Laws weren’t so different from curses at the end of the day.
From what Simon gathered from his discussions with Euphemia, they, alongside most divination and some chronomancy spells, revolved around manipulating causality and predeterminated courses of events. Actions and punishment, or a promised relief from pain.
“All Laws and curses are a form of contract, at the end of the day,” Euphemia summarized. “Do not do this, and you shall not suffer; if you offend me, then you will suffer. The tighter the connection between cause and effect, the stronger the magic’s hold on its victim, especially when seasoned with irony.”
Simon blinked. “Irony?”
“Classes aren’t the only things influenced by stories and perception. Laws and curses both rely on a resonance between a punishment and either its cause or exit. A clear…” Euphemia hesitated a moment. “Theme connecting the two strengthens the magic. A Law avenging murder with execution will be stronger than one providing a lighter punishment, though that may sound counterintuitive.”
“So you are saying that the more appropriate the punishment, the stronger the curse?”
“Yes. It is why there are countless stories of thieves being cursed for profaning a tomb, or stealing a mighty wizard’s prized possession. Some curses arise naturally from ill-will born of a transgression, even when the offended party is dead and gone.” Euphemia played with her glass of wine. “Those curses are always karmically appropriate by their very nature. A greedy man turns everything he touches to gold, even his food and drink, until he starves. A cruel lord guilty of cannibalism is transformed into a monstrous wolf so his true self becomes visible to all, and so on.”
Simon pondered this information. “So, if my Edicts are no different than curses besides their power and scale, then they should follow the same logic. The more ironic the exit clause, the stronger its effect.”
“Yes. My husband’s Edict in Bujan summoned storms until all ships had been wiped out from the area. You can see the obvious connection between the two. I assume you could do something similar, such as raising the dead as shambling corpses until a certain person is slain.”
That sounded rather plausible indeed, since Simon’s own Dungeons could already create zombies and other animated corpses on their own. He could also see how his current Edicts thematically connected with his Overlord Class: Endless Night echoed its title as the Lord of Dark, and Wounded Earth represented its destructive nature.
What other themes could he draw upon? Undeath was a given, and his father called upon wrathful storms. Slavery mayhaps? Or time-manipulation? Could he freeze an entire piece of the world in time, trapping all of its denizens within?
A telepathic contact from Shabram interrupted his questions. “Your Majesty, Lady Norbelle and Queen Remedia agreed to support our operation, which will start soon. Can you please confirm Lady Anna’s location?”
“The Holy Cathedral of Serras,” Simon replied after checking Anna’s location. “It seems they’ve already broken into it.”
“Queen Remedia is thankfully familiar with the area and can teleport Lord Maublanc’s team directly there. I shall keep you informed of any new developments.”
The airship began to slow down as Simon cut off communications until they finally landed in Agares.
Nestled among the lush vegetation and flowery hills endemic to the border between Telluria and the imperial heartlands, it must have once been a very peaceful and tranquil hamlet. A few crumbling cobblestone houses bearing traces of fire damage remained alongside an old well, but the only people present were Templar sentries guarding the area as a holy site to the Church of the Light.
The airship landed in a flower field nearby, allowing Simon, Euphemia, Mastemo, Louis, and their escort to climb down from it. Simon had taken Belzemine along for the ride as well, in case the elves tried to abduct her while he wasn’t looking, and he carried Lotan’s grimoire under his arm for safety.
It is a beautiful place, Simon thought as he observed the area. Nature had taken over the ruins, with flowers and moss growing over crumbled walls and roofs. The husk of a young, tower-sized manatree stood in its central plaza, its golden sap gleaming in the sunset. The petrified visage of a sleeping dryad was encased in its bark.
“It is the most beautiful tomb I have ever seen,” Louis commented upon exiting the airship, and he was right indeed. This grave may have had more flowers than stone, but it remained an open mausoleum.
Euphemia gazed at her childhood with melancholia, her gaze lingering on the manatree the longest of all. Mastemo and Beatrice offered prayers, while Simon looked around. His Dark Visionary senses detected a faint halo of light over the area. Belzemine frowned as she looked around.
“Is something the matter, Agnes?” Simon asked.
“I… I am not sure, Your Majesty. This place feels familiar somehow.” The elf frowned in confusion, as if trying to recall a distant memory. “Have I… have I visited it once before?”
“Maybe?” Did it have something to do with the strange power dwelling within her? The whole place seemed blessed with its radiance. “What happened to the manatree?”
“It was like this long before my people settled this region,” Euphemia whispered, her hand moving to its gold-covered bark. “My parents believed our Sleeping Mother was in a deep slumber, waiting for the day the Mana Goddess would return to walk these lands, but that she also watched over us in her dreams.”
Louis scoffed in disdain. “Did she?”
“No,” Euphemia conceded, though there was little anger or bitterness in her voice; only sorrow. “When my people prayed for salvation from the beastmen, our pleas went unanswered.”
“It was the Light alone that granted Her Grace aid through its prophetess’ voice,” Mastemo said with the sincere belief of a true fanatic. “Can Your Grace hear her voice still?”
“Not yet…” Euphemia’s fingers brushed against the gilded bark. “But I feel something will happen soon.”
So did Simon. He didn’t know why or how, but he couldn’t shake a pervading, gloomy feeling that danger lurked nearby. Even Louis appeared to detect it on some level, his hand clutching his sword’s handle.
As for Belzemine, she stared at the tree with focused intent. “What…” She held her head. “What did I forget?”
What… What is this? Simon frowned as he noticed the ambient light brightening. He at first mistook it for mana rising from the tree, but his training with Norbelle had enhanced his sensitivity to magic enough that he could notice the black particle flaring into shining stars around him. Miasma is being purified into mana.
Then a stranger appeared at the foot of the tree in a flash of light.
She was an apparition, a mirage, a ghost in the light cast by the sunset filtered through the branches; a woman of great beauty, with long flowing silver hair and three golden eyes, clad in the Judge’s robes.
Was this Pharis? She looked different from official portraits and artistic representations of her, yet so familiar… so much like–
“Anna?” Louis asked with a slight frown.
The resemblance was subtle yet unmistakable, like a mother and daughter. Simon’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized what kind of divine power Valravn had sought to extract from her. Could Anna descend from Pharis? Or be her reincarnation?
A deep and awed silence fell upon the worshipers of the Light present. Mastemo and the Templars immediately bowed in obedience, their hands joined in prayer, while Euphemia straightened up, her three eyes wide open.
The specter’s lips moved on their own, and though no words came out of them, Euphemia seemed to understand them well enough thanks to her Light-Visionary powers.
“She says…” Euphemia cleared her throat and solemnly straightened herself. “That the Light will descend upon us soon, to reclaim what is rightfully hers. That our prayers will be answered. That the Exalted One will return to fulfill her promise.”
The Exalted One? Simon wondered. The Church of the Light denied the Mana Goddess’ power and deemed her undeserving of worship compared to the distant yet omnipresent Light. Is it… is it real? Were the Church’s beliefs true?
“Holy graces,” Mastemo muttered under his breath, hands joined. “A revelation from the Prophetess Herself…”
“She says… she says we must end this meaningless battle for control with our brothers and sisters from across the sea, for we are all the chosen who will inherit Brimir,” Euphemia translated the apparition’s words. “Obedience to the Light is the one true faith. Glory to the Light.”
“Glory to the Light!” the Templars chanted as one.
“And here I thought you priests were blaming a higher power for your own greed and foolhardiness,” Louis mused with contempt. The sacred nature of this vision didn’t trouble him in the slightest. “I stand corrected. Your feeble creed is rotten at its source too.”
Simon himself felt uneasy as he stared at this ghost. Although she appeared clothed in light, she seemed… wrong somehow. He put on his Overlord armor and focused on her with his third eye of darkness.
“She says it is time to bring forth the eternal Dominion of the Light, where all the faithful are united as one. That we must purify the world–” Euphemia’s eyes widened slightly, her skin paling. “By…”
The ghost… the ghost was made of miasma purified into mana, the same way Simon’s own false holiness changed his aura. Simon peered through that veil of light into the darkness beneath…
“–by exterminating the unfaithful and the unbelievers.”
And then he saw what their Prophetess truly looked like.
Her fair face was a malformed, golden skull with darkness oozing from its toothless maw and shadows swirling in her eyes. She was a corpse clothed in gold, the mother of lies.
“We must put the fear of the Light in their souls, drive our swords into their hearts, and bring fire to their homes,” the ghost said pitilessly, with a shaken Euphemia echoing her words. “We… we must pile their bodies in great pyres whose smoke reaches all the way to the sky. We must be pure of purpose and without mercy, like the blazing sun–”
“Do you…” Simon stepped back in horror. “Do you see that?”
“See what?” Louis inquired with a frown. “A ghost whispering nonsense?”
“I… I do, Your Majesty…” Belzemine had grown pale. She could see the truth too. “I see her as she is.”
“Burn the children of the False Goddess and cast the wicked into Hell,” Euphemia said alongside this parody of a prophetess. “Suffer not the dark ones to live without fear of the Light. Suffer not distorted thoughts. Suffer not the filth of dissent. Suffer not the Lord of Dark to live. Suffer not the eidolons and the dryads. The Light alone is real. Glory to the Light.”
“Glory to the Light!” the Templars chanted as one chorus, one voice speaking through many mouths.
This is a trick, Simon thought. This isn’t the real–
He sensed a connection snap in the depths of his soul, and a message flared in front of his eyes.
Anna-Helel, Maiden of Control, has left your party.
No…
“Kill those who deny the truth. Kill the blind and the doubtful. Kill the Overlord. Kill them all.” Euphemia’s face was now twisted with fear. “Be pure. Be mindless. Be silent. Be grateful. Death to those who oppose the Light. Death. Death. Death.”
Light swallowed Simon’s vision.
He had called upon his connection to the Light Megalith often enough to sense it activating, except this time it was in reverse. He did not contact it; the Megalith instead forcefully poured its power through the bridge of faith they had consolidated across the reigns and turned it into a noose tightening on his throat.
A trap’s jaws snapped shut.
A flash brighter than the sun illuminated Simon’s world, burning his eyes inside their sockets and setting his mind ablaze. A vision forced its way into his soul and filled it with its radiance. He saw a clear and translucent crystal floating in a universe of sunlight, at the center of which grew a six-winged shadow, staring at him, smiling at Simon.
“Be afraid,” Anna’s voice said kindly, her words echoing with otherworldly malice. “Be very afraid.”
The light tried to burn away his thoughts, to extinguish his will and fill his heart with its radiance, to streamline his thoughts into blind worship…
“The Light wills it,” Pharis’ voice echoed, blending with Anna’s. “The Light wills it.”
But there was no light that could conquer true darkness.
Crown of Control negated by Indomitable Crown!
The invincible night in the heart of his soul devoured the unholy radiance and restored him to reality, where a chorus of screams welcomed him.
All the Templars present were shrieking as one, alongside Euphemia, Mastemo, and Belzemine. Halos of light shone above all of their heads, spiked crowns of radiance whose crystal thorns drilled their way into their skulls and souls. Louis alone was unaffected, if not outright serene and vaguely curious, like a bored lion wondering why rats were spasming on the floor. Simon wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but he had a fairly good idea.
The Maiden had broken free and somehow subverted the Light Megalith.
Reacting instantly, Simon blasted the Pharis apparition with his Hellfire Gaze, burning it to nothingness and setting the manatree on fire. He had hoped this would end the connection, but he went with a more drastic option when that failed.
“Dreadful Aura!”
His aura pulsed around him in a wave of darkness and terror that shut down all Prayers and Holy effects around him through his Heretic Title. Simon knew from experience that any Templar above level 5 was immune to Terror, which his Perk’s Instadeath effect required to work, so most survived. His magic shut down their connection to the Light Megalith and shattered their halos. Beatrice and most of the Templars nearby collapsed on the ground as they broke out of their trances, as did Mastemo. It appeared Simon’s latest levels had put him ahead of the Cleric.
Unfortunately, Simon’s Dreadful Aura only affected individuals weaker than he was. Belzemine and Euphemia were too high-level for him to suppress their connection to the Light Megalith. They both held their heads while their halos grew brighter.
“Fight her!” Simon shouted at them.
“I…” Euphemia grit her teeth. “She’s… our god…”
“She’s lying!” Simon snapped at her. “She’s no holy light, but an imposter and a Zodiac Fiend! Fight her off!”
“I… no more lies…” Euphemia put on her Judge outfit, her Noble Crestone’s power pushing back the halo closing in on her soul. She grabbed the crown with her bare hands and Simon could feel her burns through their bond. “I serve… no more!”
She roared as she ripped the halo apart, shattering it to pieces.
However, Belzemine had no such luck. Her Devil Brands burned on her skin in response to his order to fight, with darkness and light warring for control of her soul. The otherworldly glow that always surrounded her brightened until Simon had to close his third eye of darkness so as not to be blinded.
“Belzemine!” he called out too late.
The light within Belzemine erupted into a pillar that burned her to a crisp, leaving only a charred skeleton in a ring of burning grass. Her death reverberated through the brands and left Simon reeling with pain.
But he had no time to mourn or cry.
“Brother.” Louis unsheathed his sword and put on his Hellblade outfit. “Do I have your permission to clip some wings?”
Simon looked around to find monsters surrounding them.
Simon’s Dreadful Aura only had a limited range, and it only engulfed those closest to him. The Templars beyond his reach had undergone a startling transformation. Their Class armor had merged with their flesh and turned into a layer of translucent crystal, black spheres crowned with light floating above their heads, while rays of light poured out of their visors. Manalith wings had grown out of their backs, and glowing blades materialized in their hands. They advanced upon them like puppets moved by an unseen will and driven to kill.
“Yes,” Simon said, Balefire teleporting into his hand. “Yes, you do.”
A/N: now you see the true meaning of the Reign's name XD