As the Judge, it usually fell to Euphemia to arbitrate disputes alongside her husband, and she nearly had Simon executed for striking her son when he last faced her in this fashion.
He hoped she had learned mercy since.
“Sit, Eole,” Euphemia said in Elvish, her finger pointing at a seat on the other side of the table. Shabram was gone, leaving them alone.
It must have felt intimidating for Eole to be summoned to their now shared quarters and find them both in their Class outfits. Still, she kept her back straight and full of dignity as she followed the order dutifully.
“I am Empress Euphemia Agares-Magnos of Endymion, the Judge and Saint of the Church of the Light,” Euphemia introduced herself with all the pomp and pride of her station. “My future husband and I have agreed to listen to your plea.”
“Thank you for granting me this audience, Your Grace,” Eole replied politely. Simon guessed Norbelle or Anna had briefed her on protocol. “His Excellency spoke highly of you.”
“So did he. Your innocence pleased him, though you come from poisoned stock.” Euphemia’s third eye assessed Eole closely. “He informed you of the kish people’s origins, did he not?”
“He did, though I cannot believe him,” Eole replied, a scowl forming on her face. “My people are not demonic spawn, but a single tribe of shifters among many.”
“I’m afraid His Excellency told you the truth,” Simon admitted. “You will find proof in both Valendre and the old kish palace in Telluria.”
“The Dark runs deep in your tribe’s blood, child, but thankfully for you, the Light redeems all,” Euphemia said. “We shall cleanse their souls and perhaps even their flesh.”
“By putting them in chains?” Eole countered in defiance, forgetting the fact that Euphemia could smite her dead where she stood. “By taking their lands and freedom?”
“It is a kinder fate than what the beastmen inflict on each other every day,” Euphemia replied. “Their tribes constantly wage war. When one wins, they kill and enslave the defeated, with the chieftain taking a wife or daughter as his bride-prize to rape. It is their base and detestable nature.” Her voice dripped with venom and disgust. “Our conquest of the region is a kindness. Endymion has brought an end to the ceaseless, pointless warfare in the lands it assimilated.”
Eole glared at Euphemia. “So when a shifter tribe molests another, you call it detestable; and when your empire does the same to an entire nation, you call it peace?”
The sharp rebuke briefly silenced Euphemia and drew a chuckle from Simon. The empress glared at him before coming up with an excuse.
“This is a regrettable, but thankfully temporary state of affairs,” she argued. “Your people refuse to assimilate into our peaceful society and actively resist a better future, so why should they enjoy its protection? The beastmen–”
“Shifters,” both Eole and Simon said at the same time.
“–will enjoy the same protections as our citizens once they convert to the Light and abide by our laws,” Euphemia said sternly. “Laws which you have violated yourself by inciting revolts within our territories. What do you have to say in your defense?”
“Nothing.”
Eole’s answer took Euphemia slightly aback. “You will say nothing for yourself?”
“Trying to free my people is a righteous act of which I am truly proud,” Eole replied fearlessly. “I will never be ashamed or apologize for attempting to save slaves from bondage; and if you expect me to, then you are no Saint.”
No one short of House Magnos’ members would be bold enough to speak to Euphemia like that, and he could tell it had been years since someone actually showed such defiance to her. Simon half-feared the empress would react with sneering disdain or aggression in response, yet the look plastered on her face showed something rare coming from her.
Pity.
Is she… feeling sorry for Eole? Euphemia? This petty, spiteful empress? Simon thought in utter disbelief. He thought her sympathy might be rooted in condescension, but there was a sadness to her gaze that convinced him otherwise. Does she actually have a heart?
“And that act led you to being enslaved by your own countrymen and brought to chains before us,” Euphemia declared. “Are you proud of it still?”
“Yes,” Eole replied without hesitation, her scowl deepening. “The kish oppressed other shifters, and I do not fault them for resenting us; yet that is exactly why I have a responsibility to help them.”
“You are a sincere soul, Eole, and that is to your credit,” Euphemia said with a hint of grudging respect that left Simon speechless. The empress indeed appeared to relate to Eole’s struggle in spite of her blatant contempt for shifters, likely because her Judge abilities let her assess that Eole spoke from the heart. “However, your efforts are wasted on souls who do not deserve it.”
“Everyone deserves to be free, Your Grace.”
Euphemia’s lips curled into a brief smile, one that didn’t last long. “Are you sure? Do you know how I became the Judge?”
Eole frowned. “I do not, Your Grace.”
Neither did Simon. Well, he knew the Church of the Light’s imperial propaganda—that she had been led by visions of the prophetess Pharis to find the lost Judge Crestone and free the realm from Gargauth’s tyranny—but he assumed it was either a lie or a half-truth.
“I lived in a village near the border between our imperial heartland and Telluria, which we once called Agares,” Euphemia said. “The Second Overlord had foreseen a Visionary would be his doom. My people produced many of them over the centuries, so he hunted us down to extinction and forced us to hide. I spent my early years hiding my third eye beneath a headband whenever a visitor would come to our home. I had visions of a doom brought by Gargauth and of slaying dragons in battle since I was a child, but I denied them.”
Euphemia leaned forward, her third eye staring into Eole’s eyes.
“And then came your people.”
Eole flinched as did Simon, who recalled mentions of those events from the Church’s sermons.
“A tribe of werelions raided our village by surprise, though we always traded with the beastmen in good faith,” Euphemia said, her nails sinking into her chair’s armrests. “They massacred people I’d known all my life, burned down our houses, and since I was the daughter of the village’s chief, their leader claimed me as his prize. He wished to rape me, though I was barely ten, as was his ‘right.’” The last word dripped with disgust. “I managed to flee and hide in a cavern near my village, where I tripped on a glowing stone by accident. The Judge Crestone had found its way to me, and I realized my purpose.”
Eole lowered her eyes, biting her lips as she pondered the empress’ words.
“I judged the werelions, as I judged Gargauth for his crimes,” Euphemia said sternly. “You say that everyone deserves freedom, Eole, but those who abuse it to hurt others deserve their chains. Just as you weren’t forgiven for your ancestors’ crime, what beastmen endure today is expiation for the sins their tribes have perpetuated—and still perpetuate—on their own countrymen and others. They were given many, many opportunities to change their ways, and they threw them all away.”
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“I will not make excuses for those who wronged you, Your Grace,” Eole said after straightening up. “But if you are indeed the Judge, then I have a question for you: can you explain how it is fair to deem all of my people, regardless of their deeds and origins, guilty of the crimes of a few?”
“When the many do not step in to stop and reform the few, then they are guilty of inaction.”
Eole glared at Euphemia. “Then all of the Third Overlord’s crimes are yours too.”
For perhaps the first time since Simon met her, Euphemia truly seemed at a loss for words. A man like Balzam could have conjured many lies and self-justifying arguments, but not her.
The Judge couldn’t argue with the truth.
“Your Grace, your husband is dead and his evils with him,” Eole pleaded. “If you indeed wish to do good in this world, then I bid you to change your empire’s ways. Slavery, conquest, and murder will not make Telluria a better place.”
“You come begging for change without the power or influence to make it so,” Euphemia replied after regaining her composure. “Relying on the goodwill of others will not get you far.”
“Perhaps, but I do not wish to live in a world where goodwill is worthless.” Eole gathered her breath. “Do you?”
“You truly are insolent.” Euphemia cracked a thin smile. “Do you truly believe, without the shadow of a doubt, that you could change the beastmen’s ways?”
“Yes,” Eole replied without hesitation.
“Then you are either a fool or a saint. Maybe both.” Euphemia rested her head on her fist as she considered Eole’s words. “We will not stop our eastern expansion. Telluria will either become an imperial province, or a pile of rubble.”
Eole’s fists clenched, and she turned to Simon. “We cannot allow the likes of Vouivre to gain access to Telluria’s resources,” he said with a sigh. “Believe me when I say everything we do there will pale compared to the horrors she will visit on your kind.”
“However,” Euphemia said, “if you believe your words will reach where our swords cannot, then I will allow you to accompany me as an advisor on the beastmen…” She stopped a brief moment before correcting herself, “the shifter tribes. Those you can convince to set aside their savage and barbarian ways will be welcomed as our subjects and spared from slavery.”
Eole reddened with anger. “You would have me become your empire’s mouthpiece?”
“Yes, because not walking away from the wrong path is a crime in itself. I will not tolerate another tragedy like the one that befell my home to repeat itself. Peace will come to Telluria, one way or another.” Euphemia steepled her fingers. “You can collaborate with us to help your people and put your ideals where your mouth is, or you can watch on the sidelines powerless, your sweet voice unheard. The choice is yours.”
Eole scowled as she took in those harsh words, then turned to Simon. “I have heard from Princess Norbelle that Your Majesty summoned two eidolons sacred to my people, Carbuncle and Culebre.”
“That I have,” Simon confirmed.
Eole’s scowl deepened with despair. “Then you know about my home.”
“I do, and I can access it whenever I wish,” Simon admitted, ignoring the glances Euphemia sent him. “We will not trouble your people, if that is what you worry about. Your answer today won’t affect their fate.”
He could see Eole didn’t believe him; or rather, she realized that her fears were realized, and that her people’s Sanctuary lived at the mercy of greater powers. When fighting was a hopeless call, only two possibilities remained.
Collusion, or surrender.
“I… will serve,” Eole decided warily.
“That you shall.” Euphemia’s tone turned slightly sympathetic. “Do not make such a face, Eole. You are fulfilling your duty, to yourself and your kind. You will save many lives.”
Her words failed to reassure Eole, who silently departed the room with a slight, forced bow. Simon’s heart ached to see her like this, even if it was for her own good. There was no ideal solution to the Telluria problem, or at least none he had found yet.
“For a moment, I feared you would execute her,” Simon admitted.
“Is that what you think of me? That I enjoy executing people?” Euphemia raised an eyebrow beneath her Judge blindfold. “There is always a place for mercy.”
“Says the woman who tried to have me killed when I was a young boy.”
“You were guilty of striking a prince of the blood. A peasant would have been quartered in your place.” Euphemia shrugged her shoulders. “This Eole is naive, rash, and disrespectful. It astonishes me that her capture didn’t teach her a lesson.”
“You say that as if they were flaws,” Simon replied, “but your tone betrays your fondness.”
“I was like her once, until the world—and your father—beat that foolishness out of my skull.” Euphemia shook her head. “I feel compassion for her. She only has pain and disappointment to look forward to.”
“Not necessarily,” Simon argued. “I have seen her home in my visions. It is a paradise devoid of slaves and conflict.”
“So was Agares until an armed band decided they would rather have slaves than friends,” Euphemia countered sternly. “Peace without the strength to defend it is a fragile illusion.”
“I agree, but Eole has a point: conquest and slavery won’t lead to a paradise.”
Euphemia looked at him curiously. “Is that what you want? To turn this empire of blood and bones into a paradise?
“Yes,” Simon replied bluntly. “As I told Louis when we arrested him, I will do amazing things once our enemies are pacified or out of the way. Now that I have seen it is possible to create a pure and perfect society, we must build one for ourselves. I will create a land of peace, free of slavery and brutality.”
“Your father would roll in his tomb if he could hear you,” Euphemia commented in genuine appreciation. Simon took pleasure in knowing that he could. “Color me impressed. We may have more in common than I thought.”
“Do we?” Simon wondered with skepticism. “I admit forcing everyone to worship the Light does not sit well with me.”
“You would rather let a thousand cults coexist?” Euphemia asked as if it were a stupid idea.
Simon frowned. “What would be wrong with that?”
“When you tell the people that they can worship the Light, the Mana Goddess, or nothing at all, you do not teach them that the world is a complicated place and that they should tolerate each other,” Euphemia argued. “You create one group that believes the Light should be worshiped for everyone’s salvation, a second who believes the same for the Mana Goddess, and a third who trusts nothing but themselves. When all sides believe in a different truth, then peace becomes impossible.”
Simon gave her words some consideration. “So you say I should pick a single truth for everyone to believe in?”
“Differences in values create friction, while cultural synthesis leads to harmony,” Euphemia confirmed. “Look at Magvolia. Although we have conquered it and ended centuries of conflicts between neighbors, many of its elites yearn for a mythical golden age when their kings ruled them to the point that they would rather ally with our enemies. Your father’s mistake was to push for continuous conquests without consolidating our gains in our subjects’ hearts and minds.”
Simon guessed she had a point. His father fed on conquests to fuel his Overlord Class, leaving many unsolved issues that enemies like Vouivre or Illusea then exploited to harm him. Even the Sanctuary remained Vayan and Junon’s carefully curated garden, though they allowed the worship of many eidolons. A society could not survive without a stable framework.
Still, he wasn’t sure the Light was the solution to this particular problem. The legitimacy it provided to Endymion rested on Mastemo’s goodwill and mental contortions. An Overlord’s power should be self-sustaining.
Simon had much to ponder.
Euphemia changed the subject. “Have you reached a decision on whether or not to devour the Warrior Crestone? If not, then we should find a new holder it won’t abandon for Louis.”
“I’m still considering my options,” Simon admitted. “My talents lean closer to spellcasting, and I have only one free Perk slot left open for the moment. I wonder if it would be better to consume magical-oriented abilities or something with more utility.”
“You would be a fool to neglect your Class’ martial potential,” Euphemia said. “Your father was the most powerful melee fighter who ever walked this earth. I haven’t seen a single creature capable of surviving him for more than five minutes.”
“Maybe so, but as you have no doubt noticed by now, I am not my father,” Simon replied dryly. “Besides, wouldn’t it be better to build on my strengths?”
“Limiting a Class that can do everything to one specialty is a waste,” Euphemia countered. “In war, it is better to be the second best in multiple fields than the best in one. If you have only one source of power, then you become predictable, and what is predictable can be countered.”
“You seem to speak from experience.”
“I do. Gargauth relied too much on his draconic strength and his artifact collection. A single Law that forbade the use of specific items crippled him during our final battle.” Euphemia scoffed. “Mardok learned that lesson painfully too. None could match him in his cruelty and deceit, but all of his sweet lies were wasted on a brute like Gargauth, and his magic failed to pierce through the dragon’s scales the way my husband’s sword did. Versatility is a strength in itself.”
Simon nodded and decided to question Lauriane on the matter. His sister had researched Classes extensively, and her custom Spellblade one combined magic with weapon techniques. She should have insight to offer on the matter.
“You are wrong about one thing. I can become the best at everything.” Simon had many lifetimes left to master fighting, magic, and crafting. “That is my Class’ privilege.”
“A tall boast, but you will need to live as long as an elf to make it a reality,” Euphemia replied sternly. If only she knew the hidden irony... “Surviving the year and each other will be a great victory in itself.”
“True,” Simon said with a small chuckle. “Should we toast to our first night in our shared quarters?”
Euphemia cracked a thin smile. “If one of us lasts until the morning, mayhaps.”
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