A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!-Chapter 417 - 406: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic

After Hekthorn resurrected Gaillard, he ignored Priam's wounds. Restraining the urge to flip him off, the Champion made his way toward the section of the arena beneath his private box. Halfway there, he crossed paths with Arnold.

The Var Elegis had once again changed bodies. This time, he shared little more than a silhouette and a few facial hints with a human. The rest of his frame was fully mechanical. Skinless, clad in a chrome alloy that gleamed in the sun, with matte black joints, Arnold radiated Terminator vibes. It was the least organic form Priam had ever seen him adopt, and it exuded pure martial menace. The homunculus wasn't here for diplomacy. He was here to crush the competition.

Above his head, a strange halo crowned the Tyrant. Composed of infinite microscopic grains that winked into existence only to vanish a second later, its nature eluded Priam. Ascending to the rank of Prince allowed him to glimpse the shadow of the Var Elegis' fate, but not to understand it. Electronic crown? Quantum tiara? Nanobots halo?

Two blue steel eyes met a misty gaze. The rivals saluted each other. As they parted ways, Priam couldn't help but wonder if his duels had convinced the Var Elegis. Maybe he expected me to win in a landslide? Shit, if he decides to come after me like in that erased timeline, it's gonna be a pain in my ass…

Slightly unsettled by the behavior of his psychopath rival, Priam reached his box and leapt. Gripping the edge of the panoramic window, he vaulted through and landed before Rose and Osiris. Both teenagers greeted him with a high five, and Priam pushed away the darker thoughts.

"Easy win," he grinned with a thumb up.

"Gaillard is pretty chill," Jasmine laughed, pulling her legs off the couch to make room for him. "Spear through the skull and he's just like, 'Good job, bro.'"

"He's a good one," Priam admitted, collapsing into the cushions. "Honestly, all the Gaeserts are pretty easygoing. Don't mess with them and they'll keep to themselves. Something I can resonate with."

"Speaking of resonance…" began a deep voice.

Priam felt a sudden breath against his back and dove to the floor. Rolling to his feet, he raised Promesse in a defensive stance. Alert through [Breath of the Battle], he braced for an attack that never came.

Kazuki, smirking, peered over the couch, unarmed. With one eyebrow raised, he exhaled normally again. "Interesting skill. However, as long as it's poorly mastered, it's a weakness waiting to be exploited."

Flushed, Priam dusted himself off and flopped back into the couch. "I know. It'll be stronger at higher ranks."

"Like every skill," Jasmine pointed.

"Please, show me some respect."

"Why at higher ranks?" Osiris asked when Priam didn't elaborate.

Wearing a satisfied smile, Priam explained. "[Breath of the Battle] is built on my Breath Concept. Right now, I analyze my enemy's breathing in a fairly mundane way. But later… let's just say Breath is a sub-Concept of Soul."

Priam was convinced that was precisely why he had unlocked it. Where monks required thousands of hours of meditation, or freedivers years of grueling training to awaken the Concept, Priam had only needed to die. Each death and resurrection had attuned his soul to that sub-Concept of Life, Death, and Soul.

"You think, in time, you'll be able to sense the spiritual inflections of your enemies?"

Priam cast the young Duatian prodigy an impressed look. "That's exactly what I'm hoping."

"If it works, you could use it against anyone," Kazuki pointed out.

"Even the Var Elegis."

"Yes… among other beings who don't breathe."

"Or you could take it in a different direction," Louis suggested. "Nature breathes too. Something like [Breath of the Wild] could give you insight into your environment."

"Interesting, but that would make it less of a combat skill," Priam countered. Not that he lived to fight, but he had long since accepted that a life of peaceful exploration wasn't an option. Not with the System breathing down his neck. "And how do you even know about Breath of the Wild? You're at least eighty."

"I spent more than half a century in Japan. I was playing Zelda before you were born."

The conversation might have wandered further if a thunderous boom hadn't erupted from the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" roared Zulkar. "Tired of watching children slap each other and call it combat? Think the previous duels were a snooze? Time to wake up! The barbarians approaching have spent centuries honing their skills—and for your pleasure, their blood will flow!"

The crowd roared, and Rose snorted. "He just called you kids."

"I heard," Priam replied, as Jasmine growled.

Kazuki allowed himself a frown. "Is he wrong? A Tier 3 can live half a millennium. Even an idiot would eventually learn to wield a weapon."

"And these guys aren't idiots," Jasmine added, swinging her legs onto Priam's lap. "Even with their millennia of heritage, fewer than one tribesman in a thousand reaches Tier 3."

"Really?"

"Most die first, from a Tribulation, or from Elysium's fauna," she explained. She had spent the last few days digging into the tribes. "Those who survive are competent. Not enough to push into mid-Tier, but enough to brush against it. Especially when they grow old…"

Priam tried to imagine where he would be in half a millennium and failed. His multiple resurrections were no small advantage, letting him progress at breakneck speed. Still, even without them, a Tier 3 at the end of his life had to be terrifying. Especially in Elysium.

After a dramatic pause, Zulkar resumed as the crowd grew restless. "If the previous fights were appetizers, here comes the first main course! Under the banner of Oasis, the Tyrant will face the champion of the Aelbes: Old Nekomata."

Priam raised an eyebrow. The fact that a Myth strong enough could bleed across universes to seep into human culture gave him hints about Arnold's opponent. In Japanese folklore, the nekomata was a type of yokai, an old, spiteful cat with two tails. A succinct list of its powers included shapeshifting into humanoid form, spirit manipulation, spreading disease, necromancy, and shamanism.

The very opposite of Rohan and his father.

At the center of the arena, an Aelbe positively ancient shuffled forward with the help of a cane. Frail shoulders, blind eyes, a gust could have toppled him. If not for the two shadow hands massaging his lower back, Priam would have taken him for an escapee from a retirement home.

A sigh. "These foolish games are far beyond my years…"

Across from him, a towering 2.3-meter homunculus stood silent. When it became clear neither combatant would say more, Zulkar cleared his throat.

"Well, I'm sure our two gladiators prefer fists to words, but perhaps you have a few for your fans?"

"I'm far too close to the end to pay attention to such things," the grandfather chuckled.

"Less than two minutes," Arnold replied without moving his lips. "Based on my most conservative simulations."

"Ah! Didn't think a scrapheap could crack jokes."

The Var Elegis didn't answer.

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"I'm really not sure that was a joke," Zulkar commented before clapping his hands. "Anyway, we've reinforced the barrier protecting the stands, so dear spectators—you've only one task: enjoy yourselves!"

At his words, a golden flare rippled across the spherical shield, reassuring the audience.

"Begin," commanded the Demiurge.

Arnold opened his mouth, unleashing a beam of searing light that atomized the geezer's head, punched through the freshly reinforced dome, and bored two meters deep into the Colosseum's stone wall. Priam caught the Demiurge's weary sigh before the being strengthened the barrier once again.

"…That's it?" Rose asked, incredulous.

Before Priam could answer, the headless Aelbe struck his cane against the sand. What should have been silence reverberated like a sledgehammer against marble, shaking the soul of the spectators. Above the bloodied stump of his neck, the air shimmered. A torrent of aether gathered, building until it broke some unseen threshold to coalesce into the skull of a colossal cat.

Priam's eyes widened. He recognized the manifestation as the same kind of image Rohan had summoned during their duel.

"A Myth…"

Spectral flesh crept over white bone. Green skin followed, then an ink-black mane. In less than a heartbeat after his decapitation, the Aelbe stood tall once more, a smile curling on the feline muzzle of his nekomata visage.

"Partially invoking a Myth's image to replace a missing body part…!" Zulkar's voice cracked with excitement. "Only someone who's maxed a Mythic skill could achieve that. I daresay he needs only an epiphany to stake a claim at Transcendence!"

"Shut up," the nekomata's Myth commanded.

The presenter fell silent. So did the crowd. Priam himself felt his lips seal, [Free Will] straining for several heartbeats before breaking the curse. By then, the Aelbe had already struck his cane thrice upon the sand.

The first blow raised a bone shield that absorbed a dozen of Arnold's lasers. The second stretched his shadow until it blanketed the arena. On the third, hands clawed their way up through the sand. First one, then a hundred. Within a heartbeat, fifty corpses dragged themselves from the ground, each in varying states of decay.

"Tier 3s," Priam muttered.

"Gaesert defenses, Snahert scales, and more. At least five clans in the mix," Jasmine observed.

Others in the stands had recognized it as well, and a roar of outrage spread like wildfire. It was one thing to learn a loved one had died decades ago in a skirmish against a rival clan. It was another to watch their desecrated corpses paraded in the arena decades later.

Old Nekomata didn't so much as twitch at the storm of hatred. He simply raised a claw, gesturing toward Arnold. The undead surged forward, like puppets. They used no skills, nothing but raw flesh and muscle. Yet the physique of a Tier 3 was dangerous enough. Priam's ears rang with the crack of dozens of sonic booms as the dead broke the sound barrier.

"Holy shit…"

Arnold's face didn't shift. In an eruption of sand, he launched himself forward, accelerating faster than an electric engine. Before his afterimage had faded, his metal hand was already clamped around Old nekomata's throat.

The Myth smiled before trading places with a reanimated corpse. Across the undead's body, Priam glimpsed thousands of runes forming a kamikaze array.

The explosion rocked the arena. Amid a sea of black fire, Arnold's silhouette remained unbowed. Not a single undead dared follow him into the blaze.

"Agony-cursed spiritfire," the Nekomata hissed. "You should be on your knees."

The Tyrant did not so much as grimace. For the Var Elegis, perhaps pain was nothing more than information.

Emerging from the flames, Arnold found a welcoming committee with forty-nine Tier 3s.

What followed was no fight but a slaughter. The Tyrant flowed between the undead, each movement honed to perfect economy. Exploiting the three-dimensional battlefield, he placed himself so that his foes collided with one another. From time to time, a trip dropped a corpse puppet. One punch granted another rest eternal. Never once did he need a second blow to finish an opponent.

"Gods, he's toying with them," Jasmine whispered, gnawing her thumbnail.

"He's as fast as they are," Priam murmured.

"His physical attributes are over four thousand," Kazuki confirmed grimly. "Either he's endured a staggering number of Tribulations, his racial Tier is absurdly high, or this artificial vessel is tyrannical."

"Or all three," Priam muttered.

One against forty; the homunculus danced unscathed, showing no sign of being pressed. Where sheer numbers should have overwhelmed him, Arnold remained untouchable. On the ground and in the air alike, he whittled down their ranks methodically.

"The Aelbe's fighting on instinct," Priam said, eyes narrowed. "Arnold's twenty moves ahead."

"It's worse," Kazuki growled. "The clansman can't micro-manage his troops. His swarm tactics are pathetic against an enemy who can analyze the battlefield in real time and run dozens simulations each second."

Old Nekomata must have realized as much, because he shifted strategies. A strike of his cane sent gray chains bursting from the ground near Arnold. Priam's left eye burned, warning of a dire curse woven into those spectral links. Yet his attention was fixed less on the spell and more on the Aelbe's Domain.

The Tier 3 stood some fifty meters away, yet his skill had manifested chains practically at Arnold's feet. However, a fundamental rule of aether dictated that it could only be projected from one's body—or from one's Domain.

Which left few explanations. Either Old nekomata was closer than he appeared, possibly hidden by illusion, or he possessed a Concept that acted as a bridge. Alternatively, his sphere of authority had briefly reached Arnold. Yet his Domain wasn't nearly that vast. Could it be…

Priam's Mind Crown let him glimpse the Aelbe's will: it extended no farther than ten meters from his body. Except, in the instant of casting, when his Domain had warped. No longer a sphere, it stretched like a droplet, its tail spearing toward Arnold.

He altered the very shape of his Supremacy to reach his foe?! It's not possible with Domain I!

Unaware of Priam's spiraling thoughts, Old nekomata cinched the chains tighter, forging a prison.

Arnold loosed a laser against the bars. The spectral cage didn't so much as flinch, but the Aelbe winced, clutching his temple.

"The Chains are me. I am the Chains," the Myth revealed. "Let's see how you dodge now."

A tide of corpses hurled themselves at the Var Elegis, slipping through the spectral prison unhindered.

"The space itself is cursed!" Zulkar bellowed. "The Tyrant cannot flee. He must fight!"

According to [Priam's System], Arnold calculated for three milliseconds before reacting. His breastplate peeled open, revealing a black liquid that defied both gravity and Priam's comprehension. Clarke's law whispered in his mind: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

The Var Elegis plunged a hand into his own chest and drew forth an orb of light; a miniature sun. A heartbeat before the dead could dogpile him, the homunculus vanished, leaving only that false star behind.

"Uh… That's not something he was supposed to do," the presenter admitted.

For one long second, a writhing ball of undead floated above the arena's center, blotting out the light. Then Arnold's bomb—or reactor—destabilized.

"[Nova]."

The Tyrant's word—the first since the duel began—heralded catastrophe.

Even Priam, with all his resistances, had to avert his gaze for an instant. The entire Colosseum shuddered to its foundations. When he dared turn back, a curse escaped his lips.

"Fucking hell!"

"Language! There are children—" Louis began, then stopped dead as his vision returned. His jaw went slack.

The sand that had once carpeted the amphitheater floor had been replaced by a sea of magma. Superheated air warped the light like a mirage, yet even through the shimmer, charred masses could be seen floating atop the molten lake. Of the fifty Tier 3 corpses, no more than four remained. The rest had been utterly vaporized.

[Ideal Aether Perception] caught faint microfractures rippling across the barrier. They vanished as quickly as they appeared, yet their very existence sent a shiver down Priam's spine. That was a shield upheld by a Tier 5.

With a single strike, the Tyrant had unleashed power beyond even Blood Phoenix's Breath—Priam's latest ultimate. Even if I sacrificed every drop of my blood to Pyro, I doubt I could match that.

In the burning sky, the homunculus stood unscathed, his plating immaculate. Before him, an eggshell of bone crumbled into ash, revealing his opponent. Old nekomata looked as though he had walked through hell back and forth. Half his body was ravaged by searing burns; the other half had been crudely patched by a mythic image. Half Aelbe, half Myth, he was cackling like a madman, utterly unfazed by his condition.

"I've got it. I've got it!"

Arnold opened his palm, revealing half a dozen more [Nova].

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Old nekomata said with a smile. "Leader?"

From his box, Léo gave a single nod.

"Thank you. High Marshal Hekthorn, I yield. I wish to return to Elysium to attempt my Transcendence."

Stunned, Priam thought he must have misheard. The Aelbes were forfeiting the tournament? Just like that?

"Hm. So be it."

A portal yawned open behind the Aelbe, who darted through without even waiting for healing. The rift sealed in his wake.

"What the fuck?!" Jasmine exclaimed.

"Well, well, well," Zulkar drawled. "Can we blame an old bachelor for rushing after catching a glimpse of the mid-Tiers? Yes, we can when he delivers such a pitiful showing! One hopes the High Tribulation will finish what the Tyrant began. Anyway, let's cheer for the winner: Arnold, for the Oasis faction. A win in one minute forty!"

A smattering of hesitant applause followed, faltering quickly as spectators realized the homunculus had vanished.

"Well, I suppose he's shy—" Zulkar began, but cut off when the Champion reappeared.

Arnold raised his right hand, displaying a fresh heart.

"The Var Elegis know but one outcome to defeat. Death."

Thus spoke the Tyrant.

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