Chapter 327 + 328

I wanted to post Chapter 327 on Wednesday, but the flu had other plans. Posting late ruins my sleep, and it seems there are consequences to that :/

Anyway, I'm recovering slowly, and here's a double release to make up for it.

By the way, if you're ever worried because I'm taking a while to post a chapter, don't hesitate to drop by Discord or send me a private message. I find it easier to write a quick message there to explain rather than posting an apology on Patreon. It would be disappointing if you expected a real chapter and only got to read an excuse instead.

With that, here's the end of the Mental Tribulations!
PS: Priam Character Sheet (you can thanks the Discord guys!)

Next chap: Monday

*

Chapter 327: Priam, Captain of the Mercenaries

After four grueling days of training, thirty-two humans stood in a massive hangar. At their head, Priam waited for the Reunion’s countdown. Despite the palpable tension of being thrown into yet another unknown world, not a sound louder than a breath could be heard. The reason for this silence loomed less than thirty meters away.

Eyes closed, a monstrous fusion of a praying mantis and a tyrannosaurus was meditating. The towering insectoid hadn’t moved in over thirty minutes, yet its mere presence was enough to paralyze every onlooker. More than its terrifying appearance, the Soul Tier gulf between the Mercenary and the spectators was weighing on their spirits.

Priam was luckier than his comrades. His prolonged contact with Lasha and Wang Lin had allowed his soul to adapt somewhat to the pressure passively emanating from a mid Tier soul. This provided no real protection if the Tier 4 decided to drown his soul—that kind of thing fell under the realm of taboo Titles. Still, it was enough that he wasn’t shaking in his boots like most of the other candidates. 

Indeed, humans weren’t the only ones gathered in the hangar. Trying to be discreet, Priam stole a glance at the battalion to his right.

Five hundred and fifteen strong, the Hoplites outnumbered the humans by a wide margin. Priam hadn’t had the chance to speak with anyone from this rival civilization, but Maya had. His second-in-command had reported that their race had unified two millennia ago and was utterly obsessed with war. It wasn’t violence they craved, but rather the honor found in battle. According to Maya, in a skill-less duel, even the weakest among the Hoplites handled a blade better than Kenzo, their local samurai.

Maybe one of them would be interested in training me with a weapon? In exchange, I could teach them about runes and aether manipulation...

Tucking the thought away for later, Priam squinted toward the next group.

Eighteen golden-skinned, platinum-haired men stood upright as if they owned the place. According to Lasha, the Empyreans were particularly gifted in controlling aether while being decent warriors in their own right. If they weren’t so insufferably arrogant and misogynistic, there would have been more of them in the Guild. As it stood, twenty-three had quite literally lost their heads after disrespecting a few humanoid female Mercenaries. According to Luc, the survivors had learned to control their tongues.

The lucky man had spent some time speaking with them about their racial Talent. [Empyrean Path]—and its evolved form, [Royal Path]—nudged the world subtly, bending probability to ensure their success. Luc, with his newfound affinity for luck, had found their discussions enlightening. It had helped him clarify the differences between destiny, fate, chance, probability, and chaos.

Farther to the right stood about a dozen Arkanians—humans heavily augmented with bionic prosthetics.

Glowing tattoos laced with crude insults, a complete disregard for basic manners, and an apparent aversion to both cologne and toothpaste made them seem more like brigands than mercenaries. When Priam had asked Lasha about them, she had merely shrugged.

“Mercenary work can be... flexible. Sometimes, the line between us, assassins, and thieves is thinner than you'd like. In the end, it’s better to have these guys with us than running wild elsewhere. Here, at least, there are rules.”

Next came the Duatians, men and women with disconcerting physiques. Despite their prominent muscles, all bore dark circles under their eyes that no makeup could conceal. Eyes were the window to the soul, and theirs had endured trauma. The fact that they were the only ones besides Priam who could ignore the presence of the Tier 4 piqued his curiosity. Biomancers and necromancers... masters of life and death, of body and soul. I should speak with them after the Reunion.

Priam leaned forward slightly to peer toward the back of the hangar, where hundreds of Zoans—beastmen—stood in formation.

Aside from their bipedal stance and humanoid silhouettes, no two were alike. Bovines, canids, felines, amphibians, even reptiles—animalistic features blended seamlessly with humanoid forms, creating a race that looked feral. That perception couldn’t have been further from the truth, and Maya had warned him: their time magic was powerful.

As Priam’s mind raced with ways to counter a hybrid creature capable of navigating the river of time, the hangar doors creaked open.

“Ten civilizations integrated at once, yet only six stand before me. I wonder what the other four look like...”

Wang Lin’s voice resonated through the hangar, shattering the oppressive silence left by the Tier 4’s aura. The leader of the Mercenaries had arrived to inspect his troops.

“It doesn’t matter for now. Today, before being Humans, Hoplites, Empyreans, Arkanians, Duatians, or Zoans, you are potential Mercenaries. Survive, and you will join the family.”

The air trembled as fifty Mercenaries materialized beside the colonel. Priam felt his heartbeat accelerate. It might not seem like much, but every single one of these Tier 4s could single-handedly bring humanity to its knees. Elsewhere, these powerhouses would have been worshiped; here, they were merely Guild members. The message was clear: joining the Mercenaries was a ticket to the elite.

After a brief pause, Wang Lin continued.

“Unlike your parents, the Guild is a family you choose. Surrounded by comrades who have your back, you will explore this universe, face down heroes and dragons, amass wealth and glory! And if, one day, a blade silences you...” The colonel grinned. “We’ll sing of your exploits so loudly the world will never forget!”

Priam’s heart pounded as his blood roared in his veins. This speech resonated with his very soul.

“However, this freedom comes at a price: the Guild comes before your civilization. When your captains give you orders, remember that your dreams outweigh your doubts. Generous to our own, selfish to the world.”

“Generous to our own, selfish to the world!” the recruits roared in unison.

A second later, a portal opened before each potential Mercenary.

*

Less than half a day later, Priam and his team had already tracked down and executed a Baron—without alerting any other humans. As captain, the mage had been briefed on the recurring elements of these Reunions. Entering a dome by defeating its guardian was a standard pattern, but sharing such knowledge came at a cost for the Mercenaries. Priam couldn’t divulge this information to the rest of humanity without dire consequences for his new Guild.

Generous to our own, selfish to the world... 

Once one of the dome’s hotels was secured, Priam set about fulfilling the Guild’s objectives. While the first was to investigate humanity’s Threat to claim rewards, the second was recruiting talent. That was why, for three hours this day, he forced himself to interview fighters who had managed to enter the dome.

“I made it to the fourth wave in the Colosseum—you know, the eight boars—thanks to my [Plasma Orb - Epic].” The man, somewhere in his thirties, flicked his wrist, summoning a glowing sphere of white fire. The room’s temperature spiked instantly. “One orb per two boars—no more, no less! It’s an expensive skill, but I can cast four at my level. Soon, I’ll be able to cast one per hand, just like in Skyrim, and then—”

“I’m sure that’ll be impressive,” Priam interrupted, weaving a rune of asphyxiation with his aether. Empowered by his Fire Concept, the sigil dispersed the fireball before the heat could ruin the ceiling’s paint. “We’ll be in touch.”

Maya opened the door, and the man shuffled out, visibly deflated.

“You don’t like Skyrim?” she asked once he was gone.

“It’s my childhood game and I fully intend to shout a Fus Ro Dah when I kill my first dragon,” he grinned. “But this isn’t a game. I get that some people use fantasy to escape reality, but I can’t afford to have unstable recruits in my team.”

Many human elites, including Priam, had adapted quickly thanks to their familiarity with RPGs, fantasy, and pop culture. Fiction had primed their minds for alien possibilities. The trap was believing reality worked like a game.

“That’s got to be the worst epic skill I’ve ever seen,” Maya scoffed. “A powerful explosion, sure, but it’s unfocused and perfect for friendly fire. No way I’m letting that man fight anywhere near me.”

“I pity the team that takes him in,” Priam muttered. “Are there any other candidates?”

“That was the last one.”

Priam grimaced. Not only had these interviews wasted his time, but they hadn’t produced a single decent recruit.

“We need a headhunter. Luc, can I leave this to you?”

“Consider it done, boss!”

Priam stretched as he stood. “Perfect. I’m heading back to the Colosseum. The fifteenth wave’s coming before dawn.”

*

“I'm sorry, but I currently have no information about humanity’s Threat,” Mercury apologized.

“Figures. I’m also looking for warriors—real fighters—willing to join the Mercenaries. Think that’s something you can help with?”

The merchant grinned as he poured two drinks. “It would be my pleasure! But to persuade them, I’ll need to know exactly what you’re offering and why.”

Priam saw no reason to lie.

“Well, the Guild runs on a sponsor-recruit system that rewards bringing in good talent. Basically, when one of my recruits earns a hundred contribution points, I get five as a bonus. That means it’s in my best interest to find skilled people, mentor them, and train them properly. Do that enough times, and you’ve got yourself a comfortable passive income.”

“Smart.” Mercury handed Priam a glass. “I'm willing to direct elites your way—for a price. However, most of them are already bound to factions. And some… well, let’s just say their contracts are barely a step above slavery. If you were willing to free them, they would certainly be grateful.”

Priam’s expression darkened. He had been warned about these contracts on his first day with the Mercenaries. Drafted by notaries wielding Concepts like Pact, Oath, and Commitment, they were practically inescapable. Loopholes were nonexistent and once signed the exit clauses were deliberately impossible to fulfill.

Of course, if a signer massively outclassed the notary, the Concept’s grip weakened. In practice, factions never let their weapons reach that level of power. There were, however, other ways to free someone.

“With one exception—the Champion of Humanity—I haven’t been authorized to buy out any contracts,” Priam admitted.

No official order had been given, but Wang Lin had hinted that he was willing to do a lot to maintain good relations with the Champion of Humanity. Priam had taken that to mean he could offer to buy out the Champion’s contract if they had had the misfortune of signing something binding.

“There are other ways to break a contract,” Mercury said with a knowing smile. “Mercenaries have a reputation for taking rejection… poorly.”

Priam raised an eyebrow. The merchant had to know the Mercenary Guild’s notaries weren’t strong enough to break contracts from the top factions.

“Even if we were willing to kill notaries, mid-Tier Concepts linger after their wielder dies—not to mention that most contracts are co-signed by multiple notaries. My Guild isn’t going to war with a major faction just to recruit a handful of humans who still need to prove themselves.”

Mercury was silent for a moment, then turned to Priam. “What if there was a way to free them without starting a war?”

Priam started to laugh—until he realized Mercury was serious. “That’s impossible,” he said flatly. “Sector Hope is young, but its strongest factions are run by Tier 7s. Their will is absolute.”

“Everything is relative. Let me tell you about a man who’s about to shake this Sector to its core—Prometheus, King by Divine Right and the second winner of our Impossible Tutorial.”

*

His meeting with Mercury had left Priam rattled. Even with Wang Lin’s training, he was nowhere near ready to face an Immortal. By comparison, the winners of the Impossible Tutorial had received gamebreaking Talents.

“So the gap between a Perilous and an Impossible Tutorial is that massive,” Maya muttered. “I wonder how we measure up to the Nightmares.”

“Not as badly as you think,” Luc said. Seeing their interest, he elaborated. “According to Lasha, arrogant madmen and overconfident geniuses choose Impossible. More level-headed people pick Hard or Perilous. Nightmare is the in-between—usually picked by those too blind to notice a hidden seventh option. They’re often set up as hunters to cull the Impossible candidates… and they end up as you’d expect. Almost no one survives a Nightmare Tutorial.”

Priam took a moment to process that. If true, then the Impossible Tutorial must have forced its candidates to kill other humans.

“So outside of the Impossible winners, we’re the best?” Maya grinned.

“Well, I’m sure our captain could take them!” Luc declared.

Priam felt his competitive spirit flare and decided to raid the Colosseum.

As he faced the boss of the twentieth wave, a Turtle Baron, a notification flashed before his eyes.

Bronze Achievement!
Anatole Von Stadl single-handedly eliminated a Lunar Baron.
Humanity will be rewarded for this achievement. 

Priam clenched his jaw, summoning and linking three protective runes. The triple kinetic shields bought him just enough time to escape the arena before Blastoise’s ice cannon reduced him to paste.

“Captain, it’s the Champion!” Luc shouted as Priam entered the Mercenary HQ.

“Do you have his location?”

Luc pointed at a map spread across the floor. All domes known by the Mercenary were marked on it. He grabbed a dart and flicked it toward the ceiling. After a perfect arc, it was recalled by gravity and landed on a named spot.

“Viracocha.”

*

Chapter 328: Fireworks for a Dream

Two days later, Priam and his team spotted a city on the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in fantastic hues, which took on a bloody tint as they reflected off the colossal dome.

“Finally. Great idea, taking the scenic route through hostile territory instead of just teleporting,” Maya grumbled.

“We saved a fortune skipping the portal,” Priam reminded her. “And now we’re both Barons.”

Colosseum monsters were realistic, but there was something primal about fighting real, living creatures. Priam knew this detour had been worth it—it had tempered their training with actual survival experience.

“I’d be thrilled to be a Baron if I didn’t have dried blood between my ass cheeks.”

When none of the Mercenaries cracked a crude joke, Priam realized just how exhausted they were.

“We’ll find an inn,” he promised, leading them toward humanity’s stronghold.

*

Lvl Up: [Nightmare Resistance] lvl 6
WILL +1
MEM +1
CHAR +1

The night passed, and dawn arrived without the city awakening. Uneasy, Priam got up. He met Luc, Maya, and Victoire in the hall, and together, they stepped outside.

In the dim streets, the few pedestrians all walked in the same direction. Wordlessly, the Mercenaries followed. Black houses, gray cobblestones, and a crimson sky formed a dreamlike scene.

After one final turn, Priam saw a vast plaza. At its center loomed a gothic cathedral radiating a sinister aura. The eerie silence unsettled him, as did the unspoken secret seemingly shared by the crowd. Something’s off.

Refusing to remain a spectator, he soon found himself pushing through the mass. Reaching the front row, he discovered hundreds of kneeling figures filling the cathedral steps, heads shrouded in burlap sacks.

Before them, one man faced the grand clock embedded in the cathedral’s façade. The intricate mechanism ticked forward. The moment the great hand struck eight, the world trembled with eight resounding chimes.

Anatole turned to the crowd, revealing the heterochromia of his eyes. 

“Humanity’s Threat is called the Revenants,” he declared, his voice clear, amplified by runes mimicking loudspeakers. “They are men and women like you and me who chose life after death. I wouldn’t have blamed them… if that choice hadn’t come with a curse. To survive, they must convert us—or kill us.”

Anatole let his words settle in the minds of his audience before continuing. “You wonder what harm there is in becoming a Revenant? Abandoning our racial Talent isn’t the issue. Forsaking our identity is. The System has a plan for emerging civilizations, and if we lose that title, there will be no more Reunions. Humanity will be scattered across countless worlds, ostracized, hunted down, or assimilated by other races. As a Champion, I won’t allow it. As a husband and father, I refuse to let my wife or daughter lose the protection our civilization affords her.”

With a wave of his hand, Anatole conjured a stream of aether, coloring and sculpting it into a projection of carnage. Corpses appeared in all their gruesome horror and Priam could almost smell the vile stench of decay emanating from them.

“In the past three days, I have hunted every Revenant on this moon, exposing their crimes. I traced each link back to Viracocha and uncovered their headquarters. I slaughtered their guards, shattered the statues of their false god, burned their mass graves, destroyed their necromantic creations, and captured the last hundred members of them. Before you all, I sentence them to death.”

As the crowd beheld the terrifying slideshow, their outrage erupted into a deafening roar. The sudden, jarring shift from silence to chaos made Priam flinch.

“Now that,” an elegantly dressed man remarked, “is a true Champion.”

A woman, her wedding ring matching Anatole’s, stepped forward and untied the sack obscuring each criminal’s face. One by one, the masks fell away.

With every revealed face, an uneasy dread coiled tighter around Priam’s gut, rooting him to the spot.

The last mask dropped, revealing Alain.

“This is a nightmare…” 

The crowd’s furious cries drowned out his words. Priam stepped forward, breaking free from his paralysis. As though he had shattered some unseen enchantment, silence crashed down over the square.

Lvl Up: [Nightmare Resistance] lvl 7
WILL +1
MEM +1
CHAR +1

Father and son locked eyes and Priam understood.

“He’s my father. He must have been forced into this.”

Despite the murmur, Anatole heard him.

“My condolences.”

“Fuck you.”

Priam stepped forward and felt a surge of aether beneath his feet. The hard-won experience of the last few weeks of fighting saved his life. He leaped back just in time, summoning a protective rune to absorb the explosion of a mine.

The Champion of Humanity hadn’t staged this spectacle for nothing. He was prepared to eradicate any who would stand with the Revenants.

“Sissi.”

Anatole’s wife withdrew a knife from her pocket, pressed it against Alain’s throat—and hesitated.

A howl of fury tore from Priam’s lips as he invoked a battery of pyrotechnic runes and rained death upon Anatole and his wife. Fire-forged bullets, propelled by [Aether Manipulation] and his Fire Concept, cut through the square in the blink of an eye. Anatole’s defenses flared to life, barely absorbing the onslaught.

“Luc!” Priam shouted as he lunged forward.

A single gunshot rang out as a bullet carved through the explosions, finding the tiniest crack in a shield, and knocking the knife from Sissi’s grasp before she could cut Alain’s throat.

“Don’t you dare target my wife!” Anatole bellowed.

Still running, Priam invoked dual Lightning and Vector runes. Anatole’s shield absorbed the lightning column but failed to stop the blinding flash.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s momentary blindness, Priam reached his father and helped him to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Alain gasped. “They didn’t give me a choice—”

“Later.”

Priam was proud, sometimes bordering on arrogant, but he wasn’t a fool. As the winner of the Impossible Tutorial, Anatole was terrifying, possibly stronger than him. Still, I can’t lose! 

As the smoke cleared, the two men stood facing each other, each shielding someone they refused to lose. Their gazes clashed, and the air crackled as they flexed their aether proficiencies.

Priam shaped light, focus, and magnification into a single array, concentrating solar rays onto his opponent. In response, Anatole superheated the air, bending the light beam toward the ground. He then retaliated with a whip of liquid aether, lashing against Priam’s barrier. Each strike sent tremors through the shield.

Priam counter-attacked, hurling fireball after fireball. In vain. His projectiles fizzled against his foe’s fortifications, which the ambient aether restored as fast as they were damaged.

Anatole possessed a Domain.

This fucker! Eat my fire! 

Ignoring the panicked masses fleeing the square, the two humans unleashed the full breadth of their magic, seeking to destroy their adversary while shielding their families. Spears of fire clashed against arrows of pure aether, kinetic and thermal shields rotating to absorb the relentless barrage.

“Damn it…”

Even after two weeks of training with a Tier 5, the oneiric evolution of his Meta-Affinity, and all his natural talent, Priam couldn’t gain the upper hand. Like a monster from a nightmare, Anatole endured every attack, countering blow for blow without losing an ounce of aether.

The Fire Concept, underdeveloped as it was, wasn’t enough to rival the Supremacy.

For the first time in his new life, Priam had hit a wall. His competitive spirit reeled under his opponent’s superior talent. The prodigy who had impressed Wang Lin had finally found a bigger fish.

Finally, Priam’s aetheric endurance neared rock bottom.

“You’re a genius,” Anatole admitted as the explosions faded. “But I’m slightly better.”

His statement was met with silence. Panting heavily, Priam trembled. Then, unable to contain himself, he burst out laughing.

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh? I thought I’d found a rival as competitive as me.”

Priam smirked. “Well, my goal isn’t to be the best. It’s to be the winner.”

Absorbing the remnants of his defenses, Priam poured everything into three runes: Fire, Fuel, Overclock.

The square ignited.

An aetheric arrow pierced his lower abdomen.

*

Anatole froze as the air erupted into a massive firestorm. The leader of the Mercenaries had sacrificed every defense to create an inescapable inferno. The Champion's defenses wavered before collapsing under the intensity of the flames. Damn!

Despite his bravado, Anatole had known his magical superiority was slight. If Priam was willing to die to win, he could. 

That was terrible but something far worse stole his breath. Firing one last aether arrow to finish his opponent, Anatole turned around and screamed in terror.

Elizabeth was surrounded by flames. Without his wife, he was nothing.

My love!

“...” No sound left his lips. The heat had seared his vocal cords.

A second later, despite the flames melting his skin, Anatole smiled. As if possessing a will of its own, the fire wrapped around his wife without burning her. Priam had held back. I owe you…

Congratulations, you are dead!

*

Devoid of aether, drained of willpower, Priam watched his flames flicker and fade. One hand pressed to his abdomen, he grimaced, trying to keep his intestines from spilling out. Despite the pain, he locked eyes with Anatole’s wife.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I should be the one apologizing. Anatole can be… intense about my safety. We should have talked before it came to this.”

“...”

The widow’s calm jolted Priam out of his agony. Sissi gazed at her husband’s charred corpse with a love untouched by grief.

Then, the ashes crumbled away and Anatole stood. Stark naked, he bore no injuries.

“How—”

Priam’s breath caught. Was it an illusion? But he had felt his fire devour the Champion’s body.

Anatole offered a thin smile and pretended to bow.

““I’m immortal, but don’t tell anyone.” He looked at his wife, spared from Priam's flames, and a complicated expression crossed his gaze. “But my family is not.”

“... How ?”

“A gift from my patron. Though honestly, you would’ve been a better fit for [He Who Eludes Death]. Sometimes, I’m afraid to sacrifice myself to win; you didn’t hesitate for a second.”

Stunned, Priam opened and closed his mouth, reality crashing down on him. A Talent that could resurrect its wielder—that’s what he had missed by turning away from the Impossible difficulty.

“Priam!” Victoire screamed, rushing to his side. She pulled back his bloodstained hands before gagging. “My God…”

Priam wasn’t listening. He had lost? He was going to die here, just days after Integration, without learning more about magic or this new universe?

Fuck, I won’t go out like this!

Tears of rage streamed down his face as he forced himself to stand.

“Priam,” his father called from behind. “Let’s find a healer—”

“It's too late.” Priam had seen Victoire’s expression. Most of his organs below his lungs were pulp. This body was done for. “[He Who Eludes Death]... it should’ve been mine.”

“For saving my wife, I’ll tell you a secret: it still can be,” Anatole revealed. “You just have to kill me one more time.”

The silence that followed was broken only by drops of blood splattering onto the ash-covered cobblestones.

“So be it,” said Priam, before sacrificing every last shred of his Potential to create a new skill.

You have gained the skill: [Mental Bridge - Epic].

Weaving aether at breakneck speed, he linked his mind to Anatole’s and hurled his will against his opponent’s.

A wall awaited him. Anatole was a fortress of determination, a Champion unwilling to yield.

“I’m defiant!” Priam shouted, refusing failure and death. He loved life too much to let it slip away. Gathering his will once more, he wielded it like a battering ram. 

If he had to, he would even break free from death.

[Lvl Up: [Free Will] lvl 29
WILL +6
CHAR +3]

Each strike sent agony lancing through his soul, but agony was welcome. As long as Priam was suffering, he was alive. 

I want to win, to live, to be free! 

Anatole’s mental defenses cracked, then shattered under a final, furious blow. The Champion’s will to live was strong. Priam’s was stronger.

Anatole collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of a chain snapping echoed through the world.

Lvl Up: [Nightmare Resistance] lvl 8
WILL +1
MEM +1
CHAR +1

You have unsealed the Talent: [He Who Eludes Death - Unique].
The bird that flies fast enough toward the sun stays ahead of the night. But the moment its wings falter, darkness will claim it. How long can you outrun Death?

"Day and night only matter to those still bound to the earth. One day, I will be He Who Ignores Death." —Priam Azura

Far above their heads, the dome above began to crack and Priam sighed.

“A dream can’t last a lifetime,” Priam murmured as he straightened. The wet sound of his intestines hitting the ground didn’t faze him, nor did the sight of Victoire clutching his arm, her face twisted in horror. Priam turned to Sissi.

“I'm sorry. Anatole would have been a better Champion than me.”

The man had been monstrously talented, capable of wiping out humanity’s Threat in mere days. Yet the Concepts had waited until his family’s death to integrate humanity. Without his purpose, the genius had chosen a darker path.

“…He only cared about others because it pleased me,” Sissi admitted. The nightmare was collapsing, and its inhabitants were finally free to speak. “Thank you for taking care of Rose.”

“Intentions pale before results. I wasn’t good enough.” Having said his point, Priam turned to Victoire. “Even now, I don’t understand. Or rather, I’m afraid I do. You never betrayed me, right?”

“I—”

Priam pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t answer. I’m not weak enough to be comforted by a shadow.”

In her eyes, he thought he saw a fleeting smile.

“Priam,” a weary voice called. “What are you saying—”

“Papa…” The son turned to his father. “I see it now. If Anatole was meant to awaken a sense of inferiority in me, then you… you were the weight of love.”

With both mental Tribulations revealed, Priam lifted his gaze to the sky.

“System, you think my family drags me down?” He smiled. “You’re wrong. I drag them up!”

With that, he closed his eyes and pointed a finger skyward. A spark bloomed at its tip, then exploded into a hellish flower. Pyro roared in joy, sensing that the soul it had once brushed against was near at last. Finally unleashed, the flame incinerated the dream world, eager to test its wielder.

Every spectator was incinerated in an instant. The shadows, conjured by the Tribulation to populate this nightmare, were devoured by the Concept’s wrath. The last to turn to ash were Alain and Anatole.

Lvl Up: [Nightmare Resistance] lvl 9
WILL +1
MEM +1
CHAR +1

A moment before their disappearance, Priam activated [Tribulation Hunter], seizing their essences to stabilize the oneiric evolution of meta-affinity. He had earned this reward, and despite Wang Lin’s pessimism, Priam refused to lose it. So what if it could only exist inside a Tribulation? Priam wasn’t known for being reasonable.

Lvl up: [Tribulation Hunter - Unique] lvl 20
META (Chance) +9

A second metaphorical chain broke as the second fulcrum perished. Stripped of its foundation, the dream collapsed. In its fall, the double Tribulation dragged Pyro’s fury with it, trapping the flame within the nightmare’s wreckage.

Like a tactician, Priam had turned two threats against each other. Now, it was time to reap the rewards.

Opening determined eyes to the waking world, the Juggernaut checked his latest notifications.

[Chimera - Legendary] is ready for evolution. Presence of a catalyst detected.
Use 1 POT to trigger evolution?

Ideal upgrade available for [Kinetic Control - Epic].

*

Status: 

PHYSICAL:
Strength 893
Constitution 1 450
Agility 1 194
Vitality 1 368
Perception 865 

MENTAL:
Vivacity (D) 599
Dexterity 760
Memory 918 (+7)
Willpower 1 191 (+14)
Charisma 788 (+12) 

META:
Meta-affinity 1 039
Meta-focus 620
Meta-endurance 1 070
Meta-perception 541
Meta-chance 632 (+16)
Meta-authority 453 

Potential: 27 811 (+14)
Tier 0

Sun points: 1 143 444 

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED.