A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!

“Everyone sees me, 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 Prometheus to catch his breath. Once his pulse calmed, 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 meant more than a Persian rug ever could. It was a symbol: despite everything, men and women kept fighting. Some 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 claimed the royal quarters were too small, but Prometheus disagreed. He hadn’t accepted the crown to live in luxury—he had taken it to save humanity. Dressing in the dark, he smiled, remembering 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, Prometheus found his capital transformed. 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 home. Prometheus didn’t just want humanity to survive—he wanted them to thrive.

The latest project involved diverting a river six kilometers 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, Prometheus 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.”

Prometheus glanced at the chair and sink, both of which hadn’t survived. Inhuman attributes had a way of spicing up certain activities.

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.”

Prometheus 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 me 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 me. He’s not your father.”

The mention of the Empyrean emperor made Eloïse shiver, and Prometheus pulled her into his arms.

“…Sorry.”

“Don’t worry. Very well, you hold him in high regard, and I trust your judgment.”

Minutes later, they walked through the palace corridors, flanked by six royal guards. Eloïse walked a step behind Prometheus, 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 Achievement 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 me—and billions of other spies.”

“What a monster… He anchored a resistance to divination?” When Prometheus nodded, Eloïse continued, “Smart. That will stop his enemies from reading him like an open book. You should do the same.”

Prometheus didn’t respond immediately. Her suggestion was clever, but he had to lead by example. Part of his legitimacy came from fighting on the front lines. The best tempering method 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.”

Prometheus 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 Prometheus 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 immediate alerts. Rather than targeting individuals, the enemy now used the environment to stage their accidents.

“If I become impossible to scry, their generals won’t be able to avoid me,” Prometheus 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 method.”

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, some bold entrepreneurs were cutting down on sleep. Ambition had always driven humanity, and the System had only fanned that flame. For some, it had flickered out, but in others, it burned brighter than ever.

Prometheus surveyed his city with satisfaction. The streets, lit by domesticated 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, Prometheus 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 payment, he handed an amaryllis to Eloïse.

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“A gift?” she asked.

“It’s a courting flower,” Prometheus 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 farmers 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 farmers are rotating shifts to speed up the growth of grains, fruits, and vegetables. The menu won’t be varied, but no one will go hungry this month.”

“Never again if I have any say in it,” Prometheus swore as the silhouette of the city’s main market loomed 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 some delicious tubers—reminded me of Jerusalem artichokes. I boiled them, and we feasted.”

Prometheus 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 government intervene in the economy? If so, was its role to set prices or merely regulate them? Should a tax be imposed? How much should a farmer 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, Prometheus staunchly believed in individual freedom and private property. However, he understood that, in times of war, one man's liberty weighed less than the survival of the whole. His anger flared as he recalled the audacity of some speculators. Men and women were dying on the front lines, while scumbags schemed to profit from food shortages. Humanity was beautiful, but some apples were rotten to the core.

“Evaluate the morality of our top merchants, 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.

Prometheus 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 genomes of rival civilizations.”

“That’s... brilliant,” the Empyrean admitted, then added, “But it won’t sit well with everyone.”

Prometheus 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.”

“Some will challenge that.”

“Let them try telling Priam he is no longer human,” the king chuckled darkly. Their Champion had no patience for fools.

Arnold NetSky stared intently at the cracks spreading across the screen in front of him. Unlike a technological display, it was organic, composed of chromatophores—pigment cells used by some animals for camouflage. Muscles beneath the surface contracted, shifting the pigment distribution and generating images. For a homunculus far from his own civilization, it was an elegant solution to visualize data.

Of course, the Var Elegis didn’t need a screen to access information. Yet, this time he made an exception. The First's body tempering was something worth watching.

The event had him so worked up that he had to activate a skill just to focus. Arnold knew the First possessed a draconic bloodline, but an ideal legendary resistance? The calculations said it should be impossible. It wasn’t the first time the Juggernaut defied the odds, but he never failed to surprise the Tyrant.

After all, Arnold wasn’t even sure he could pull off the same feat. Raising a resistance was hard enough, but leveling it up past the epic tier? That was another story.

Digging into his memory, the homunculus recalled the sacrifices it had taken to unlock [High Heat Transmission Resistance], his only ideal epic resistance. One hundred and twelve artificial avatars, three magma basins, two megajoule lasers, and three hundred grams of deuterium—it had been a hell of a price to pay. Given the exponential curve of resistance progression, he had to accept that his next upgrade might not be ideal.

The fact that his rival possessed a skill like [Ciphered Record] was beyond any of his projections.

“... As expected of the First.”

Arnold knew he was far from matching the Homo Elysian, but he refused to fall further behind. Opening his hand, he gazed at the latest gift from the System. For surviving a month in Elysium, he had earned a Tempering Die. It was time to choose a permanent body, to decide his path forward.

The homunculus lifted his gaze toward his last two avatars. A glance was all it took to notice their stark differences.

The one on the right was a war machine, suspended on an armor rack. Made from magical alloys and equipped with advanced sensors, it was an unstoppable hunter. Its quantum processors, the product of cutting-edge Hoplite tech, would support rapid cognition during complex tasks. Nuclear fusion reactors, enhanced by a web of nanoscopic runes carved by lasers, supplied it with near-limitless energy, which was necessary to fuel the energy-hungry superconductors channeling the magnetic forces that powered its movement. The result was an armor capable of breaking the sound barrier tenfold in a heartbeat.

Piloted remotely, this robotic marvel had gone toe-to-toe with a Duke, holding its own without skills, Talents, or attributes. Once Arnold transferred his System-boosted soul into it, he was certain he could stand up to Princes.

The second avatar was the crowning achievement of Var Elegis biotechnology. Before they had been linked by their first AGI, the Var Elegis had been a classical silicon-based race. The opportunities offered by the System and bloodlines had restored their metabolism to its former glory.

Suspended in an artificial womb was a genetically modified clone of Arnold. The dark skin was composed of multiple layers of polymer capable of shifting position. Hydrophobic, heat-resistant, and equipped with a vast array of camouflaging abilities—visual, electrical, thermal, magnetic, and tactile—the molecules making up the skin were nearly as tough as the metal alloy that formed the bones.

The creature moved using muscles woven from graphene and innovative proteins. A revolutionary process powered the biological weapon’s organs: its cells fused deuterium instead of relying on chemical energy from glucose. No need for breathing nor eating.

Various genetically engineered glands and sensors allowed it to navigate and communicate in any environment. Sub-brains ensured there were no weaknesses and granted a natural talent for multitasking, while nanobots enhanced its natural regeneration and immune defenses. Finally, its monoatomic-tipped tail, venomous dorsal tentacles, and retractable claws made from enchanted synthetic diamond made it an unrivaled killing machine.

Arnold’s twin was a stark reminder that before they had developed their technology, the Var Elegis had been apex predators.

The die in his hand grew as heavy as the decision before him. If he didn’t want to fall behind, the champion of the Var Elegis needed to start his body tempering. It was time to pick the avatar that would carry him all the way to Zenith.

In his mind, the image of the First watched him intently.

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