A Novel Concept - He Who Eludes Death-Chapter 320: Critical Mass Before Detonation

On screen, Jasmine drove her blade into the Baron’s skull.

Esmee Lóthandorim, Princess of the Empyreans, summoned every ounce of her composure to stifle a smile. Without Micro, her latest Supremacy and one she had obtained through considerable effort, she would have failed.

“Damn it!” roared her brother from a meter behind her.

Their father remained silent, his expression contrite as he studied the holographic globe before them. This artifact, a masterpiece born of fused technology and magic, allowed scores of diviners to pool their powers, scrying faraway locations and exerting subtle influence over events.

It was through this miraculous device that Esmee had joined her father and a cadre of thirty relatives—cousins and nephews—to orchestrate the Necromoon assault. The million souls summoned by Seth had been merged into the corpses of the planet’s apex predators: the aquatic and aerial megafauna that separated continents. Like a nightmarish herd, the corrupted beasts had been herded toward the Arkanian capital.

The plan was threefold: annihilate the summoned humans and obliterate the city and its inhabitants, weakening both enemy civilizations in one fell swoop. The cherry on top? Dal Cal’s successor would likely find himself in the crossfire. Eliminating him in the ensuing chaos would allow the Empyreans to summon a million of their own elite warriors to Proxima.

With Arkania in ruins, the Empyreans would turn their attention to humanity. Outnumbered and with the undead horde at their backs, the humans would crumble. Victory on one continent would set the stage for eliminating the other civilizations using the forces of the Necromoon, culminating in the assault on the Var Elegis. The survivor of this confrontation would be so weakened that the Empyreans would have no difficulty conquering Proxima.

A devilishly ingenious plan. The Empyrean king had nearly subjugated eight civilizations without leaving his throne—though at the risk of alienating Priam.

Esmee had hesitated to intervene, knowing her rival would hunt her father relentlessly afterward—a potential solution to her problem. On the other hand, the death of a million humans would create an unbridgeable rift between her and Priam. In the end, the princess chose to support humanity—a decision made possible only because her geas was torn between a direct order and a mortal danger to its creator.

The sorceress had used her powers to dull Dal Cal’s paranoia, paving the way for Cassandra to poison him. Hours later, the weakened Baron fell to Jasmine’s blade, shocking every player as they realized the rules of the game had just changed.

“Your Majesty, your plan was flawless; our enemies are too foolish to follow the script—” began a sycophant.

The king silenced him with a raised hand, his gaze fixed on the holographic image of Ugo Dal Cal spasming, a shadow blade embedded in his brain.

“Barons aren’t elites on a universal scale, but they are far from weak. More than Jasmine’s blade, Dal Cal’s demise came from the machinations of his rivals.”

The Barons’ plots were difficult to discern, shrouded by measures they had taken to obscure the Empyreans’ sight. This had not prevented Esmée from guessing their plan and facilitating the Crime Lord’s poisoning—though she chose not to bother her father with those details...

“The Barons elected a new leader only to assassinate him hours later?” Her uncle Alexandre gawked in disbelief, proving once again his lack of strategic acumen.

“They eliminated a troublesome rival while summoning a million elites to Proxima,” Aydan explained, his voice barely concealing his disdain for his uncle’s ineptitude.

“Traitors to their race, the lot of them!” the general bellowed, fuming with indignation.

Esmee resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her uncle fancied himself the sole master of intrigue. In truth, no civilization was foolish. This was now a ten-player game, and everyone but the undead schemed to be the last one standing.

On the screen, the Baron of Crime convulsed one final time.

Proxima Announcement:

Congratulations to Jasmine Kaldwin for slaying the arkanian leader!

Ugo Dal Sal, the Crime Lord, has passed away.

Teleportation of one million arkanians to Proxima.

“No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” the king quoted before issuing his command. “Have the summoned Arkanians cross over and disperse the clouds.”

“Your Majesty?”

“The death of the Duatian leader revealed that the System creates outdoor, one-way portals within a five-kilometer radius of the event rather than directly teleporting new arrivals. Entering Proxima is a choice, not a mandate. Therefore, most exits will open in the streets and on the rooftops of buildings. My orders are clear: Make the chosen ones stumble or manipulate probabilities to ensure someone pushes them: I want the summoned Arkanians to cross over. When they are trapped on this side, disperse the lower clouds. The corrupted beasts must see their prey.”

Silence descended over the room as the meaning of the king’s orders sank in. Hundreds of thousands of winged behemoths were currently waiting in a massive stationary cloud above the city. Without a general to command them or enemies to annihilate, these monsters listlessly followed the winds’ direction. That would change as soon as they spotted prey. The cataclysmic horde would then descend on a city full of civilians. Within hours, Arkana would be nothing but a memory.

Her geas flared, and Esmee felt a searing pain ignite her soul, compelling her compliance. This time, there was no way to refuse or resist. Clenching her jaw, the princess joined the other sorcerers to condemn a civilization to destruction.

I’ve done all I can, Priam. The rest is up to you.

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Hundreds of thousands of portals dotted the sky like stars in the firmament. The sight could have been breathtaking if it weren’t marred by the vision of countless winged undead diving through the clouds like shadows of doom. Faced with this apocalyptic horde, most of the newcomers rushed into buildings for shelter, but those who arrived on top of the buildings found themselves trapped. As a futuristic city, Arkana had countless rooftops, which turned into deadly traps for hundreds of thousands of people. Priam watched helplessly as brave but doomed individuals chose to leap into the void rather than be devoured by a corrupted creature. These nightmarish images reminded him of the horror of the World Trade Center attack.

Clenching his fists in rage, Priam took a deep breath to calm himself. Despite his superhuman status, there was nothing he could do. Brushing Cassandra's ashes from his suit pants, Priam turned to Jasmine. The young woman was just finishing lacing up her dress.

“How are you?”

“I’m glad I killed Dal Cal. That bastard deserved it.”

Priam gave her a look full of warmth. “I’m not talking about that.”

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Jasmine’s shoulders tensed, and she averted her eyes. “Cassandra was a traitor. There’s nothing more to say.”

“She might not have had a choice. Her addiction pushed her to obey, to get her next fix, and—”

“We always have a choice.”

Priam held his silence. Most people rushed to fill the quiet, but he had learned that silence could be an effective strategy—an invitation for the other person to speak without feeling interrogated. After a few moments, the tension in Jasmine’s shoulders eased.

“I wouldn’t have killed her if I thought she could be redeemed,” she admitted finally. “She was a double agent; the drugs were just a way for Dal Cal to trust her.”

“Are you sure?”

“She poisoned him right before we arrived. My attack was supposed to weaken him, give you an opening to finish him off. Instead, I one-shot him.”

“What?!” Priam narrowed his eyes, his formidable mind already piecing together the puzzle. “I warned them I was coming… Knowing that, the Barons chose one of their own to sacrifice. This was part of their scheme all along.”

A scream tore through the air, pulling their attention to the window. An Arkanian plummeted from the sky, too close to the tower to be caught by one of the reanimated bird corpses. His fate was to crash a kilometer below. He had just made a courageous choice.

Priam clenched his jaw, his mind racing to untangle the web of deceit.

“They activated Cassandra to guide your hand. It had to be an Arkanian who struck the killing blow. That was the only way they could summon reinforcements. If I’d delivered the final strike…”

Priam shuddered at the thought. Killing the Baron himself would have triggered the arrival of a million humans in the heart of Arkanian territory. The ensuing bloodbath would have been unimaginable. Neither the Barons, Prometheus, nor Priam would have wanted that. Unless the summoned appeared near their capital?

Without testing it, there was no way to know and Priam wasn’t ready to take that gamble.

“All this only makes sense if the Barons knew I’d be with you,” Jasmine pointed out.

“They knew,” Priam grimaced, recalling a particular detail.

“I’ve stayed hidden since we landed on Proxima.”

Even Prometheus hadn’t been certain of the assassin’s presence in his castle, reducing the risk of a traitor revealing her location.

Priam shook his head. “When I killed that Tier 2 on the beach, you spoke to a Baron’s son from his shadow. His father—or the Shadow Guild—must’ve connected the dots.”

“See you in a few hours,” she had said to Leopol dal Sallan to terrorize him.

Jasmine bit her lower lip. A joke she thought harmless had changed everything. “This is my fault.”

Priam shrugged. “If it wasn’t that, it would’ve been something else. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I can, and I should, if I want to grow,” the Shadow declared. “But why me? Another Twilight could’ve handled the assassination.”

The other guildmasters certainly had the skills.

“Dal Cal didn’t survive this long without being paranoid,” Priam pointed out. “You could get close because he didn’t see a Tier 0 as a threat.”

Jasmine let out a bitter laugh. “Why would he fear a pathetic assassin who can’t stay hidden for a single day?” she mocked herself, harsher on her failings than she ever was with others.

Priam hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling her into an embrace. She stiffened at first but eventually allowed herself to be comforted. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he murmured, running a hand through her hair. “We all screw up. I came here thinking I could blitz through the city and assassinate the leader of a civilization… and, well, things didn’t exactly go as planned—for the best. Doesn’t matter now.”

“What does matter?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

“We’re alive,” Priam smiled. “And stronger than ever. The system must have revealed things to you about your racial Talent, right?”

Jasmine nodded slightly. “My instincts are on steroids. It’s not louder than before, but the intensity... it’s like a new sense—or maybe a fusion of several. I don’t know. But it’s powerful,” she said, trembling slightly. “I could teach you,” she offered as if to make amends.

There was nothing to atone for in Priam’s eyes. However, the prospect of learning intrigued him. “Really?”

“I think so.” She met his gaze, her own filled with determination. “No, I’m sure. [Homo Elysian Predation] isn’t just a passive racial Talent anymore. It’s almost active now, like an extension of Micro.”

An active Talent… Priam recalled that one of the Colosseum rewards mentioned using [Chimera] actively to defeat Clock, the curse mage. Could it be that...

“Well, that sounds promising, but we’ll deal with it later,” he said, releasing Jasmine and turning back to the window. “Right now, there are more pressing matters.”

Outside, the dead waged war on the living.

“I’m struggling to see how this fits into the Barons’ plan,” Jasmine muttered.

The sight of Arkanians being hunted by flying nightmares was horrifying, and Priam clenched his fists. On a personal level, he had nothing against these people, and their suffering didn’t leave him indifferent.

“I don’t think they expected the arrival of Necromoon’s forces. Half an hour ago, the sky was clear. The cloud that concealed the undead dissipated only after the Arkanians were summoned. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

There were only two possible culprits.

“The Empyreans or Seth?”

Priam stared at the carnage outside. Among the adjectives flooding his mind, one stood out: chaotic. It was, quite literally, a shit-and-blood storm.

“The Empyreans,” he said finally. “There’s no general coordinating this attack—these creatures are acting on base instincts.”

The necromancer had brought the plague, but Esmée’s family was—crudely—wielding it.

“What do we do?” Jasmine asked.

Priam was silent for another moment before answering. “In the middle of a storm, the fish can’t see the fisherman.”

“...Meaning?”

“We use the chaos to finish what we came here to do before anyone has time to stop us. I’m starting my Tribulations. As for you…”

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