Chapter 251: A Tale of Wine and Pain

Chapter 251: A Tale of Wine and Pain

“I still have the fragment, and I'm willing to trade it. Anyone want to make an offer?”

Standing apart, Rohan's eyes widened as he heard the bombshell dropped by the smiling Homo Elysian. He's insane!

Micro helped him master his surprise before Priam could notice. The young master had read the diary of Aelbes, the Champion who founded his tribe. According to him, all Champions were geniuses in their own right, but few truly understood the dynamics of their new universe.

For a prodigy driven by the System, the notion that a warrior could be stalled in their ascent to the Zenith was bizarre. Yet, it was a reality when climbing through the Tiers.

“I'm not sure discussing this here is a good idea,” Ophis grimaced, stretching his hands toward the campfire. “I have much to offer, but I'm afraid revealing my tribe's treasures will only spark jealousy.”

“Pah!” Gryphe spat on the fur rug, earning and ignoring a dark glare from Braato. “As if we’d be the ones to steal from you. You might not be as powerful as a dragon, but you're just as greedy.”

“There is only one fragment, and several of you,” Priam cut in before the situation could escalate. “An auction is the best way for me to get a fair deal.”

Rohan nodded almost imperceptibly. A ruthless Tier 4 with a silver tongue could convince the Champion to hand over the fulcrum. Uncle Felix could make him believe he was doing him a favor by taking it.

Priam was banking on the presence of rival tribes to keep each other in check. As expected, the young Champion wasn’t just strong; he was also smart.

“What are you looking for?” Mama Apo asked, pouring herself another glass.

“First, an answer: why does this fragment interest you?”

Gryphe exchanged a furtive glance with Ophis, then sought Mama Apo's gaze. By downplaying the fragment's importance, they could drive its price down and...

“Whatever Story a Tier 5 seeks to write, they all share one thing: an internal world. The symbolic core of this world, the fulcrum, can help a Tier 4 lay the foundations of their own world. Since few Tier 5s agree to part with their fulcrum intact, a fragment is the next best thing, enabling a Tier 4 to survive their High Tribulation.”

Rohan held back, but Gryphe and Ophis shot Braato a murderous look. What game was the Gaeserts' leader playing?

“Thank you,” Priam replied, inclining his head slightly. “What I seek is to increase our strength before facing our Tribulations. Ideal upgrades are our priority, but rare resources that can boost a bloodline or our aether proficiency are also of interest.”

Rohan nearly laughed, realizing Priam wasn't bluffing. He genuinely planned to bleed the tribes dry.

“Is this a joke? Do you want to sleep with me while you're at it?!” Gryphe exclaimed.

“Not really, no,” the insolent youth replied, eyeing the old shaman's body.

“Impertinent! When I was young and my breasts were firmer, you would have—”

“What Gryphe means,” Ophis interrupted, “is that you're asking for our tribes' secrets. My ancestors would roll in their graves if I sold their secrets.”

“No worry, I doubt the Necromoon left them there,” mocked the pretty young woman behind Priam.

Rohan pressed his lips together. Their ancestors had given their lives for the tribe, and mocking their sacrifice was not honorable.

“Jasmine, please,” Priam grimaced before continuing. “The fate of the living is more important than that of the dead. You reaching Tier 5 seems essential, especially with the necro event.”

“A fragment eases things, but it's far from a guarantee,” Braato grumbled.

“It's not a guarantee, but it's hope. For some, that's almost the same.”

Silence fell over the tent as the Tier 4s pondered. Rohan knew better than anyone that in this camp, only Leo, his father, had a real shot at reaching Tier 5. However, the Champion was right: the fragment gave the others hope. When dreams of grandeur had a chance to materialize, even the pragmatic would falter.

“[Stealth] or [Molt].”

Ophis cracked first, and the young master sighed, turning to Gryphe. The old woman nodded.

“[Dark Vision] or [Art of Movement],” Rohan proposed, not so much to help his father but to block Ophis' path. Despite his draconic bloodline, Ophis remained a snake. All signs pointed to him having little chance of Tiering up, but maybe he was hiding his true potential...

“If there's one fragment, there will be more once we kill the Fallen,” Braato declared, picking his nose. He flicked the bogey into the fire, which crackled.

Unless the Fallen decides to destroy them all.

Mama Apo remained silent. People often called the Aelbes vain, but the Gaeserts' stubbornness was legendary.

Priam nodded. “I understand. What is the purpose of [Molt]?”

“The common skill allows for shedding skin and accelerating growth. At the rare rank, it purges some received poisons. At the epic rank, the ideal upgrade can cleanse certain infections from enemy Concepts,” Ophis explained in a very neutral tone. The Tier 4 was clearly annoyed. “It's an excellent skill for recovering from tough battles.”

Rohan held back from nodding. How many warriors had died from cursed wounds after winning a fight?

“I see. What about [Dark Vision]?”

“Thermal vision, then total darkness. At the epic rank, it lets you see who is watching you. Not sense, but see,” Rohan insisted. The skill was powerful but had its flaws, which was why he proposed it.

“Watching me physically or magically?”

Rohan allowed himself a slight smile. The Champion hadn't yet grasped how skill rarity worked.

“Physically. Epic skills have only one effect at level one. As you level up, you can choose to dilute their power to add a second effect—like detecting magical or indirect observations.”

That wasn't the enhancement he had chosen.

Priam nodded and lowered his gaze to the campfire, deep in thought.

While the audience awaited his decision, Priam conversed quietly.

“So?” he asked.

“About one in ten warriors have [Art of Movement] as most fail during the rather lengthy training. All Aelbes, warriors and crafters alike, possess [Dark Vision]. According to those I've questioned, this skill is learned through a ritual, but their memories are hazy.”

“And [Stealth]?”

“The training is long, but three of the prerequisites are quick.”

Mentally, Priam envisioned Eve's clone discussing with the Tier 2 warrior whose memory she had just read. Disguised as an Aelbes, his rival seemed to have integrated into the clan seamlessly. She had replaced a huntress who had an unfortunate—but natural—accident during a solo mission. No one, not even her husband, suspected the truth. Priam shuddered at Eve's power. If she wasn't a fake he could control, he would have eliminated her long ago.

Sumstreh might have done them a favor by neutralizing her true body.

“Search the shaman Gryphe's tent while she's away, but don't steal anything.”

“What should I look for?”

“Secrets, texts, cores... Tokens.”

“Well, woman, you belong to me now.” The prince raises his glass. “Drink.”

The new recruit takes a few sips, and the prince smiles.

“I would like a healer's opinion. Is wine bad for my health?”

“That depends on your constitution and vitality.”

“My Prince.”

The young woman doesn’t understand.

“You will end your sentences with 'My Prince.'”

“Alright... My Prince.”

“Wine.”

The healer carefully takes the carafe and fills the Idiot Prince's cup. He drinks, then snatches the carafe from her hands to empty it in one gulp. He gazes at his latest acquisition, lingering over her generous curves.

“Take care of me.” He gestures to his crotch.

The healer hesitates before starting to undo the Prince's robe. His member appears, limp. She hesitates again, knowing she is carrying a deadly syphilis.

The Idiot Prince goes purple with shame and suddenly lunges at the healer. The table overturns, spilling the half-full cup onto the floor and staining the cushions. The healer screams, but the guards outside the door don't flinch. They are used to it.

The scream turns into a cry as the Idiot Prince's slap splits the healer's lower lip. She falls back, gasping as hands close around her throat. The royal member begins to swell, its bearer aroused by the blood and fear.

“If you don't do it, I'll take care of it myself. But maybe you like it rough...”

The young woman shakes her head, terrified. Black spots appear before her eyes, and blood pounds in her ears. The Idiot Prince slaps her again.

“Too bad for you.”

Esmée snapped the grimoire shut. She didn't need to read more to convince herself again that her brother deserved to die. She just hoped the young woman would find solace in knowing she had caused his death.

Next, it would be her father's turn and all the others. But to take down a system supported by billions, one had to be powerful. The first step was to defy the oppressor's authority.

“I will help Priam,” she wrote.

If she could sacrifice a young woman to kill her brother, then she must also be ready to die for her cause.

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: 1 485 416 (+413)

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED

[Tribulation]: Five Tribulations pending.

Future Tribulations delayed until:

Time: 153 days 1 hours 47 minutes 4 seconds.

Next thresholds: 12 attributes > 600 / 6 attributes > 900 / 1 attribute > 1 200

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