A Novel Concept - He Who Eludes Death-Chapter 418 - 407: Showdown

A few seconds earlier.

Seeing his opponent flee, Arnold analyzed the situation. Letting an enemy escape was against his nature. Besides, his recent studies on captured locals had revealed an unreasonable tendency toward vengeance. Better to tear the weed up by the roots—as his nemesis had always said.

Beyond that, the matter of the enemy's body-image fusion was intriguing. If the Var Elegis could replicate that technique, it would patch one of the inherent weaknesses of his mechanical vessels: the shallow soul-physique tether.

And if he needed one last incentive, the data gleaned from a Tier 3 specimen would shed light on his options when it came time to select a Myth for his future Mythic skill.

Decision made, Arnold moved.

[Quantum Teleportation].

An anchor resonated in Elysium, and the Var Elegis slipped out of the Demiurge's inner world without resistance. Even for a Tier 5, blocking such an esoteric Concept was difficult.

He rematerialized at the heart of the tribal camp and immediately swept the field. Heat, sound, light, radiation, aether… A dozen specialized skills synchronized, triangulating the enemy's position. One step carried him before a manor. A second bypassed every ward, rune-array, and mundane trap, depositing him in a private garden.

"Hm?" Feeling the intrusion, the Tier 3 turned. His scorched brows drew together, and he spat on the ground. "Our fight is over, alien."

Arnold raised his gaze. The roiling black clouds overhead might have seemed storm-born, but in truth they were only an illusion wrought from an astronomical swell of aether. A High Tribulation was descending.

"Your presence will doom us both!" the Tier 3 shouted when the homunculus failed to move.

The Var Elegis studied his prey again. His instinct—a faculty he had yet to master—whispered that the Aelbe did not grasp his current position.

As he was walking the path of the Tyrant, the Champion had to play his role. To gift his enemies a taste of despair.

"The High Tribulation won't arrive for another ten seconds. By then, you'll already be dead."

"You madman! If you think I revealed all I had in the Colosseum—"

In the garden, a hundred glyphs flared, execution writ large enough to trouble even a Tier 4. Arnold didn't blink.

[Multiprocessing - Union].

For an instant, his core processor stopped juggling a hundred tasks, funneling every bit of RAM in the battle. Auxiliary supercomputers in his internal world and his secondary vessels scattered across the Wandering Islands synced, multiplying the Var Elegis' processing power.

[Glitch].

Aided by his second Concept, the Tyrant warped reality. The offensive glyphs twisted, turning on their own master.

The Tier 3 roared, producing a fossilized femur, which he snapped in half. A colossal foot manifested a hundred kilometers above, plummeting to crush the world beneath. An attack worthy of an apex Tier 4. A last trick to escape death.

[Army Deployment].

A hundred secondary vessels—each an MK-7, each equal in might to Arnold's current body—appeared between the island and the quasi-divine heel.

[Nova - 100%].

Overloading their nuclear fusion cores, the homunculi became miniature supernovae. Elysium's skies ignited, blazing with the fury of a hundred suns.

Unmoved by the spectacle—or its cost—Arnold blurred forward, materializing beside the Tier 3. A finger to his temple forced the foe into a [Simulation]. Even with aid from his third Concept, his fifth legendary skill strained to affect the thrice baptized soul, but it would suffice for a few minutes. After that, the Tyrant had more specialized facilities.

After a moment's reflection, the Var Elegis tore the loser's heart from his chest and replaced it with a mechanical pump. His clan must think him dead. A second vessel appeared to secure the test subject, and a quantum teleport whisked Arnold back into his internal world.

"The Var Elegis know but one end for defeat. Death."

In and out, a 5-second adventure.

After a single heartbeat of tense silence, a Tier 4 rose, unleashing the full weight of his aura over the arena. The spiritual pressure raked against Arnold's soul but failed to stir him. Léo Aelbe might be a Transcendent, but he was far from bending the Tyrant's will.

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"You dare?!"

The Champion assessed the situation, saw no profit in a verbal duel, and simply tossed the heart into the magma lake below. The organ sizzled before vanishing. As expected, the Demiurge made no move to resurrect the fallen scion. Without resonance between his Concept and inner world, he was far from omnipotent. The Tier 3 had fallen in Elysium, and no one would raise him again. Not even the Necromoon.

Igniting his reactors, the homunculus returned to Oasis' lodge to watch the rest unfold, even as Léo's fury roared louder. The High Marshal eventually commanded the Transcendent to silence, just as Arnold reached Priam.

He exchanged a nod with the First, wordlessly signaling he was playing Oasis' game. For some reason, his rival had chosen to conceal his strength, limiting himself to the power of a strong local Tier 2. Arnold had first assumed it was to fly under the elves' radar, but lately he had uncovered signs of a conspiracy linking several Champions. Whatever the truth, the Var Elegis had decided that being underestimated suited his own purposes. He had performed suboptimally, dragging out a duel that should have ended in seconds.

Perhaps that was why the nekomata had dared hope to escape him. A critical mistake—one that had delivered into Arnold's hands a Myth generator.

His main neural network flickered with speculation. What Myth would the First choose, when the time came?

Priam felt his rival settle at the back of the lodge, attention locked onto him. It was unnerving, but he forced himself to ignore it.

"Well, that's the end of the line for the Aelbes!" thundered Zulkar. "Let's have a quick look at the standings, shall we? Reminder: a bracket victory nets three points, runner-up gets one. Oasis leads with seven, now at least eight thanks to the Tyrant's win. Second place: the Aelbes with three points, courtesy of their young master Rohan. Since then? Nothing. Not even a win. Disappointing for such a proud clan… Third place: the Gaeserts, with two points. My gut says they gambled everything on their Tier 3. Finally, a big fat zero for the Snaherts. Do they even exist anymore, one wonders!"

The elf descended, levitating a few meters above the magma lake.

"For those of you slow on the uptake, let me spell it out. Oasis has already won. Clean and simple: no catching them now. Four Champions, freshly introduced to the System, have humiliated three clans older than empires. Utter disgrace."

Priam smothered the flicker of pride rising within him. If the elf spoke so lightly, it meant he still considered the Champions beneath his people. Against the prodigies of the Empire of Knaya, Priam wasn't certain he could jump Tiers so easily. All the better. It makes the game more interesting.

Zulkar raised a hand. "BUT! In his infinite generosity, our High Marshal offers two principal rewards. That makes second place worth its weight in Immortal gold. Two clans are still in the running. If the Gaeserts lose the next match, it's game over. But if they win…" A grin. "They leapfrog ahead!"

Priam arched a brow, spotting the inconsistency. A Gaesert win over the Snaherts would only net them one point, putting them at three, tied with the Aelbes. The tiebreaker would have to wait until the final, and if Arnold won, a third-place playoff would be required.

"Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking…" Zulkar shrugged. "Last-minute changes scrambled the schedule."

On cue, a hooded figure appeared above the magma lake. The updraft tugged at his cloak, revealing a body entirely inked in tattoos. Deep lines etched his weathered face. Some scales sold the truth: it was a Snahert.

The elder opened his mouth, faltered, clenched his fists, then spoke.

"I, Hissy Snahert, hereby declare my adoption by Gryphe Aelbe and my integration into his clan. Alongside me, two hundred and eighty-three other Snaherts have made the same choice."

When the last echo of the weary voice faded, raucous laughter burst from the Gaesert lodge.

"Ah!" The old shaman doubled over, wheezing with mirth. "I once saw those two screwing."

Priam wasn't the only one with an odd expression. That a decrepit serpent, at the twilight of his life, would become the adopted son of an Aelbe Transcendent was absurd enough. That the two had once been lovers…

"Hah, seems we all enjoy a bit of gossip," Zulkar grinned. "Anyway, the Snaherts' contender has switched allegiance. Effectively, the Aelbes now have a second slot in the Tier 3 bracket. Which means one last chance. Think of the next match less as a semifinal and more as a bronze match!"

The murmurs of ten thousand spectators soon swelled into a restless din. Priam caught snatches of conversation.

"They should've announced this before the duels even started," grumbled a mother.

"True, feels shady to me," her daughter replied. "I don't get why the Demiurge allows it. With his Justice Concept and all…"

"Damn it, I bet on a Snahert upset at two thousand to one!" an elf gambler howled. "They can't just change the rules like this!"

Such voices multiplied in the stands, and confusion edged toward outrage until a heavy aura crashed down, silencing dissent.

In the Aelbe lodge, Léo rose, unleashing the spiritual pressure of a Tier 4.

"While Aelbe and Snahert once stood as rivals, our clans are now siblings. After the catastrophe that nearly erased them, the Snaherts hover on the brink of extinction. To stave off that tragedy, I offered to adopt their surviving volunteers into our tribe. Our Council of Transcendents accepted. The deed is now done. May their traditions endure, and bring glory and honor to our children."

Silence greeted his words. Priam realized that despite the dissatisfaction in the air, no one dared contradict a Tier 4. Another reminder that he no longer lived in a democracy. In Elysium, only the strongest voice carried.

"Ah." In the Gaesert lodge, Braato was stroking his chin. "A clan earns a slot, not an individual. I know you only like your own rules, but still…"

To Léo's shame, there was more than one powerhouse in the Colosseum.

"A clan I've absorbed," the Aelbe's leader retorted.

"With whose blessing? Ophis is dead, and Sna is missing."

"Which is to say dead or fled. The only one able to decide in the Snaherts' name is Hissy, his status as the last Tier 3 making him an acceptable temporary leader."

A flimsy argument, yet Braato didn't press. He turned away, ending the exchange. Whatever the two leaders said, the decision was not theirs to make.

All eyes lifted to the sky. Floating above the Colosseum, Hekthorn said nothing. With a light gesture, he erased Arnold's apocalyptic landscape and restored the arena to its pristine state. Ready for a fresh duel.

Silence means consent. I suppose his Justice extends only to elves, Priam mused, before a spark lit his eyes. He didn't share the Tier 5's vision of justice, but that didn't change the man's overwhelming strength. The conclusion was obvious: a Concept was, at least in part, personal. A clue to what lies beyond Unity?