His Gladiator levels did not travel back in time.

  Checking his status screen was the first thing Simon did when Lauriane left his room to check on Father’s corpse. He was met with thirteen Overlord levels, and nothing else.

  His theory had been confirmed. The reason why his predecessors didn’t bother with other Classes was that leveling up in them did not carry forward from one reign to another. They were only good for strengthening the Overlord through the Devour Crestone Perk.

  That Vouivre was right about one thing: borrowed power is worthless, Simon thought with bitter annoyance. Relying on Crestones was a huge waste of time, and putting his faith in slave marks was an outright liability. How did the backdoor in Firewand’s enchantment slip through the cracks?

  Simon couldn’t believe Father would have missed something like this… but then again, Father wasn’t omniscient even with the foresight that multiple reigns granted him. Everyone believed the Overlord’s slave brands were faultless, an assumption so strong it led to everyone writing Firewand off the suspect list for Balzam Magnos’ murder.

  The knowledge of how to subvert the marks had to be something Gargauth kept close to his chest, and something he only taught his secret descendants that had managed to hide from Father’s wrath. Vouivre and her cohorts might have chosen to activate their secret weapon in Balzam Magnos’ last reign, and it turned out to be the one assassination plot that succeeded in killing him.

  When you threw enough knives at somebody’s back, one of them was bound to stick.

  Alternatively, Father could have kept Firewand alive for the explicit purpose of killing her later for experience, like a pig fattened up for the slaughter. Or perhaps he intended to use her in some other way. Everything was plausible when dealing with Balzam the Cruel.

  Belzemine… that word has to be some kind of magical command ingrained into the slave mark, Simon thought as he tried to piece everything together. Does it allow anyone to command Firewand, or does it simply cause her to perceive Gargauth’s children as the Overlord and the Magnos bloodline as enemies?

  Simon risked instant death if that was the latter, and he had no wish to waste one of his precious lives on it. He had to play it smart.

  Simon wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of the dynastic dispute, but he lacked the strength to beat his assassins into submission or the resources to vanish somewhere else. Not to mention that he still couldn’t let Casval assassinate Anna. He had to dismantle the dragon conspiracy before he could rest easy, or at least learn enough to stymie the murder attempts.

  I could go to Lauriane and Louis, then tell them about Gargauth’s heirs and Firewand’s sabotaged mark, but that will lead to messy questions. Simon risked being put under house arrest even if he managed to hide his Overlord Class, not to mention that it would inform the conspiracy that he was on to them. Vouivre murdered her own brother to cover her tracks.

  Something was up in Telluria, too. Vouivre called herself its Overlord, and ordered everyone at the camp except for Eole to be killed, so Casval’s interest in the kish likely went beyond the academic. She also had connections to a tribe of scalefolk raiding caravans and imperial supplies.

  “Are all of Magnos’ children so unbearable? You must hate them, too.”

  Simon stared at a wall upon recalling Casval’s question, and the disappointing look the traitor sent him after hearing the answer was ‘no.’

  He was testing me. That snake was checking my allegiance, and he took my lackluster response for ‘misplaced loyalty.’ Simon cursed himself for misreading those signals. I’m a resentful bastard so loathed by a trueborn prince of blood that he threatened to have me killed in public. Of course I would make an obvious recruit.

  A plan soon formed in Simon’s mind. It wasn’t because he avoided the game of cloak and daggers like the plague that he never learned how to play it.

  He would find a way in.

  When the Keeper of the Throne came to read Father’s testament, Simon once more named Laurent Linconnu as the heir of the Overlord Class and sent the entire empire on a wild cockatrice chase.

  However, he also included the clause allowing him to pick his share of slaves. Simon didn’t stake a claim on Agnes Firewand this time. Besides the fact that it would put a dagger to his throat, it would also cause Casval to become suspicious. Eole would be sufficient, and Lorimor could be put to work on the archive.

  Besides, he wasn’t sure yet whether Agnes Firewand was a willing participant in the conspiracy, or simply bound to obey whoever subverted her slave marking. If it was the latter, then she was only a tool to be pitied; if it was the former… then Simon could look forward to a large gain in experience in a future reign.

  Events at Frightwall proceeded like they did two reigns back. Louis didn’t summon Simon to interrogate him about his dreams, which meant Casval remained at large and beneath notice.

  Not all went well, however. Simon had planned to summon the Keeper of the Throne and interrogate him about his predecessors’ Class choices, but the fear of someone magically tracking him down that way had stayed his hand.

  “So you are keeping the Keeper under surveillance?” Simon asked Lauriane when he was about to leave for Telluria.

  “Our mages are monitoring its movements at any given time,” his sister confirmed. “It has remained inactive since Father’s death, but we’ll be able to scry on the Keeper should the new Overlord summon it. Unlike its master, that creature has no innate protection against divination.”

  Good thing Simon didn’t summon it inside the castle then. His gut feeling was right; it would have blown up his cover.

  Simon was feeling like those cursed days when he had to keep his head down so he wouldn’t call attention to himself, and he hated that.

  “Where is your sudden interest in dragons coming from, by the way?” Lauriane asked Simon. “You’ve pilfered every book on wyrms from the library. Don’t tell me you wish to follow in Father’s footsteps and fancy yourself a dragonslayer?”

  “Is there any dragon left to slay?” Simon half-joked.

  “Not on this continent, since Gargauth chased off all of his kind… but they do not call the ocean separating us from the western continent the Dragonsea for nothing,” Lauriane mused. “Their kind still prospers there, though you would be a fool to challenge one at your level. Even Father needed Euphemia’s assistance to slay Gargauth.”

  Oh, right, Euphemia was present for Gargauth’s defeat. The empress was one of the few people this side of the world who had witnessed a dragonslaying with her own eyes. Simon wasn’t on good enough terms with her to ask, but he retained the information for the future.

  “I’m serious though, Simon,” Lauriane said. “The first thing you asked me on the night of Father’s death was how to kill a dragon, and now you seem intent on researching them. Is this about your dreams?”

  As always, his sister was sharply inquisitive. “Yeah, it is,” Simon replied, since he knew Lauriane believed his dreams to be prophetic. “They’re a bit unclear, but I keep having dreams of a dragon threatening me. I just have the feeling I need to be prepared.”

  “I see…” Lauriane appraised him for a moment, but kept her thoughts to herself. “There’s something different about you, Simon. You seem more… determined. More confident.”

  Dying five times did that to a man. “I have a goal in mind, and I will see it done,” he replied. “Still, is there any way I could contact you in a pinch?”

  Lauriane squinted at him. “What’s bothering you?”

  “I fear whoever killed Father won’t stop with his life alone,” Simon replied. “My dreams are unclear, yet I sense danger.”

  Lauriane hesitated for a moment, before searching her pockets and bringing out a small, orange quartz crystal. “Take this transfer stone. It will immediately teleport the user to a designated area when shattered. This one will send you to one of my safehouses near the capital.”

  That was new. Amazing how a single conversation could yield so many different results. “Thank you, my sister. I hope I won’t have to use it.”

  “You are going to do something dangerous, aren’t you?” Lauriane’s eyes widened slightly. “Do you have a lead on Father’s murderer?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t want to throw around accusations without proof.” This time at least. “Can I count on your help if I do find one?”

  “Yes, but please don’t take unnecessary risks,” she insisted. “You are dear to me and have yet to receive a Class.”

  If only she knew. “I promise.”

  Afterwards, Lauriane bade him goodbye, and Simon boarded the airship with his retinue. The first thing he did was to summon Leonard and Meredith for a private meeting in the salon. The sight of the former tugged at Simon’s heartstrings after watching him sacrifice himself for his employer’s sake.

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  Simon finally understood why Father picked these two–or at least Leonard–to protect him: they were true knights ready to lay down their lives for him should the situation call for it. He would see that their devotion would be rewarded.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking,” Simon said. “You’re wondering why Father chose the two of you to serve a no-name bastard. You suspect that there is a higher purpose behind his decision.”

  Leonard raised an eyebrow. “There is one, Your Highness?”

  Simon nodded sharply. “What I am about to tell you is a state secret that shall not leave this room.”

  Both his retainers straightened in their seats, suddenly all ears.

  “My father suspects the existence of a loyalist conspiracy of disenfranchised pro-Gargauth nobles plotting against House Magnos,” Simon explained. “One of their agents has infiltrated the military academy’s student body, probably with the intention of assassinating Princess Anna Paimon.”

  “What?!” Meredith gasped in shock while Leonard simply scowled in concern. His sister Tiella was Anna’s handmaiden, so an assassination attempt would put her in direct danger as well.

  “Unfortunately, we do not know the exact reach of this organization,” Simon said. “My role will be to serve as a lure for our enemies; someone who will seem like the perfect recruit for their plot on the outside.”

  “A spy then,” Leonard summarized. “I assume we are here to protect you and help apprehend the culprit?”

  “If we receive the go-ahead, yes.” Fighting a dragon like Vouivre was likely far above these two’s abilities, but Casval didn’t seem as strong as his sister, considering Simon manhandled him during their last physical encounter. “You may see me take actions that seem against my father’s interests, and receive orders that may sound baffling at first glance, but those will be necessary to maintain our cover.” He glanced at both of his retainers. “Can I count on your assistance?”

  “Yes, of course,” Leonard replied, a hand on his chest. “My sword is yours.”

  “As is mine,” Meredith added with determination.

  “Then your first task upon arrival in Telluria will be to investigate a string of incidents we believe are connected to this conspiracy,” Simon said. He particularly wanted to find the connection between the Ashmodai and the Redhand scalefolk tribe. “Remember that the mission’s success relies on its secrecy. You are not to discuss your findings with anyone but me.”

  Once he had informed his retainers about their targets, Simon then called upon Eole for a private meeting. He immediately noticed that the kish seemed a lot more subdued than in his last reign, probably because Simon didn’t play the kind and naive kish culture enthusiast this time. She was a lot more socially aware than she looked.

  “Does the name ‘Vouivre’ mean anything to you, Eole?” he immediately asked the moment she sat at his table, using the Overlord Perk to translate his inquiry into the kish tongue.

  Her shocked, spooked expression confirmed that she did.

  “A familiar name?” Simon mused, legs crossed. “A frightening name?”

  Eole bit her lip and said nothing. Simon could tell she was weighing whether to tell him more or hold her tongue, which he found curious. She had been a lot more defensive about her culture.

  “I can see in your eyes that you loathe me and all that I represent, which is fair,” Simon said. “However, it would be in your best interests not to lie to me. Cooperate with me, and I will grant you your freedom.”

  “Words are wind,” Eole replied with disdain. She didn’t bother with false sweetness this time.

  “Perhaps, but what other choice do you have than to believe in mine?”

  Eole scowled as she realized that she indeed had no other hope to cling to. “Vouivre is the greatest scalefolk warlord in eastern Telluria. I did not expect a manling to know of her.”

  “A scalefolk warlord?” Simon inquired. Not a dragon?

  “She has conquered all scalefolk tribes east of Telluria. Many shifters pay tribute to her, too, especially those that don’t bend the knee to your rotten empire.” Eole looked away. “My captors considered delivering me to them, but chose to offer me in chains to your Dassein instead.”

  Vouivre had to be especially nasty if local shifter tribes preferred to deal with the empire encroaching on their borders rather than with her. It sounded like she kept her draconic nature a secret, with most believing her to be a lesser scalefolk instead.

  “Would you have preferred that they chose otherwise?” Simon asked, having sensed worry in Eole.

  Eole glared at him. “Do you mean to intimidate me?”

  “I’m simply curious.” Simon decided to bait her. “I would have thought you would prefer to deal with your fellow shifters over us.”

  “Scalefolks are not shifters,” Eole snapped back at him. This seemed like a sore subject. “You humans mistake scalefolk for another breed of my people, but they’re nothing like us. They are talking monsters; cruel, vicious, and remorseless. To become their thrall means death.”

  The disdain, loathing, and dread in her voice sounded sincere enough. Eole hated the empire, but she feared Vouivre’s kind even more.

  “It appears Vouivre is interested in the kish, since your former captors considered delivering you to her,” Simon said. “Is she after the demon buried beneath your people’s old capital?”

  “How do you know of–” Eole shifted in her seat. “Who are you?”

  “Someone who can grant you your freedom, if you cooperate.” Simon smiled. “So, are you in?”

  Afterwards, Simon spent the rest of the flight to Telluria reading books on dragons.

  Unsurprisingly, the literature on the subject proved limited. Gargauth had banned all dragon-related literature during his centuries-long reign to ensure that no dragonslayers would learn of his weaknesses, and books that escaped the flames were few and far between. Most dragonslaying grimoires recorded conflicting legends or Balzam Magnos’ famous murder of Gargauth by gutting him open.

  Simon did find a few interesting tidbits on their biology and behavior.

  “While mostly solitary and violently territorial, dragons from the same clutch often form loose hierarchies between themselves,” Simon read. “In these cases, the largest and most powerful dragonling establishes dominance through force and expects its lesser siblings to obey without question. Challenges to their authority are always met with violence, with the loser either submitting, fleeing into exile, or being outright eaten by the dominant dragon. Otherwise, dragons usually exact tributes of gold and slaves from communities within their territories.”

  If the relationship between Casval and Vouivre was anything like in this book, then it would explain why she murdered her sibling. Their kind’s entire dynamic revolved around fear, paranoia, and brutality.

  Simon guessed they weren’t too different from House Magnos in that regard.

  The books said nothing about dragons shapeshifting into humanoids, or even cases where they mated with lesser scalefolk—though some of the documents theorized it was possible. Simon found nothing too useful by the time they landed at their destination.

  Thankfully, there was another archive to browse.

  “Welcome, Your Highness,” Duchar said when Simon entered his home with a single guest in tow. “Is this the archival assistant you promised us?”

  “Indeed, Duchar,” Simon replied. “Let me introduce you to Lorimor, a fellow student of the Dark.”

  “The Dark?” Lorimor asked, not having been briefed. “What is this place, Your Highness? Who are these people?”

  “Your new workplace and colleagues for the foreseeable future,” Simon replied. “Now behold me as I am.”

  With only Lorimor, Cassandra, and Duchar in the latter’s salon, Simon called upon the power of the Overlord and put on his Class outfit. While the necromancers expected the sight, Lorimor’s jaw all but dropped in shock.

  “Yes, you see as I am, the Overlord of Endymion,” Simon replied. “And I have a task for you.”

  Lorimor’s hands moved to his cheeks as he stared at Simon. A vile smile stretched on his lips, and a baleful glint passed over his gaze.

  His silence bothered Simon. “Lorimor?”

  “Finally…” The scholar’s voice and fingers trembled both. His nails sank into his cheeks so deeply that they drew blood. “The Lord of Dark stands before me…”

  Lorimor uttered a frightful scream and threw himself at Simon’s feet.

  Simon could only blink in shock and surprise at this turn of events. The man crawled on the ground like a dog begging for its owner’s attention, heedless of the stares Cassandra and her father sent him.

  “Oh Ruler of the Abyss, oh Serpent-Bearer, I am always your faithful servant!” Lorimor professed with near-religious worship, his lips kissing Simon’s iron boots. “My muse has longed for your return through the cold centuries! She has waited for so long!”

  Simon hadn’t expected that reaction. He thought Lorimor would be overjoyed to check the Overlord’s archives, but the look in his eyes was that of a deranged zealot.

  “This man’s mind has been clouded by the Dark, and the Overlord is born of it,” Duchar said with a hint of disdain in his voice. He didn’t seem to hold cultists in high esteem. “Yet another fool that delved into the Dark, yet yielded to its power rather than master it. How pitiful.”

  “Mayhaps he sees Your Majesty as a god,” Cassandra suggested.

  “Because he is!” Lorimor snapped back, and the worst part was that he sounded utterly convinced of his statement. “The Overlord is the Dark incarnate! The will of the Abyss manifested!”

  “I see…” Simon replied. This man was nuts.

  “You must come and see my muse,” Lorimor begged him. “She’s waiting for you, waiting in her cold grave among the worms!”

  “I…” Simon cleared his throat. Lorimor’s insanity, while disturbing, could serve him well. “I have a task for you, Lorimor. Fulfill it, and I shall consider your request.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Lorimor knelt, blood dripping from his cheeks. “What is your bidding, my master?”

  “You are to browse my father’s archives for any piece of information on dragons and Gargauth. You are also to serve Duchar and his daughter, fulfilling their commands during your stay here. An order from them is an order from me.” Simon would have him confined to the house for the foreseeable future, to ensure none learned of the Overlord’s location. “As proof of your… loyalty… I shall bestow upon you and Cassandra a mark of power.”

  “Your Dark Majesty honors me beyond words.” Lorimor chuckled darkly. “When do I begin?”

  Lorimor asked to be branded on the forehead, for he had nothing to hide; a request that Simon immediately shot down, considering the risk, and instead placed it on the back of his skull, beneath his hair. The man’s slavish devotion was all the more disturbing in that it was obviously sincere. Whatever fiend had taken hold of Lorimor’s mind had twisted him beyond repair.

  Nonetheless, the Scholar threw himself at the archive with boundless energy. Cassandra would ensure that he remained fed and cared for during his entire stay.

  Afterwards, events unfolded like they did in the previous reigns. Anna welcomed him with open arms, Thalas showed up like a plague upon his house, Dassein missed the academy’s introduction speech, and Simon registered for Tribal Studies.

  It was eerie how events closely repeated themselves, down to people using the same words and sentences. Simon felt like an actor walking into a perfectly rehearsed play where his actions alone could induce change. He found the power both frightening, and maybe a little intoxicating.

  His efforts eventually paid off.

  Casval showed up on time during Tribal Studies.

  “Can I sit here?” Casval asked the very man he had murdered two reigns back.

  It took Simon all the experience he gathered over years of tolerating Thalas’ presence not to show his distaste. “Sure.”

  Casval sat next to him like a snake slithering next to its prey, and then listened to Mr. Adrissant’s lesson. Simon could feel his gaze on his back as he asked questions he already knew the answers to about the kish people.

  “You’re looking into the kish treasures too?” Casval asked Simon once the course concluded.

  “The treasure?” Simon feigned surprise, even though he had rehearsed this conversation in his mind a thousand times on his way to Telluria. “You mean the rumors of a treasure hidden in the old Kish palace?”

  “I do,” Casval replied. “Apparently, it’s a relic of divine power.”

  “Is it?” Simon asked, trying not to look too well-informed. “I’ve been trying to coax my kish servant into telling me more about her capital, but she’s been very cagey so far.”

  Simon knew he had won the moment he saw the flash of greed and interest in Casval’s eyes. “You have a kish in your employ?”

  “I do.” Simon cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

  “Casval. You?”

  “Simon. Just Simon.”

  “Well, happy to meet you, Simon.” Casval smiled as they shook hands. “I have the feeling this is the start of a long friendship.”

  “Me too, Casval,” Simon replied with a faint grin hiding his malice. “Me too.”

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