“Louis wants to see you.”

  The sentence echoed in Simon’s mind as Lauriane guided him to her brother’s personal quarters. He had never done this in any of his previous reigns. What had caused this change?

  Days had passed since he set the imperial factions on Casval’s tracks. The hunt had taken place in perfect secrecy, and Simon wasn’t important enough to be kept in the loop, but he was confident his family had tracked the assassin down. If Meredith could find so many details about his service to House Forneus on her lonesome, then high-ranking individuals commanding imperial intelligence should find him in a fortnight.

  Did they find something out about the conspiracy when tracking Casval? Intel that Louis felt should be shared even with the family’s bastard?

  “Anxious?” Lauriane asked him as they walked through Castle Frightwall’s dark corridors.

  “A bit,” Simon confessed. “Being summoned by the crown-prince is rarely a good thing, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Worry not. We are not going to force you to join the War Party.” Lauriane smiled faintly at him. “I understand your desire to stay out of politics, and I have told Louis as much. He is not the mad warmonger our enemies at court paint him as.”

  Simon would have believed her had he not seen him argue for invading the western continent in a previous reign, something which even the empress found insane. Lauriane was, however, right about one thing: she and Dassein were among the people in the War Party to have both Louis’ ear and trust. Simon trusted her word if nothing else.

  Lauriane guided him to a huge solarium in Castle Frightwall’s western wing. The curved room overlooked the surrounding lake and Marthrone, the imperial capital. Louis sat inside on a velvet-covered divan, his eyes staring at the suburbs with undisguised disdain.

  “Simon,” he said upon hearing him and Lauriane approaching. “How good of you to have answered our invitation.”

  “Did I have a choice?” Simon replied.

  “Yes, of course. Certainly, denying a crown-prince’s invitation would have carried consequences, but one always has a choice.” Louis waved his hand at the divan left to his own. “Come, sit. Perhaps you will enjoy the sight better than I do.”

  Simon did so warily, though Lauriane briefly patted him on the back as if it would reassure him. Louis continued to stare at the lake without a word. His pose reminded Simon of a bird of prey searching for a mouse to kill.

  The view was rather splendid. Castle Frightwall was built in the middle of a lake, serving as its moat, and connected to the capital of Marthrone by a single long bridge. The greatest city in the world and the first to reach over one million inhabitants since before the Year of the Doom, Marthrone had been founded over four hundred years ago as a demon-run slave camp for the First Overlord. It had grown very large since then, with red and black stone buildings adorned with gargoyles and dragon statues dominating the skyline—a remnant of Overlord Gargauth’s rule. Wharves and warehouses dominated its bustling river port, while great manors and summer homes belonging to imperial nobility, merchant princes, and other dignitaries filled the eastern shore. Grand buildings such as the Imperial Opera House, the Great Cathedral of the Light, and the towering Arenas, where gladiators fought for glory and coins, competed for size and splendor.

  However, for all of its wealth, Marthrone had been suffering from an overpopulation and poverty problem for years. The northern and newer districts were tightly packed forges, factories, and shantytowns, drowning in fumes and smoke. Simon had heard that there had been plans to demolish and rebuild those parts to deal with rising criminality, but Balzam Magnos never cared enough to proceed with them.

  “One day, I saw a corpse rise from these waters,” Louis said. “A babe, hardly a few days old. I was told that families that cannot sustain too many children usually throw their newborns into the lake. I asked why not simply leave them in a church orphanage, only to be told that those were already stretched thin, which made me wonder… if the parents lacked the means and strength to care for their own, then why bring them into the world at all? How can the people of the world’s richest settlement fail to take care of their own children? Don’t you think there is something deeply perverse about that?”

  “I suppose,” Simon replied. He had no children, so he couldn’t say. “It must be a horrific choice to give away one’s child to the waves. I remember that my mother cried when Father’s guards brought me to the castle.”

  “But surely she must have known they would come one day. If she truly cared to keep you for herself, why not take you away somewhere where Father would not find you? Or did she lack the will to defend what was her own?”

  Easy for him to say, Simon’s mother had been a peasant. What could she have done to escape the Overlord, short of becoming the new Paladin?

  Louis shook his head. “Marthrone… it bears its name well—a corpse-city raised by a long-dead Overlord where maggots breed on dead flesh. I can smell the stench of filth from here. We should do something about this overpopulation problem as soon as Father’s inheritance is settled and we put a steady hand in control of this rotten nation.”

  Simon and Lauriane exchanged a glance. He had never hung around Louis for long in the past. Was he always like this?

  “Forgive me, this place lends itself to dark thoughts,” Louis said before finally turning to face Simon with his piercing blue eyes. “I’m told you had dreams about Father’s death before it happened.”

  “He correctly predicted the use of an anti-heal effect on Father before Firewand confirmed it,” Lauriane replied calmly. While she seemed to radiate poise and confidence at first glance, Simon could see a slight tension in her jaw. She didn’t fear Louis, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable in his presence either.

  Simon had said the same thing in the last reign, but it didn’t bring him to Louis’ attention. What had changed?

  “But you didn’t see the assassination itself, only its aftermath?” Louis pushed, with Simon nodding his head. “Interesting. Have you had other dreams since?”

  Simon hesitated to answer. He hadn’t had any, but he could tell that the question had something to do with Casval, if only because naming him as the Overlord had caused this meeting to happen at all. This might be his chance to further twist the knife.

  “I’ve… actually had another last night,” Simon lied. “About Anna.”

  “Anna?” Lauriane asked with a hint of worry, while Louis remained unperturbed.

  “Yes, I… I see a man leaving her room with a sword stained with blood. He turns into a monster with wings and a tail growing out of his back, then stares at me with reptilian eyes and says…” Simon pretended to struggle to recall. “I think it was something akin to ‘Don’t blame me; blame your usurper blood and misplaced loyalty.’”

  “Usurper blood?” Louis scoffed, his hand stroking his chin as he turned to stare at the morning sun past the window. An amused smile stretched on his lips. “So that’s Father’s game…”

  “Can you describe this man? Before he transformed?” Lauriane pushed, with Simon providing a rather detailed account of Casval in turn. His half-sister's brows furrowed. “The description matches the reports perfectly…”

  “The reports?” Simon asked, sensing his chance.

  Lauriane nodded sharply. “I’ve been suspecting that you might have limited prophetic abilities for a while, like a third-eye visionary, and I am now convinced of it. Your inability to see Father’s murder was likely the result of his Class’ anti-divination features interfering with your powers while he was alive.”

  “The truth is that we found this Casval Ashmodai that Father named as his successor holed up in Marquis Forneus’ domain and sent soldiers to bring him to us,” Louis said. “I’m sure you can figure out that what should have been a quick and easy arrest did not go as planned, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “He resisted?” Simon guessed.

  “Yes, he did. He transformed into the beast you described, killed a few men, and set Forneus’ castle on fire on his way out.”

  “So he’s still free?” Simon didn’t like that one bit. He had hoped his family could take care of the assassin for him. At least he was unlikely to show up at the Academy with so many powerful people looking for him. “What is he, a demon?”

  “That is what we are trying to figure out,” Lauriane replied. “Our soldiers inflicted grievous wounds upon him, and we are currently examining his blood to understand what happened, but we could not find any trace of demonic miasma in it. He is most likely a beastman of some kind.”

  “Imagine the Church of Light’s face once they learn one of them has the Overlord Class,” Louis mused. “What do you know of the second Overlord, Gargauth?”

  “Not much, besides that he was a dragon and that Father killed him,” Simon replied. Father sired Simon during the campaign, and he was born shortly after the dragon’s death. “Didn’t Forneus fight on his behalf during the conquest?”

  “He did, and paid the price for his… misplaced loyalty.” Louis scratched his nails. “Our investigation showed that Marquis Forneus helped fabricate an identity for this Casval and intended to have him attend the Imperial Military Academy. I could not fathom why, but your words shed some light on the matter. They must have plotted to assassinate Anna since House Paimon is close to us and next in line for the throne should House Magnos go extinct.”

  “You think Forneus and Ashmodai are Gargauth loyalists?” Simon guessed, his blood freezing as he recalled how disappointed Casval had looked when he questioned him about whether or not he hated his family. Had he been fishing for allies? “Is this a revenge plot?”

  “My thoughts exactly, Simon. There are always suckers eager to fight for desperate causes.”

  “What cause is there to rally behind, brother?” Lauriane countered with skepticism. “Forneus would have nothing to gain from attacking House Magnos. Gargauth slaughtered or chased away every other dragon on the continent when he decided to seize their hoards. He left no descendants, only grudges.”

  “No descendants that we know of, Lauriane,” Louis replied sharply. “Don’t you find it strange that some mysterious beastman with dragon-like features showed up in the den of one of Gargauth’s loyalists? The signs do point to this Casval and talk of usurper blood being related to the Second Overlord in some way.”

  “But why would Father give the Overlord Class to someone with a grudge against our dynasty?” Lauriane shook her head in dismay. “That makes no sense.”

  “Maybe it’s an inheritance test?” Simon lied to better muddy the waters.

  “Quite sharp, Simon,” Louis praised him. “That is the conclusion I reached as well. Father set up this ordeal for us to prove ourselves worthy of his throne. What better test for a new Overlord than to complete his father’s task and wipe out rival heirs?”

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  It was a completely erroneous assumption, but one that fit Balzam the Cruel well. Simon could have seen their father set up a similar scenario. The reason why the Overlord picked Simon instead still escaped him.

  “Thank you for sharing this information with us, Simon. I have no doubt we will find this Casval in time, and I will ask our brother Dassein to keep an eye on Anna to ensure no harm comes to her.” Louis studied his half-brother’s face. Simon could never tell what the man was thinking. “Is it true you asked to have a handful of Father’s prisoners see their death sentences commuted into slavery?”

  “I thought two of them would make good additions to my retinue once I learned they had Vassal Classes,” Simon confirmed. Or at least that was the excuse he came up with to justify sparing the kish woman without attracting suspicion. “Will you approve of it as the empire’s Marshal?”

  “I see no reason to oppose it. Truthfully, I’m more surprised that you picked those two rather than Firewand.” Louis chuckled. “Unless the thought failed to cross your mind?”

  Agnes Firewand?

  Oh, right, Simon’s edited testament said he could inherit his pick of five slaves, and Agnes Firewand technically remained one. He was well within his rights to demand she come with him.

  Should he, though? Agnes was the empire’s greatest physician and one of its best spellcasters, deemed worthy to serve the Overlord directly. Having her follow Simon around would immediately bring scrutiny upon him.

  On the other hand, she was among the list of ‘potential mentors’ that Father left behind, and her presence might deter assassination attempts. Having a talented healer at his beck and call might save Simon’s or Anna’s lives should the conspiracy strike them again.

  Moreover, she was bound to obey the Overlord’s orders and keep his secrets…

  “Would you even allow such a transfer, brother?” Lauriane asked what was on Simon’s mind. “I understand it was one of Father’s last requests, but she is our head physician and is high-level. Euphemia will object.”

  Louis shrugged. “An Overlord’s personal physician has lost its purpose in its master’s absence, don’t you think? Besides, Simon has contributed sensitive information without asking for anything in return. Euphemia will have little choice than to go along with it if we insist.”

  Simon decided Firewand was worth the risk until he gathered more information on the conspiracy. Discretion hadn’t saved him from assassination in his last reign; perhaps a powerful bodyguard would prove more effective. “I will take her then.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be pleased with her. Father never had reason to object to her service.” Louis rested his head on his fist. “What do you want to do with your life, Simon, now that our father is gone? Color me intrigued.”

  “All I wish is to live a peaceful life,” Simon replied. It was only half a lie. He had made his decision about gaining the strength to take revenge upon Thalas and Casval in due time, but he would rather avoid making waves during this reign. “I want nothing to do with your schemes or imperial politics.”

  “A foolish decision in my opinion,” Louis replied with amusement. “You may hide from politics, but politics will never forget you. That is true for commoners and the Magnos line alike.” He waved his hand at Simon. “But suit yourself. I do hope you will change your mind and lend us your strength and talents one day. You have a future in the nation we seek to build.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  Lauriane chuckled. “We could legitimize you, for a start.”

  The mere idea nearly caused Simon to fall off his seat. Him, legitimized as a true prince of blood?

  “That is insane,” Simon replied, mostly because the prospect had never even entered his mind before. “Euphemia will never allow it.”

  “Her opinion will no longer matter once I ascend to the throne,” Louis confirmed. “You have seen Thalas. What inborn advantage does he have over you? He has no third eye granting him a unique ability, no particular strength or genius. The only thing that separates you is your mother, something entirely outside your control… yet because of that, he received a Noble Class Crestone, the best of trainers, and the adoration of all, while your gift for foresight went completely ignored.”

  “I know.” Simon scowled. “That’s how things are.”

  “But that is not how they should be,” Louis countered. “Individuals should be given an equal chance to prove their worth without institutions and traditions keeping them down, don’t you think?”

  Simon scowled as he recalled his interactions with Thalas in the previous reign. That princeling, who had never deserved his title nor privileges, could have killed him without a second thought had Simon not prepared himself. His birth alone gave him the right of life and death over others.

  “I do,” Simon admitted.

  The answer pleased Louis. “Then think about it, Simon. Wonderful things are about to happen soon; things you could have never dreamed of before. You only need to seize your chance, and the day.”

  And so, Simon found himself the proud owner of the most powerful slave in the entire Empire of Endymion.

  Agnes Firewand had served the Crimson Throne since the First Overlord enslaved her after massacring her entire community in what would later be known as the Red Forest Massacre—named as such because so much blood had been shed there that the leaves and grass permanently turned red—according to the history books. Every Overlord had inherited her services since by virtue of her elven immortality. A tall and crimson-haired beauty with pale blue eyes akin to sapphires, wrapped in red robes, she carried an air of ethereal aloofness all the time.

  Simon had also never seen her smile. Ever.

  She took the news of her new assignment with as much enthusiasm as anything else, which was to say, none at all.

  “If your father’s testament granted you the right to pick any slave in his employ, then I will serve Your Highness,” she said. “However, you must keep in mind that my slave crest binds me to the Overlord’s will, including the current one. Should this Casval Ashmodai ask me to slice your throat, I will have to obey.”

  A most frightening prospect if the actual Overlord hadn’t been standing right in front of her. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Simon replied. “What’s your level?”

  “For which of my Classes, Your Highness?”

  That took Simon aback. “You have more than one?”

  “Four,” she confirmed with stoicism, as if that wasn’t a huge achievement in itself. She briefly turned around and raised the braid falling down her back to reveal Crestones incrusted in her spine. “I am a level 78 Healer, a level 63 Pyromancer, a level 56 Gladiator, and a level 49 Game Master.”

  Leonard had confirmed to Simon in a private conversation that he was a level 43 Dreadnought, which was already incredibly impressive for someone his age. Agnes Firewand was higher-leveled than him in her most neglected Class. That alone spoke volumes about her age and power.

  “Why Gladiator and Game Master?” Simon wondered, astonished. The other two made sense—Agnes didn’t earn her title of Firewand for saving lives—but he struggled to imagine the fair elf in a fighting competition or playing chess.

  “It pleased Overlord Mardok to have me fight prisoners for his entertainment in his private arena, because he found few things more aesthetically pleasing than beauty stained with blood,” Agnes explained without emotion. “Overlord Gargauth had me play with flames and entertain him with games, so long as I never won any of them. Only your father used me as a physician.”

  “Interesting…” Firewand had been in the Crimson Throne’s employ since Mardok Endymion. She likely knew many, many secrets about her past employers.

  Louis gave her up way too easily. Simon couldn’t shake the feelings that the man hadn’t allowed Agnes to leave the castle as a favor to his half-brother alone. She’s too strong to be ignored, but too dangerous to keep in the castle, considering she’s bound to obey the Overlord… who will likely try to get her.

  That was it! Either Louis wanted her out of the castle to remove a wild card in the war between factions, or he intended to use her as bait to catch Casval. Likely both. She was a poisoned gift in his mind.

  I should have known better than to listen to his speeches about meritocracies, Simon thought in annoyance. One did not lead the War Party without a ruthless streak. I’m just another pawn on the board to him.

  “Did you ever see my father use another Class other than Overlord?” Simon inquired.

  “Your father used to wield the Commander Noble Class before sitting on the Crimson Throne,” Agnes replied. “He gave its Crestone away to his blood-brother Maublanc and never used any other Class other than the Overlord afterwards, or if he did, I was not aware of it.”

  And that detail bothered Simon very much.

  Assuming that reigns could last for subjective lifetimes, then Balzam Magnos and his predecessors should have had plenty of time to master multiple Classes. They would have had access to hundreds, if not thousands, of different Crestones and teachers. Yet they only ever used the Overlord. True, it was famously the most powerful of them all, but it couldn’t do everything and carried some drawbacks, like the reliance on miasma.

  Simon could only think of one possible explanation: the Overlord somehow interfered with other Classes. The simplest possibility would be that only Overlord levels carried back in time across the reigns, but Simon couldn’t check that until he got another Class and his next death—something he hoped to delay as much as possible.

  Firewand’s multiple Crestones would let him run experiments once he left the castle. Broaching the subject now would bring too much scrutiny.

  “I’m thinking we might have an issue,” Simon said. “I intend to leave for the Imperial Military Academy, but an elf like you will wither in a city without miasma or mana to draw upon.”

  “I have manacites charged with mana to serve as emergency reserves,” Agnes replied. “I will need to periodically return to the castle or obtain more once I run out of them, but I should be able to last a few weeks on them unless Your Highness has me cast spells.”

  “That… shouldn’t be an issue.” Simon crossed his arms. “Although you’ll bring a lot of attention as an elf wearing an archmage’s robes. We’ll need to give you casual clothes. Maybe a hat to hide your ears, too.”

  Agnes didn’t answer. She simply stared at him unblinkingly, more of a statue than a woman of flesh and blood.

  She’s either completely dead inside or used to keep her feelings hidden for survival, Simon thought. I suppose I would act the same after spending centuries in the company of people like Father or Gargauth.

  In any case, she was sure to prove a useful ally. The two then walked to the dungeons to meet the two newest members of their growing retinue. Lauriane was already there, having overseen the prisoners’ ‘amnesty.’

  The first was the same Vassal Class holder Simon had executed in a previous reign for a level-up. It was so, so unsettling to watch someone whose head he had sent rolling on the floor alive and well, standing right in front of him. The man had been bound, gagged, and blindfolded before, yet he looked almost boringly normal when free and fully clothed. He was the scholarly-looking type of fellow, with brown hair, a small beard, average height… but there was something in his red-rimmed gaze that unsettled Simon.

  As for the kish woman… She was the fairest creature Simon had ever laid eyes upon.

  Simon couldn’t help but gasp and blush when he saw her. She looked like a fair maiden in the prime of her youth, with cascading hair that was a unique shade of pink falling to her waist, smooth, faultless skin, eyes akin to molten silver, and a face that would inspire any musician to write a thousand songs. Her shoulderless white dress, held on to her by a golden sash, only highlighted her curves. Her only inhuman features were the red, feathered wings sprouting out of her back, yet they only somehow enhanced her grace. Even the glare she sent Simon and Lauriane’s way failed to diminish her beauty.

  No wonder Dassein decided to send her back to the capital. Father would have bedded her within the hour he laid eyes upon her.

  Both of them boasted a slave tattoo on their neckline. While nowhere near as complex as the one branding Agnes Firewand, they still showed the sigil of House Magnos and Simon’s name written in pitch black ink, melded into their skin.

  “The man is Lorimor Ancitif, bookkeeper, aspiring demon cultist, and would-be unregistered Scholar,” Lauriane said. “The beastwoman answers to the name of Eole, from what I understand. She speaks in a rare beastman dialect, but we’ve taught her rudimentary Endymian words like ‘walk’ or ‘bow.’ You’ll have some work ahead of you if you want to train her properly.”

  “I’ll have plenty of time on my hands during the school year,” Simon replied.

  “Are you truly, truly sure you want to leave them with their Crestones?” Lauriane bit her lip in worry. “Conventional slave crests are much less powerful and intricate than the brands Father put on his own slaves. It cannot compel them to fulfill orders; it simply inflicts pain if they fail or refuse to carry them out, or try to harm you. Your death will also mean their own, but people with Vassal Classes might find loopholes.”

  “I think it’s worth the risk, and I’ll have free retainers to watch over them,” Simon reassured her. “How can I be expected to become a military officer if I cannot keep my own retinue in line?”

  “I suppose you have a point, but do not say I did not warn you.” Lauriane glanced at Lorimor. “Another thing. This man, Lorimor, has knowledge of how to craft a Vassal Class. A master partly shares responsibility should his slave commit crimes, so there will be consequences if that information escapes into the wild. Even I will struggle to keep you out of trouble.”

  Simon thanked her for the warning, though in truth the man’s knowledge was the reason why he asked him to be spared. Having someone capable of creating a Crestone for his own use would let him test out his conflicting Classes theory.

  Lauriane then left to attend to more urgent matters, and Simon soon found himself alone with his retinue’s new members. He assessed them for a moment, then spoke up in Endymian.

  “As you’ve no doubt heard, I’ve saved your lives from execution,” Simon told Lorimor and Eole, though the latter indeed didn't seem to understand Endymian. “Here’s how it’s going to be. I have some tasks you will help me with. Do it well, and I might grant you your freedom back by the end of my academic year with amnesty for your crimes. How does that sound?”

  “Good, Your Highness,” Lorimor replied with a faint smile as insincere as that of any flatterer.

  That one is dangerous. Simon then turned to the kish woman. “Eole?”

  “You cannot understand my language, manling,” the kish said with disdain, the Overlord Class instantly translating her words for Simon’s sake. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

  Simon paused for a moment, then leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “I can understand you,” he whispered in her ear in the kish language as translated by the Overlord, much to her shock, “and you will tell me everything.”

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