Overpowered Wizard

Prince Omar Windstorm nodded his head in thanks, a printed copper coin landing in his begging bowl. It clinked with two dozen other coppers, crocodile faces grinning up at him from one side while the other had ‘FAFO’ printed on the tail end.

With this, he could afford a warm broth from a soup kitchen in the city’s southern quarter. There were many new businesses, many new enterprises, many new opportunities at the heart of a conquering and budding empire.

Yet Prince Omar, a royal son of the United Nomad Empire, remained separate from the opportunities other royal princes and princesses would’ve salivated over.

He stayed in his designated begging area – because yes, even begging was regulated, though it was thankfully non-taxed up to a generous limit.

He stayed destitute after sacrificing everything to the success of the nascent empire. His scorpions and his nomad servants were dead, and their deaths stayed with him, living in his shadow and bearing their weight upon his feet, making him feel like he was sinking, like a lost wanderer caught in quicksand.

He couldn’t blame them for that. He remained alive.

So, the Level 74 Wind Wizard stayed seated with legs crossed, dressed in ragged layers to withstand the cold. All of his new stats and abilities were of little help while he had to accept the kindness of others in order to survive, making this both a punishment and holy trial.

Technically, he should act as a wandering beggar, going from city to city, town to town. As much as Omar wanted to repent, he still had some decent sense, so he’d petitioned the imperial administration to grant him multiple begging stations for him to rotate himself around.

He’d acquired a few more by trading paltry earnings of food with other beggars so he could expand his wanderings during his political exile. Though that was outside of the empire’s regulations, he was sure the advancing skeletons that often made rounds in public weren’t too concerned with his practices.

“More people willing to part with their coins in the dark empire, you know? More food and kinder folks, too,” said a fellow beggar sitting a dozen feet to the right, an older man with ruddy skin around his face and below Level 10. “But more nightmares, too. That red snake mess is going to make it hard to sleep tonight.”

Prince Omar smiled kindly at his associate. He was a friendly enough man, and he seemed okay with his lot in life. He also had more coins in his begging bowl, displaying expertise even for someone at a low level.

The prince supposed it was okay that he didn’t get as much. He was Level 74. He could go without food, water, and even shelter far longer.

“You suck at begging, Omar. You need to smile more. Act a bit quirky. You might disturb some people, but sometimes that gets them to throw down more coins while in a hurry.” A voice like a lion’s growl, echoing darkness, and death begetting death resounded to Omar’s left.

A shiver traveled up and down the prince’s spine. His head whipped around and found a pristine wall at the base of a grand tower.

All the rushing voices and passing citizens faded into the backdrop. Omar’s heart filled his ears with its violent thumping.

When he turned to the other side to see if his associate had heard the dangerous voice, another man joined them out of thin air. He sat with a forward slouch, his face a smile of sharpened insanity, his eyes two pits of the void with glinting lights nearly faded out of existence in the center.

He was darkly dressed in high-quality magic gear that oozed power anyone could sense even with low stats. The air seemed thicker, more active, more conductive to magic, like being well within someone’s aura range.

But most striking of all was the common bowl set in front of the one and only Dark Emperor.

Darkened shadows covered his face from under the brim of his wizard hat. The air shifted around him, becoming lighter, if not strange and a little off-putting.

His presence seemed reduced, while giving off just enough strangeness to make Omar shiver again as his fellow beggar froze in place.

The Dark Emperor begged, with smiles and laughters and shamelessness that was on the verge of disturbing without crossing an intangible line. He pulled Omar and the other beggar into his foolish acts, and he made them laugh uncomfortably.

Over time, Omar relaxed, almost forgetting he was begging with the Dark Emperor until the act was done. Then Prince Omar snapped awake from a strange fugue state and saw he and the other had more coins than just coppers. They had more silver coins than Omar had seen a beggar could get.

The Dark Emperor, of course, had all silver with a few glints of gold.

“While it isn’t fair to you two that I have my irresistible charm, the idea remains the same. You’ll get further if you beg with some more enthusiasm, more passion, more quirkiness. Who knows? It might lead to more fortuitous encounters.”

The Dark Emperor dumped his coins in both Omar’s and the other beggar’s bowls. After the last coin struck with a clink, he disappeared from view, but his voice remained for a parting message.

“I still want my taxes.”

Then that, too, was gone.

Prince Omar took a moment to steel his Willpower. His friend, however, felt stronger than before, like an ember becoming a sudden flame.

“I’m … Level 10 now,” mumbled the fellow beggar, shocked.

“Praise be on your fortune, friend,” Prince Omar said. “All at the cost of having more nightmares, hm?”

The Level 10 beggar laughed.

The prince smiled kindly. “Allow me to get you an order of warm broth to celebrate.”

“Are you kidding? I should get the tab for you!”

***

While Omar and his friend discussed who should get the tab for the chicken broth, Zarian reclaimed his POV and stopped in front of the Serveserf Temple. Zarian had plans for the Nomad Prince, something to do with imperial expansion stuff, but the wizard could wait on that.

Omar clearly needed time before he was ready to move forward as their only nomad in the capital.

Other than that, it was interesting for Zarian to have placed himself in a begging position again. He still had the old muscles that mixed sincerity with forwardness and a tinge of being unhinged.

He’d tried his best to hide his visage as the Dark Emperor, which was easier than it should’ve been, frankly. Few people would ever associate a powerful ruler of a nascent empire with begging on the streets.

He’d come a long way.

And appropriately enough, he was going to greet Serveserf first.

The temple remained the same from when it was first constructed, bare and plain beige-colored stone with a humble and welcoming vibe. Multiple crates along the steps and trailing through the open entrance contained items donated by others and offered freely to those in need.

Zarian walked by a few homeless folks who were sifting through free blankets and winter clothing with plenty of options to choose from. He found a few acolytes organizing crates, talking to new donors, and sweeping around a stone altar with a gnarled cane on it.

Before anyone fully noticed his presence, Zarian pulled out of his pocket and slapped down a foldable box on the edge of the altar, the contents inside the box jangling. He pulled out a simple stool from his other pocket and took a seat by the altar, loud enough to disrupt his own anti-charm and finally draw attention to himself.

He could’ve gone unnoticed for a long time if he wanted because of his staggering Wonder stat alone. He had more than enough Wonder to affect the world in ways that Bianca could, even if not up to her caliber.

It was something he’d studied and practiced more of the past two months on top of many other projects. So, yeah, it was to a great shock of the needy, the donors, and the acolytes that the Dark Emperor just appeared at their sacred altar with a board game and a stool.

“I’m winning this next game, you old hound,” Zarian growled deep with a hint of humor.

There was the smell of a simple and shareable meal placed over a crackling fire pit. There was the sound of blankets being laid for the weary to rest on. Then there were the sounds of reassuring murmurs, the shuffle of plain sandals, and a rich laughter overcoming all the heartbreak in the world and refusing to let tragedy break him.

“Hello, young master, it is a pleasure to have you. Have you eaten? We don’t keep much at the temple. We find it more effective to send food items to the dining halls that serve in charitable manners. But I’m sure an acolyte can find something,” resounded a voice that was wheezy, old, but always jovial.

Zarian had to admit, it was hard to dislike Serveserf. The old man had a cheekiness to him. Zarian still tried to act as a Dark Emperor should, smiling like a crocodile and disregarding some decorum.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“I wish not for paltry food, only the tears you will shed when I win, old hound. And I’m very much in the business of collecting tears for a few special people in my life.”

Twenty minutes later, Zarian lost.

“Well, gods damn it,” sputtered the Dark Emperor.

“Apologies, young master! You nearly had me in a pinch ten moves back. You moved a piece that opened up your defense, however, and led to my victory.”

Zarian feigned an indignant attitude before letting out a humorous huff. He glanced around him, his gaze passing over the nervous acolytes and folks trying to do their business or receive some blessing at the temple.

While blessings weren’t as powerful as boons, they could make a slight difference for the common people, and Serveserf had a tendency to give blessings that eased the unfairness of life.

“How are you?” asked the Dark Emperor.

“Grateful, honestly,” said Serveserf.

“That’s it?”

“It is as it should be. I continue to exist. I continue to serve. I do what I can, and I’ve yet to fall like many have before me. But one day I will fall, for all gods can die, and I will know my work is done.”

Zarian’s swaying tail lowered to the ground. “Do you need anything from me?”

“All I ask is to be kind when you can, young master. And to give when you can. You know the rest.”

“Yes, I suppose I do. I still must insist that you think of me if you need anything pertinent.”

“I will.”

Zarian pocketed his board game and stool before strolling out. He used his Wonder stat to establish a sort of anti-charm.

Granted, calling it anti-charm wasn’t exactly accurate. Applying his Wonder stat with more intention, without using aura, without using magic or abilities, was like having a whimsical touch on reality.

It felt outlandish and unreal.

He’d always thought of Wonder as something that gave magic a bigger punch to its base damage, but the practice of using the stats alone for their own individual attributes deepened his sense of what Wonder and the others could do. And having over 1000 stats in anything in a Lesser World made it easier to apply those stats intentionally.

Thus, nobody really noticed him while both busy with their lives and having subpar Wonder.

His musings ended when he entered the Hisscreep Temple, his boots treading over loamy and mushy soil. The scent of wet earth and low foliage filled his nostrils.

Little critters crawled, jumped, and fluttered about in the dark and living temple. Acolytes strode around while covered in bugs as followers gave offerings of meat to feed the critters before getting small blessings in return.

Now that Zarian thought about it … hadn’t Ruvaria given someone a blessing?

It was a slight detail from a while ago. He’d completely forgotten about it until he started musing about blessings and divinity.

After making a mental note to ask Ruvaria later, he set up the board game and sat on his stool in front of the altar. On top of its dark stone, a skull waited with a centipede beast scuttling in and out of the eye sockets and jaw.

Zarian manipulated his Wonder stat to become more noticeable. He was getting better at that.

“I’ve come to defeat you, old bastard,” Zarian growled cheekily.

The skittering of many legs sounded from behind Zarian. The clicking of mandibles that had mandibles, which also had more mandibles unfolding from the ends, before revealing a kaleidoscope cascade of mandibles clicking and clacking.

He smelled acid, exoskeletons, and sharp hairs that would stab through steel. Then the centipede crawling in loops in and out of the skull stopped moving, its face sticking out from one eye socket to give Zarian a beady look.

“Again?” said Hisscreep, in a serene and almost inviting voice. “It is not often someone can demand so much of our attention while in a Lesser World, but there is more than just this game you’re playing at, Dark Emperor.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact.

“Look, it’s easier to consider me the biggest anomaly of anomalies and just accommodate me a little. The Star System is doing that already.”

“The Star System isn’t one for conflict and pressure in and of itself, so that is not an outstanding statement.”

“Damn, you hear that, Star System? Hisscreep called you a wuss.”

The Star System ignored the Dark Emperor’s instigation.

Zarian shrugged and aggressively got the game going.

Fifteen minutes later, Zarian lost.

“What the fuck?! I swore I got you!” Zarian shouted.

“And yet you did not, so perhaps you shouldn’t swear on it,” Hisscreep replied.

Zarian squinted. “You and Serveserf are so odd. But I like you both. One more game?”

Zarian lost again, but he didn’t complain. He packed up and prepared to leave, only to stop and turn back. “We’ll be heading to Carrowmore soon. Any thoughts on that?”

“Continue to take care of Reiki,” Hisscreep said.

Zaria nodded. He exited and went straight to the Lovewar Temple. He stopped when he felt a pressure blocking him out and making him noticeable to the followers and acolytes. They looked warily at him.

“Still scared of me, Lovewar?” Zarian asked.

The divine blockade waned a little, but it didn’t fall completely.

“Next time, then … big sister.”

He turned away and spent some time in his wife’s temple. He managed to beat her once in the board game, but lost three times.

Before Zarian had his confidence collapsed, he left and stood outside of the two temples he dreaded visiting.

With a sigh, he entered the Hopeland Temple. He could hardly believe he’d gotten the offer after the ending of the wolf dragons, with Hopeland wanting to repair relationships between her and him.

Strangely, he accepted, just to see what she would do.

So far, the obvious result was the sudden population boom. People found hope in the Ride-or-Die Empire, and were streaming in a little faster than what was comfortable.

Now inside of the temple, Zarian watched as figures danced, prayed, and sang in frenzied jubilee, giving themselves over in overt hope.

He smelled clouds of mind-altering drugs and saw the walls had tables filled with drink. A soft and pristine rug covered the floor, and large, fluffy pillows waited about for people to sit and lounge on.

From a first glance, it all looked like a happy and excessively frivolous place, perfect for hippies. That would’ve been okay if it wasn’t for the big, zany looks on people’s faces reminding Zarian of drug addicts.

He didn’t play his game with Hopeland and remained standing in front of a stone block covered in swirls of paint. There was nothing on the altar itself, which had gotten Zarian to chuckle darkly each time he saw it.

Hopeland made him uncomfortable, but she was surprisingly witty.

The laughter in the background grew louder. The screaming joy became more joyous. The shouts of triumph thundered. The smell of smoke and alcohol became stronger, slavering thickly over his taste buds. Then, with a rumbling blare, a charming and nearly manic feminine voice resounded around Zarian.

“And so the Dark Emperor comes to visit me! Huzzah! How fortunate! How wonderful! You’re warming up to me just as I HOPED.”

“Not really, no, I’m just doing my rounds.”

“It’s okay. I bet you’re falling in love with my voice. Would you like a drink? I can get you … RUMMIES! I think you’re a rum person.”

“Rum is a bad drink. Besides, I’m abstaining,” Zarian lied.

Hopeland filled the temple with laughter that knocked the mortals to the floor. Then she stopped laughing suddenly while keeping the manic cheer in her voice. “Am I off your naughty list yet?”

“Not yet, you are.” Zarian huffed through his nostrils. “We’re still in a trial period, so I appreciate you lending more of your weight on my side of things. We have greater conflicts on the horizon than whatever grudges you gods have against me, so this is important.”

“The grudges remain. The hope for war, for domination, for victory against the Dark Emperor is not so easily extinguished. However, I do find your hope to turn our attention to outer threats, to invaders, a delectable thing.”

“Why is it delectable?”

“Because it is unlikely, and I do favor the unlikely. The flavor is stronger, all the way to the end.”

“You are a fucked up lady. It breaks my heart that Lovewar is still scared of me and you’re just dandy.”

“What can I say? In the moments before you ate me, I had a sense of something divine. And now I’m back and more delightful than ever!”

Good Goddess Hopeland laughed, and Zarian did his best to suppress a shiver. He waited for her to finish gloating before transitioning to what he wanted.

“What does Purehome hope to do about my relationship with Ruvaria?” he asked.

“Oh, what a strong question. It will cost you.”

“I know.”

He placed his hand out, and Para’s phantom presence flickered around his arm. Through his possessed palm, he poured out a pile of treasures that could’ve filled the coffers of a standard kingdom, all of it clattering on the colorful and empty altar.

For him, this was a small earning from the vast riches he’d gained from his adventures. And he had more riches incoming. He was, after all, a firm believer in taxing the rich and privileged.

Hopeland sounded gobsmacked.

“Oh, my, I was hoping for a payment that was more esoteric and with interesting socio-political ties. But of course you would dash that away, oh Dark Emperor. I do like how you treat a girl, just making it rain on me.”

“Keep being useful and I’ll treat you how you’re deserved.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Zarian sealed his lips, not trusting himself to say anything. Hopeland filled her temple with laughter, and her addicted followers laughed with her, even while knocked low by the divine pressure.

It was for this reason he didn’t allow anyone employed under him and the Floridians to head into the Hopeland Temple. It was not a safe place for certain people, let alone him, even.

As the coins disappeared, Good Goddess Hopeland picked up where they left off. “Fine then, fine then. I can tell you want to get a move on. This payment is enough for these words I’ll depart upon you. Purehome would rather cleanse her home of taint by burning the house down than to let anything of hers to be compromised.”

“They’re really going to aim at killing Ruvaria?” Zarian asked.

“Yes, but no. Killing Ruvaria the Sorceress Queen is an effort that’s not easily attainable. So you gotta throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

The Dark Emperor left it at that, putting the Hopeland Temple behind him, his mind clouded by dark thoughts. He let his ruminations simmer down as he quickly crossed the square surrounding the base of the Central Library Continental Artillery Tower.

He moved like an omen, his Wonder making him a creepy force that unnerved everyone enough to have them move out of his way. Thousands split apart to give way to the Dark Emperor.

He stopped in front of the temple of his little sister and dropped the cloaking from his Wonder stat. He didn’t step forward for quite some time as the winter suns crawled across the sky. A growing crowd gathered to watch him, sometimes broken up by patrolling skeletons.

The temple was made of wolf dragon skulls and wolf dragon bones and wolf dragon pelts and scales. It was the biggest temple, and took up so much space, Hannah had to shift the city center and create new pathways around Ariana’s temple.

The entrance looked like a giant maw that could eat hundreds of people, and black flames roared furiously on braziers placed around the temple. The mood was dark, destructive, and dangerous. It was very fitting, honestly.

With a sigh, he walked up the steps and found Head Acolyte Everlyn waiting for him with a smarmy smile. She bowed at the waist, hands on her thighs, her body adorn in a legendary dress made of scales and teeth.

“Oh, Great Big Brother of the Goddess of Gods, the Horror of Horrors, the Greatest Destroyer, the Ultimate Queen, The Dragoness! Be welcomed and merry, for today, you are not destroyed!”

“I didn’t take you for a sycophant, Evelyn,” Zarian said.

“When evil’s a way of life, you know who to crush beneath your heel, and who to lay down for and lay it thick on,” said the witch.

“Yeah, knowing my sister, she would find you adorable.” Zarian shook his head before stepping in and taking a dark fireball to the face.