VoidHerald
patreon
The Hundred Reigns 85: Mask of the Jester King (3)
🕑 Added 2026-01-15 15:04:15 +0000 UTC------
The tunnel went on forever and ever.
Simon knew Frightwall was full of secret passages and hidden chambers since he had had the displeasure of discovering his mother’s acid-filled ‘tomb’ in a previous reign, but he didn’t understand just how deep the castle went until Shabram guided him down secret stairs that seemed to go on forever for dozens of floors. The walls there were black and akin to petrified flesh, with the occasional mummified face embedded in the stone, smokeless ghostfire burning in their open mouths. These must have been the victims of Mardok’s infamous Walling of the Saints.
“How far down does the castle extend?” Simon asked Shabram. Although they had eventually stopped their descent at some point to walk through a horizontal tunnel beneath Frightwall’s lake-moat, the stairs continued down into the darkness. He had to cast a Hellfire spell to keep the path alight.
“Beyond eight thousand feet, according to your father,” Shabram replied, which shocked Simon. “The Manatree root network usually extends at a depth between two and eight thousand feet, so Mardok wanted to pierce through that entire layer to prevent an attack from below.”
“What do the deeper chambers contain?”
“I’m not sure, though your father discouraged me from exploring beyond a certain depth. Castle Frightwall is a nexus of demonic power, and there are things down here that have existed since Mardok’s time.”
Now Simon was morbidly curious. His Lord of the Demon Castle Perk continued to buff him until they took the current tunnel, which extended below the surrounding lake. This meant his powers should remain effective even in the lowest levels. Perhaps he should invest a reign in uncovering Frightwall’s buried secrets.
“Is this the only tunnel leading inside the castle?” Simon inquired. “That is quite the security risk.”
“It is the only one I know of, and a mechanism can cause the entire tunnel to collapse in a moment’s notice,” Shabram replied, “This particular pathway was meant to serve as a secret exit or way to supply the castle should it be besieged. Your father allowed me to use the manse it leads to as a secondary residence, and I hope Your Majesty will allow me to keep it.”
“You may,” Simon replied. Shabram had more than earned his trust over the various reigns.
“Thank you.” They eventually reached a seemingly dead end, at which point Shabram pressed a few stones to reveal a staircase hidden behind a wall. “Here we are. You should drop your disguise. It would raise too many unfortunate questions if the sitting Overlord were to appear in my home.”
Simon cancelled his Fiendmask and followed her lead. They eventually emerged inside a wine cellar, then walked up into a beautiful mansion’s main hall bathed in light from great windows. Shifter maids with the same Navarran eyes and hair as Lady Shabram herself politely bowed at them once they emerged.
“Go fetch Aegio,” Shabram ordered one of her maids. “His brother wants to meet him.”
“Yes, Guildmistress,” the staffer replied. Simon noticed she didn’t make a noise when she walked, which suggested she held a Rogue-type Vassal Class of some sort.
“Are these people trustworthy?” Simon inquired.
“They are,” Shabram replied with confidence. “They have been in my employ since before I joined your father’s service.”
“Oh?” That caught Simon’s attention. “It suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know mùch about you beyond your occupation and the fact that you command over a dukedom in Navarre.”
“There isn’t much to know. House Gremory used to be a Navarran assassin guild before we sided with the empire during your father’s conquest.” Shabram smiled ear to ear. “Your father rewarded us by crafting a dukedom out of our former rivals’ territory and allowing us to transition into a true noble house.”
It somehow didn’t surprise Simon to learn that she used to run a glorified criminal enterprise, before catching his father’s eye. “So your son will become a duke?”
“Not quite. My House, like the guild it used to be, elects its leader. Perhaps Aegio will follow in my footsteps, or another one of my apprentices will take the lead. Either way, Your Majesty’s successors will find no better spymasters than my clan’s operatives.” Shabram’s head perked up to the stairs. “Here he comes.”
Simon looked up to find two maids escorting his half-brother down the stairs.
Aegio Gremory was a scrawny little boy no older than little Henry Eligos and dressed far more plainly, but his origins were clear for all to see. His short hair was the same red shade as his father, his teal eyes a mix between Shabram’s emerald and the Magnos line’s cold grey, and his wolfish ears marked his half-shifter origins. Still, the excited, childish smile he showed his visitors was unlike anything Simon had seen among his family.
“Mother, you’re back!” Aegio rushed to Shabram, who happily kissed him on the forehead.
“How good to see you again, Aegio,” his mother replied with a gentle smile. “Let me introduce you to your older half-brother, Simon.”
“My brother!” The child smirked at Simon, waving his hand at his elder. “Hello Simon, I’m Aegio! You’re so big and tall!”
“So are you, Aegio,” Simon replied warmly. He couldn’t explain it, but the mere sight of the boy filled him with affection. “How old are you?”
“I’m six!” Aegio shyly put his hands behind his back. “Hey, hey, do you have a Class? Are you a warrior?”
“I’m a magician,” Simon replied, knowing better than to show off his Class to a child. Spells could be taught to everyone, though.
“Awesome!” the kid replied excitedly. “Can you shoot lightning from your eyes?”
Simon chuckled, raised his hands, and then cast a Hellthunder spell causing lightning bolts to crackle from one palm to another. The look of wonder on Aegio’s face washed away all the disgust Simon had felt when he finished Balzam’s letter to Thalas.
This was a Magnos child that his father didn’t have the time to twist.
“So cool…” Aegio then began to bombard his sibling with questions. “Can you fly?! Can you breathe fire?! Can you teleport?!”
A true spymistress’ son. “I can do all of those things,” Simon replied, snapping his fingers to create a brief burst of Hellfire. “I could teach you a thing or two.”
“You’re serious?!” Aegio all but jumped in place in excitement. “I’ll become a wizard!”
“Everything in due time, Aegio,” Shabram said softly. “Prince Simon is a very busy man, and you need to practice your swordsmanship first.”
“Aww…” Aegio deflated, but children his age were bottomless wells of energy, so that didn’t last long. “But you’re coming back soon though, right Simon? You’ll come back and teach me?”
“As soon as I can,” Simon replied warmly. And as often as I can. “If you can show me some cool sword techniques, I’ll teach you a spell.”
“Sweet! I can’t wait!” Aegio waved his hand at him with a big grin. “See you soon, Simon!”
Simon waved him goodbye as maids took his half-brother away. It would be such a delight to watch him grow up, once he had figured out how to navigate the civil war and the Zodiac Parade.
“Allow me to give you a tour of this estate,” Shabram proposed. “No one is aware of its existence besides my own organization, and your father outfitted it with the best anti-divination measures available. No one will notice should Your Majesty decide to turn it into their secondary Dungeon.”
Good. The mess with Euphemia had taught Simon the value of having a secondary safehouse he could teleport to in a pinch. This should do.
“How many other children did my father have?” he asked Shabram as she gave him a tour of the estate. It was relatively large, being a three-story tall mansion with its own stables, walled gardens, a library, training grounds, and even its own well.
“At least twenty-four if we include your trueborn siblings, from nearly every tribe. Your father had a pathological obsession with siring powerful children. I have files on them if Your Majesty wants to investigate them.”
Wise. Simon guessed his father had learned his lesson about bastards coming to ruin his day.
Still, Balzam Magnos seemed obsessed with siring a powerful heir capable of taking the role of Overlord and keeping the Class in the bloodline. His attempts to alter Norbelle in the womb to increase her power and his disdain of Thalas made that clear.
“But Aegio didn’t mention my father,” Simon noted. “He never visited him, did he?”
“No, and I was careful to keep our son away from court. Empress Euphemia would take offense at Aegio’s mere existence, and neither would she tolerate my presence at the High Council if she knew.” Shabram scoffed. “Moreover, I saw how your father treated Thalas. His attention was worse than his neglect.”
“You don’t say.” Kill them all, his father had ordered Simon through the Keeper. The trueborn and the bastards both. “Was Aegio’s birth… well–”
“Consensual?” Shabram seemed vaguely amused by his hesitation. “Yes, it was. Your father took me as his mistress since I became his spymistress. I wanted a child, and what better person to sire it than the most powerful man in the world? I didn’t completely understand what kind of man your father was back then, so I thought bearing him a son would solidify my house’s position.”
Simon scowled in distaste. “That is a rather cold way of putting it.”
“Do you fault me for it?” Shabram shrugged as she guided him up a set of stairs to the mansion’s highest point. “I'm no fool. I know there’s a war between the Oracle and Overlord Classes for control of the world. Each of them possesses a strong foresight, yet aims for different futures. The Overlords are winning handily so far, and I will enjoy their protection so long as I am useful to them.”
“Why not simply seize the Class yourself?” Simon inquired. That part still escaped him. “You’ve seen for yourself that my father wasn’t invincible, and you have both the intellect and resources to slay me.”
“I am flattered… but to become the Overlord is to make an enemy of the entire world, Your Majesty,” Shabram replied with far more wisdom than most. “You’ve seen that yourself, and your father learned that to his detriment in spite of his vast power. My position offers me great privileges with few of the risks associated with your Class.”
“Hence why you showed me my half-brother.” Simon was no fool either. Shabram had always refused to tell Simon about her motives unless he stayed in Frightwall to rule, and the reason was now clear. “You know my father wanted me to purge all of my siblings.”
“I had guessed as much,” Shabram admitted, though she was too good a spy to show unease. “Once one of his children ascended to the Crimson Throne, the rest would become potential rivals. I feared you might have received a directive on that front.”
“So you hoped that seeing Aegio would make me reconsider,” Simon guessed before shrugging. “You need not fear for his safety. I’m not Louis, nor my father.”
“I am relieved.” They entered the highest room in the manse, an office with a desk and a single window that Shabram probably used to work at home. “Your Majesty can count on my loyalty. I am very content with the current situation. So long as things stay as they were under your father, I shall serve you as faithfully as I served him.”
Simon scoffed. “You want to keep the mistress part too?”
“If His Majesty desires it.” She sat on a nearby desk and crossed her legs lasciviously. “I could give you a private dancing show. Your father was very fond of them.”
“I have no desire for any romantic entanglement for now, but duly noted.” Simon was considering marrying Anna once he officially inherited the Overlord Class from his ‘soon-to-be-departed’ father, and she had threatened to hang any woman she found in his bed after the wedding. Besides, the idea of sleeping with one of his father’s mistresses felt… weird. “I have other work for you. As a shifter, you count as both a humanoid and a beast type, correct? How does it look in your stat interface?”
“The humanoid type comes before the beast one in my current form,” Shabram confirmed. “The order inverts itself when I take my animal form.”
“Could you show me?”
Shabram nodded and underwent a transformation. Simon knew that shifters, true to their name, could usually alternate between a humanoid and a more bestial form, but he had rarely seen it unfold in real time. Shabram grew brown-grey fur over her skin and claws along her fingers. Her face became that of a desert wolf, and a long tail sprouted from beneath her robes. She gained more muscle and a good foot in height. Nonetheless, no one would mistake her for a true wolf. Her form remained clearly humanoid and bipedal, a harmonious mix of the woman and the beast.
However, it had its cost. Simon had read that the longer a shifter stayed in animal form, the more it affected their minds, causing them to go feral. The strange rabies-like disease which had swept over Telluria in a past reign locked them in that shape for sure.
“Impressive,” Simon noted upon summoning the Brand of Envy. “This mark of mine, should you accept it, will let you transform into any other being sharing your type. I want to test it.”
“I live to serve,” Shabram replied, her voice unchanged by the transformation.
Simon placed his mark on her hip, and they then began a series of tests. As he suspected, the Brand of Envy allowed Shabram to adopt humanoid, beast, and merged shapes at will rather than forcing her into a human or animal hybrid. He watched her transform into Euphemia and then into a true wolf… albeit one far larger than normal.
It was then that the brand’s first limit reared its ugly head. Shabram couldn’t change her mass. She could transform into a mouse, but only one that was the size of a man. She managed to shapeshift into Euphemia and Louis, even imitating their voices, but not her much smaller son. Simon’s hopes of raising an army of branded giants were swiftly dashed.
The typing also proved to be another severe restriction. Shabram failed to transform into Eole or a lamia, because the System apparently classified bird shifters as ‘avian’ types and scalefolks as ‘reptiles’ rather than ‘beasts.’
Finally, as befitting its name of Brand of Envy, the power only allowed the user to steal someone else’s appearance rather than create their own wholesale. Shabram failed to transform into a true human variant of her own shape without the wolf ears she hid under her turban, nor could she transform into a unique beast unknown to all.
“This power is far more limited than I expected,” Simon guessed. “A pity.”
“It is still useful,” Shabram replied upon regaining her normal form. “I could impersonate almost anyone, or adopt a more fitting combat form. Polymorphy is much more difficult to identify than illusions.”
“True, and it cannot be dispelled upon taking a hit like Fiendmask.” Which made Simon wonder why his father underused the Devil Brands. They simply had too many advantages not to distribute them to lieutenants or minions, rather than a handful of retainers like Duchar or the generals.
The only explanation Simon could come up with was that Balzam feared the brands could be used against him. Since they linked the target’s soul to the Overlord’s, a skilled spellcaster could potentially exploit the connection.
“Pick one of your best agents, and have them impersonate me with the brand,” Simon ordered Shabram as he summoned a miasma crystal and claimed the manse as his Dungeon. “They should have no trouble doing so with all the intel you accumulated on me. This should buy us some time should Lauriane begin to investigate my ‘disappearance.’”
“I will arrange it shortly.” Shabram stared at the floating miasma crystal with a hint of curiosity. “How will this affect my son and employees?”
“Those who perish inside these walls will rise to defend the crystal, but I will ensure they do not harm the living and only protect this room. Aegio will be fine.” Simon crossed his arms. “What are your plans for him, now that my father is dead?”
“I had hoped to have him squire for another lord once he came of age, in order to solidify our connections with the imperial aristocracy. I had my sights on Prince Dassein before your father’s demise.”
“Dassein would treat him well,” Simon conceded. He didn’t even entertain the thought of Aegio squiring for him. Being an Overlord’s retainer meant constantly dancing with death. “However, it might be wiser to send him abroad. We have much trouble ahead of us and the transition of power might prove… difficult.”
Simon didn’t want to have the death of a child weigh on his conscience.
—-----
With his backup base set up and most important officials returning to Frightwall, Simon finally assumed the Crimson Throne the next morning.
Although he had seen it time and time again floating in the void at the end of every reign, surprisingly Simon had yet to sit upon the damn thing. It looked even more colossal in Frightwall’s throneroom, surrounded by great red marble pillars holding up a domed ceiling and bathed in the glow of hundreds of stained glass windows showcasing the past Overlords’ crimes and triumphs. Balzam Magnos had held court here, towering over thousands of nobles and supplicants desperate for his attention.
Simon walked past the carpet leading to the throne under the gaze of its four malicious ruby eyes, ascended the dais’ steps, and then sat on it. A sudden smell of fresh blood and rancid sulfur filled his nostrils, followed by a brief surge of pleasure and contentment as the Crimson Throne’s dark influence flowed through him. It welcomed him, cradled him in its abyssal embrace, and offered him dominion over all that lived.
Your sweet promises mean nothing to me, Simon thought as the Keeper of the Throne appeared at his side to announce his first visitors of the day. “Princess Norbelle and Prince Thalas, Your Dark Majesty.”
Great iron doors opened on their own, with black knights escorting Euphemia’s children inside the throne room before departing.
It had been quite a while since Simon had last seen Norbelle in the flesh—their most recent interaction having been her Eidolons’ attack on the Goetia Research Facility, and they didn’t meet directly then—and she had somehow grown to resemble her mother even more. Same hair, same fair face, same build, same golden eyes with a diadem hiding the third one in the middle of her forehead. Whereas Louis was said to be the spitting image of Balzam Magnos in his youth, Norbelle was a look into Euphemia’s past.
However, no one would mistake one for the other. Whereas Euphemia was humble and dignified, Norbelle strutted with confidence into the throne room like she owned the place, her red dress trailing behind her. Her expression was full of mischief rather than sternness, and a smirk never left her face. She was the culmination of the imperial bloodline: refined, wicked, and unbearably sure of herself.
“Father,” Thalas said, kneeling in front of the throne and avoiding his gaze for fear of earning a rebuke.
Norbelle seemed to hesitate a moment, but then grabbed her skirt and gave Simon a courteous bow. “Daddy.”
Did Balzam tolerate this behavior in the past? Simon wondered. He had never seen the two interact, so he couldn’t tell. I knew he favored her over Thalas, but that doesn't mean much.
“I have tasks for you, my children, but first…” Simon said in his best impersonation of Balzam’s voice. “How are things going with Cocagne, my daughter?”
“Wonderfully.” Norbelle looked at her nails. “I have their boy-prince wrapped around my finger. He follows me around like a puppy, and his mother is fond of me. The Ranger is a bit suspicious of me, but I’ll win him over in time. They even floated the idea of letting me form a contract with their Phoenix if you can believe that.”
She sounded rather pleased with her arranged marriage.
“I expect to give birth within a year of the marriage, after which I’ll arrange for my new husband to have an accident,” Norbelle said as if discussing the weather. “Once I have declared myself regent over our child, it will be easy to invite Endymion troops to move in. I might be able to skip the kid part if I can appoint the right people and steal my mother-in-law’s Crestone, but no promises.”
Oh.
Oh right, Simon had almost forgotten that she was a princess of Endymion.
“Good,” Simon replied, turning his gaze on Thalas next. Part of him rejoiced when the Berserker that had tormented him so often meekly avoided his gaze in submission, but that glee disappeared the moment Simon recalled his father’s letter. “I have a task for you, Thalas. The Flauros and Eligos families are soon to arrive. They are all traitors, but I would rather arrest and capture them alive. You are to assist Shabram in capturing them should they resist. Malphas’ sisters are both mages and should be no match for you.”
“Yes, father.” Thalas bowed obediently. “I will not disappoint you.”
Simon scowled in spite of himself. The neediness in Thalas’ voice, that desperate eagerness to earn his father’s approval, cut deeper than he expected.
Simon had once taunted Thalas about Balzam passing him over as the heir because he was an incompetent piece of crap. That remained true to this day, but the flaw that the Third Overlord saw in his son wasn’t his lack of third eye or behavior; it was his inability to murder his own sire. That had been a crime worthy of being molded into a stepping stone for more ruthless siblings.
Balzam had willingly turned Thalas into an insecure bully because he dared to show his father unconditional love. A sacrifice for his successor.
And the worst part was that Balzam had succeeded. The thought of killing Thalas had motivated Simon in his early reigns, and his death had granted him levels. He was an arrow that had served its purpose.
And there was nothing that Simon hated more than living up to his father’s expectations.
“Thalas,” Simon said.
His half-brother finally looked up to him with eyes full of fear. Simon could see his fingers trembling, perhaps at the thought that he would receive a cruel rebuke or warning not to fail him. Simon briefly considered doing exactly that, for all the headaches his half-brother had given him, but he knew he would derive no satisfaction from it.
“Go make me proud,” Simon said.
Thalas stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head out of nowhere. His skin paled, and a terrible fright seized his heart. Such an injunction didn’t bring him satisfaction, but dread, because there had to be a catch somewhere.
Is there anything salvageable about this? Simon wondered as Thalas silently and hurriedly left the throne room. Jealousy will consume him the moment the truth comes out, by our father’s own design.
Simon still loathed his half-brother to his core for his abuse, bullying, and his attempts to kill him. The spoiled brat was responsible for his own actions and deserved all the humiliations he suffered.
Simon just hated playing into Balzam Magnos’ plans even more.
The thought of making peace with Thalas would have been laughable to Simon once, but now that he had learned how his father had transformed him into this… this petty, pathetic creature… he wasn’t so sure.
Norbelle watched her brother leave with a widening smirk. “That was so unkind,” she said once Simon and her were alone in the room with the Keeper. “Thalas is very sensible, and you’ve just spooked him.”
“A whim of mine, I suppose,” Simon replied, trying to keep up appearances. “But let us talk of more important things than Thalas. I have summoned you here to discuss another of your siblings.”
“Simon?” Norbelle guessed.
How did she guess? “Yes, Simon. I am more and more convinced that he inherited latent Visionary and Darkblood gifts similar to yours, which may prove useful to us. I will have you lend him the Summoner Crestone for a time, to see if it awakens anything.”
“My Crestone?” Norbelle bit her lip. “But Daddy, you promised I could keep this one… it fits me so well.”
Did she just talk back to her father?
“You will recover it soon enough, once I have confirmed whether your brother will be of any use,” Simon lied. “I shall lend you a Summoner Vassal Class until then, so you can transfer the experience back.”
“Daddy, daddy, you’re breaking my heart. That is such a downgrade.” Norbelle gave him a sorry look. “Can’t you just spank me like you used to and call it a day? I like it when you slap me like Thalas.”
What the… Was she mocking him? There was no way she acted like this when Father and her were alone. “What game are you playing, my daughter?”
“I don’t know, what’s yours?” She put her hands behind her back and smiled from ear to ear. “Why are you sitting on Father’s throne, Simon?”
-------
--------
A/N: about time I introduced that gremlin.
Comments
racnor 1
Each child is a tiny mirror of part of Balzam; Thalas is a sad impression made on the world by his ego, Louis is a murderous conqueror, Laurianne inherited his belief in his family. It seems like Norbelle got the troll genes.
Xeophyn
There are so many entertaining ways for this conversation to continue. I am regularly astounded by Void's ability to write in a way that continually opens more and more interesting options
