Chapter 417: Royal Path |
Title won!
[Witness to the End - Bronze] - You have glimpsed an apocryphal being. A possible ending for any universe.META (Perception) +10%
It was the fourth time Priam reread the text. It had taken him some time to steady his emotions. Not fear, but anger. Or was it greed?
The apocryphal Kazuki had been a monster whose mere presence unraveled a world. A Bronze Title felt like a paltry reward for surviving that encounter.
“On the other hand… maybe every possible end of a universe pushes the Title one rank higher? If that’s the case, some might be easy pickings…”
His academic background suggested three leads.
The first: the Big Crunch. A theory where the universe, after expanding, succumbs once more to gravity’s pull, collapsing into a singularity and setting the stage for another Big Bang. On Earth, scientists found the hypothesis unlikely, but if the laws of physics shifted from universe to universe, some might perish this way.
The second: Heat Death, entropy’s slow victory, or the gradual suffocation of all things. After an unfathomable time, even black holes die. It painted a grim tableau: every particle of matter inert, scattered across cosmic gulfs. A probable fate for his home universe, and in Priam’s view, depressingly dull.
Mutually exclusive, yet when one could walk between universes, perhaps one could witness them all. Maybe I only need to lay out the math and understand the theories clearly to upgrade the Title? After all, the apocryphal catastrophe didn’t destroy our universe. I earned [Witness to the End] by recognizing the threat, not by watching it play out… Addon, your job.
[Command logged.]
Satisfied by his faithful system, Priam shut his eyes. The end of the universe lay far away; his own death loomed far nearer. Sitting cross-legged atop a ruined building, he sifted through ways to strengthen himself before the coming clash with Léo. Defeating a Transcendant promised to be brutal—bordering on impossible—even with Braato and Kazuki. Their destructive reach was limited, and the Tier 4s weren’t stupid enough to wait for the nuke rain.
“The gap is wide, but with the right preparations, we can tip the scales.”
Priam opened his status. A few low-hanging fruits could be plucked quickly—skills ripe to be pushed, and Merits waiting to be bought. Beyond that, he would need cunning. Can I shape the battlefield? With Log-a-rhythm and Valaryth, maybe…
A grin tugged at his lips. When enemies thought of the Juggernaut, they pictured an unstoppable force of nature. He would show them that sometimes, defying the impossible was more about brain than brawn.
“But first…”
Trees of Merit
[Witness to the End - Bronze] - Tier 0: Transports you to an adjacent universe. NEW
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 2: Galahad blesses your eyes; once per week, you may see the truth. ACQUIRED
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 3: Cú Chulainn blesses your talent; once per month, you may summon an epiphany at will. ACQUIRED
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 4: Sun Wukong blesses your freedom; once a year, you may choose one of the Seven and cast off all constraints tied to it. ACQUIRED
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 5: Sigurd blesses your flesh; once per week, you become invulnerable for one minute (CONST ×100, one weak point remains). ACQUIRED
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 6: Fortuna blesses your fortune; Chaos smiles upon your next endeavor. META (Chance) halved with each activation. Permanent penalty. The greater the loss, the greater the boon. ACQUIRED
[The Five Ages of Man - Mythical] - Tier 7: LOCKED. Requires a Genesis Title. NEW
5 Unused Merit Points.
“Holy fucking shit, this Merit Tree is busted,” Priam whistled, then shook his head. “Too bad none of the effects are straightforward. Plus, the cooldowns keep me from testing them…”
Seeing the truth, summoning epiphanies, breaking chains, bending luck—all vague. Only Sigurd’s blessing was clear: multiplying his constitution by a hundred for one blazing minute. Enough to swim inside the sun unscathed.
“Unfortunately, it also creates a weakness,” Priam muttered. Talking aloud helped him sort his thoughts. “Fuck, I don’t know Norse mythology half as well as the Greek. Is it like Achilles’ heel? If so, diving into the sun’s still a bad idea… Unless I get to choose the weak point?”
It had to be on the surface. So, it was better to pick something like the armpit or the anus. Somewhere hard to target in a real fight. Though if they actually find it, I’ll look like an absolute fool. If the last line of the Juggernaut’s saga ends with a spear up the ass… shit, worst epitaph ever.
Priam shook his head. “I’ll figure that out later. As I still have to beat the Colosseum before advancing Tier 1, I can’t blow all of my new toys against the Transcendants. I need more tools to shift the balance.”
A quick glance at his status revealed forty-nine Titles. The number fifty practically winked at him, his draconic instinct whispering that chasing Myth fragments would soon bear fruit.
Priam combed through every line of his Status until he found a lead to another Title.
“Twenty-two ideal skills… and a shit ton of Potential.”
Feeling the dragon in him hesitate, Priam chose to charge forward. If he dwelled too long, he’d just hoard resources forever.
Potential - Skill Creation
Do you wish to downgrade the rarity of [Virus Resistance - Legendary]?
Potential required: 4 985Current potential: 43 026
“I was born to be rich,” he whispered before buying the downgrade.
The king’s suite was vast. Blue stone veined with gold lined the walls with a suit of armor displayed every five paces. Far from mere ornament, these were constructs—machines of war whose physical prowess rivaled a Tier 2 Baron. Fueled by the palace’s arcane generators, they possessed limitless endurance and an overclock capacity that allowed them, for a brief span, to rise to the might of Tier 3s. At least, that was the promise of their artisans—and judging from the unease of the Aelbe hunters, the claim was no idle boast.
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Unless, their anxiety came from the hidden wards woven into the very walls. They were of high enough quality to restrain anyone short of a Transcendent. The king could be accused of many things, but miserly with his defenses was not one of them.
Esmée stood quietly in the corner of the dining hall. Rohan’s two guards lingered opposite her, while the other corners were occupied by waiting servants. Aydan loomed in the doorway, face expressionless, eyes locked on his father with the unblinking intensity of a sociopath.
Only the young master and the king sat at the table, idly spooning at their floating island with little interest. A pity. It looks delicious… The princess forced herself to quell her rumbling stomach. She had not eaten all evening, and the confection claimed as much of her attention as the conversation.
“So, a Collector,” said the king.
“One who takes the time to explore every Tier, polishing their foundation rather than rushing to build momentum,” Rohan ventured. “Maybe you’re familiar with the saying: Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard. Well, most Aces collapse at Tier 1. Collectors flourish through the low Tiers.”
The fervor in his voice betrayed his longing for that title.
“Unless I’m mistaken, this Priam is both,” retorted Maxime.
“...”
The king’s posture shifted, radiating displeasure. Without unveiling his Aura or bending aether, he became magnetic, demanding attention. Esmée shut her eyes. Her father’s charisma attribute was so high that his words—and even his silences—felt as compulsive as mind spells. At this game, she knew no equal to him.
“You promised me his death. Without it, how am I to be assured that this alliance shall not cost me my throne in years to come?”
“Priam is strong, but—”
“Indeed. Perhaps it is he whom Esmée should wed.”
Rohan’s eyes snapped up, venomous. Two armors detached themselves from the wall, but with a flick of his spoon, Rohan gestured toward them. It might as well have been a blade—breastplates split as though sundered by a gale-forged sword, the wall behind them scarred with the stroke.
“Esmée is mine.”
The air grew taut. By some cosmic irony, no one glanced at Esmée, as though her own wishes were irrelevant. Perhaps that is for the best. If Rohan truly cared for me, I would feel guilty.
“Courageous. An essential quality for one who would rule.” Aydan recoiled as if struck. His father did not spare him a glance. “Sit. You shall have my daughter.”
Rohan obeyed, and Maxime smiled.
“Do you know why I chose you over Priam?”
“My father is a Transcendent.”
“My daughter’s rivals all stand a chance of becoming such,” countered the king, idly toying with his dessert.
“Then because two Champions cannot ally. Not if they care for their civilization. I read it in my ancestor’s journal.”
Maxime shrugged. “From what I gather, Priam’s priorities are well defined. His kin, wife included, shall ever come before his race.”
Rohan frowned. “Then I don’t know.”
The king’s smile sharpened. “Your absence of a moral chain. To felines, the world divides into three: pride, prey, and predators. You avoid meddling in what does not concern you. So long as I do not impose my vision upon you, you will not interfere in imperial politics. Hence, we can coexist.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Were Priam before me, he would call me a misogynist, or a male chauvinist.”
The Aelbe scion raised a brow. “Would he be wrong?”
“I am scarcely a male supremacist—and that, only by upbringing.”
Rohan blinked, bewildered. Truth be told, so was Esmée. In veiled terms, her father had just conceded that females were not inferior to males.
Maxime shrugged again. “I bear neither hatred nor hostility toward women, nor deem them inferior. In truth, half my ministers have their work corrected by women. Likewise, I am perfectly aware that my daughter is the most gifted soul in this chamber.”
Esmée’s eyes widened. She nearly opened her mouth, then shut it again. A trap. It has to be a trap!
Rohan smiled, smug at his fiancée’s praise. He seemed in no hurry to ask the question burning on Esmée’s lips, and she had to rely on her skills to nudge him toward it.
“Then why oppress half your people?”
“Because I have no interest in changing the order of things? Because my nobles would resist any policy of equality? Because every society requires a scapegoat?” The king shook his head. “No. The true cause lies in my family’s racial Talent. [Royal Path] allows us to bend the world, to shape it toward our will. If I purchase a lottery ticket and truly desire to win, the world conspires to aid me. The difficulty,” he went on, “is that many players exist, and only one may triumph. Nature’s solution is simple: the strongest Empyrean’s will prevails. So far, so good—until one considers pregnancy. The fetus joins its will to the mother’s, magnifying her strength. For eleven months of gestation, women grow more powerful.”
“You fear they might rule?”
The king’s face twisted. “Mind your words.”
“Sorry. You believe they could rule?”
“It has been so. Seven centuries past, our Empire was a gynocracy.” The bombshell staggered Esmée. The king continued. “Then was born the one who would be known as the first king. A prince stronger than his sisters, his cousins, and every female heir. He led a rebellion across the world, going as far as to slay his own daughter when understanding that she would best him in time.”
“He won alone?”
“In a world without the System, you cannot fathom the supremacy of our racial Talent. By the time of his death, the order of things was overturned. Still, for three generations, kings reigned in terror that some bastard daughter might usurp them… until Maxime V devised the perfect tool of control: a soul geas. It is what allows me to sleep, knowing that however gifted, Esmée cannot think ill of me without a migraine splitting her skull.”
Right on cue, Esmée’s head throbbed with agony so fierce she collapsed, unable to mask her torment. You bastard! All this suffering, all this oppression, for—
“Stop this!” Rohan roared, brandishing his spoon.
“I do nothing.” Maxime raised his hands, aware that even cutlery was dangerous in the grip of a Cut Concept user. “Her pain springs from her wish to kill us.”
“Stop this or I’m cutting your head!”
Maxime met Rohan’s gaze before making a motion. The pain left Esmée as abruptly as it had come.
“Would you slay me?” he asked.
The geas compelled her to speak truth, but not for a moment did Esmée consider falsehood. “Yes!”
“Would you slay Rohan?”
“Yes!”
The king’s hand fell, and the agony returned with a rush. Moments later, the geas won; Esmée fainted. Rohan knelt at her side, only to feel Maxime’s hand settle on his shoulder.
“All this, Rohan, to tell you one thing: by marrying her, you shall gain sway over her geas. If you want to keep her, heed this counsel: seek not to free her. You would lose her.”
The king locked eyes with the young Aelbe heir, then nodded once.
“It grows late, and you depart upon the morrow. Let us sign the contract between our factions.”
“The contract… You mean the marriage?”
“That as well. Come.”
Status:
PHYSICAL:Strength 1 259 Constitution 2 317 Agility 1 659 Vitality 2 213 Perception 998
MENTAL:Vivacity (D) 666 Dexterity 988 Memory 1 219 Willpower 1 310 Charisma 1 064
META:Meta-affinity (O) 1 459 Meta-focus 902 Meta-endurance 1 692 Meta-perception 929 (+53) Meta-chance 1 481 Meta-authority 1018
Potential: 43 026
[Tribulation]: Five Tribulations pending.Next thresholds: 12 attributes > 1 200 / 3 attributes > 1 800 / 1 attribute > 2 400
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