A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!

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 wasn’t merely a den of debauchery. He hadn’t seen any commerce, transactions, or bartering. It was a place of free exchange.

“Wanna have some fun?”

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.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing at the pipe.

“Nargal. I’d offer you some, but it’s a Tier 3 drug. Without an epic poison resistance, it would kill you.”

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 wasn’t good for his growth.

“Sorry, I’m looking for the hospital. Someone must’ve messed with me because they told me it was around here.”

“Oh.” The huntress gave a small smile. “They weren’t lying. It’s right behind here. When we set up camp, the maternity ward is always placed next to the lupanar.”

“Thanks,” 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 shelter’s exterior. It was empty except for a teenage girl pounding leaves into a paste.

“What’s that for?”

The girl jumped and turned around. “Priam?!”

“Hey Gabrielle.”

“You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, placing a hand on her chest to calm herself. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m using my Mist Concept to try and be more discreet.”

His goal was to replicate Jasmine’s feat of evading a Domain’s detection. He was still far from that level, but his Concept and natural talent lagged behind the young assassin’s.

“I meant, what are you doing in this tent?”

“Ah! Well, I’m here to see Mama Apo for one of your Ideal upgrades, as agreed when we made our alliance.”

“Laepa agreed to that all by herself.” The old woman entered the tent, wrinkling her nose. “Capoele juice reacts with the air. The longer you pound, the less effective the paste becomes.”

Gabrielle resumed her work without a word.

“Should I understand that you’re not honoring our agreement?” Priam asked, struggling to suppress his rising anger.

“Parents are responsible for their child’s actions. As you reminded us earlier, unlike other tribes, the Gaeserts are one big family. Laepa shouldn’t have promised you that… but she did, and I won’t betray her word.”

Priam nodded.

“How did you know you’d find me here?” the frail shaman asked as she moved to wash her hands in a basin of water.

“I remembered you were Gabrielle’s teacher and that she took care of people. I would have gone straight to your tent, but people I asked said you didn’t have one.”

“Ah!” The old woman chuckled. “They know I don’t like being disturbed.” She moved behind Priam and grabbed several vials, placing them on the table. “I’m going to prepare a potion of weakness. Help me, and we’ll discuss the Ideal upgrade afterward.”

Chemistry—or was it alchemy?—wasn’t Priam’s 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 potion’s 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.

“You’d make an excellent assistant,” the old woman remarked at the end of the preparation. “Your Domain lacks resolution, but your Concepts and skills are perfectly suited.”

Priam shrugged. He had always preferred physics over chemistry and knew he would never be the best in a field that didn’t interest him. Alchemy was undoubtedly useful for many things, but he could recruit someone through Oasis.

“Now,” Mama Apo said, “the 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?”

Priam thought for a few minutes, watching the apothecary create aether runes inside the potion. Her mastery of aether was eye-opening.

“I suppose it’s to prevent the woman from harming the unborn child during childbirth.”

“You’re sharp. Micro helps most high-Tier mothers avoid excessive contractions, but one wrong move, and the baby explodes. It happens more often than you’d think, and it’s traumatic for everyone.”

“Holy shit…” Priam shuddered. “I’ve had some problems with my high constitution, but that’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. Does it happen often?”

“It’s rare among huntresses because we make them unlock Micro during their training. Among crafters, though, it’s a frequent problem if they don’t have access to this kind of potion.”

“How long does the effect last?” If the potion could weaken someone, Priam could see it used as a weapon. “Don’t they develop resistance?”

“It lasts a week, and my Concept prevents them from developing resistance.” That’s a thing?! “In any case, now you know we care for children, so if you feel like having some fun, don’t hesitate.”

Priam was too stunned to speak.

“You seem surprised. I suppose your civilization doesn’t have the same customs as ours…”

“Yeah, I don't know, many men were… Scratch that. Why are you asking me that?”

“It’s scientifically obvious: we want to expand our gene pool. I will just ask you to do it in the lupanar and not elsewhere; that’s its role.”

Priam clung to that phrase like a lifeline to extricate himself from an uncomfortable conversation.

“The lupanar… I thought it was for resting between missions.”

“In part,” the old woman sighed. “Sex 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 don’t ruin their health needlessly.”

The work of a shaman was more diverse than Priam had imagined.

“For non-combatants, the brothel is for making children,” Gabrielle said while pounding her leaves. “High-Tiers have more difficulty having children, so some multiply partners to succeed.”

What Priam had taken for a place of pleasure was also a necessity.

“There’s no law forcing couples to participate, but singles or widows are strongly encouraged to spend time there,” the old woman continued. “Unwanted children are adopted.”

“To make the tribe thrive?” Priam guessed.

“Monster hordes, tribal feuds, Tribulations, Tier 1 or 2 viruses… In Elysium, dangers are as numerous as opportunities. Without children, a tribe vanishes quickly.”

“Without warriors too,” the Champion pointed out.

“True, which is why we don’t regulate their Tier ups.”

Priam’s eyes widened, understanding the implication. “You regulate the Tier up of non-combatants?!”

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.

“Nine out of ten Gaeserts are crafters,” the shaman explained, never taking her eyes off the potion. “If every one of them reached Tier 3, we wouldn’t have enough children, and the tribe would decline. There’s a balance to find between Tier 3s who can elevate the tribe and low-Tiers who can bear children.”

“You say that like it’s easy for a crafter to reach Tier 3,” Priam noted.

The phoenix and the Guardian of Secrets had indicated that non-combatants' Tribulations weren’t lethal, but he wanted to be sure.

“As 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.”

A Tier 0 crafter had two chances to fail a Tribulation. At Tier 3, they had five.

“If I’d known, I’d have chosen the Tutorial for non-combatants,” Priam muttered, not really believing it. It couldn’t be that easy.

Mama Apo shook her head. “As if it were that simple. Non-combatants don’t 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 fighter’s Tribulation. It’s not the same path to the Zenith, and it’s equivalent to a death sentence from the System. Fortunately, High Tribulation reset this counter.”

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. “One last question. When you say high-Tiers have fertility problems, what do you mean by that?”

Priam was concerned as he wanted to have children in the future.

Mama Apo gestured to Gabrielle, who cleared her throat.

“There are several problems,” said the teenage girl as if reciting a lesson. “Starting 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 spermatozoon’s, 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 skills—all 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.”

Priam digested the information before furrowing his brow. “I find it hard to believe such a fundamental problem could be ignored by the powerhouses of the universe.”

“I know of some resources that help, and certain tribes have developed rituals to change that,” the shaman replied. “Surely the powerful have other ways around it. Worst case, they can find a draconic partner.”

The weakness potion flashed red, and Mama Apo set it back on the table, satisfied.

“What do you mean, a draconic partner?” Priam asked, a bad feeling creeping up on him.

“Dragons are big-time fuckers.” The old shaman smiled as Gabrielle grumbled. “One 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.”

Priam recoiled, which made the old woman laugh heartily.

“Mama…” Gabrielle grimaced.

“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, you wanted an ideal upgrade, right?”

“Yeah,” Priam said, refocusing.

“Which skill do you want to improve?”

“Why not just ask for my entire skill list while you’re at it?”

The shaman shrugged. “As I tell my patients, if you don't tell me where it hurts, how can I help you?”

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 off…

“I want the epic ideal upgrade for [Focus]. I already have the skill at the maximum level.”

Mama Apo squinted. “How do you know we have that upgrade?”

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 orders…

The silence stretched uncomfortably before it was broken.

“Fine. Follow me.”

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.

“Sit down and prepare to be bombarded by various stimuli. Use [Focus] to resist.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

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 5…

A resonance formed between the crystal and the rune, which began to glow and hum. In the next instant, Priam’s 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 away—all seemed real. He felt like he was back on Earth.

“Why am I naked?”

“The illusion will break when your concentration wavers. The longer you endure, the greater the benefit,” echoed the shaman’s 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, it’s just an illusion. I’m supposed to defend with [Focus].

The warrior activated the skill, and his mind sharpened as he set his doubts aside. He started noticing inconsistencies—the 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 illusion’s 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 Champion’s illusory body. He let out a single grunt before falling silent, clinging to [Focus]. The shaman nodded, seeing that he wasn’t 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.

“I’m done,” Gabrielle announced, approaching. “Will he get it?”

“We’ll try as many times as necessary until he does. Laepa promised him an ideal upgrade, and the Gaeserts keep their word.”

“I know, but I hope he won’t waste our resources.”

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.

“I thought you’d want to give him [Art of Movement] to undercut the Aelbes.”

Apoline glanced approvingly at her apprentice. “That was the plan, but he surprised me. It's just as well; this illusory world lets me see who we’re dealing with. The Champions won't stay weak for long, and I refuse to let weeds grow in my garden.”

There was a trace of steel in her voice.

“I don't think he entered our camp without some guarantee,” Gabrielle noted. The teenager was level-headed, and her mentor liked that.

“He must have trump cards, but so do we.” One of her rings contained a core capable of stealing a Tier 1 soul. Priam likely thought the Fallen was a danger, and he wasn’t 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.

“He’s holding out for a long time,” Gabrielle noted. “Do you think he was a great warrior among his people?”

Apoline laughed. “I don't think so. The System loves archetypes, and the hoplite already fills that role.”

“Like the stories you told when I was little… What’s his role then?”

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 hadn’t 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 Priam’s will, sharpened to a razor’s edge by his concentration. In a few minutes, he had already unlocked two prerequisites.

“He’s too fast,” Gabrielle murmured, studying the ritual’s indicators. “Even Braato wasn’t so driven…”

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, Priam’s gaze hadn’t wavered from his adversary.

Replacing the archer to shoot the final illusory arrow, Apoline flinched at the intensity in the Champion’s 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.

Elysium’s 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. Death’s Obsession…

For a moment, as the illusion shattered under the force of an epiphany, the Tier 4 caught a glimpse of the young Champion’s 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?

“… The Smiling Juggernaut.”

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

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