Maxi Lóthandorim listened to his generals' reports with a distracted air, most of his focus locked on the hologram hovering at the center of the war chamber. A lifelike projection of the supercontinent sprawled across the display, updated in real-ti by hundreds of scryers. Every soldier, resource, and structure, whether ally or enemy, was marked with precision. To the King of the Empyreans, this was his faction’s true strength: mastery over information.
“Protheus has recalled his main army, Your Majesty,” repeated a tall man with platinum-white hair and a sharp, aquiline nose—features that betrayed his kinship to the king. “The Arkanians aren’t pursuing; they can afford to play the long ga. The erging stalemate poses a dangerous threat to us.”
“What do you recomnd?” asked a minister.
“I suggest assassinating so of humanity’s elites and framing the Arkanians. If the humans demand vengeance, their king will have no choice but to heed them and resu the attacks. Then, we need only wait for the two beasts to weaken each other before we strike!”
Two ministers nodded in approval, supporting the plan of the fool. Were his cousin not marginally useful, Maxi would have executed him long ago. As it stood, Alexandre served as the perfect bait to entrap those plotting a coup—powerful enough to be a pretender to the throne, but too stupid to have a real chance.
“An original plan, General Alexandre. I’m sure Protheus would never see that coming,” mocked a man of slight stature, the only one in the room who didn’t look like a sculpted demigod.
“Care to share so constructive criticism, jester?” retorted the ridiculed general.
“On the strategy, perhaps. On the strategist? I fear that’s a lost cause.”
Alexandre took a nacing step forward. “The law forbids from killing you, not from emasculating you. One day, you’ll dine with the won and the livestock.”
“Then I’ll break bread with your mother and father.”
The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn rang out. Before the jester’s blood could stain the floor, the king intervened.
“Enough.”
With a single word, a heavy silence descended over the room. Maxi’s piercing gaze swept over the military council before he spoke again.
“Protheus has used his Talent on all key mbers of his governnt. Even if an assassination succeeded—which I doubt, given his fortress-like palace—he would recognize our signature. As for his people’s opinion... While he has shown reluctance to manipulate it, his ministers are less scrupulous.”
“Though young, humanity has a startling mastery of propaganda,” a sycophant chid in.
“So, what do we do?” demanded Alexandre. “If we wait for the second Reunion to play out, the Arkanians will beco unstoppable with their Tier 3s.”
Maxi dismissed the argunt. “Tier 3s who have spent most of their lives without the System should not concern us. With the ambient aether density, it will take them years to develop a Mythical skill—if they even survive their Tribulations. Their Concepts and Supremacies make them dangerous, but most are not warriors. We will focus on what we do best: guerrilla warfare. With our information, surgical strikes are possible,” the king declared, pointing to the map at the center of the room.
“Speaking of surgical strikes, the Arkanians seem to be on the operating table,” quipped the jester.
Maxi followed his gaze to a beach on the southern edge of the continent. Far from the Empyrean capital, deep within Arkanian territory, a group of warriors was being annihilated. Every second, several red dots disappeared, each marking a life extinguished.
“Strange, no paladin of Protheus is supposed to be in this region,” observed a general.
With a wave of his hand, Maxi displayed a detailed list of the combatants. The main contributor to the slaughter appeared at the top.
[The Juggernaut - ?].
“Unless his mother nad him ‘The,’ this is rather enigmatic,” the jester remarked.
Maxi frowned. Following a direct order, a dozen scryers were likely working to identify the enemy. Each was a distant mber of the royal family, second- or third-degree cousins, trained and bioengineered for divination affinity. The individual’s na, rank, status, and even favorite color should have been displayed. Instead, all they had was a title.
“Has Protheus managed to counter our intelligence network?”
A general’s murmured question reached the king’s ears, and he stood abruptly.
“Impossible!” Anger, astonishnt, and concern roiled within him. If it were true, the war was lost.
Striding to the table beneath the map, Maxi placed a hand on its surface. The empire’s foremost scryer opened his personal grimoire and activated [Imperial Order: Revelation]. The Legendary skill connected to the map, then to the ritual prepared by the scryers. It traced the karmic threads back to the anonymous warrior who had single handedly obliterated an Arkanian company.
A terrifying resistance, beyond Legendary but shy of Mythical, pushed back against the probe. Maxi bore down, sharpening his will. Decades of experience, his Concept, the ritual, and the rank of his skill finally found a weak point. Exploiting the breach, he began siphoning information.
A figure appeared above the central hologram. The shadow of a muscular young man was discernible, but the resistance prevented a clear image… save for one notable detail: a pair of red boxers adorned with a die.
The generals exchanged puzzled glances. Why fixate on the enemy’s underwear instead of his physique? A vein pulsed on Maxi’s forehead. Did he really have to lower himself to dispel this misunderstanding?
After a few seconds, one of his divination probes reported an attempted counterasure; the enemy had detected the scry and was retaliating. Maxi dismissed [Imperial Order: Revelation]. He hadn’t gleaned the full status he had hoped for, but what he had was enough.
“Priam Azura is here… I’m declaring a state of ergency,” he announced to his council. “Activate all defensive protocols at maximum level. He can’t stay here for long.”
Priam had not yet shown any hostility towards the Empyreans, but it could change.
“Your Majesty, must we truly cower here? This is an unprecedented chance to bring humanity to its knees in one strike!” protested Alexandre, greed glinting in his eyes.
“I won’t attack a target without understanding its capabilities,” the king rebuffed. “Let the Arkanians reveal them for us.”
“But… what if they kill him?”
“Then one of them will gain his racial Talents and a Title. It’s irrelevant.”
If the Empyreans were to take down Priam, it would be with a long-range cannon. The king wasn’t foolish enough to co within ten kiloters of that calamity. If he couldn’t claim the rewards, better they fall to his enemies. He didn’t need a hero in his army; he would end up eyeing his throne.
With a gesture, Maxi displayed the full portion of the status he had acquired:
[Priam Azura - Tier 0 - Duke] - Champion of Humanity, Duke of Elysium’s Court, Duke of Valaryth, Lord of Oasis, Primogenitor of the Homo Elysian, Face of 2 Die 4, Death’s Obsession. A Juggernaut who has defied the impossible ti and ti again to rise.
[Ciphered]
Physique ~1,100, ntal ~750, ta ~650.
Most of the information was unreadable, but the essentials were clear.
“Focusing on our defenses mustn’t stop us from preparing counterasures for a possible attack. If anyone has relevant remarks based on this information, speak now.”
Silence was short-lived, broken by the jester’s laughter.
“I just counted: this Priam guy has more titles than Your Majesty.”
User Comments
0 comments from readers