former bastard or something? But then why would he have pushed for the engagement?

  “It’s as I thought,” Lord Maublanc said upon breaking the silence, his jaw tightening into a dark scowl. “Show it to me.”

  Simon tensed. “Show you what?”

  “Your Overlord Class.” Maublanc leaned forward, his gaze steely. “Show it to me.”

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