The brothel was a sensory overload. Crimson tents half-opened to reveal dim lights and stained sheets. The mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, sex, perfume, and drugs hung thickly in the air, leaving no doubt about what activities were hidden behind thin tent fabrics.
Yet, amidst the faint sounds of pleasure reaching his ears, Priam realized this wasnât merely a den of debauchery. He hadnât seen any commerce, transactions, or bartering. It was a place of free exchange.
âWanna have some fun?â
Startled, Priam turned to face the speaker. A huntress stood before a half-open tent, revealing a sleeping man tangled in sheets behind her. Her bare breasts were exposed, and she was smoking something that stung Priam's nostrils.
âWhat is that?â he asked, pointing at the pipe.
âNargal. Iâd offer you some, but itâs a Tier 3 drug. Without an epic poison resistance, it would kill you.â
It's been so long since I've died⊠His instincts whispered that his date with Death was near, and Priam smiled. It was better this way; staying alive for too long wasnât good for his growth.
âSorry, Iâm looking for the hospital. Someone mustâve messed with me because they told me it was around here.â
âOh.â The huntress gave a small smile. âThey werenât lying. Itâs right behind here. When we set up camp, the maternity ward is always placed next to the lupanar.â
âThanks,â Priam said, tilting his head. It was both a gesture of politeness and a survival instinct. The Tier 3 huntress was evidently intoxicated; if she decided to attack, his chances of survival were slim. Not that dying bothered him, but he was seeking a meaningful death.
After brushing off three more advances, Priam reached the hospital. Infirmary might have been more accurate since the tent was quite small.
He pushed aside a flap and entered a space that felt disproportionately large compared to the shelterâs exterior. It was empty except for a teenage girl pounding leaves into a paste.
âWhatâs that for?â
The girl jumped and turned around. âPriam?!â
âHey Gabrielle.â
âYou scared me! I didnât hear you come in,â she said, placing a hand on her chest to calm herself. âWhat are you doing here?â
âIâm using my Mist Concept to try and be more discreet.â
His goal was to replicate Jasmineâs feat of evading a Domainâs detection. He was still far from that level, but his Concept and natural talent lagged behind the young assassinâs.
âI meant, what are you doing in this tent?â
âAh! Well, Iâm here to see Mama Apo for one of your Ideal upgrades, as agreed when we made our alliance.â
âLaepa agreed to that all by herself.â The old woman entered the tent, wrinkling her nose. âCapoele juice reacts with the air. The longer you pound, the less effective the paste becomes.â
Gabrielle resumed her work without a word.
âShould I understand that youâre not honoring our agreement?â Priam asked, struggling to suppress his rising anger.
âParents are responsible for their childâs actions. As you reminded us earlier, unlike other tribes, the Gaeserts are one big family. Laepa shouldnât have promised you that⊠but she did, and I wonât betray her word.â
Priam nodded.
âHow did you know youâd find me here?â the frail shaman asked as she moved to wash her hands in a basin of water.
âI remembered you were Gabrielleâs teacher and that she took care of people. I would have gone straight to your tent, but people I asked said you didnât have one.â
âAh!â The old woman chuckled. âThey know I donât like being disturbed.â She moved behind Priam and grabbed several vials, placing them on the table. âIâm going to prepare a potion of weakness. Help me, and weâll discuss the Ideal upgrade afterward.â
Chemistryâor was it alchemy?âwasnât Priamâs top concern, but he stepped closer. The apothecary opened a jar of red flowers and asked him to handle them with his kinetic skill. All the potionâs ingredients were manipulated through telekinesis. According to Mama Apo, finger sweat could alter the final product.
For almost half an hour, Priam assisted the shaman. Distilling flowers, leaves, and roots, heating, mixing, transforming into vapor, and extracting essential oils⊠The entire first part of the process reminded him of his chemistry classes. With his knowledge, Domain, addon, kinetic control, and his Fire and Mist Concepts, he helped Mama Apo without issue.
âYouâd make an excellent assistant,â the old woman remarked at the end of the preparation. âYour Domain lacks resolution, but your Concepts and skills are perfectly suited.â
Priam shrugged. He had always preferred physics over chemistry and knew he would never be the best in a field that didnât interest him. Alchemy was undoubtedly useful for many things, but he could recruit someone through Oasis.
âNow,â Mama Apo said, âthe finishing touch. Every potion needs a ritual to catalyze it. Two potions of weakness can be very different depending on the ritual. This one is for a pregnant woman. Can you guess its purpose?â
Priam thought for a few minutes, watching the apothecary create aether runes inside the potion. Her mastery of aether was eye-opening.
âI suppose itâs to prevent the woman from harming the unborn child during childbirth.â
âYouâre sharp. Micro helps most high-Tier mothers avoid excessive contractions, but one wrong move, and the baby explodes. It happens more often than youâd think, and itâs traumatic for everyone.â
âHoly shitâŠâ Priam shuddered. âIâve had some problems with my high constitution, but thatâs one of the worst things Iâve ever heard. Does it happen often?â
âItâs rare among huntresses because we make them unlock Micro during their training. Among crafters, though, itâs a frequent problem if they donât have access to this kind of potion.â
âHow long does the effect last?â If the potion could weaken someone, Priam could see it used as a weapon. âDonât they develop resistance?â
âIt lasts a week, and my Concept prevents them from developing resistance.â Thatâs a thing?! âIn any case, now you know we care for children, so if you feel like having some fun, donât hesitate.â
Priam was too stunned to speak.
âYou seem surprised. I suppose your civilization doesnât have the same customs as oursâŠâ
âYeah, I don't know, many men were⊠Scratch that. Why are you asking me that?â
âItâs scientifically obvious: we want to expand our gene pool. I will just ask you to do it in the lupanar and not elsewhere; thatâs its role.â
Priam clung to that phrase like a lifeline to extricate himself from an uncomfortable conversation.
âThe lupanar⊠I thought it was for resting between missions.â
âIn part,â the old woman sighed. âSex and the medicines I concoct help warriors and huntresses decompress. Some tribes are plagued by drug addiction, not ours. I provide everyone with the right dosage, the right plant, so they donât ruin their health needlessly.â
The work of a shaman was more diverse than Priam had imagined.
âFor non-combatants, the brothel is for making children,â Gabrielle said while pounding her leaves. âHigh-Tiers have more difficulty having children, so some multiply partners to succeed.â
What Priam had taken for a place of pleasure was also a necessity.
âThereâs no law forcing couples to participate, but singles or widows are strongly encouraged to spend time there,â the old woman continued. âUnwanted children are adopted.â
âTo make the tribe thrive?â Priam guessed.
âMonster hordes, tribal feuds, Tribulations, Tier 1 or 2 viruses⊠In Elysium, dangers are as numerous as opportunities. Without children, a tribe vanishes quickly.â
âWithout warriors too,â the Champion pointed out.
âTrue, which is why we donât regulate their Tier ups.â
Priamâs eyes widened, understanding the implication. âYou regulate the Tier up of non-combatants?!â
The conversation had veered off the topic of Ideal upgrades, but Priam knew one of his priorities was to fill the gaps in his knowledge about Elysium.
âNine out of ten Gaeserts are crafters,â the shaman explained, never taking her eyes off the potion. âIf every one of them reached Tier 3, we wouldnât have enough children, and the tribe would decline. Thereâs a balance to find between Tier 3s who can elevate the tribe and low-Tiers who can bear children.â
âYou say that like itâs easy for a crafter to reach Tier 3,â Priam noted.
The phoenix and the Guardian of Secrets had indicated that non-combatants' Tribulations werenât lethal, but he wanted to be sure.
âAs long as they are crafters, a failed Tribulation is just a warning. However, too many failures and the System switches you to the warrior path. Your number of chances per Tier equals your Soul Tier plus one.â
A Tier 0 crafter had two chances to fail a Tribulation. At Tier 3, they had five.
âIf Iâd known, Iâd have chosen the Tutorial for non-combatants,â Priam muttered, not really believing it. It couldnât be that easy.
Mama Apo shook her head. âAs if it were that simple. Non-combatants donât have the same Titles as combatants, not the same Merits, not the same Achievements, and not the same experience with lethal Tribulations. Even I, a Tier 4 poison expert, would die facing a fighterâs Tribulation. Itâs not the same path to the Zenith, and itâs equivalent to a death sentence from the System. Fortunately, High Tribulation reset this counter.â
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Reassured for his father and Rose, Priam asked the question he had in stock for a few minutes. âOne last question. When you say high-Tiers have fertility problems, what do you mean by that?â
Priam was concerned as he wanted to have children in the future.
Mama Apo gestured to Gabrielle, who cleared her throat.
âThere are several problems,â said the teenage girl as if reciting a lesson. âStarting with the obvious assumption that both parents have genetically compatible races: at lower Tiers, sperm is considered an invasion by the mother's body and is attacked by her immune system. As her vitality is higher than a spermatozoonâs, it will die fast. To actively prevent this, the mother needs Micro IV, which is nearly impossible before Tier 4. At higher Tiers, passive spiritual pressure can easily kill sperm, eggs, embryos, and children. It's further complicated by Supremacies, Concepts, Talents, attributes, and even skillsâall unknown factors that alter the equation. The rule of thumb is: the more powerful a person is, the harder it is for them to have natural descendants.â
Priam digested the information before furrowing his brow. âI find it hard to believe such a fundamental problem could be ignored by the powerhouses of the universe.â
âI know of some resources that help, and certain tribes have developed rituals to change that,â the shaman replied. âSurely the powerful have other ways around it. Worst case, they can find a draconic partner.â
The weakness potion flashed red, and Mama Apo set it back on the table, satisfied.
âWhat do you mean, a draconic partner?â Priam asked, a bad feeling creeping up on him.
âDragons are big-time fuckers.â The old shaman smiled as Gabrielle grumbled. âOne of their Talents allows them to fertilize just about anything. When I was young, I saw a drake wipe itself on a tree leaf after mating. Three days later, a draconic treant sprouted from a fruit in the dead of winter. Be mindful of the Talents you awaken while purifying your bloodline, or even I might get tempted.â
Priam recoiled, which made the old woman laugh heartily.
âMamaâŠâ Gabrielle grimaced.
âSorry, sorry. Anyway, you wanted an ideal upgrade, right?â
âYeah,â Priam said, refocusing.
âWhich skill do you want to improve?â
âWhy not just ask for my entire skill list while youâre at it?â
The shaman shrugged. âAs I tell my patients, if you don't tell me where it hurts, how can I help you?â
She refused to give him the list of ideal upgrades she possessed, forcing Priam to list his own skills and thus provide information to these circumstantial allies.
Luckily, I already know what I want, but it will tip her offâŠ
âI want the epic ideal upgrade for [Focus]. I already have the skill at the maximum level.â
Mama Apo squinted. âHow do you know we have that upgrade?â
Priam just shrugged, unwilling to lie but unable to tell the truth. If the shaman learned that Eve was reading the memories of the Gaeserts on his ordersâŠ
The silence stretched uncomfortably before it was broken.
âFine. Follow me.â
Surprised it was so quick, Priam silently celebrated and followed her. The shaman led him to the back of the tent and pulled aside a flap. Instead of stepping outside, they entered a dark room containing only a large rune three meters in diameter.
âSit down and prepare to be bombarded by various stimuli. Use [Focus] to resist.â
âThatâs it?â
âThatâs it.â
Priam sat cross-legged on the ground in the center of the rune and whistled in appreciation as a core appeared above his head. The aether crystal emitted a passive spiritual pressure stronger than any Tier 4 he had encountered today. Must be from a high Tier 4 or even a Tier 5âŠ
A resonance formed between the crystal and the rune, which began to glow and hum. In the next instant, Priamâs vision changed. He was tied to a pole in the middle of a plain. The breeze in his hair, the blinding sun in the sky, and an archer fifty meters awayâall seemed real. He felt like he was back on Earth.
âWhy am I naked?â
âThe illusion will break when your concentration wavers. The longer you endure, the greater the benefit,â echoed the shamanâs voice, ignoring his question.
When the arrow bit into the wood between his thighs a split second later, Priam nearly flinched. My skills are unreachable? No, itâs just an illusion. Iâm supposed to defend with [Focus].
The warrior activated the skill, and his mind sharpened as he set his doubts aside. He started noticing inconsistenciesâthe cold on his skin despite his high constitution, the clouds moving against the wind, and even the pole's texture, which felt more like plastic than wood. Each detected error corrected itself, enhancing the illusion and increasing its realism.
When the second arrow lodged into his thigh, Priam almost forgot that none of this was real. Micro seemed unable to dull the pain, and it was [Focus] that allowed him to keep thinking despite the wound.
Finally understanding the illusionâs purpose, Priam gritted his teeth and made a bet with himself.
I will emerge from this illusion with the ideal upgrade.
Apoline watched the Champion grit his teeth, stoically enduring the pain. Part of her focus controlled the ritual, adjusting parameters as Priam detected errors. Another part pondered this young neighbor.
His soul was young, bound to his body, and immense. Even Rohan, the young master of the Aelbes, had a smaller soul, despite the vast resources Gryphe had invested to enlarge it. At Tier 0, soul volume didn't mean much. Past a certain threshold, a sixth Legendary skill became available, but that was it. However, the advantage at Tier 2 and 3 could be decisive.
A fifth arrow struck the Championâs illusory body. He let out a single grunt before falling silent, clinging to [Focus]. The shaman nodded, seeing that he wasnât just activating it but trying to understand it. The skill was relatively common, but too many people simply hid behind it without further thought. Like any skill, it held secrets, and only those who uncovered them had a chance at an ideal upgrade.
âIâm done,â Gabrielle announced, approaching. âWill he get it?â
âWeâll try as many times as necessary until he does. Laepa promised him an ideal upgrade, and the Gaeserts keep their word.â
âI know, but I hope he wonât waste our resources.â
The shaman merely grunted. The Tier 5 core was massive, but part of its power was consumed with each activation of the ritual. Gaesert warriors were only allowed five tries. Nine out of ten failed and had to settle for a high upgrade.
âI thought youâd want to give him [Art of Movement] to undercut the Aelbes.â
Apoline glanced approvingly at her apprentice. âThat was the plan, but he surprised me. It's just as well; this illusory world lets me see who weâre dealing with. The Champions won't stay weak for long, and I refuse to let weeds grow in my garden.â
There was a trace of steel in her voice.
âI don't think he entered our camp without some guarantee,â Gabrielle noted. The teenager was level-headed, and her mentor liked that.
âHe must have trump cards, but so do we.â One of her rings contained a core capable of stealing a Tier 1 soul. Priam likely thought the Fallen was a danger, and he wasnât wrong, but the tribes hadn't survived this long without a few secrets. The real question was: was the Fallen worth deploying some of them, and if so, which tribe should sacrifice its resources?
Priam gasped as an arrow tore through part of his intestines. Mama Apo adjusted the illusion to make the stench of his own excrement assault the warrior. When his senses no longer detected any inconsistencies, it would become much harder to maintain [Focus], validating one of the prerequisites for the ideal upgrade.
âHeâs holding out for a long time,â Gabrielle noted. âDo you think he was a great warrior among his people?â
Apoline laughed. âI don't think so. The System loves archetypes, and the hoplite already fills that role.â
âLike the stories you told when I was little⊠Whatâs his role then?â
Apoline hesitated, watching Priam open his eyes to stare at the archer. The anger sparked by the dragon was silenced, replaced by calm and analysis. His wrath hadnât vanished, but it was now controlled, serving its creator. He was plotting a cold revenge, transforming pain into strength and helplessness into hope.
The trial wasn't about suppressing emotions and sensations, it was about commanding them.
It took only a few minutes of guidance for the Champion to grasp the essence of [Focus]. His talent and instinct were exceptional, having nothing to do with the System.
The illusion wavered, struggling to deceive Priamâs will, sharpened to a razorâs edge by his concentration. In a few minutes, he had already unlocked two prerequisites.
âHeâs too fast,â Gabrielle murmured, studying the ritualâs indicators. âEven Braato wasnât so drivenâŠâ
Some prodigies needed only one dive into the illusion to obtain the ideal upgrade. This generation's record, held by Chief Braato, was a little over twenty-three hours.
An hour and a half into the trial, Priamâs gaze hadnât wavered from his adversary.
Replacing the archer to shoot the final illusory arrow, Apoline flinched at the intensity in the Championâs eyes. He had transcended the pain afflicting his body, his eyes fixed solely on the prize. Indifferent to the virtual world and simulated danger, Priam focused on his goal.
He was in the famed zone.
Gaesert, help me, this monster aims for the Zenith.
Elysiumâs warriors were mighty, but the violence of the spearhead world had tamed them. All it took was to meet the First's gaze to understand that the first among the rivals was ready to strike back at Elysium and anyone who stood in his way.
Pulling the bowstring to her cheek, Apoline aimed and then released. As the final arrow sped toward his eye, Priam welcomed death without flinching. Far from fearing it, he saw it as an old friend. Deathâs ObsessionâŠ
For a moment, as the illusion shattered under the force of an epiphany, the Tier 4 caught a glimpse of the young Championâs nature. He was a force of nature, not merely walking the Zenith path.
He was sprinting on it, inevitable and unstoppable. For who could challenge one who even toyed with Death?
â⊠The Smiling Juggernaut.â
Status:
PHYSICAL:
Strength 726
Constitution 1 179
Agility 897
Vitality 1 130
Perception 767
MENTAL:
Vivacity (D) 595
Dexterity 658
Memory 864
Willpower 1 168
Charisma 692
META:
Meta-affinity 829
Meta-focus 417
Meta-endurance 710
Meta-perception 346
Meta-chance 274
Meta-authority 228
Potential: 14 140
Tier 0
Sun points: 1 485 926 (+510)
[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED
[Tribulation]: Five Tribulations pending.
Future Tribulations delayed until:
Time: 152 days 23 hours 11 minutes 11 seconds.
Next thresholds: 12 attributes > 600 / 6 attributes > 900 / 1 attribute > 1 200
This arc is already complete on Patreon if you're interested in finding out what happens next! /ANovelConcept