A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!-Chapter 310: Have you ever heard of Priam Azura?

“Priam,” said Prometheus, extending his hand.

The Champion shook it with a grin. “Apologies for the interruption. I’m a bit pressed for time.”

“That doesn’t excuse breaking into a public building, attacking the guards, and violating your king’s privacy," a sharp voice interjected as a woman stepped out of the royal chamber. Her platinum-white hair and preternaturally perfect features marked her as an Empyrean of royal blood. Priam guessed she was either a sister or cousin of Esmée.

“I’m aware, and I extend my apologies,” Priam replied, inclining his head slightly. “Though, I’d like to point out that Prometheus isn’t my king.”

Prometheus, the Empyrean woman, and the squad of knights arriving to secure the hallway all wore the same expression of surprise. Priam grimaced at their collective astonishment.

“Either I have a terrible reputation, or you’re used to dealing with elites who think they’re above the law.”

“The latter,” Prometheus sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how many fools I’ve had to execute for thinking that might make right.”

“Power does tend to go to some people’s heads.”

“Glad that’s not your case. I have a feeling executing you would be... challenging.”

Priam smirked. In a fight against the entirety of humanity's elite, he would bet on himself. Although surrounded by his knights, Prometheus must be a nightmare to fight.

The Champion’s expression told the king everything he needed to know and he cast a glance at the leader of the knights. Without a word, the man stepped aside, standing at attention, and his squad followed suit. “We’ll have a better discussion in the meeting room than in this hallway.”

“Lead the way.”

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Prometheus moved through the newly cleared passage, and Priam followed. The group navigated a series of stone corridors reminiscent of a medieval castle. Priam immediately noticed the minimalistic decor—just a few banners serving as tapestries and intricate engravings carved into the very walls to brighten the otherwise stark military structure.

A notification from his add-on drew his attention. Scanning the engravings, he was surprised to realize they weren’t merely decorative—they were components of a massive ritual.

“A revelation array?” he murmured.

Prometheus must have had keen perception because he responded. “Correct. The architect’s intention was to create a defensive barrier, but I believe that if this building is ever besieged, defeat would be inevitable. This revelation array detects spies and thieves, which I find more practical.”

Priam gave the king a complicated look. Prometheus didn’t know it, but Jasmine was currently visiting his vault.

“There’s a secondary array,” Priam noted, deftly steering the conversation.

“I didn’t think you were an expert on runes.”

“I’m something of a polymath myself,” Priam replied with a sly grin.

Prometheus laughed. It must have been rare, as Eloïse and the knights exchanged surprised glances. A king must feel lonely, too powerful to have friends…

The presence of Priam, a Champion capable of opposing him, was undoubtedly refreshing.

“There is indeed a second array, designed to trigger an alert when it detects intrusions. You’ve just demonstrated its limitations—my guards had to sound the alarm manually.”

Priam studied the walls for a moment before explaining. “Judging by this section, it identifies individuals and cross-references them against a whitelist. I’m… difficult to identify.”

He left it at that, keeping the details of his [Ciphered Record] to himself. Unable to classify him, the array had effectively ignored him. If Priam hadn’t deliberately alerted the guards at the castle gates, he could have infiltrated unnoticed.

“Eloïse,” Prometheus prompted.

“I’ll have the architects revise the detection method,” the Empyrean noted.

Priam stayed silent. His resistance encrypted his information, making whitelist comparisons nearly impossible. It was possible to address this by configuring the alarm to trigger whenever it encountered an unknown entity, but such a trigger-happy defense posed other challenges. The Champion shrugged. At the end of the day, it wasn’t his problem.

The procession stopped before a set of double stone doors that opened to reveal a familiar sight.

“… The Round Table? Really?”

“I want my advisors to feel free to voice their opinions,” Prometheus said. “Sometimes, our legends can be inspiring.”

“Sure, but it’s a dangerous tale for a king. You know what they say about Guinevere and Lancelot.”

In some versions, the queen preferred Aroundight to Excalibur…

Prometheus chuckled. “My knights cannot betray me.”

“Convenient,” Priam smiled, entering the room. Two people were already waiting inside. The Champion moved to the only chair without a banner. Several knights bristled at his breach of etiquette, but by sitting before the king, Priam conveyed a message: I am not a subject of Prometheus.

The king sat without comment, and Eloïse took the chair to his left. The two early arrivals also sat, leaving several chairs empty as the doors closed.

“Cecilia, Mistress of the Arcane, whom you’ve met before,” Prometheus introduced. The young woman who had once opened a portal for Priam to the Moon inclined her head. “Markus, our Minister of Health.”

“A pompous title for a simple doctor,” the man replied with a sharp gaze and an easy smile.

“Eloïse, my chief advisor and…” Prometheus hesitated, searching for the right words. Priam didn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“And lover. It’s funny, isn’t it? The king of humanity and its Champion both falling for an Empyrean princess,” Priam teased. At Eloïse’s outraged look, he quickly clarified, “In my case, I meant Princess Esmée.”

“Oh.” Eloïse visibly relaxed, relieved not to be the next Helen of Troy. Humanity didn’t need its two heroes fighting over the same woman. “How is my dear sister?”

“She…” Priam hesitated. How was the princess? It was a complicated question. His rival rarely shared her feelings, but Priam knew the geass placed her under immense pressure. Constantly monitored, her freedom compromised, her very thoughts scrutinized—her life must be unbearable. For the hundredth time, Priam asked himself the same question: Should I do something? Her geass prevented her from asking for help, but someone as clever as her would have found a way if she truly wanted it. Yet, even at the end of Back in Time, she had said nothing.

Uncertainty gnawed at Priam. Esmée had her plans, and he didn’t want to disrupt them by intervening unilaterally.

“So, even the family genius hasn’t freed herself from the geass,” Eloïse concluded from the Champion’s silence.

“Indeed. Your phrasing implies you’ve succeeded,” Priam noted, curious.

Eloïse turned to Prometheus, who nodded. “All Empyrean princesses are monitored. By accepting me into his service, my new king freed me from my father’s control.”

Priam narrowed his eyes. He knew Prometheus could claim the loyalty of certain humans, making it difficult for them to leave his service. At the first Reunion, Priam had even forced criminals to swear allegiance to the king. Why fill prisons when soldiers were needed?

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Still, Eloïse’s explanation hinted at something more significant.

“Your knights automatically sever their old allegiances,” Priam observed. “You can break magical contracts, right?”

“Correct,” Prometheus admitted. “As a reward for the Impossible Tutorial, the System granted me the perfect tool for my mission.”

There was much to unpack in that revelation, but Priam focused on the future.

“I hope for your sake that there are limits to your power. Otherwise, high Tiers will descend to execute you.”

Mentored by a phoenix Prince, Priam knew the vast universe held countless prodigies targeted by predatory contracts. Some factions weren’t above enslaving lower Tiers before helping them ascend to new heights. The System occasionally offered a way out to the worthy, but such opportunities were rare.

Wielded well, Prometheus’ Talent was far more dangerous for the Hope sector than [He Who Eludes Death].

The king grimaced. “There are limits, of course… but they don’t concern you. Unless you want me to break Esmée’s chains?”

“Everyone has their secrets,” Priam shrugged. “Regarding Esmée, could you accept her allegiance to free her from the geass, then release her afterward?”

“Impossible. A knight can only regain their freedom upon their master’s death or after accomplishing an extraordinary feat in their service.”

“Shame.”

The Talent was less broken than Priam had hoped, but reality rarely cared about his desires. Esmée would refuse to trade one master for another, and Priam didn’t trust Prometheus enough to give him too much leverage.

“Now that introductions are done, perhaps you’ll tell us why you’re here?” the king prompted.

Priam nodded and laid out the reasons for his visit. The possibility for Champions to access the Hope sector, the temporary constraints imposed by Elysium’s laws, his friendships with a few hoplites, his idea to endure his Tribulations in a relatively safe location, and his fury upon discovering the casual killing of humans.

“The boy you’re describing was named Markus,” Prometheus sighed. “A bus driver who thought becoming a fighter would be cool. Reality hit him hard during the Tutorial, but by then, it was too late. That mission was supposed to be his last before leaving the army.”

The king’s expression darkened with sorrow.

“He was one of your knights?”

“No, but I make it a point to talk to my soldiers. Knowing the names of those who fight by my side matters.”

Priam’s respect for the king skyrocketed.

“For Markus and the others, I plan to face my Tribulations near the Arkanian capital. They’ll pay for what they’ve done to us.”

Prometheus furrowed his brow. “I won’t stop you, but I don’t agree.”

“Because of the innocents?” Priam wasn’t oblivious. Men, women, and children had died during his first Tribulations—collateral damage from the locusts and the deadly rain. “I’m not a monster. I’ll target their army.”

“Bah, the Arkanians aren’t my people. You could go full nuclear on their capital, and I’d still sleep fine. However, they have a role to play. Tell me, what do you think humanity needs to survive the next few years?”

“Run.”

The slave gasped for air, his mouth wide open as he struggled to breathe. His bulging eyes darted around, searching desperately for more oxygen. He looked like a fish suffocating out of water.

Minutes later, the test subject began slipping backward on the treadmill. His pace slowed. After two grueling hours of running, his blood was too depleted of oxygen and glucose to power his failing muscles.

“Run.”

The subject forced his legs to move again, clawing for the last sparks of energy in his battered body to obey the command. Veins bulged beneath his flushed skin. For eighty-four agonizing seconds, he impressed the spectators. When he slowed again, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Run.”

The arkanian tried but failed. His heart limited him, striving to keep him alive. Survival instinct rebelled against the command. The body, driven by great willpower, was capable of miracles, but reality always had the final say.

“RUN!”

The man’s feet slammed against the treadmill as he set a new personal speed record. Twenty-three seconds later, he stumbled and collapsed. His body was dragged by the treadmill until it fell to the ground. In the ensuing silence, a doctor approached, placed two fingers on the man’s neck, then shook his head.

“He’s dead, sir.”

“I expected as much.”

“Shall we fetch another prisoner?”

“That will be enough for today. I got what I wanted,” replied the voice that had condemned the man. It belonged to a tall, gaunt figure whose skeletal frame betrayed no hint of physical strength. Despite this, his overwhelming presence and authoritative gaze commanded respect from all.

Baron Charls dal Sallan’s piercing gray eyes were currently staring blankly into space, reading a System prompt visible only to him.

Lvl Up: [Aristocratic Mandate] lvl 57

WILL +3

CHAR +6

“This System accelerates my growth in ways I never imagined,” he mused, turning away.

A servant opened the elevator door as Charls exited, leaving the corpse to be removed and the room cleaned. By the time he returned tomorrow, the Baron knew everything would be spotless, with a new slave waiting for him to break their will and train his skills.

A young lift attendant pressed a button, and the elevator began its ascent. If Charls had been alone, he might have sighed. Unlike most of his peers, he understood the value of a human life. Unfortunately, it was worth less than a level in [Aristocratic Mandate]. He found this method of progression degrading, but what choice did he have? The System rewarded feats, and overcoming a sapient being’s survival instinct was considered one.

When his spies had reported that Baron dal Cal was torturing homeless men for level-ups, Charls had been forced to follow suit.

In this savage world, refusing to play the game meant ending up on the treadmill yourself, running to your death.

No, not savage. Animals rarely display such cruelty. Civilization elevates people as easily as it degrades them.

A soft chime marked the elevator’s arrival at the top floor of the dal Sallan family’s private tower. The System had transported the entire structure to Proxima as a reward for his Perilous Tutorial.

Charls entered his opulent apartment, heading straight for the bathroom. In his imagination, the sweat of the unfortunate man he had just executed was clinging to his skin.

His butler waited at the main corridor. Andrey had served his family for forty years. If he was visible, he had important news to deliver.

“Andrey?” Charls slipped on a pair of slippers, unwilling to dirty the marble floors.

“Sir, a communication from your son.”

“Ah, yes.” Charls rinsed his face at the sink, wiping it dry with a towel. “Did the skirmish go well?”

“There seems to have been a complication.”

“Of course." Charls repressed a growl. “What has Leopol bungled this time?”

The butler handed him a crimson envelope, and Charls froze. His son might be a coward, but he wasn’t a fool. Crimson signified mortal danger to the family. The use of an encrypted letter instead of a digital message hinted at a rare level of paranoia.

Charls locked himself in his study, activated anti-surveillance wards, and tore open the envelope. His eyes scanned the letter before he swore under his breath. Losing Gerald was painful. A newly ascended Tier 2 was unimpressive—Charls himself was Tier 3—but Gerald’s mobility had been invaluable. The ability to leave the Arkhanian capital was a vital asset ahead of the Second Reunion.

That news was almost trivial compared to the bombshell Leopol had dropped.

The Champion of Humanity was on Proxima—and he was coming to visit the capital.

Charls opened the attached video, and his heart sank as he watched the monster toy with his soldiers. Then came the final battle. The camera hadn't been able to capture the high-level duel, but the conclusion was clear: Gerald's final attack, nearing Tier 3 power, had failed to decapitate the enemy. Most conventional weapons would therefore be useless. Against that man, our numerous army will be irrelevant.

Destroying the letter, the distressed noble swiveled his chair. Behind his desk, an immense window offered a breathtaking view of the city below. From the two-hundredth floor of his tower, the panorama was rarely obstructed by another building.

The noble observed the traffic far below. Rather than discouraging outings, the late hour had the opposite effect. Arkanians cherished their nightlife, and the streets teemed with revelers. Cyberpunk-styled vehicles sped through the city, weaving between glittering skyscrapers. Exclusive clubs, upscale restaurants, and dazzling theaters awaited the elite who had flocked to Proxima. Their needs would be serviced by robots replacing lower-tier servants dispatched by the System throughout the sector.

“They think we’ll win because of our Tier 3s… I thought so too,” Charls muttered.

However, if the Champions decided to shake things up on Proxima, the game would change. The Arkanians’ Champion was missing, making it hard to predict the strength of their rivals. Nevertheless, some were famous thanks to their Achievement announcements. Among them, Priam Azura was a star.

“I can’t stall this juggernaut alone,” The noble sighed, activating a communication device. Charls refused to become part of the next Champion’s Achievement. Priam had already killed one Tier 3; he could do it again.

Seconds later, nine faces appeared in holographic form above his desk. Each represented a Baron, one of the pillars of their civilization.

“Charls? The next council meeting isn’t for three days. This better be urgent,” said a fake teen. Enigma had been old when Charls’ mother had given birth to him, but the Pharmacist hadn’t earned her title for nothing. Medicine had extended her life, and the System granted her a new youth.

“I have dire news. A terrible enemy has turned his attention to our city.”

“You always were one for theatrics,” Ugo dal Cal sneered. “What bogeyman has you trembling this time?"

“The monster that terrifies monsters. Have you ever heard of Priam Azura?”

Despite their carefully composed faces, Charls saw the blood drain from his rivals’ expressions.

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