Chapter 451: A Girl’s Heart

Enjoy!

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Chapter 451: A Girl’s Heart

For his seventh birthday, Priam’s godmother had given him a cat and a dagger. Fortunately for humanity, that irresponsible woman never had children.

After entrusting the animal to a neighbor who would shower it with affection, his father, Alain, allowed Priam to keep the dagger. Like any overly energetic boy, he immediately tested the weapon on tree stumps, paper, fabric—pretty much anything within reach. The experiment ended six hours later, when his mother caught him carving his name into his bedroom wall. She hid the knife for five years before gifting it to her second husband. Young Priam finished his signature with a fork.

Sixteen years later, the Champion had retained both his childlike soul and his urge to break in new toys as quickly as possible. For that reason, he was burning to put his new race to the test.

Priam turned toward the tree, thought of Valaryth, and waited for the bark to take on a sandy hue before stepping forward. He emerged inside a secured chamber: a cube whose tempered-glass walls were etched with protective runes as basic as they were effective. A team effort, using material sung into being by Bertomne, with formations conceived by Rose and inscribed by Alain.

At the center of the room should have been a rift leading to Elysium. Instead, Priam found himself staring at a small shrub. Continuing its transformation into Yggdrasil, Log-a-rhythm was raising an avatar in the world it was… securing? Absorbing? Priam could not say what his tree was truly doing, beyond creating a bridge between Elysium and Valaryth. I just hope its growth doesn’t interfere with Vertex’s plans…

Behind him, the reinforced door slid open.

“The System just renamed my race Low Homo Elysian. I don’t like that,” Jasmine grumbled. Narrowing her eyes, she approached like a predator, inspecting him from every angle before leaning in to sniff. “You smell like the cakes my mom used to bake. I kind of want to take a bite out of you.”

“Fae scent. Triggers a childhood memory,” Priam replied, pointedly ignoring the last remark.

“A fancy upgrade. Not the only one I see. Now your shoulders are too broad to be a good ghost.”

“You can’t be the best tank and stay unnoticed,” the Juggernaut said with a smile, glancing down. With his new build, he stood a good two heads taller than his Shadow. “If I need to infiltrate an enemy complex, it’ll be through the front door.”

“And if you need to steal something without being seen?”

“For that,” Priam said softly, “I have you.”

Jasmine caught his chin and returned his smile, her own with feline undertones. “You know how to talk to women. Tell me something else I might like.”

“I can upgrade your race.”

“Wrong answer,” Jasmine said, wrinkling her nose. “But I’ll settle for it. For now.”

Five minutes later, in an enclosed room, Priam was sitting cross-legged across from his Shadow. Taking her hands, he closed his eyes.

[Subject Jasmine Kaldwin is compatible with [Primogenitor].
Upgrading Low Homo Elysian (T2) to Homo Elysian (T3)...]

Once invoked, [Primogenitor] transported them into an empty mental space. Within a milky-white universe, Jasmine’s naked body floated in suspension. When Priam deliberately averted his gaze, he felt her amusement ripple through the bond.

“Always the gentleman,” she teased.

A moment later, she focused on sculpting her new body. Somewhere in the genome lay the blueprint for physical form; the Title served as a bridge between that genetic code and Jasmine’s desires. Like Priam, she opted for only minimal changes, choosing merely to grow taller while preserving her proportions.

“The taller you are, the easier you are to spot,” Priam pointed out.

“And here I thought you weren’t looking. Could it be you’re a pervert?”

“You wish.”

“Not really. That’s what I like about you,” she smiled, then continued, “I’m planning to invest in a shapeshifting skill. Unlike a certain someone, my Talent with Micro allows it. So size won’t limit my stealth. And changing faces is always useful during an infiltration.”

“You can already do that.”

“Not without hours of makeup. Which I don’t mind, but supplies are hard to come by in Elysium. Ymir sells more weapons than foundation.”

“Hm. Either way, a shapeshifting skill is an excellent idea for you,” Priam agreed. “I assume you want more mass for greater transformation options?”

“Among other things.”

“To hit harder?”

“That too.”

Priam raised an eyebrow.

“…Spit it out. What was the real reason?”

“I didn’t want to only come up to your chest. That’s all.”

“…”

After validating her parameters, Jasmine left the mental space and swallowed a hydra pill to acquire the energy and regeneration needed for her metamorphosis. She shot Priam a wink just before a cocoon of aether enveloped her.

Through the membrane, Priam watched his friend’s silhouette dissolve into a rosy mist. Then the egg pulsed. Radiating a spiritual pressure worthy of a mythical beast, the magic began to recreate a cell, which divided, and divided again. Before Priam’s eyes, the miracle of life unfolded in accelerated time, like a seeded womb in fast-forward.

First came a shrimp-like embryo, with spine, nervous system, and brain. A heart. Limb buds, two eyes, the beginnings of a face. Hands. Then a fetus: the head swelled as the brain developed, and the skeleton emerged. Finally, skin formed, and at the end of a rapid growth cycle, the proportions became those of a flawless human. Or a goddess.

The chrysalis pulsed once more, then cracked. Surrounded by fragments of shattered aether, a naked Jasmine rose like a butterfly. So beautiful that Priam forgot to look away. Smiling, the femme fatale glided toward him on silent steps until she rested her head against his chest. The apex of her skull brushed his chin.

“Better,” she breathed.

*

Five minutes after finishing her upgrade, Jasmine returned to Elysium, chattering excitedly.

“Now that I don’t have to worry about getting slapped with a quintuple Tribulation, it’s time to level up my skills! And farm Sun points. The undead won’t know what hit them! You coming?”

Priam hesitated. On the one hand, he needed Sun points. Lots of them. According to his addon, purifying his phoenix bloodline to twenty-five percent would require one hundred seventy-five million. An astronomical number, which would become ten times harder to reach after his Tier up. Therefore, he needed to stockpile as many as possible before the Second Reunion.

On the other hand, Sumstreh awaited his executioner. And now that Tribulations were no longer an issue, Priam was itching to grind his resistances.

“Perhaps that decision should wait until more share this new race?” a voice suggested.

Priam turned toward Sna and sighed. “Fine. Will you wait for me, Jasmine?”

“Nope. See you,” she said, blowing him a goodbye kiss before leaving.

Sna’s transformation took place in Elysium as Valaryth could not contain a Transcendent for extended periods. It was also far less seductive than Jasmine’s. There was something cold and uncanny about the shaman that discouraged Priam’s draconic libido. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, despite her youthful appearance, her soul was centuries old.

Ignoring the mental projection of Sna’s naked body, Priam uncorked the vial she had given him and took a sip.

“Bitter,” he grimaced.

“Taste depends on your palate and sense of smell,” Sna explained as she altered her appearance. “Which means your race. It’s likely your new body recognizes a toxic substance and sends a bitter signal to discourage further consumption.”

Priam pouted, then swallowed the rest of the vial. “Next time, add a little sugar, please.”

Lvl Up: [Poison Physique] lvl 3
CONST +6
VIT +3

“Sucrose isn’t a potent enough poison to stimulate your [Poison Physique].”

“I meant for the taste, Sna.”

When it became clear the shaman had no intention of commenting further, Priam continued.

“Any breakthrough on what I asked you?”

“I tested several exothermic chemical and magical reactions, but none were intense or stable enough for you to temper your Energy gate. Besides, the Wandering Islands aren’t exactly known for their volcanoes. Maybe if we strapped a magnifying glass to your internal sun—”

Priam shook his head. “Story-wise, that would be too weak.”

“If that’s not urgent—”

“It is. Without that, beating the ninety fifth wave will be hard.” He sighed. “I may have found something else. It’s just that it’s… dangerous.”

Coming from the Juggernaut, that was a chilling admission.

Sna went on. “On another note, I’ve finished analyzing the fae’s fingernail. There’s a memory hidden inside, but I found no backdoor capable of affecting you directly.”

Long ago, Ève had left Priam a way to unlock the ideal version of [Memory Manipulation Resistance]. For a long time, he had hesitated to use it, fearing a trick or a curse. Sna’s assessment made further delay impossible.

“She could have embedded a particularly traumatic memory?”

“Possible. But in the worst case, you’ll just have nightmares.”

“With my oneiric memory, it’s pretty bad.”

“You’ll only need to avoid sleeping for a few weeks.”

Priam grunted, then studied the shaman’s final form. A teen with jet-black hair, alabaster skin, and serpent fangs.

“You’re… unrecognizable.”

“To my enemies, Sna Snahert is dead. Best to keep it that way. With your permission, I’d like to rename myself Sna Oasis.”

Priam agreed. Once her metamorphosis was complete, Sna was replaced by Louis. Then Alain, Rose, and the others interested followed in turn to claim their new race. Except Ymir and the hoplites, no one wanted to miss out on boosted physical and mental attributes, higher Tribulation thresholds, and a new racial Talent as useful to fighters as it was to crafters.

The last to knock on his door was Esmée. Priam found the princess troubled.

“A problem?”

“…We need to talk.”

“I hate that sentence,” Priam grimaced. “Let’s go to the beach.”

Before the Tutorial, that had been his place for difficult conversations. In his opinion, the ocean helped get a clear picture of any situations.

Leaving the Valaryth outpost behind, the two Champions walked toward the crashing surf.

“When we first met, I had many preconceptions about you,” the princess admitted.

“Because I was male?” Priam asked, brushing aside a branch.

“There was more to it. To reach Elysium so quickly, you must have immediately accepted the condemnation of everyone else.”

The rule was simple: only one victor per Impossible Tutorial.

Priam pressed his lips together. “There were… special circumstances.”

“I assumed as much. No sponsored Tutorial is ever normal. If mine hadn’t been governed by special rules, my brothers would have ordered me to kill myself.” She winced. “What I meant is that my opinion changed during our first real conversation. That’s when I realized we wanted the same thing.”

“To be free.”

She nodded as they reached the beach. Gathering her greek dress, she sat in the sand, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees.

“It reassured me. About you. Your goals. Our ability to coexist despite the System calling us rivals.” The crash of waves punctuated her words. A seagull cried. Esmée searched for words. “For two weeks now… I’ve been free. That was my goal for a long time, and now I’ve achieved it.”

“And it left a void. You feel lost,” Priam finished, sitting beside her.

“Hm.”

Silence settled between them. Not heavy, but contemplative.

“The way I see it, freedom is never guaranteed,” Priam murmured, scooping up a handful of sand. The grains slipped through his fingers. “I’m relatively free today, but I know that could change tomorrow. A multiversal war is coming, and it could take everything from me. So I move forward to have a say. I train today because I’m terrified of being too weak tomorrow.” Soon, his palm was empty. “It’s a bit pathetic, when you think about it. To be driven by fear.”

Esmée poured sand back into his hand. “Acknowledging one’s fears takes courage.” A ray of the setting sun caught the gold in her eyes. She was objectively stunning. “But while your words make sense, their echo in my heart is faint. I need a more concrete purpose. I think I’ve found a temporary one.”

“Which is?”

“With my father’s fall, my civilization stands leaderless on the eve of the Second Reunion. If no one takes his place, reclaiming our planet will be impossible, as the System awakened the flora and fauna to be hostile and powerful. I want to help the Empyreans.”

Priam grimaced. “You think they’ll be grateful? Half of them won’t listen to you because of your sex.”

“No one is born a misogynist. They don’t deserve to die for the sole crime of being shaped by a sick society…” Resting her head on her knees, Esmée watched the waves break against the paradisiacal shore. “I want to believe that, if I guide them, some will change their minds about me. Then about their mothers. Their sisters. Their daughters. And all the others.”

Esmée wasn’t seeking to rule a people. She didn’t want to be the only one free while five billion Empyreans remained in chains.

“A noble goal. Altruistic.”

The princess pursed her lips. “Not entirely. Beyond the good deed, I mostly hope to reclaim my Champion Title. With my people’s defeat on Proxima, my status is… unstable. I need it back. Without the attention of the Seven, Elysium will eventually devour me.”

“Not if you stay with me,” Priam promised. Esmée turned toward him, and he felt himself blush. “I mean, in Oasis. With the Necromoon, and the war to come… Well, four Champions won’t be too many if we want to survive.”

The princess bit her lower lip—a gesture as adorable as it was unsettling. As a teenager, Priam would have done his best to ignore it. He wasn’t a child anymore.

“Your heart is heavy.”

Esmée gave him a complicated look. “You read women’s minds well.”

“I have experience.”

“I don’t.” She took a breath. “I do not know whether remaining in Oasis is wise. I spent twenty years obeying, working for others, and if I stay here, I fear it will continue. That smiles will replace the geas, but that the outcome will be the same. I know you see me as an equal, yet in truth, with Jasmine’s and Log-a-rhythm’s unconditional support, you are the one in command. You’re building a home, and I don’t want to be a tenant.”

Priam lowered his gaze.

“You wish to leave?”

“No.” Esméralda grimaced. “Despite what I said, I want to stay. That is what frightens me.” She raised her golden eyes to meet his misty ones. “How does one know when they love?”

Priam thought of Victoire and found no words. Then he thought of Esmée.

“... One thinks often of the other. One drinks in their words, then burns to speak to them. When the tongues grow too warm, one wishes to kiss. Does that call anyone to mind?”

Her cheeks blazing, the young woman looked away. “Perhaps… a man I admire. Who never once tried to steal my freedom. The only one.”

“But?”

“I’m afraid of confusing love with passion and gratitude.” A pause. “Maybe I’m overthinking.”

Facing the sea, Priam stared at the sun without difficulty. A perk of his constitution.

“No.” Despite the urge to curse himself, he went on. “You need time. Space. Experience. Let’s not ruin things by rushing them.”

Esmée’s smile eclipsed the star, and Priam knew he had made the right choice.

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Jasmine - wrinkling her nose