Priam
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Chapter 361: Elysium has no use for the weak
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 04:07:02 +0000 UTCYou have just left Elysium.
Location: Hekthorn’s internal world (T5)
You cannot leave Elysium indefinitely.
Calculation of your conditional freedom time:
The Demiurge is currently in Elysium.
The Demiurge is a noble of the Empire of Knaya.
The Empire of Knaya owns the Wandering Islands.
No secure passage opened between this world and Elysium.
Necro event ongoing.
No authority on this world.
Conditional freedom time granted: 7 days.
Surpassing five hundred, then a thousand points in any attribute unlocked a passive effect. For example, the first threshold in Meta Chance increased the odds of interesting events crossing your path. It wasn’t always a blessing, but for those cursed with Main Character Syndrome, it was nice.
As a Champion and resident of Elysium, Priam didn’t need that kind of cosmic interference. The Juggernaut vastly preferred constitution’s second threshold, which allowed the user to sense when their resistances were triggered. Upon entering High Marshall Hekthorn’s inner world, Priam glanced up. Despite a blazing sun shining in the sky, [Radiation Resistance] remained dormant.
The star was fake.
“Woah…”
Osiris’ awed sigh brought Priam’s eyes back down. The portal they had just crossed had spat them out onto a plaza surrounded by buildings with architecture that wouldn’t have been out of place in Haussmannian Paris. With some differences. Vast multicolored frescoes had been painted across them, leaping from façade to façade to tell a story. On the ground, the paving was grey marble, and the lampposts resembled trees made of glass.
“No chimneys, no shutters, not even a goddamn lock,” Jasmine muttered through her add-on. “Either no one steals here, or we’ve walked into a modern-day Disney flick.”
“Even with no more villains, there’s always something fishy in modern Disney.”
“Exactly. If Hekthorn’s the dictator of his own internal world, it sucks not knowing where the exit is.”
Glancing behind him, Priam noted that the portal had vanished. They were now guests of a Tier 5 whose intentions were unknown.
Recalling his training under the Shadow, Priam scanned the rest of the plaza for signs of an ambush. Behind him, a grove of trees added a splash of green to the square. In front, two vintage cars, thirties era like, waited patiently. Standing beside them was the elven woman who had smiled at him earlier.
“Where are the others?” Priam asked. Around thirty people had passed through the portal ahead of them. Now, it was just the five of them.
“They were taken directly to the Colosseum—along with the bear and the old man.” She smiled again. “But I wanted a word with you.” As she spoke, a chauffeur stepped forward to open the car door. “Privately.”
Priam raised an eyebrow but followed her. A second driver gestured for Kazuki, Jasmine, Osiris, and Rose to board the other car.
“Priam?” Jasmine’s voice carried a sharp edge. She was one word away from adding a name to her kill list.
“Let’s stay civil. For now,” he sent, slipping into the cabin.
The burgundy interior oozed luxury. A refined cocoon, designed for the aristocratic or bourgeois elite. The scent of burnished leather and waxed wood tickled Priam’s nose as he sat across from his hostess.
The cushioned seat welcomed his tired frame like a velvet trap, coaxing a soft sigh from his lips. The sound was lost in the purr of the engine starting. At the first turn, centrifugal force nudged Priam sideways, and he reached out to steady himself on what appeared to be a walnut burl minibar. He frowned, noting the gravity was lower than in Elysium. That will complicate movement during combat.
“A refreshment, perhaps?” the elf asked casually, as though Priam hadn’t just nearly been flung into the door.
Cursing the lack of seatbelts, he nodded and took the moment to study her.
Her silver hair was drawn into a flawless bun, secured with a black lacquered stick. Twin pearl-studded earrings pierced the upper ridges of her ears, but the lobes were unmarked—though not bare. Dark henna-like patterns adorned the skin there, swirling downward along her neck before vanishing beneath her vermillion silk dress. The gown was slit high at the thigh, cinched at the waist with a subtle cord. While her right hand was gloved, the other revealed a ring on her middle finger. The metal was a soft rose-gold hue, but what drew Priam’s eye was the solid beam of light wrapped around her wrist and forearm, tethering the ring to a bracelet resting just beneath her shoulder. One didn’t need to be a mage to sense the metaphysical weight of those two artifacts. High-laced sandals completed an ensemble that exuded rare, ethereal elegance.
Had Esmée’s beauty not stunned him minutes ago, Priam would have struggled to tear his eyes away from the enchanting creature seated before him.
“I hope it suits your taste. It was a gift from my uncle,” she said, placing a bottle back into the minibar.
Priam leaned forward to accept the crystal glass she offered. An amber liquid swirled lazily within. He took a tentative sip and raised his eyebrows at the sharp, citrus-tinged flavor. [Poison Resistance] remained dormant, not detecting any alcohol or more insidious drugs. If there was something hidden in the drink, it was subtle enough to sneak past the rare skill.
“Burns just a little going down,” Priam said, feeling her gaze linger on him. “But it feels nice. Like what I’d expect of a health potion.”
“A health potion?” Her head tilted, intrigued. “Our stomachs are acidic; that would be horribly inefficient. Breath-based absorption let drugs enter the bloodstream faster without being contaminated.”
Priam grimaced, recalling all the video games that had lied to him as a kid. Then again, it made sense that a millennia-old Empire had pushed the art of magical and alchemical medicine far beyond what game designers imagined.
“Thanks for the drink.”
The elf responded with a faint smile, and Priam decided to cut to the chase.
“As you probably know, I’m Priam Azura, Champion of Humanity.”
It sounded ridiculous introducing himself like that, but he owned who he was.
“Pleasure to meet you, Priam. I’m Nyhlaelle, apprentice to High Marshall Hekthorn.”
“A pleasure, Nyhlaelle. No last name?”
She shook her head. “While on missions, I represent the Empire, not my clan.”
Priam nodded and looked out the window. Despite the turns, every street looked the same—serene atmosphere, a scattering of trees, and pseudo Haussmannian buildings. Under the dusky orange light of the setting sun, they cast long shadows tinged with melancholy. The sidewalks weren’t crowded, but every pedestrian seemed in a rush, all of them moving in the same direction—opposite their car.
“We’re not heading toward the Colosseum.”
A proud smile lit the elf’s face, as if Priam had solved a particularly tricky riddle.
“I asked the driver to take the scenic route. My master may be an old Demiurge, still the city’s not that large. And before you ask, the exact size of his internal world is a state secret. Even I can only guess.”
“Is the volume of an internal world proportional to the strength of its creator?” The elf raised an eyebrow, and Priam coughed. “Never mind. Demiurge… that’s what Tier 5s are called?”
“Artisan-like figures responsible for fashioning their physical world,” Nyhlaelle confirmed. “If my master ever reaches Tier 7, he’ll have eternity to mold this place into a full-fledged universe.”
Priam considered faking the confidence of a scholar before ultimately embracing the freedom of ignorance.
“What’s the difference between a world and a universe?”
“The Demiurge itself, along with the material from which it fashions its world are both considered consequences of something else.” From the way she recited it, Priam knew the phrase came straight from a book. “Both stem from a universe, which itself originates in the primordial aether, when chaos becomes order.”
“A universe like the one that birthed Concepts? Or the one my civ crawled out of?”
“Exactly. The multiverse theory claims that an infinite number of universes are born every instant—without any apparent cause. At the same time, we also call the realm of a Tier 10 an universe since it obeys its own set of laws—established by the one who’s reached the Zenith.”
“When you say laws, do you mean physical laws? Like gravity or scientific constants?”
“In part, yes. But I mean deeper laws—reality’s very scaffolding. Some universes host Concepts that don’t exist in ours. I can’t even talk about them, as here, they make no sense. At the other end of the spectrum, our archives speak of universes without light, without matter… without desire. There was a time when we exiled the death row inmates to such realms—places where the will to eat, to move, to live, simply never took root—knowing they wouldn’t even try to escape.”
“Well, I’ll keep inter-universal travel to a minimum, then…”
Nyhlaelle chuckled. “Between us, the Concepts rarely open doors to the truly bizarre. And the System never does.”
“Mmh.” Priam was taking another sip when a thought popped into his head.
“The description of one of my earliest quests claims that Elysium’s laws prevent us from leaving. Yet, Elysium’s a world, not a universe. Exception to the rule?”
A glint flickered in Nyhlaelle’s eye. “Twenty years ago, I asked my teacher the same thing. He told me there were no exceptions.”
Priam raised an eyebrow. “So Elysium’s a universe?”
“Elysium is the backyard of the Seven. The sandbox of the System. The gilded cage of the Primordials. The Spearhead World. To some, it’s paradise. To others, hell.” Her gaze drifted into the distance. “When I asked for more, my teacher said something I’ll never forget: ‘The burden of that knowledge is too heavy for a low Tier’s spine.’ Elysium is more than a world… but we’re not worthy of its secrets.”
Priam considered himself worthy of every secret in existence, but didn’t insist.
“Once my curiosity’s piqued… Well, I guess I’ll find answers on the road to Zenith,” he said with a smile.
“You’ll mostly find questions,” Nyhlaelle replied. “But maybe, you can answer some of mine.”
Here we go.
“Maybe.”
“First, I’m curious about your reasons for entering this tournament.”
Priam sighed. Since his friends were out of earshot, he decided to be honest. Lying to a Marshal’s apprentice didn’t seem like a wise idea.
“The Necromoon is gaining strength rapidly. Over the past month, I’ve gained four levels in [Necro Resistance]. According to the Keeper of Secrets, our purification rituals won’t be enough to protect the weaker members of my faction in a few months…”
The elf pursed her lips, and Priam understood she grasped the issue. Perhaps she had even witnessed the direct consequences of untreated necro-corruption.
“My goal is simple: we win the tournament, Oasis gains recognition from the Empire, [Land Owner] ranks up, and with that comes the System’s help to improve our defenses against this scourge.”
“A solid plan,” nodded Nyhlaelle. “If a difficult one. There are easier ways to reach the same outcome…”
Priam shrugged. “Unlocking the next upgrade of the Sun Shop requires becoming a Prince. Even if I could defeat one of the weaker Princes, I’d still need to find one first.”
“One of your friends is a Prince.”
“Osiris is a good kid, but I wouldn’t call him a friend. Because of his brother, I’m a bit wary of giving him admin rights over Oasis.”
“Understandable. Still, the Concepts favor their Champions. If you want to protect your faction, they’ll offer you a path sooner or later…”
Priam burst out laughing. “They love us like a lanista loves his gladiators! I probably know less than you do about Champions, but I’ve figured one thing out: the Concepts don’t do miracles.” He looked out the window, searching for the right words. “The Seven help those who help themselves. They open the way, but it’s up to us to walk it. And most of the time, we tear our feet on the stones that line it.”
“As insightful as a Champion,” smiled Nyhlaelle. “I suppose the saying holds true. Second question: You, the Guardian, and the Tyrant share the same mark. A death sentence handed down by a Faith god. I want to know why.”
Priam returned her smile. “It all started with a horned rabbit…”
*
The Colosseum resembled the one Priam had visited during the Reunion… but in Haussmann style. The fusion of Roman architectural gigantism and neoclassicism made for a bastard building of questionable taste.
Knowing few things escaped the control of the place’s creator, Priam kept his aesthetic judgments to himself and pushed open the car door.
“One last thing,” Nyhlaelle said. “My master has no patience for duplicity. I know official recognition of your territory by the Empire isn’t exactly a high priority for you as the System’s already acknowledged Oasis. Still, I suggest you do everything in your power to win. A property title would supercharge your [Land Owner] Title. Moreover, whatever the tribes may promise to make you bail out, you’ll never see it. High Marshall Hekthorn isn’t the Executor of the Ministry of Justice for nothing.”
Priam stepped out and turned to face the elf, a grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t lose. At least not when winning’s on the table.”
“Good. Best of luck in the duels.”
Seconds later, the car vanished into the crowd, cutting through the mob like a blade in water.
Priam turned to his friends as they disembarked.
“Well?” Jasmine shouted to be heard over the noise. Thousands were jostling for entry into the Colosseum, the locals barely quieter than the tribespeople.
“She wanted to know more about Sumstreh. From what I gather, the High Marshall doesn’t bother showing up for just any Tier 4. Seems the Empire hates the Fallens…” Priam hadn’t managed to learn why. “What about you? Did you milk the driver?”
“I flirted a little, and he unloaded his whole life story,” Jasmine grimaced. “Apparently, the Empire changes its architectural style every decade. Says it’s their way of reminding mid-Tiers that time’s still ticking. Without it, folks forget to pay their taxes.”
“My dad always said there are only two inevitabilities: taxes and entropy,” Rose quipped.
If Anatole hadn’t been a monster, I could’ve gotten along with the bastard.
Priam cut ahead of the line and stopped at two elven guards posted at the fighters’ entrance.
“What tribe are you with?”
“None. We’re representing Oasis.”
“Mmh. Locker room four—no weapon in the streets. Here’s a pass for unlimited restaurant access in the city. The High Marshall will be giving a speech in thirty minutes.”
“Do we have to attend the speech? They put me to sleep,” Jasmine groaned.
The elf’s expression frosted over. He tore off her pass without another word. “Move along.”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow but continued walking. Priam followed, suppressing a grin. He had seen the guard’s shadow swipe the whole stack of vouchers.
As they moved into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, he leaned closer to Jasmine.
“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you’d shove your foot in his mouth for that. And not in the sexy way.”
“That’s what someone violent would do. Do I seem violent to you?”
“Of course not,” Priam lied smoothly.
“They’re weak,” Kazuki cut in.
Priam waited for the explanation that followed a beat later.
“Within this internal world reside thousands of inhabitants. Given the inherent unreliability of Tribulation Chambers, it would be inconceivable to permit people to initiate their trials here—the resultant destruction would be catastrophic. As the Demiurge can’t authorize egress for those who trigger a Tribulation, the local populace is compelled to reject the System. Hence why Jasmine didn’t strike.”
Priam could hardly believe his ears. “Are you kidding me?”
“You have heard correctly. Children have until age twelve to unlock a Supremacy or a Concept. Should they fail in this endeavor, they are designated as lacking talent, and are expected to formally renounce the System.”
“That’s…” Priam looked up and went silent. Could the High Marshall hear him? And if so, would he punish anyone who dared criticize his rule? “And the ones who pass?”
Kazuki shrugged. “The Empire needs geniuses. It is reasonable to surmise that they receive meticulous care. The chauffeur possessed no further information—indeed, he had not yet been born at the time of the last prodigy's success.”
“He was forty-three,” Osiris added.
Priam nodded, his expression dark. At twelve, he had cared more about video games than school or sports.
Just as he was about to ask why the Demiurge couldn’t let his people leave to face their Tribulations outside, Priam remembered the notification he had received upon his arrival half an hour earlier. He was no longer in Elysium—and couldn’t remain here indefinitely.
“Leaving means accepting Elysium’s laws, and never being able to return… unless you reject the System, right?”
Kazuki nodded solemnly. “Those willing to ignore the System’s gifts can leave. Elysium has no use for the weak.”
*
Sna - Shaman of the Snaherts
Comments
LordOfMurder
Has Jasmine binge-watched Disney's entire catalogue in her spare time for the sake of making culturally appropriate references or something? Or is her quip about modern Disney an error?
Geekdumb
Breath-based absorption let(s) drugs enter the bloodstream My master may be an old Demiurge, still the city’s not that large. And before you ask, the exact size of his internal world is a state secret. My master may be an old Demiurge but the city’s not that large. Before you ask, the exact size of his internal world is a state secret. At the same time, we also call the realm of a Tier 10 an(a) universe “Between us, the Concepts rarely open doors to the truly bizarre. And the System never does.” “Between us, the Concepts rarely open doors to the truly bizarre and the System never does.” Seems the Empire hates the Fallens Should this be Fallen or are there more than one that the Empire hate?
PriÀm
Fixed!
PriÀm
I kept "waxed" for wood, as the wax has a distinctive smell, and replaced "polished" with "burnished" (for old leather with patina). Thanks, MaxWyght!
MaxWyght
"The scent of polished leather and waxed wood tickled Priam’s nose as he sat across from his hostess." Should be reversed. You polish wood and wax leather
Elton
An universe. It is a universe.
Dav
Fun fact! The reason we use A universe instead of AN universe despite U being a vowel is because the rule of a vs an is actually based on phonetics, not spelling! Why is English like this!
Jason Hardman
TYFTC! Couple of typos for you: we also call the realm of a Tier 10 an universe since it obeys its own set of laws -> a universe I can’t even talk about them, as here, they made no sense -> make no sense
Stefan Landshut
Interesting...
Derze
Nice
James Skinner
Thanks for the chapter, and this is the first time the image is showing in the email, nice.
Custus
Thanks for the chapter!
Andrew
Thank you!
Julia Niles
Yayayayayayayay
