Simon was in a foul mood all the way to his departure. Balzam Magnos had been right: his letter had hurt Simon like few things ever did.

  ‘I still have her skull stashed somewhere in Castle Frightwall, if you know where to look.’

  He had asked Lady Shabram if she had any idea where his mother’s skull could have been, but she unfortunately couldn’t help him with that. Considering what happened to Balzam’s wife, the skull might have been entombed in a random wall or worse. The mere knowledge that his mother’s remains had been so thoroughly despoiled infuriated Simon to his core. He promised himself he would find and put her to rest during one of his reigns.

  Otherwise, he gave Shabram intel on Vouivre and Casval—which she took at face value without even asking how he found out about them—and gave advice to take them out as soon as possible before they could harm Anna or threaten Telluria. He didn’t know how she would proceed with that task, but the Household intelligence agency had been foiling coups and insurrections for decades. They could deal with the dragons. He also granted her the Brand of Sloth as well, ensuring they could communicate with each other telepathically from a distance.

  Lady Shabram also provided him with a hefty file on Louis that he could read on his way to the west. Simon hoped to find information on that hidden airship fleet his half-brother had stashed away, though other questions continued to bother him, too.

  ‘If you are reading these pages, then you have slain me somehow, as I expected you to. I have no idea how you managed to do it, having done my best to defang you for years, but that was part of why you were the most worthy and resourceful of my children.’

  These lines confused Simon the most. That would imply that Balzam had either changed his mind and named him as his successor after writing the letter, or that he had no influence on who inherited the Class.

  Did that mean the testament couldn’t force the Overlord Class to pass on to a chosen heir? That would certainly explain why Gargauth hadn’t transferred it to Vouivre or Casval after his demise… but then why mention his name to Duchar or Shabram as his likely successor?

  Unless… did Balzam name him as the next Overlord as a final attempt to screw him over?

  If Simon had to become the Overlord, then he could have easily compelled the Keeper of the Throne to change the writing after the first reign; meanwhile, if anyone else had been picked, leaving a breadcrumb to Simon while he was still in Castle Frightwall would have all but guaranteed his assassination as revenge for past slights.

  In Balzam’s mind, that was probably a win-win situation.

  That dead bastard! Simon grit his teeth. I hope he rots in the Abyss!

  Simon had had everything he ever wanted once. Everything. Had his father not intervened, he would have lived a simple life away from court with a family that loved him rather than a deadly vipers’ nest where half his relatives wanted him dead. He would have been raised with love and care, before growing up to purge his father’s evil from the world.

  But Balzam had to ruin it all. He had done more than murder Simon’s mother; he had murdered his past and twisted it in his image, keeping him as a trophy and private joke only he could understand. Simon almost wished to revive that bastard just so he could kill him again.

  At least the revelation within the letter also partly explained why he had ended up killing his father so often. Was it possible that Simon would have become a knight of Lore without his father’s intervention? The mention of the White Unicorn movement, which had historically gathered around the Paladin to oppose the current Overlord, would point that way. Balzam Magnos had robbed his son of his childhood, his mother, and his destiny, too.

  But that was then, and this is now, Simon thought. He would have to live with the Overlord Class’ burden over ninety more times, unless he somehow found a secret to rid himself of it. Can this power be used for good? Mother would have raised me to become a knight, and it would spite Balzam’s spirit beyond the grave if I could use the Overlord for constructive purposes…

  Anyway, it wasn’t good to dwell on the future when he still lacked the power to shape it.

  On the day before the planned departure, Simon welcomed Eole into his room like he did during the last reign, then proceeded to undo her slave seal and provide her with a letter of emancipation. He explained to her the danger that Vouivre represented, and that she was better off avoiding Telluria.

  “Vouivre is looking for a powerful artifact hidden in the old kish capital’s palace, whose seal can only be broken by someone like you,” Simon informed a rather shocked Eole. “I would suggest returning to your sanctuary rather than Telluria, for everyone’s safety.”

  “How do you know all of this? How can you speak our tongue?” she asked him, still struggling to process his words. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a bastard’s bastard.” And somehow, that was still putting it lightly. “I am Simon Magnos, illegitimate son of the asshole ruining everyone’s lives from atop the Crimson Throne. And believe me or not, but I’ve had prophetic dreams since childhood. That’s how I learned your language and what Vouivre will do if she catches you.”

  “I… I see.” Eole scowled. “Is this an attempt to protect your empire from an outside threat? To strangle a threat in the crib?”

  “No, this is an attempt to protect countless innocents from a disaster, you included.” Simon sighed. “Great calamities are going to strike Endymion soon, and I’m too weak to prevent most of them. I have taken all the measures I can to at least preserve Telluria to the best of my ability, but this won’t happen if Vouivre gets her hands on you.”

  “Calamities?” Eole met his gaze, her scowl deepening into one of sorrow. “You say I will be a bane on my people, even though I fought for their freedom?”

  “I’m sorry, Eole, but yes.” Simon sympathized with her weakness and inability to change things for the better more than she thought. “Truth be told, I’m going to move west, to a land beyond this empire’s reach and the dangers that await it.”

  “You wish to flee this wicked empire and your own family?” Eole shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”

  “There’s something I have to do, and I…” Simon sighed, and gave her an earnest response. “I’m sick of it all.”

  He was sick of his family’s wars, sick of Vouivre, sick of facing constant danger without the ability to strike back. As much as he valued Anna and Lauriane, a trip beyond Endymion’s borders would be a breath of fresh air.

  “You are welcome to join me if you wish, or return home,” Simon said, like he did in the previous reign. “I don’t know where either future leads, or if you’ll be safe either way, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  Simon asked the question as a pure courtesy, since he already knew Eole’s answer. She bit her lip, rubbed her arms, and then nodded to herself before declaring her refusal to–

  “Yes.”

  Huh? Simon’s head perked up in disbelief. “You want to come with me?”

  “Yes, I would like to follow you west,” Eole replied calmly. “I owe you a debt for your kindness, Lord Simon, and I would like to see the lands beyond this corrupted realm.”

  That was new.

  What had caused her to change her mind? The fact he intended to leave Endymion and its oppressive institutions behind him, or the fact he was about to become a bastard on the run rather than a prince? Whatever the case, it was a rather pleasant surprise.

  “Very well,” Simon replied. “There is something I must show you, but that will wait for tonight. Prepare yourself until then.”

  He hoped freeing his other slave would go as well as this one.

  True to her word, Lady Shabram sent guards to pick them up in the dead of night.

  They brought Simon commoners' clothes, dye to turn his hair black, and false papers identifying him as Simon Legredo, son of a draper and a tailor, alongside money, maps, and anything he would need to start a new life elsewhere. The disguise was superfluous considering he could cast Fiendmask, but he followed Lady Shabram’s procedure anyway.

  Besides black dye for her hair, Eole was given heavy robes that allowed her to keep her wings hidden by folding them beneath her arms and around her waist. She found it quite uncomfortable, but relented when Simon promised her they only needed to bear with it until they crossed the Dragonsea.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  As for Agnes Firewand, she simply put on the same disguise he had her wear in Telluria, including a rounded fur hat to cover her ears. She was the same as Simon recalled her: a near-emotionless walking statue who followed every order to the letter without issue. She hardly spoke a word on their way to the train station.

  Simon had never ridden a mana-powered train before. It was said that these devices once connected half the world before the Year of the Doom tore the old empire asunder. Only Muse made extensive use of them nowadays, by virtue of having the Crafter Noble Class to help design and build them. Though Endymion’s imperial army had repaired and repurposed the ancient railways to connect their dominions across the continent, they were starting to fall into disuse through a combination of commercial airships replacing them and regular monster attacks making maintaining the network expensive.

  Simon nonetheless found watching that behemoth of steel enter the station at night an unforgettable experience. The machine resembled a colossal blue and grey metal worm far longer than any airship. Its locomotive was decorated with a skull-like effigy with smoking pupils to frighten away monsters on the rails, its chimney oozing steam, smoke, and mana. Its mighty wheels screeched as they slowed down on the tracks, and brass doors slid open to welcome them inside.

  Imperial intelligence had purchased them three tickets with cabins in the sleeping car, with Agnes and Eole sharing one while Simon would keep to a smaller, individual one. All of them were finely lacquered with wood and red carpeted, with berths on one side and small seats facing a window on the other. Their itinerary would have them change to another train two days in, then reach a port on a third night for immediate departure to the western continent.

  “Agnes,” Simon told the elf soon after departure. “I need to talk to you in private for a moment.”

  “As you wish,” the elf replied emotionlessly before joining him inside his cabin. Simon noticed Eole giving them a strange look, but she didn’t ask anymore questions yet.

  Once Simon and Agnes were alone, he locked the door behind them, then subtly positioned himself so that the elf was between the window and him. He knew he had no chance against Firewand in a straight fight if the password caused her malfunctioning slave brand to act up, so his best bet would be to throw her off the train with a surprise attack. The train had quickly taken pace and left Marthrone for the countryside.

  “I have something to ask of you…” Simon took a deep breath as he faced the music. “Belzemine.”

  The effect was immediate.

  The slave mark on Firewand’s chest quickly expanded until it took over her neckline, rose up across her throat, and finally reached her forehead. Although it gave her a rather frightening appearance, her own expression remained unclouded and unperturbed, which somehow made her behavior all the more eerie.

  Simon held her gaze, waiting for her to raise her hand and incinerate him the same way she had slain Leonard and his other retainers in a previous reign.

  A tense minute passed, and he still lived.

  “Raise your left arm,” Simon asked warily, with Agnes quickly obeying the order. “Pull up your sleeves.” She did so, revealing that the slave mark now reached all the way to her hands. “Are you in there? Are you aware of your actions?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “But you don’t have any other choice than to obey my orders.”

  “Yes. By order of the Overlord, I must treat whoever speaks the password as the new Overlord.”

  Simon scowled. On one hand, he was relieved to see that the password didn’t compel Agnes to immediately become a hardcore Gargauth loyalist; on the other hand, it meant anyone knowing it could turn her into a weapon. This potentially made Vouivre much more dangerous since she could relay the information to someone else.

  “Powerful word then, this Belzemine,” Simon noted. “Does it have any significance?”

  “It is…” Agnes Firewand looked down as if ashamed. It was the most emotional Simon had ever seen her. “Belzemine was my elven name, before Lord Mardok gave me a new one.”

  There was something especially cruel about transforming the name she used as a free person into a command that robbed her of her free will. The more Simon learned about Gargauth, the more he wondered if the dragon might not have been his father’s equal in viciousness.

  “So if I told you to attack the current Overlord, would you do it?” Simon asked. Even though he already knew the answer, he wanted to check the limits of the mark’s control.

  “Yes.”

  “You would obey me over the Overlord, even though your slave mark compels you to obey the current wielder of the Class?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. Her previous unease had passed, and her behavior reminded Simon more and more of a golem. “The command was woven into my slave crest when Lord Gargauth reapplied the mark to me soon after Lord Mardok’s death. Lord Balzam did not bother to do so, so the current Overlord’s command is not as absolute.”

  Which implied he never discovered the loophole, likely because it was never activated during his reigns. That, or he never managed to connect Firewand to one of these ‘unknown’ assassination attempts.

  “Can anyone else command you should they learn the password?”

  Firewand shook her head. “I must obey the first person to have uttered the word, and no one else. You alone have my loyalty.”

  Probably a countermeasure to ensure only Gargauth and his chosen heir could command her once the password became public knowledge. “Then answer my question,” Simon ordered her. “Did you have anything to do with my father’s death?”

  “No,” Agnes Firewand replied.

  Simon’s tongue clicked in his mouth, having hoped for an easy answer. That reduced the range of suspects at least… “Do you know who did it? Or suspect anyone in particular?”

  “As I told Lady Shabram, I am certain the blade that slew His Late Majesty was of elven design.”

  Simon’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know that. “How so?”

  “According to my autopsy, the blade that slew His Majesty was almost certainly forged from an alloy of orichalchos and adamantine, and included various effects such as Anti-Heal to negate regeneration, Necrophobia to prevent auto-raise, Damage Transfer Disruption to ensure the attack could not be redirected to another, Demonslayer for maximum damage, and a few others I could not identify,” she explained. “It also carried a blessing from the Mana Goddess herself.”

  “The Mana Goddess?” It took a moment for Simon to recognize that title, since the Church of Light considered it heretical. “You mean the Worldtree’s dryad?”

  “Yes. Only the elves could have crafted such a blade.”

  And Lady Shabram knew, but didn’t inform Simon. Then again, he never asked her nor involved himself with court politics in a prior reign.

  “I see… so you think an elven assassin killed my father?” Simon inquired. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “The blade alone would not have been sufficient to slay his Majesty,” Agnes Firewand replied. “It must have been wielded by an individual with a high level, perfect proficiency in melee weapons, and damage-boosting Perks capable of killing His Majesty in one strike before he could put his Class Outfit on.”

  So either the elves had managed to plant an extremely dangerous assassin in Castle Frightwall, or they had only supplied the weapon to someone else already within. Louis, Euphemia, Thalas, and even Lauriane fit Firewand’s description. This did give credibility to the Green Mother’s boast that her kind had slain Balzam. They had been fighting the Overlords for centuries, so of course they would have designed weapons specifically crafted to slay them.

  Not only is that blade unaccounted for, but they might be able to create more, Simon thought. This is a mess.

  Either way, it didn’t seem like Agnes knew more than that, which brought Simon to move to the next and most important question.

  “Do you have any resentment towards the new Overlord?” he asked her. “Should I allow you to do as you wish, would you do them harm or pursue them?”

  “Not unless you ask me to,” Agnes replied. “I live to serve.”

  “I see.” Simon nodded to himself. The moment of truth had come. “I will hold you to that.”

  He put on the Overlord outfit, startling Agnes Firewand.

  “Witness the Fourth Overlord, he who shall break the chains the others have put on you,” Simon declared, his hand raised. “By the authority granted by my Class and your secret name, Belzemine, I now emancipate you from my service. May that mark fade away without inflicting any harm.”

  The slave brand answered his call, its vile ink disappearing into light until no tattoo befoulled Agnes Firewand’s—nay, Belzemine’s—fair skin. The elf froze in place like a statue in utter disbelief, before looking down at her neckline. She pulled up her sleeves with trembling hands and checked every inch of herself for the mark that had once commanded her life.

  “You…” she said, her voice shaking. “You removed the mark…”

  “Yes, you are a free woman now.” And Simon had to say it felt good. “I ask that you keep my identity a secret and seek me no harm, but otherwise, you may now do as you desire from now on.”

  Half of Simon expected thanks and words of gratitude for lifting that centuries-old burden off her back, and the other half feared she would simply attack him on the spot for being the new Overlord. Either option would have been a completely normal reaction to her situation.

  Instead, Agnes Firewand picked a third option. She began to shake and shiver, her fingers trembling as they touched her cheeks.

  “No… no… no…” she began to mutter to herself, an expression of absolute anguish deforming her fair face. “No, no, no!”

  Then she shrieked.

  She wailed like a possessed banshee, startling Simon. She let out a soul-piercing scream of pure despair and anguish so loud that Simon thanked the Light that the cabins were made soundproof to ensure its users could sleep, or else Eole would be knocking on his door in concern already.

  Simon prepared to cast a spell, thinking she would attack him; instead, she fell to her knees, sobbing and crying.

  “Put it back!” she begged him with tears in her eyes. “Put it back!”

  What the–

  Simon could only blink as Agnes Firewand, one of the most powerful women in the world, crawled up to him and grabbed his legs like a child praying their parents not to punish them.

  “Don’t discard me… don’t discard me, please, master…” she begged, a waterstream falling down her cheeks. “Please put it back…”

  “But I…” Simon gulped, unable to find his words. None of this made sense! “Why, you are free–”

  “Put it back, please!” she screamed at him again, her nails scratching his armor, her tearful face pressed against his foot. “Please! Put it back, put it back, please, don’t discard me!”

  “I can’t–” Firewand wailed again before he could finish his answer, her nails scratching him with manic despair. “Alright, alright, calm down! I will grant you my Brand of Sloth!”

  “Yes,” Agnes said, her head snapping up to him with relief. “Thank you, thank you, master, thank you…”

  Simon had already applied the Brand of Sloth once to Firewand in a past reign, but this time it sickened him. Something about the elation on the elf’s face when he branded her, followed by the way she wiped up her tears and rose to her feet, shook him to his core.

  What had just happened?

  “I don’t understand,” Simon admitted. He just didn’t get it. “Do you want to be a slave?”

  Agnes’ expression twisted into one of absolute defeat and resignation; the kind of face that hurt to watch. “If I am not Your Majesty’s slave, then I am nothing.”

  “That’s not true at all,” Simon replied. “You’re one of the highest-leveled people in the world, an archmage wielder of four classes!”

  “Everything I am, I owe to Your Majesty’s predecessors. I am a tool of His Majesty’s will. This is my purpose.” She looked at him with dread, like a child fearful of being abandoned. “Please do not discard me…”

  It was then that it finally hit Simon how thoroughly the past Overlords had broken this woman.

  It wasn’t that Agnes Firewand enjoyed being a slave.

  She was simply terrified of freedom after centuries spent as a tool.

  And that was the saddest thing Simon had ever seen.

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