Chương 178: Chapter 6: The School of the Doomed (1)

At long last, Simon was free to leave. Days had passed without anyone noticing his Overlord Class or paying attention to him. Louis and Euphemia had forbidden anyone at court to speak of either Father's death or of his supposed testament, though Simon knew it was only a matter of time until the truth came out. Messengers and soldiers had been sent to find and arrest any Laurent Linconnu they could find. Simon would have wished them good luck if he didn't know how futile their ordeal was.

In turn, the day he was bound to leave for the Imperial Military Academy came. He had packed his belongings—since he had no intention of ever coming back—with great enthusiasm. He knew he wouldn't be particularly missed. Only Lauriane came to visit him, and it wasn't only for sentimentality's sake.

"Are you certain you do not recall anything else from your dream?" Lauriane asked.

"I told you, all I remember were the words 'poison' and 'anti-heal,' followed by the sight of Father's corpse." It didn't please Simon to lie to Lauriane, but his Class would literally kill him if he gave more specific details.

"I swear I'll send you a message if I recall anything more."

"I would appreciate it." Lauriane crossed her arms.

"This stays between us, but Firewand confirmed that the blade that killed Father indeed had an Anti-Heal effect enchanted on it." So whoever had poisoned him in the last reign was likely the same person who murdered Father. The plot thickened. With luck, Louis or Euphemia would find the killer for him.

"I still don't understand why Father would give his Class to some nobody," Lauriane complained.

"What game could he have been playing at? Is this a trial for us?"

"Any progress on that front?"

"Telling you more would put you in danger, especially if you intend to stay away from the succession."

"Fair enough." Simon let out a sigh.

"I guess this is goodbye then. I'll miss you."

"I will miss you as well," Lauriane reassured him, her expression softening slightly.

"I wish I could come to see you take off on the airship, but your retainers will ensure your safety in my stead." Simon blinked in surprise.

"My retainers?" His confusion amused Lauriane.

"You were not informed? Father saw fit to assign you two men-at-arms before you left for the academy: Leonard Decarabia and Meredith d'Ose." He never met them in the previous loop. Did the factions at court keep them away from him when the truth of his Class came out?

"I thought I was supposed to go to the Academy on my own," Simon replied. While all his siblings had retainers, his father never seemed to consider him more than an afterthought and thus never assigned him any in his youth.

"I suppose that bastard you might be, you still remained a member of the House of Magnos and thus deserving of protection. Or at least I assume so." Lauriane sighed.

"We cannot exactly ask Father for his reasoning anymore." That was truly strange. Was it linked to his decision to turn Simon into his heir?

"Decarabia is a marquis line beholden to House Paimon," Simon recalled with a frown on his face.

"And Ose is a baron title."

"Quite so," Lauriane confirmed.

"Leonard distinguished himself during both the Scaland and Magvolia campaigns as part of Maublanc's vanguards, while Meredith showed enough promise during Tellurian suppression missions to receive a baron title." Nobility in the empire followed a rather simple scheme. At the summit of the world were the princes of blood, namely the imperial house of Magnos, their in-laws, and House Paimon. Second only to them were the dukes, rulers of major houses and vast territories.

Below were the marquis, who formed a vast motley of senators, ministers, archbishops of the Light, councilors, generals, and other dignitaries, who themselves towered above the even more numerous counts, who formed the administrative backbone of the state. And finally, at the very bottom, were the barons. Unlike all other nobles, barons ruled over no lands, and though they received a stipend from the state alongside a Vassal Class Crestone, their title was non-inheritable.

It was an honorific station usually granted to knights and other personalities who had distinguished themselves on the battlefield.

"You said Father personally picked them for me?" Simon inquired. Was it another one of his tricks? Father had at least informed one other person in Telluria that he stood to inherit the Overlord Class.

"Him or Maublanc, I admit I haven't looked too much into the matter," Lauriane replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"While I understand you might want to put some distance between your heritage, considering the circumstances, I would suggest keeping them around. Few students at the academy will enjoy the benefits of Class Users for tutors."

"What are their Classes? Their political leanings?"

"Leonard is a Dreadnought who voiced his support for the War Party. I was considering recruiting him to my own household until Father decided to send him to you. Meredith is a Valkyrie, and while not vocal about it, she has frequented some Church Party affiliates in the past." Lauriane chuckled.

"Do not worry, I've heard they get along far better than Louis and Euphemia." That wasn't exactly a high bar to clear. Simon wondered if either of these retainers had been ordered to spy on him. He doubted so, since he was at the very bottom of the court's social hierarchy, but he would have to remain vigilant.

"I've heard there are six prisoners in the dungeon," Simon said.

"I figured I could recruit one or two, too, put them to good use." Lauriane scoffed.

"Criminals make for a dubious choice of companions, and I'm afraid you're too late. Louis already had them taken away for immediate execution." Did he? Simon guessed that since there was a lack of an Overlord in the palace, Louis had decided to put them to use to give his troops one last morsel of experience. That didn't bode well for the empress' future. Oh well, it wasn't his problem anymore. He didn't particularly care about anyone in the palace besides Lauriane, and she could handle herself.

This reign ought to be one of peace, serenity, and freedom. Simon had never flown on a mana-powered airship before, and found it to be a pleasant experience. Magitechnology was almost entirely reserved for military uses, but a few aerial lines catered to imperial nobility, wealthy merchants, or dignitaries traveling from one metropolis to another. The one Simon had taken connected the capital of Marthrone to the Princedom of Beleth in northern Telluria.

Father had created this administrative territory specifically for his second son, Dassein, and moved the Imperial Military Academy there to encourage officers to sharpen their skills against beastmen. In any case, watching the massive juggernaut of a winged ship anchored at the station, climbing up the footbridge, and then watching the lake surrounding Marthrone slowly turn into a puddle through the porthole as they took flight would remain one of the best memories of his life.

By contrast, the posh lobby, while well-equipped, didn't particularly stand out to him compared to the luxurious Castle Frightwall. Still, the staff had reserved a private space and table for him where he could meet his new men-at-arms around cups of Fablan tea. Leonard Decarabia and Meredith d'Ose were… well, pretty much how he imagined two noble Class users would look. Both looked a few years older than Simon—though not by much—and wore the purple and golden uniform of House Magnos' personal guard.

Leonard was a handsome man with the leanness and litheness of a graceful fighter, a clean-shaven face that would melt away many maidens' hearts, and perfectly combed thick brown hair. His skin was a little darker than the pale complexion of the imperial core regions, so he probably had a Uyo native somewhere in his ancestry. His confident smile and his amber eyes had a strange sharpness to them. He reminded Simon of a hawk on its perch for some reason, well at home in the sky.

Meanwhile, Meredith was the typical imperial hinterlander: a young, beautiful woman with a pale complexion, platinum hair that almost looked like flowing silver reaching to her waist, with two smaller braids on each side of her face. She was slender, with a full bosom and graceful legs. Her pale grey eyes, almost blue, assessed Simon with wariness and perhaps slight apprehension. Why did Father pick these two out of the entire imperial army to escort him? Were they spies answering to Louis and Euphemia?

Or did they know more than they let on? Did Father give them secret orders? Moreover, the more he looked at Leonard, the more familiar he seemed…

"I think I've seen you before, Leonard," Simon noted.

"Weren't you part of Lord Paimon's personal guard a few years back?"

"I am surprised His Highness remembers me," Leonard replied courteously. He had such a soothing voice for someone hardly a few years older than Simon.

"I indeed served Lord Maublanc before my current station. My sister Tiella currently accompanies his daughter, Lady Anna, as a handmaiden. They are both set to attend the Imperial Military Academy with Your Highness this year."

"A fortuitous coincidence." Simon liked Anna, who was kind and had a good head on her shoulders.

"What of you, Meredith?"

"Your Highness shall be my first assignment," she replied politely.

"I see. Did my father give you specific directives?" Leonard raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

"I never had the privilege to speak with His Majesty. I received my current commission through a decree while I served as a household knight."

"The same goes for me," Meredith said.

"I have only seen His Majesty during my ennoblement." So Father didn't give them a message... or if he did, they would keep their mouths shut. Disappointing, but not unexpected. A wise man would have kept any sensitive information away from the court and its many spies. The fact remained that he did officially pick these two with the task of serving him. There had to be more to them than met the eye, considering Father had a hundred lifetimes behind him.

"I find it interesting you seem to have expected His Majesty to give specific orders when it comes to you, Your Highness," Leonard said.

"I have heard no rumors that His Majesty and you were close, yet you believe your assignment represents a special attention on his part." The man was sharp.

"Is that why you accepted this commission?"

"Besides the fact that the wise do not refuse the Overlord's will, I do confess a certain curiosity." Leonard intertwined his fingers.

"Most noble bloodlines would see being asked to serve a bastard as a slight, yet His Majesty never had cause to resent nor punish House Decarabia, and we shall receive a generous stipend for our service to you. I find this situation quite unusual."

"I see." Simon better watch his tongue around that one. He was much smarter than he looked and might figure out too much.

"What of you, Meredith?" A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. She straightened up in her seat.

"I only wish to serve."

"A good reason. And I suppose that the real one is that being bound to a member of House Magnos will bring you welcome attention?" Her flustered expression confirmed Simon's doubts.

"It's okay, I don't mind. I'm not judging."

"My sincere apologies," she said, her cheeks pinkish.

"I will admit that I am looking for a noble husband, since my baron title will only last one generation, but I swear my search shall not interfere with my duties."

"I hope so as well." Though I don't believe it. Simon didn't know what to make of having a curious knight and a social climber in his employ. Either could be dangerous, or blow the whistle should they figure out the truth about his Class.

"What does your employment contract state?" Leonard chuckled.

"The terms are rather simple. We are to serve His Highness until he no longer needs us."

"We've also been tasked to oversee your training and help you level up once you obtain a Class," Meredith added. Oh? That part surprised Simon. All graduates of the Imperial Military Academy were expected to receive a Crestone after completing their final trial, but Father had taken steps to see Simon inherit the Overlord Class… Was this a smokescreen to ensure Simon had trainers to gain strength from, or had Father been hoping Simon would level-up in another Class before inheriting the Overlord's power?

His own death could have come as a surprise. What game are you playing beyond the grave, old man? Do you want me to avenge you or something? Simon shook his head. No matter his father's intentions, their interests aligned.

"Truth be told, I'm looking to sharpen my fighting skills in battle ahead of the Academy," Simon said.

"A sensible goal," Leonard commended him.

"Perhaps Your Highness would agree to a spar, so that we might evaluate him and help us figure out how to best prepare him for it?" Simon nodded. Since he had no weapon besides a dagger he kept for emergencies, Leonard lent him his backup sword and invited him to a short spar with Meredith as their only spectator. Simon immediately went on the offensive and quickly noticed the improvement the Overlord Class provided him.

He had never been a good swordsman—having received little training besides what lessons Lauriane had time to give him—but it felt like he had practiced for years on end. His strength and speed had also increased, though nowhere near enough when compared to the might he possessed with the Overlord armor on. In fact, the improvements were too great. Simon forced himself to hold back, even if it meant fighting against his instincts.

Showing his strength now would only bring suspicions upon him so he decided to throw the fight. He was no match for Leonard anyway, who parried all his blows with casual ease and then swiftly slipped his blade past Simon's defense to press the edge against his throat. The Dreadnought pulled back with a frown on his face.

"Does Your Highness have a Class?" he inquired. Simon's eyes widened in surprise.

"What makes you think so?" He immediately realized his mistake when Leonard nodded to himself, his suspicions confirmed.

"The way you move is similar to that of individuals with medium proficiency in melee weapons. Martial classes imbue standardized skills which a trained individual can quickly recognize."

"I see." Damn it, Simon didn't know that. Even throwing the fight hadn't been enough to hide the improvements in his fighting style.

"But no, I do not have a Class." Leonard watched his face for a second, then nodded.

"Of course." He didn't believe Simon, but he wouldn't push it further. Simon cursed inwardly when he noticed the way Meredith squinted at him. He had to come up with a story to avoid digging his grave deeper.

"Look, there is more than you both know, but I am not allowed to tell you more yet," Simon said.

"I will give you more details when I can." Meredith's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Oh, I see." She cleared her throat.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I understand," Leonard replied with an undecipherable gaze.

"Should we expect other orders soon?"

"Perhaps," Simon replied. As he suspected, by remaining evasive and hinting at orders from unseen superiors, he had let these two believe that their mission went beyond merely protecting one of the Overlord's bastards; that they had been selected for something so important the details had to remain confidential for now.

"For now, your duty is to help me become stronger." The more levels he gained, the better he would be able to defend himself from any assassin or overeager kinslayer. The trip barely lasted five hours, flying by so fast that Simon hardly noticed it. He spent most of it discussing a training regimen with his men-at-arms. Leonard would teach him the ways of the sword and the mace, while Meredith would focus on the spear, alongside the basics of weapon enchantments.

"I am not certain I can cast such spells," Simon warned her.

"Anyone can cast spells, Your Highness," Meredith replied.

"Classes simply shorten the time required to learn them from decades to years, months, and weeks."

"Moreover, understanding grants strength," Leonard added.

"Whether or not Your Highness will learn how to cast them, he should at least know how to counter them." Fair enough. He trusted their expertise on the matter. Simon spent the last few minutes of the trip looking through the porthole at Telluria's plains and the Princedom of Beleth, where he would spend the rest of the year. Located next to a river crossing the great sea of grass, which the beastmen called home, Beleth was a city built for war.

Belching foundries and forges spewed smoke so high in the sky that they reached the airship, and its central keep—where Simon's half-brother Dassein reigned—loomed over moats and stone fortifications separating the inner wards from farmfields and a growing shantytown. The streets looked like a grid from above, likely to facilitate the movement of troops.

Simon could see what he assumed to be the Imperial Military Academy's central building and courtyard inside a ring of black towers and fortifications right next to Beleth's keep, the place where he would spend the next year of his life. The airship soon landed at the port amidst imperial galleys, warehouses, and fisheries. Simon climbed down with his men-at-arms and the other passengers, then called a carriage to bring them to the academy.

They drove through the grey stone streets until they reached the so-called 'central ward' where the Imperial Military Academy was located.

"You'll stop here," Simon told his men-at-arms.

"Bring my belongings to my quarters. I'll be catching up to you later." Meredith nearly bolted out of her seat.

"Where are you going, Your Highness?"

"That is not for you to know," Simon replied evasively.

"Your Highness, I highly suggest that you reconsider," Leonard said, very calmly.

"Your family has enemies, and our sworn duty is to protect you."

"I will be fine." Or at least he hoped so. His mysterious, Devil Brand-wearing contact had assured him he would be safe, but also insisted that he come alone.

"I will be meeting someone and return by sunset." Meredith opened her mouth to argue, but Leonard convinced her to relent with a glance.

"As Your Highness wishes." Simon watched the two climb down from the carriage with obvious reluctance, then turned to the human coachman.

"I need you to bring me to an address at the Onyx Ward."

"The Onyx Ward?" the coachman choked.

"Sir, that place is crawling with ruffians and ill-intentioned warlocks!"

"Really?" Well, that would be the kind of people his Father affectioned anyway.

"I'll pay extra." An extra silver coin convinced the coachman to do as he was told and bring him to the westernmost district. Simon quickly noticed a few startling details. Not only were most buildings shaped from coal-seared black and red bricks, but most people in the streets wore slave collars encrusted with runes around their necks. Nothing like the easily disguised seals his Father put on his personal stock.

The carriage soon stopped near a dead end, right in front of a black house sandwiched between two alley walls so tightly packed the vehicle couldn't enter it. The building had no windows, only a single wooden door with a ram skull nailed above the threshold. Quite the welcoming place. Simon walked in front of it, held his breath, and then focused on the telepathic link he shared with his mysterious contact.

"I am outside." He stood on the threshold a moment until he heard movement on the other side of the door. It slid open to reveal a beautiful young woman with eerily pale skin while a black veil adorned with a golden tiara shaped like a demon's skull covered long auburn hair falling on both sides of her breasts. She dressed in green and dark robes whose incredibly deep neckline reached all the way to the navel, with a wealth of amulets and rings.

She assessed him for a moment, her lilac gaze reminding Simon of some kind of reptile, before inviting him inside.

"Come in," she said, her voice so faint he could hardly call it a whisper.

"My father has been expecting you." Simon clenched his jaw and walked in. The woman softly closed the door behind him, leading him inside a hallway carpeted with elegant rugs, then to a comfortable salon warmed by a large fireplace. An old man was waiting here, sitting at a table with a cup of tea. He was tall and lean, slightly stooped with crinkles around lilac eyes, with a red turban covering his grey hair and a goatee. His clothes were plain yet ample grey robes, and he smelled of herbs.

"Thank you, Cassandra," he told the woman with a fatherly smile before turning to his guest.

"Please have a seat, Lord Magnos. I welcome you to our humble abode."

"Thank you, I suppose," Simon replied warily. Something about those two sent shivers crawling down his spine.

"Yet I fear I do not know your name."

"Duchar Honorius, a humble servant to Your Majesty." The man put a hand on his chest and offered a nod, yet Simon could sense cold calculation behind the courtesy.

"Can you… show me? My daughter knows how to hold her tongue." Simon briefly hesitated to comply, before deciding that the man already knew the truth anyway. He called upon the Overlord armor and clothed himself in the dark armor of his cursed Class. Cassandra covered her mouth in shock while her father nodded to himself.

"So it was true, His Majesty perished." Duchar studied Simon's armor for a moment. He could sense a spell trying to analyze his stats, only to be repelled by Anathemic Secrecy.

"Did you slay him, perchance?" He didn't sound like he cared either way, which surprised Simon. He had half-feared that this man's purpose would be one last attempt for Balzam Magnos to strike at his successor somehow from the grave.

"No, I did not." Simon swiftly banished his Class armor, just in case.

"I hoped you might tell me who might have, however."

"I see…" The old man stroked his goatee.

"I'm afraid that knowledge eludes me. My relationship with His Majesty was purely a business venture, you see. He tasked me with the safekeeping of certain legacies and research on his behalf in return for funding my… innovations." The way he paused before uttering the last word nearly caused Simon to shudder.

"How is it that I have never heard of a scholar with your name?"

"I do not particularly care for academic recognition… and my research often shocks the faint of heart." The old man's head tilted to the side, like a curious owl.

"Perhaps you would like to see for yourself?" Every fiber of Simon's being told him that he should answer no, but he could tell that showing weakness in front of this kind of man was bound to invite even more trouble. His kind only respected knowledge and power.

"You may." Duchar nodded slightly, then rose from his seat and raised his sleeve. A horn-shaped mark, blacker than ink, was inscribed on his wrinkled skin. Simon instinctively recognized it for the Devil Brand connecting them, and his late father's handiwork. The flame in the fireplace suddenly turned blue, and then vanished in a blink. A spiraling staircase leading to a basement appeared coiled inside the floor.

Duchar opened his palm and summoned a ghostly will-o'-wisp floating within his fingers to provide light, then walked down the steps. Simon warily followed after, with Cassandra closing the march in silence. The staircase continued down over sixty feet below ground, then stopped inside a crypt dimly lit by white lanterns on the walls. The air was incredibly fresh for the depth, likely through magic, and sorcerous symbols were etched in the stone. Rows upon rows of strong wooden doors stretched on into the dark.

This place was huge.

"You said your relationship with my father was a business venture," Simon said.

"Did he fund this complex when he raised the city for Dassein?"

"Indeed he did. I was permitted to use it at my leisure so long as I kept certain objects secured for safekeeping on his behalf." Duchar squinted as footsteps echoed in the hallway.

"Here come my latest works." Simon froze in dread when he saw them approach. The two creatures resembled walking, gilded skeletons at first glance, but a thick tangle of discolored entrails pulsed and lurched inside their ribs. The disgusting mass of organs wound upward and slipped through their jaws like tongues, while pale lights glowed in the empty eye sockets. They stopped in front of the group without any hostility.

"Stunning, are they not?" Duchar inquired, the flicker of the lanterns causing shadows to dance on his teeth.

"Their stomachs are almost lifelike."

"You're necromancers?" Simon asked warily without being all too surprised. Father routinely raised the corpses of the dead to fight for him… though Simon couldn't help but suppress a shiver of disgust when Cassandra stroked one of the creature's entrail-tongues as if it were a cat. Duchar smiled faintly.

"I wish we were. Alas, the Necromancer Crestone and its wielder remain in Valne, half a world and a continent away. Our kind must content ourselves with Vassal Classes such as Warlock and Witch."

"Both Classes focus on necromancy, witchcraft, and dark magic." And they were highly restricted even in the empire's military.

"Did Father give you your Crestones?"

"The very fortnight he claimed the throne. I was only doing my research the… mundane way back then. How His Majesty learned of it I would never know, but I shall forever be grateful for his gift." Duchar chuckled to himself.

"The things he showed me, young man… you would not believe your eyes." Simon decided he had had enough of these two.

"What inheritance did my father leave you?"

"There." Duchar pointed at the door near the very end of the hallway.

"I stored everything there." Simon walked up to the door, opened it, and soon found himself facing some kind of vast mix between a library, a study, and a reliquary.

A well-stocked bookshelf stood next to desks drowning under hastily written notes and diagrams, while pedestals displayed curious items, from rubies glowing faintly in the light of lanterns, emerald tablets, a signet preserved in a jar with a finger still attached, a shattered golden orb, and even a lifelike pair of humanoid statues forever trapped in a carnal embrace.

A disproportionate amount of objects appeared dedicated to astronomy, like a planisphere of the constellations, a telescope, and a small miniature of the planet and its moons.

"His Majesty would spend days here in the last few years, writing and speaking to himself," Duchar said.

"However great my curiosity, I could never crack the code he used." Simon wondered what he meant until he spotted a chalkboard at the very end of the strange exhibit. Words and diagrams were written in a language unknown to Simon, but which he somehow managed to understand thanks to his All-Seeing Overlord Perk; a set of commandments from one Overlord to his successor. The Overlord's Will: Conquer the World. Regulate the Tribes. Enslave the Gods. Seize the Gates. Bring down the Sky.