“Everyone sees , but none understand,” Priam said, waving his hand dismissively.
Brutally dismissed, the king jolted awake, heart racing. In the dimness of the royal chamber, it took several seconds for Protheus to catch his breath. Once his pulse cald, he quietly pushed the covers aside and slid out of bed. The rough weave of the rug under his bare feet muffled his steps. A simple mat, more like a doormat than a royal carpet, but it had been a gift from a couple saved by his army. For the king, it ant more than a Persian rug ever could. It was a symbol: despite everything, n and won kept fighting. So gave their blood, others their sweat, but all contributed to the war effort.
He moved through the room without lighting a lamp, avoiding a broken chair thanks to his Domain. The evening had been… eventful.
In three small strides, he reached the wardrobe and pulled on a pair of trousers. His advisors claid the royal quarters were too small, but Protheus disagreed. He hadn’t accepted the crown to live in luxury—he had taken it to save humanity. Dressing in the dark, he smiled, rembering how he had told the architects to focus on building up the capital, not his suite. They had listened.
Humanity had always loved grand constructions, and the System only amplified the ambition of the builders. Returning from a three-week campaign, Protheus found his capital transford. The humblest worker had a roof over their head, a massive sewer had been carved into the rock, and every road was now paved. Moreover, wells and washhouses were being built in anticipation of providing running water to every ho. Protheus didn’t just want humanity to survive—he wanted them to thrive.
The latest project involved diverting a river six kiloters east of the city. The plan was to connect the capital to the front lines via waterways, sparing the troops needless forced marches. It was an audacious goal, but necessary to push civil engineers and workers beyond their limits.
Now dressed, Protheus returned to the bed, kneeling beside it to gently stroke the cheek of the woman still asleep. She blinked her eyes open, smiling up at him.
“Already up? I thought I’d worn you out last night.”
Protheus glanced at the chair and sink, both of which hadn’t survived. Inhuman attributes had a way of spicing up certain activities.
“You won a round, not the war,” he teased, grinning. “Priam woke .”
Eloïse sat up quickly, her generous chest coming into view for her lover. “He’s here?”
“Not on Proxima, but in the Sector Hope. On our Moon, to be exact.”
“Well, let him stay there.”
Protheus sighed. “He’s not a bad man.”
“He humiliated you.” A dangerous glint passed through the Empyrean’s eyes as a halo materialized over her head—a sign she was ready to act.
“He taught a lesson,” the king corrected, recalling his duel with the Champion and his defeat broadcast to all of humanity. “Priam defended his throne out of pride, not to crush . He’s not your father.”
The ntion of the Empyrean emperor made Eloïse shiver, and Protheus pulled her into his arms.
“…Sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Very well, you hold him in high regard, and I trust your judgnt.”
Minutes later, they walked through the palace corridors, flanked by six royal guards. Eloïse walked a step behind Protheus, subtly reminding everyone that he was the king. Raised within an imperial court, she was strict about etiquette. Many had begun to imitate her.
“How did our Champion manage to wake you?” Eloïse asked, finishing adjusting her hair.
“When he unlocked his Achievent last night, I borrowed a few skills from my paladins to observe him in my dreams. He has begun tempering his body, which let him banish —and billions of other spies.”
“What a monster… He anchored a resistance to divination?” When Protheus nodded, Eloïse continued, “Smart. That will stop his enemies from reading him like an open book. You should do the sa.”
Protheus didn’t respond imdiately. Her suggestion was clever, but he had to lead by example. Part of his legitimacy ca from fighting on the front lines. The best tempering thod he had access to was of rare quality and could only anchor four resistances. If he sacrificed one for divination, that left only three for battle.
“It would cut down on assassination attempts,” Eloïse pressed. “And it would make my father’s little ‘accidents’ harder to plan.”
Protheus grimaced. The Empyreans preferred manipulation over direct confrontation. Their mages were like Death in Final Destination, always triggering deadly chain reactions from seemingly minor events. A bird dropping shit into a horse’s eye could cause it to bolt, trampling a man in its path. When Protheus survived multiple assassination attempts, the Empyreans simply changed tactics.
Sudden storms had made key letters illegible. Insects had found their way into food stores. Hot ash had been carried far by the wind to start devastating fires. The enemy didn’t need saboteurs—unfortunate coincidences were their weapons.
Yet for all the chaos the Empyreans could sow, they were hindered by humanity’s racial Talent. [Humanity Adapts] unlocked [Probability Manipulation Resistance] quickly, and any suspicious level-ups triggered imdiate alerts. Rather than targeting individuals, the enemy now used the environnt to stage their accidents.
“If I beco impossible to scry, their generals won’t be able to avoid ,” Protheus mused. “I could even restart punitive expeditions…”
“My king, your safety is the priority,” Eloïse frowned.
“With an army at my back, I’m invincible. At worst, I will wait for a better tempering thod.”
Leaving the palace, they were escorted by a half-dozen guards as they headed toward the royal laboratory. The night was still deep, but a few workers were still in the streets. Thanks to increased vitality, so bold entrepreneurs were cutting down on sleep. Ambition had always driven humanity, and the System had only fanned that fla. For so, it had flickered out, but in others, it burned brighter than ever.
Protheus surveyed his city with satisfaction. The streets, lit by dosticated mutant fireflies, gave the place an enchanted feel. His subjects could walk alone at any hour—if threatened, all it took was a cry, and the insects would swarm any would-be criminal until the police arrived. Those judged guilty were sent to the front lines.
As they passed under a cherry tree, Protheus reached up and plucked a fruit. He bit into it and grimaced—it was barely ripe. Tossing the pit into a bed of flowers, he picked one of the blooms. Channeling a little aether into the plant as paynt, he handed an amaryllis to Eloïse.
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“A gift?” she asked.
“It’s a courting flower,” Protheus said with a smirk. Gesturing toward the tree-lined path, he added, “I know I ordered green streets, but they grew really fast.”
“The trees were transplanted,” Eloïse explained, tucking the flower behind her ear with a smile. “Only a few peripheral streets remain, and the project will be complete. The citizens are pleased. Despite the war, the greenery shows their king is thinking of the future.”
“That’s good. But I hope the druids and farrs haven’t fallen behind because of it. The priority is still agriculture.”
Pretty streets were nice, but full plates were essential.
“The mushroom caverns are finished, but our mycologists are struggling to find a species that’s both edible and easy to grow. As for the outer fields, the farrs are rotating shifts to speed up the growth of grains, fruits, and vegetables. The nu won’t be varied, but no one will go hungry this month.”
“Never again if I have any say in it,” Protheus swore as the silhouette of the city’s main market lood in the distance. The building was the size of a stadium built for fifty thousand, dwarfing even the royal palace. For the king, it was a source of pride. On a planet like Proxima, where nature was dangerous, an abundance of food was a rare gift.
“Are the market and shops well-stocked?” he asked one of the guards. It was always useful to get a personal perspective.
“Better than ever, Your Majesty. My son did the shopping yesterday, and they have so delicious tubers—reminded of Jerusalem artichokes. I boiled them, and we feasted.”
Protheus smiled. Variety in the diet was proof that humanity had crossed a threshold.
“Humanity no longer just survives—it lives.”
“And soon, it will thrive,” Eloïse promised. “But first, we still need to settle the matter of the economic model,” she reminded him.
His smile twisted into a grimace as the king mulled over the matters awaiting him tomorrow. Production was ramping up, but the regulations surrounding it were a nightmare. Should his governnt intervene in the economy? If so, was its role to set prices or rely regulate them? Should a tax be imposed? How much should a farr be paid for a kilo of apples? What should the transporter’s cut be? The distributor’s and the seller’s margins? The market’s rent?
Raised in a liberal country, Protheus staunchly believed in individual freedom and private property. However, he understood that, in tis of war, one man's liberty weighed less than the survival of the whole. His anger flared as he recalled the audacity of so speculators. n and won were dying on the front lines, while scumbags sched to profit from food shortages. Humanity was beautiful, but so apples were rotten to the core.
“Evaluate the morality of our top rchants, and draft a list of those worthy of knighthood,” he commanded his advisor. “I need more than just social skills. Economic expertise will be crucial to fortify our kingdom.”
His power allowed him to borrow the abilities of his paladins, and weren’t limited to war skills.
“Understood,” Eloïse replied as they arrived at a heavily fortified building.
“My king,” the security chief greeted him. There was no need for an identity check; an unbreakable bond existed between the monarch and his knights.
Protheus nodded. “Wake all available geneticists. I have hope humanity can rise beyond High Human.”
As the soldier ran off, Eloïse turned to her king. “How?”
“Before I was ejected from my vision, I studied Priam. He’s human, but I also recognized the signatures of both the Empyreans and the Arkanians in him. He has elevated his humanity by drawing inspiration from the genos of rival civilizations.”
“That’s... brilliant,” the Empyrean admitted, then added, “But it won’t sit well with everyone.”
Protheus looked down at his hands—hands that could tear through steel. Was he still human? Yes.
“More than blood or physical appearance, humanity is a quality of the soul. Beautiful values, ideals worth fighting for. If we need to adapt to survive, then we will.” He smiled. “We always have.”
“So will challenge that.”
“Let them try telling Priam he is no longer human,” the king chuckled darkly. Their Champion had no patience for fools.
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