Seated on an unforgiving stone bench, Priam listened absently to the conversation unfolding within the private box. Rather than steel himself for his impending duel, Kazuki was deep in discussion with the other members of Oasis about the previous night's events.

The opening of the conversation had been volcanic. Jasmine had been livid upon learning their friends had been ambushed by Snaherts, and even more enraged that there was no outlet for her wrath.

"They nearly killed Louis and we can't even retaliate?!"

"How? They've already paid the ultimate price," Louis sighed. "Them—and many others."

At dawn, the fall of the Snaherts had been officially announced by Thyvael. The High Marshal's apprentice had launched a raid with a dozen elven guards into the serpents' territory. They found only desolation, death—and undeath. Only two corpses remained unaccounted for: Ophis, and his mother, the shaman.

They were the sole exceptions. According to Thyvael, the elves had counted at least six thousand bodies, virtually the entire clan. Even if they breezed through the tournament, the surviving Snaherts were too few to reclaim their way of life without being consumed by inbreeding within a few generations.

There had been no grand proclamation, but everyone understood: a millennia-old tribe had fallen. Massacred by those who had sworn to protect it.

The overwhelming majority had been slain by Ophis and his corrupted Tier 3s, then killed again by the elves. When Thyvael returned from the purge, he betrayed no emotion, save perhaps a trace of annoyance when, at the end of his announcement, he stated that the perpetrator could not be prosecuted by elven justice.

"I wonder what he meant by 'perpetrator,'" murmured Jasmine.

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe the bastard who caused the deaths of thousands of innocents?" Rose snapped. "Over ten thousand dead across all tribes. That Ophis was a monster."

"As if some aloof Tier 5 gives a damn about the death of the common folk," Jasmine huffed. "Sure, his Concept is Justice, but the tribes aren't under his jurisdiction. No, bet you anything the only thing that really bothers the elves is the weaponization of the Necromoon."

Priam found himself nodding. For the elves, the deaths of a few savages were of little consequence; the birth of a new Tier 4 undead was not. Especially with rumors swirling that the Empire's Crown Prince planned to build his Myth around protecting his people from the Necromoon.

"It couldn't have been him." Everyone turned toward Kazuki. "Ophis would never have risked possession by the Necromoon. A fate worse than death."

"If the culprit wasn't Ophis, then who? And why not name them? Don't these people deserve a face to hate?!" Rose demanded, gesturing toward the window.

With a soft sigh, Priam looked out over the half-empty stands. Unlike previous days, few elves had made the journey, frightened by the possibility that those they once considered savages were now tainted by necrotic corruption. Not even the presence of their own Demiurge could entirely soothe them.

On the other hand, it was that very Tier 5's existence that drew the surviving tribals in. After brief funeral rites, both the Aelbes and the Gaeserts had held mass cremations. When the portal to the inner world opened, no one had wanted to remain in a camp where every path was smeared with blood. With one, perhaps two Tier 4 undead loose in the wild, the living had chosen to huddle beneath the Demiurge's shadow.

That made the sight of a half-filled colosseum all the more tragic. In a single night, the tribes had lost nearly two-thirds of their number. Wherever Priam looked, tragedy stared back. A father awkwardly rocked a baby in his arms. A young girl sat trembling, clutching a sword far too large for her. An old man laid out painted portraits of a woman, a man, and a child on the three seats beside him.

In the eyes of the living, Priam read rage and despair. Rose was right; these people deserved to know why their lives had been shattered.

"You'd think a Tier 5 could sniff out the culprit," the girl spat. "I know he's been gallivanting through the woods chasing Sumstreh, but still. It's disappointing."

"I'm almost certain he knows exactly who did it," said Louis, frowning. "Thyvael said they couldn't bring them to justice—not that they didn't know who it was."

"Words matter," added Kazuki, warming up for his match. The hoplite was doing push-ups, Blueberry perched on his back. The exercise grew steadily more difficult as the bear stuffed himself with snacks in real time.

"So what, you expect me to believe the elves are powerless? That's absurd. The Demiurge is a… well, a god, basically."

"Rose," Priam warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know—elves don't like that word. Fine. He's the equivalent of a g-word. But you get my point: who could stop him from doing whatever he wants?"

"His Concept, for one," said Priam. "His Justice obeys a set of laws—we just don't know what they are. Or maybe a contract with his sovereign. We do know the Empire isn't supposed to meddle with Champions."

"You think one of us did this?" Jasmine glanced over her shoulder at Arnold and Dishnu, who were seated silently at the back of the box. Neither Champion responded. "Nah," she said at last, disgust creeping into her voice. "Those bastards don't need to turn their enemies against each other."

Priam didn't contradict her. If he had to bet on Dishnu or Arnold versus an entire clan—Tier 4s included—he would stake everything on the Champions. Gambling may be a vice, but only when there's an element of chance.

While he had been thinking, Jasmine had reached the same conclusion he had, hours earlier. Her eyes widened. "If it wasn't us… that only leaves… Esmée?!"

Priam turned his gaze to the right. Less than a hundred meters away stood the Aelbe's private box. At its center, unmoving since his arrival ten minutes earlier, sat their leader. Eyes closed, utterly still, Léo was pale.

Ophis didn't go down without a fight, heh?

Still, Priam remained cautious. The fact that the Transcendent had managed to come all the way here suggested his condition wasn't critical. Or worse—he was feigning weakness, luring enemies into a false sense of security. Until he had answers, best not to poke the sleeping tiger…

To the right of his father, Rohan refused to look in Priam's direction. Something had changed in the last few hours, and the Juggernaut's instincts told him the young master was ashamed. So much for our little honeymoon phase.

Further down the row, an empyrean prince was also avoiding his gaze. In fact, Aydan seemed to be avoiding everyone's. Twitching nervously, Aydan looked deeply unsettled. Odd…

Ignoring the rest of the delegation, Priam focused on the second empyrean. Two steps behind her brother, a stunning woman with golden hair stood with the poise of a monarch. Perhaps she sensed his gaze on her, for Esmée turned her head and arched a perfect brow in his direction.

"Why spend the whole day speculating," Priam smiled, "when we can just ask?"

With a magical grace no Tier 0 should possess, the Juggernaut reached for the ambient aether. He wove the threads of magic with sublime dexterity, tracing invisible bars into the very fabric of the world. Etched across multiple levels, the glyphs meant nothing in isolation. In fact, without [Ideal Aether Perception], they were utterly invisible.

But Esmée was no ordinary onlooker and possessed that skill. Even so, it would have meant little if she hadn't been standing in the precise spot she was. From her angle, the aetheric threads drawn on different depths overlapped into a single symbol. Or rather, a rune. A pattern that resonated with magic—and was only visible, and thus real, to those who observed it from the correct point of view. Priam had explained the trick in one of his journal entries, buried in the notes of his add-on.

[Entry 119:

Let's align /, -, and \\ at varying depths, then shift them slightly. From the front, it looks like /-\\, that is an A. However, viewed from the side, it becomes I·I. Two different images, depending on the observer's perspective... Like an anamorphosis?

I remember street artists who could create the illusion of depth with flat, two-dimensional chalk drawings. If I apply the same principle to runes... I could design glyphs that change effects based on orientation. Hell, I could even hide them! Who could hack an array they can't see?

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

[Ideal Aether Manipulation], here I come!

— Excerpt from Priam's journal]

A sigil that only activated when viewed from a specific angle... The trick had come to Priam in a dream. The result of an overactive imagination blending with the dream-warped evolution of his meta affinity. Perhaps the key to proving to the System that his mastery of aether was worthy of unlocking [Ideal Aether Manipulation].

When Priam had shared his discovery with his mentor, the fiery bird had expressed disgust. Apparently, even at the height of his prime, the phoenix had never heard of such a technique. For a prince of an Immortal Clan to be ignorant of it, the method must have been rare indeed. But not unique.

Humanity, while creative, was hardly more so than the sum of an infinite number of civilizations. There was no way Priam was the first to stumble upon this truth. It was simply a truth hoarded by those fortunate enough to possess it.

Still, even if he wasn't the sole user of these anamorphic runes, it remained another ace up his sleeve. One he now played to speak openly before the gathered tribes, while hiding the message in plain sight.

Watched by Esmée, Priam's rune flared to life, transmitting a mental message to its sole intended reader.

"Last night... was that your doing?"

At once a question, a threat, and a hand extended. Look at what I'm capable of. Don't become my enemy. Stand with me instead.

Normally reluctant to reveal a rare technique to anyone not firmly an ally, Priam also knew he couldn't hope to earn his rival's support without a gesture of trust.

A glint lit up in Esmée's eyes, followed by the ghost of a smile. A second later, Priam felt something stir at the outermost edges of his magical perception. He squinted, an old habit from his myopic days, and channeled every shred of his aether control through the lens of [Ideal Aether Perception].

Above Esmée hovered a blurred mirage. Adjusting and recalibrating his skill, Priam tried to bring the distortion into focus. Nothing. Then memory struck: he had seen such visuals before. At the cinema?

The idea bloomed. Priam dilated his left pupil, and constricted the right—an ocular acrobatics made possible by Micro. Splitting his attention with the help of his draconic evolution, he focused each eye independently, trying to unravel Esmée's hidden secret.

His natural talent and oneiric meta affinity resonated, revealing a new facet of existence. The world as he had always known it, what he called reality, proved to be merely a painting stretched across the most sublime canvas imaginable: an ocean of aether.

Lvl Up: [Ideal Aether Perception] lvl 41

META (Affinity) +3

META (Perception) +6

On the surface of that primordial sea, Priam glimpsed an image. An incomplete, spinning pattern seen only through his right eye. The left dove deeper. The descent was short—his soul had not yet been baptized, nor his spirit ennobled. In those shallows, he found the second half of the puzzle. His add-on overlaid both views, corrected the spin, and the rune emerged.

Lvl Up: [Ideal Aether Perception] lvl 42

META (Affinity) +3

META (Perception) +6

Words failed Priam as he tried to comprehend what he had just achieved. Esmée had created a rune that required simultaneous decoding from two sources to be revealed. The phenomenon reminded Priam of his old physics lessons on light polarization. It's like wearing 3D glasses at the theater: each eye receives a different image, and the overlap reveals the full picture.

The talent required to achieve that... The thought alone made him dizzy. Not even [Ideal Aether Manipulation] could account for this kind of mastery.

"Oh, marvelous," murmured a voice like rustling leaves.

Priam turned. Dishnu was peering over his shoulder, eyeing the rune.

"Dishnu?"

"She forced the aether waves to spin in opposite directions. One diving, the other rising... I wonder why."

"You don't see it?"

The drya shook his head and rapped Priam's forehead with one of his vine-like dreadlocks.

"The Author aligned the key to your eyes alone. Two retinas, two variables... An entire forest could grow old and die before I'd solve it."

Priam looked back at Esmée, respect dawning in his gaze. If he himself was a recognized aether prodigy—vouched for by the head of the Sector Hope Mercenaries after his oneiric meta evolution—then Dishnu was no less. Maybe more. Wielding an alien heritage, centuries of life, and impossible talent, the drya had few rivals among the universe's Tier 0 in aether proficiency.

While Anatole had been his first aether teacher, Dishnu was the second, as together, they had forged a ritual for Log-a-rhythm.

Now, Esmée might well count as a third. Perhaps the most gifted of them all—in her domain, at least. When it came to flora-based magic, Dishnu remained unrivaled.

As if reading his thoughts, the princess stuck out her tongue at him, so impishly charming that Priam nearly forgot to finish reading the forming rune. His add-on saved him.

"Yes, that was my plan. The Snaherts were becoming inconvenient."

Priam raised an eyebrow. He might be the kindest of the Champions—which, given his ruthless pragmatism, was terrifying in itself—but even Esmée wouldn't condemn thousands to death without reason.

"Inconvenient?"

"Ophis and his mother were plotting to turn the elves against the Aelbes."

"That's a generous way to describe a genocide," Priam deadpanned.

Esmée smiled. "I still need them for a few more days."

Her tone was detached, as if the entire clan were nothing more than a tool. And perhaps to the princess, that was all they were.

"Before you start thinking less of me," she added, "know that the Snaherts had already planned to poison the Gaeserts and Aelbes. Last night's toxic cloud wasn't the last throes of a dying Transcendent; it was a ritual, prepared by Ophis. If he hadn't triggered it early in a vengeful frenzy, the casualties would've been far worse. All I did was inform Léo of the ritual as soon as I found out."

"A favor to cement the alliance between Aelbe and Empyrean?"

"And to lift the strike order on Jasmine. Léo had no proof, but he intended to retaliate for the death of his Tier 2. I persuaded him otherwise."

Priam clenched his fist. "Then I owe you one. What about the Necromoon?"

"Aydan asked me if there was a way to wipe out the Snaherts—to avenge our uncle. He must've sold the answer to the Aelbes."

Priam exhaled deeply. "You knew what would happen. Ten thousand dead."

"Ten thousand two hundred and forty-three," Esmée corrected, biting her lip. "I searched for a better ending, but with three clans who've hated each other for millennia, my options were limited. Those deaths were written," said the Author.

"Nothing is ever written," Priam denied. "If no good ending exists, then write one yourself."

"No compromise. As expected of the Juggernaut. I love that idealism in you," the princess smiled. "I'll be sad the day you lose it chasing the Zenith."

Priam smiled back. "I want to become supreme so I'll always have the freedom to do what I want. Selling my soul to get there would defeat the purpose."

Esmée opened her mouth, then shook her head. Her gaze lingered on her brother's back.

"I'm not as strong as you. I'll only put a price on my freedom once I'm free."

image [https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/pw/ABLVV86ntzoD-HJqDVAP1s444IvMXkepEihhSPuBu0d47WxVUUFRguQ_8nYcMN9aBTM0At6gkJAg08bpBWOOTjFiD2hdRWzDPMxaTJPwXFhhfte2683qZMgu-ZEV_BMGNKexI5K87smBQhRzI3lno1TfgEkn=w1181-h295-s-no?authuser=0]Status:

PHYSICAL:

Strength 1 253

Constitution 2 083

Agility 1 652

Vitality 2 092

Perception 990

MENTAL:

Vivacity (D) 666

Dexterity 894

Memory 1 152

Willpower 1 298

Charisma 996

META:

Meta-affinity (O) 1 405 (+7)

Meta-focus 886

Meta-endurance 1 584

Meta-perception 861 (+19)

Meta-chance 1 089

Meta-authority 768

Potential: 33 704 (+6)

Tier 0

[Tribulation]: Three Tribulations pending.

Next thresholds: 12 attributes 900 / 3 attributes 1 800 / 1 attribute 2 100

Next arc already complete on Patreon (50+ chaps ahead) if you want to find out what happens next!

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