355 + Chapter 356: The Eve of the Tournament

Chapter 355: The Way of the Pacifist The Wandering Islands formed a vast region drifting across the surface of Elysium’s outermost layer. Th

Chapter 355: The Way of the Pacifist

The Wandering Islands formed a vast region drifting across the surface of Elysium’s outermost layer. The archipelago consisted of floating islets that followed a precise route over six other regions. At the rear of the procession, on the opposite end of the Empire of Knaya, was an island roughly the size of Cyprus. Near its center, nestled in a sunken valley once covered by dense jungle, stood a towering tree—Log-a-rhythm.

As tall as a thirteen-story building, its sprawling branches cast a serene shade over the surrounding glade. A river sliced through the clearing, curling around the roots of the Tal Quercus. The name of the species evoked deep respect among elves as each of those trees was a relic of local royalty.

This particular one had been resurrected by Priam, Lord of Oasis. Across the ten-hectare domain, every plant pooled its Potential through a drya ritual. Log-a-rhythm was the warden of that shared resource. This forest-wide symbiosis had been Dishnu’s first gift. Three weeks ago, the Guardian’s generosity had struck again.

Before his Tribulations, the drya had helped Priam graft an alien Concept fragment into the Tal Quercus. It was Valaryth’s mutated form of Adaptation, a Concept perfectly tailored to Log-a-rhythm. Jasmine had pointed out it could have benefited Priam himself, but the young man had refused for three reasons.

First, he already possessed two Tier 1 Concepts. Accepting a third would significantly raise the odds of a spontaneous fusion between two of them—an event that would birth a Tier 2 Concept, something his soul couldn’t yet bear. Like Kazuki before him with Micro II, Priam would then face a High Tribulation to survive the evolution. That wasn’t part of his immediate plan. The mere idea of leaving Tier 0 before fully climbing the Colosseum ranks or maxing out his Tribulations left him seething. He wanted a rock-solid foundation before even glancing toward the Zenith.

Truth be told, the Juggernaut was obsessed with min-maxing.

The second reason for boosting his tree was that Log-a-rhythm was no longer just a sanctuary. It was the home of his family, the protector of Oasis, the rally point for his friends. Skimping on its defenses would be like shooting himself in the foot.

Finally, Dishnu had hinted that the Concept would allow Log-a-rhythm to get the most out of his Tribulations. He had been right. Thanks to this new feature, the Tal Quercus had naturally upgraded Tribulation Resistance and Guardian of the Forest after enduring the drya’s brutal trials.

The mere thought of that moment still gave Priam chills. Even now, reading the summary written by his add-on felt wrong:

[Dishnu’s Sextuple Tribulation
5) Fire Elementals; destruction of plantlife
6) Symbiotic bond between plantlife and Dishnu/Log-a-rhythm
7) Necromoon’s light overclock
8) Corruptive fungal; plantlife infestation
9) Boss Lumberjack
10) World Lock (NEW)]

A sextuple Tribulation, cleared with insulting ease. That day, the Guardian didn’t just win. He dominated, proving he was in a league of his own. The Tyrant was probably up there too, but the Juggernaut knew he was still outclassed. For now.

At the start of Dishnu’s trials, Priam had been in denial. Everything had unfolded as it had before Back in Time, except for the weaker drya’s presence, and the System announcing the temporary closure of the Valaryth rift. Toward the end, Dishnu’s resistance to the fire elemental king had raised some eyebrows, but Priam chalked it up to solid prep.

Still, his gut wouldn’t let it go. So he asked and Dishnu confirmed that his sixth Tribulation had isolated Oasis from the rest of the universe during the ordeal. Awed and humbled, Priam accepted the explanation without a word.

Since then, he had thought about the purpose of that particular Tribulation. Dishnu was clearly at his peak in a forest. Could the drya possess an internal world filled with trees? Or was his power somehow linked to the trees he planted in Elysium?

Setting his speculations aside, Priam had waited for the Guardian’s departure to spend Log-a-rhythm’s stored Potential. In addition to strengthening its wood—the raw material for Oasis’s artisans—with Protection V, he bolstered its resistance to Necromoon influence. Finally, he purchased a much-requested feature: Abundance - Life IV. This boosted the tree’s sap regenerative power, a godsend for those who couldn’t reset their body daily like a certain Juggernaut.

“A hundred thousand undead outside, and somehow boredom’s gonna be the thing that kills me.”

A grumbling bear brought Priam back to the present.

“Sorry, bro,” he chuckled. “You’ll have your fun in a sec. First, I wanna test the auto-defenses. Rose?”

“Let in a hundred, please.”

Priam opened a few gaps in the protective field, allowing a horde of undead to slip through before sealing it again.

Startled, the corpses sniffed the air for living prey. Spotting targets on the ramparts, they charged.

A hundred turrets lining the ramparts powered up in unison. A snowflake of light formed in front of each, then snapped into a light beam.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Rose announced. “I present to you the latest model of our auto-turrets, the Eiffel II!”

“The Eiffel Tower doesn’t shoot lasers,” objected the Frenchman.

“Which is why my model’s better. Now watch.”

Each turret locked onto a target. Beams of energy tore through rotting hide, necrotized flesh and broken bone to strike necro cores. In two seconds, the undead wave was annihilated. Priam noted that the defenses only targeted Tier 0s.

Ignored by the energy barrage, four Tier 1s barreled across the no-undead’s-land, straight into the bio-trap field. One by one, they tripped on hidden roots and were snagged by vines tougher than steel. Dragged into waiting maws that looked like something between a venus flytrap and a kraken’s mouth, their fate was to be crushed, liquefied by potent acids, and recycled into nutrients—fuel for evolving Oasis’s defenses.

Impressed by the display, Priam turned to Rose.

“Sorry for the pun, but you killed it! That was awesome.”

“Thanks,” the teen murmured, cheeks coloring.

Her blush under his praise gave Priam pause as he had a delicate question to ask.

“I noticed the turrets don’t target Tier 1s… was that intentional?”

“They’re not strong enough to kill without overclocking, and doing that is more dangerous than useful,” Rose explained, animated now that she was talking about her work. “Kazuki, Hyshana, and I crunched the numbers: it’s more efficient to let the Tier 1s die in the bio-traps. Most of them already evolved once from feasting on zombies, and Tier 0 grunts aren’t even worth the calories anymore so we kill them before they can fill vegetal stomachs.”

“So turrets for the fodder, and traps for the elites. Clever.” Priam looked toward the horde screaming outside the dome and saw a goldmine of Sun points. “How many corrupted can our defenses handle per minute?”

“It depends,” Hyshana replied. “Might I inquire as to your intentions?”

“What’s stopping us from opening controlled gaps in the shield to let them in ten by ten? With auto-defenses, we’d easily farm Sun points.”

“Currently, approximately eight percent of the necromantic forces consist of Tier 1s,” Hyshana stated. “They represent a bottleneck as bio-traps have a ten-minute cooldown between kills due to digestive processes. Turrets and traps combined would require months to neutralize the army outside. This calculation ignores the occasional Tier 2 our defenses can’t handle.”

“Guess we’ll have to take matters into our own hands,” Priam grinned. “Who’s up for a little warm-up?”

A thunderous roar answered him, and Priam turned to Kazuki. The general was their best strategist. 

“My hoplites and I can hold three choke points spaced a hundred meters apart,” called the Hoplite Champion.

Priam obliged, opening a fourth breach for his friends and Prometheus’ subordinates.

“Nothing like a good brawl to stay sharp,” Louis chuckled, charging forward without hesitation.

“And to work up an appetite!” added Blueberry.

*

For the next few hours, Priam played lifeguard. Eyes on the siege, he was ready to dive in if needed. Of course, with Jasmine and Kazuki on the front line, his job was mostly redundant, and boredom quickly set in. When the local artisans turned down his invite to kill time with a round of cards, he resigned himself to watching the chaos unfold from the sidelines.

Around the fiftieth yawn, his high perception caught a flicker of movement beyond enemy lines. Summoning three giant runes, the mage bent light to recreate the magical equivalent of a telescope. A multicolored colossus came into view.

“Looks like a unicorn took a rainbow dump on the Statue of Liberty…”

Priam squinted as hostile undead closed in on the newcomer. Curious by nature, Priam decided to investigate. Channeling a trickle of Heroic Aura into his eyes, he activated a recently upgraded skill. Though it had cost him a Seed of Potential, the result was worth it.

[Heroic Identification]
[Destroyer, flesh golem - Tier 0 - Legendary] - Creation of a Fleshwarper.
You lack the nobility Title required to identify the creator.
Sculpted from modified necro drake cells, this siege golem possesses raw physical stats rivaling those of a Tier 2 Baron. Lacking both mind and soul, it is immune to mental and spiritual attacks.
Attributes:
Strength (3000), Constitution (3000), Agility (2000), Vitality (4000), Perception (3000)
Weaknesses:
No autonomy.
Low meta-endurance.

When the thing one-shotted a hostile Tier 2 with a punch, Priam let out a low whistle. The Destroyer was a physical monster—but with no meta-endurance, there was nothing stopping him from unleashing Pyro inside the thing.

“Kazuki, we’ve got a third party in play. I’m on it.”

“Understood.”

Priam’s thighs tensed before the explosive power of a hundred men launched him from the rampart. He shot straight through the dome, which offered no resistance. Not a single speck of dust lifted when he landed as [Kinetic Sovereignty] absorbed every last vibration.

Looking around, Priam found himself surrounded by a thousand undead. A split second before all hell broke loose, he hesitated to unleash his flames but held back. Massacring a million mindless zombies might rake in Sun points, but his allies were leveling up out there. No point in hogging experience by killing the golden necro goose. 

“Gotta leave some for the others.”

Choosing the way of the pacifist, Priam took a step toward the Destroyer. The path wouldn’t be easy as thousands of furious undead were standing between him and his target.

“As the hoplite would say: where others see an ordeal, see a chance to train.”

Perhaps annoyed by the human’s monologue, a jawless monkey shrieked in outrage. Mid-screech, the baboon lunged at Priam, claws out.

Battle-lust surged through the Juggernaut. His hearts pounded, his lips curled into a joyful grin, and his draconic vivacity split his mind into two distinct streams. The first locked onto his Domain, scanning for threats and plotting enemy trajectories. The second syncing with his Mist Concept.

The baboon was nearly within reach. 

[Matrix Dodge] whispered to lean a few degrees sideways to avoid the blow. Priam ignored the advice of his maxed skill, preferring to turn his torso into mist. The baboon’s claws passed through like smoke, landing no damage. A second later, the mist reformed into flesh.

Priam hoped repeating stunts like this might tempt the System into gifting him an upgrade like [Mist Dodge], or something in that vein.

Unaware of the futility of its efforts, the necro-baboon threw an uppercut. Once again, Priam’s head became vapor, and the strike hit nothing. Screeching with frustration, the enraged beast clawed and slashed, never touching more than fog.

Seeing the corrupted masses preparing to pile on, Priam decided to retaliate like a pacifist.

His Domain pressed down on the simian enemy. Backed by his high meta authority, his sphere of influence overwhelmed the monkey’s natural resistance. Using an aether proficiency sharpened in dreams, Priam altered the necro core, sealing its output meridians.

Like a car without fuel, the beast froze. As it now possessed only the shadow of a soul, it was the light of the Necromoon that supplied its core with aether. However, without meridians, its instinct was unable to use this energy to move its body.

Through [Ideal Aether Perception], Priam watched as primordial fluid was building up inside the tiny necro core. Pressure spiked for a second before the container failed. Crack.

Just before the rupture, Priam removed the core’s contents and etched inside a single Kinetic rune. The aether surged into the sigil, converted into kinetic energy, and detonated like a shell. The resulting shockwave leveled a chunk of the undead horde.

Lvl Up: [High Aether Manipulation] lvl 51
META (Affinity) +3
META (Focus) +3
META (Endurance) +3

Amid the scattered corpses, mist condensed back into Priam. He grinned at the wreckage he had wrought without spending a single drop of his own aether. Using one enemy to obliterate another, recycling resources, bending reality to his will… In Priam’s opinion, there was something beautiful about walking the mage’s path.

A low grunt pulled him back. A Tier 1 boar was charging at him, flanked by a bipedal skeleton and a hundred other abominations. The forced suicide of the simian Tier 0 didn’t kill the strongest Tier 1s. Just before calling down flames hot enough to melt their corrupted bones, Priam remembered his pacifist vow.

[Phantom].

The undead froze, sniffing the air like confused bloodhounds. From their perspective, the living prey had simply vanished.

Priam ignored them and advanced toward the flesh puppet. He wasn’t invisible nor could he use Heroic Aura to mesmerize the horde like Conquest had done to the Arkanians back on Proxima. If the Necromoon’s minions struggled to find him, it was thanks to Breath. The utility Concept let him mask both his soul and vital energy.

Tier 1 undead could still see him, but their minds were too primitive to associate a soulless vessel with the prey they had been chasing a moment before. To them, he was no different from a rock or a cloud.

Of course, the trick only worked on brain-dead foes—but Priam had another card to play against smarter enemies: he was monstrously powerful. A Tier 2 banshee locked eyes with him, sized up her odds, and promptly flew off toward the dome in search of an easier target.

Summoning a kinetic cone to part the tide of zombies like an icebreaker, Priam advanced through the chaos until he reached the flesh golem. The creature’s chest split open, revealing a familiar boy within.

“Tell Seth I appreciate the free Sun points,” Priam said, gesturing to the soon to be slaughtered army.

“He’s hibernating. I came to take Jasmine to the tournament,” replied the teen while casually conjuring a bouquet of flowers.

“…”

*

Chapter 356: The Eve of the Tournament

*

Arms crossed and brow furrowed, Priam watched as Rose inspected her turrets. Each one was composed of three distinct parts: a wooden base fused into the fortress wall, doubling as a battery; a levitating ring that locked onto targets; and nestled within it, a hovering sphere the size of a basketball, ready to fire. After nearly five hours of continuous battle, the weapons were showing signs of overheating. The teenage engineer was making sure her creations didn’t blow themselves to bits.

Half of Priam’s focus stayed locked on the battle raging below, where the undead kept coming with no signs of thinning. The other half was on the boy beside him.

“This one’s holding up,” Rose muttered, moving to the next turret. 

“Good.”

“Hey, it’s kinda weird pretending we’re the only ones talking, when your friend over there’s been staring at me this whole time. Is he mute or just shy?”

“My apologies if I’ve come across as rude,” Osiris said with a deep voice. “I was simply wondering what purpose the glass over your eyes serves.”

His voice broke at the end, his adolescent vocal cords betraying him. Rose had the grace not to laugh.

“They’re called glasses. They help people who can’t see too well. Although, ever since Priam evolved me into Homo Elysian last week, they’re not technically necessary anymore.” She shrugged. “I’m used to them. Plus, one of my exercises to unlock Micro is tuning my focal distance manually.”

Osiris nodded, intrigued. “Training your ocular muscles… Clever.”

The conversation between the two teenage geniuses brought a faint smile to Priam’s lips.  He made the introductions. “Osiris, this is Rose. Rose, meet Osiris.”

“Hey.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Rose,” Osiris said, plucking a white flower from his bouquet and offering it to her.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “You always walk around with flowers on you?”

“No, they’re for Jasmine.”

Her smile faded like the last light before a storm.

“Why would a kid give flowers to Jasmine?”

“I’m not a kid!”

“How old are you, then?”

“Fourteen,” the boy said, puffing out his chest.

“Liar.”

“What?!”

“I’m fifteen and you’re a whole head shorter than me. Plus, you’ve still got that baby face.”

“I—” Osiris flushed a deep crimson. “The men in my family are all late bloomers!”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “I thought a biomancer could just fast-forward through puberty.”

“Altering one’s own body is taboo among Duatians,” Osiris snapped. “Our physique is tied to our soul.”

For a Duatien, a single mistake in self-modification could corrupt the soul itself. Best-case scenario, they died horribly. Worst-case? They survived, turning apocryphal… Osiris, brilliant as he was, wasn’t ready to break his people’s taboos. But if anyone could pull it off… it’d be him.

Rose lifted her head from one of the turrets, grinning. “So your body’s tied to your soul? Guess your soul’s short, too.”

Osiris opened his mouth, stunned, then turned to Priam. “I refuse to talk to her anymore.”

“I got a name,” Rose snapped. “And it’s not my fault you can only make freaky golems.”

“Destroyer is not freaky!”

“... Destroyer? Seriously?” She gave him a judgmental stare. “Why not go full edge and call the next one Annihilator?”

Osiris crossed his arms. “Great idea. That’ll be the next one.”

“You are so—”

“Enough!” Priam’s voice cut through the argument like a thunderclap. Both teenagers jumped, visibly shaken. With his enhanced physical stats, his raised voice sounded like a sonic boom. “You two can bicker later,” he added, more gently but with finality. He had no interest in babysitting a hormone-fueled argument. 

“Rose, how are the turrets?”

She coughed in embarrassment. “After five hours running at full power, they’re in surprisingly decent shape. Some runes got scorched from prolonged aether flow, but we planned for that. The secondary circuits kicked in smoothly.”

“The switch was seamless?” Priam asked, impressed. The runes Rose etched into her turrets weren’t far off from the ones he conjured mid-air with [High Aether Manipulation]. He knew firsthand that even one overloaded rune could blow like a magical grenade.

Not that he made that kind of mistake anymore. Well, not often.

“The ‘fuse’ runes Alain made me add caught most of the backlash,” Rose explained, holding up a wooden sphere scorched black in places. “Anyway, I’ve got a new design in mind to reinforce the weak points...”

“Mmh. Make sure it’s ready by tomorrow morning.”

Rose nodded and, cradling a turret, headed off to her workshop.

“Why tomorrow?” Osiris asked.

“Because tomorrow, we head for the Tribal Tournament.”

*

At the top of Log-a-rhythm, Priam teetered between laughter and secondhand embarrassment. As far back as he could remember, awkward situations had always made his skin crawl. Strangely enough, that aversion didn’t apply when he was the one involved—anger usually steamrolled shame. What he really hated was watching other people make fools of themselves.

Now, his empathy wrestled with hilarity as Osiris offered Jasmine his bouquet. The assassin looked at the flowers, puzzled, before casually plucking one and chomping down.

“Thanks. Better than salad,” she said, mouth full.

Osiris turned crimson, mortified, as Rose burst out laughing behind him.

“Should’ve told you earlier,” she said between giggles. “There are no flowers on Arkana. Jasmine, come on, let’s give these to Blueberry. Maybe he can cook something decent with ’em.”

The assassin glanced at Priam, who nodded. Without another word, she followed Rose off the terrace atop the Tal Quercus.

Osiris stood in silence for a few moments, then sighed as he stared out at the corrupted army on the horizon. “I thought… Gods, I’m such an idiot.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“My planet had a thousand different ethnicities. Yours probably did too. I should’ve guessed that someone from Arkana wouldn’t get Duatian courtship customs. She’ll never want me now...” he muttered, beginning to pluck the petals from his bouquet.

“Well, if you still want to give her a gift… I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Jasmine’s a Homo Elysian.”

“I know. I was there when her soul switched bodies.”

“She might appreciate an upgrade to a Tier 3 race. An evolution built on Homo Elysian.” Priam locked eyes with him. “I want your help to make that happen.”

Osiris narrowed his gaze, boyish warmth vanishing from his voice. “So that’s why you invited me here.”

Priam didn’t bother insulting the kid’s intelligence. “That’s right.”

“My brother told me not to trust you.”

“If you always listened to your brother, you wouldn’t be here.” With a thought, Priam asked Log-a-rhythm to manifest two wooden chairs. He dropped into one with a quiet sigh. “I know it pisses you off when people treat you like a kid. So I’m not going to.” A pause. “Your brother has a problem.”

“He… he’s stable.”

Priam raised an eyebrow. The kid clearly had no idea his brother had genocided their entire race back on Proxima. No presence left on that planet meant no Champion. Seth probably thought he was sparing his brother from the weight of that mantle. That’s full-blown sociopath shit.

“We both know that's bullshit,” Priam replied, holding back the full truth. Timing was everything and now wasn’t the time to create a schism between the two brothers. 

“Maybe.” Osiris let out a joyless laugh. “And if I help you, you’ll return the favor?”

“No. We both know that’d be an empty promise. In its notifications, the System claims the Necromoon is after Soul, one of the Grand Concepts. I can’t picture anyone under Tier 9 leading that charge, even if it’s obvious the moon’s losing. Your brother drank from a poisoned well to survive the Tyrant, and I doubt anything short of another Tier 9 or the System itself can save him.”

Maybe Prometheus and his busted Talent had a shot, but Priam doubted it. Seth hadn’t just joined the necro faction—he had corrupted his damn soul to survive.

“I’m not abandoning him.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Priam leaned forward slightly. “Here’s the deal: you help me with the racial Tier up, I’ll owe you a favor.”

“Two favors.”

“One. I already have the genetic material to evolve Homo Elysian. You’re just my insurance policy.”

Osiris laid his hands on the empty seat beside him, fingers brushing the ancient Tal Quercus wood. His brow furrowed in thought. In the distance, a hoplite’s cry echoed through the air. The battle raged on—and wouldn’t stop for days.

“Any favor?”

“As long as it doesn’t endanger my people, doesn’t break my values, isn’t a trap, and gives me a decent shot at survival… yeah.”

The boy pulled a strand of hair from his pocket and handed it to Priam.
“Repeat it, then snap it.”

[Heroic Identification]
[Fae Hair - Tier 0 - Legendary] - Infused with the power of a mystical race, this strand of hair may be broken to seal a pact of good faith.
Treachery breeds shame, and shame begets oblivion.

“You don’t want me swearing on the System?”

“I’m no lawyer, and this item binds us to the spirit of the oath, not the letter. Besides, the System’s influence outside this universe is limited.”

“Are you planning to leave soon?” 

Osiris shrugged. “According to my brother, the Necromoon believes an universe invasion by the Concepts is imminent.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt we’re on the same clock as a Tier 9, but whatever. I want your promise too.”

“I’ll do my best to help you create a Tier 3 race tailored for you—based on Homo Elysian, without any backdoors, and you’ll be its primogenitor. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Priam made the vow, and Osiris echoed it. Then the Champion raised the white hair high and snapped it clean. A mysterious force swept through him, bypassed [Karmic Consequence Resistance], and vanished just as quickly. Looking at the broken strands in his hands, Priam recognized their owner. Ève...

A faint laugh whispered through the air, but Priam’s pulse didn’t waver. With [Ciphered Record] clouding his divination trail, his rival would struggle to mess with him from afar.

“I already have a few ideas for upgrading your race,” Osiris admitted, slumping into his seat. “With my brother’s help, I got access to apex creature bones. Most were corrupted, but good enough to map things out. Here’s the framework for race Tier: Tier 0 means shaped by natural evolution, relatively recent species, living in a calm environment. A single racial Talent, usually weak.”

Like humanity with our basic adaptation.

“Tier 1 means lucky or artificial evolution. Few genetic disorders and a stronger racial Talent.”

That’s High Human.

“Starting from Tier 2, there is no more natural genetic disease—barring exceptions—and two racial Talents. This is the rank of Homo Elysian. Tier 3 marks the end of the low Tiers, with preternatural physical attributes and a near-perfect genome.”

“Define ‘near-perfect’.”

“Refined to the max, often with synthetic nucleic acids or analogues. Unlike DNA, the genetic material of a Tier 3 race is partially resistant to radiation, mutagens, and viruses. The encoding and replication processes are virtually mutation-proof, with no non-coding segments or junk sequences—freeing up maximum space for racial Talents. In short, the genetic blueprint is streamlined and fine-tuned for the individual’s environment.”

Among the info Osiris was rattling off, one bit made Priam frown.

“Wait—if my genome’s immune to mutation, how do I evolve? I mean, it’s thanks to mutations that a species adapts to its environment. Hell, the mundane part of my resistances grows through that!”

One of Homo Elysian’s strongest assets was [Homo Elysian Obsession], a racial Talent that hyper-accelerated cellular mutation in response to hostile stimuli. It was one of Priam’s aces in the hole to level up his resistances so fast, and he wasn’t ready to give it up.

Osiris sighed. “A Tier 4 race includes a magical element: the aetheric code. It complements the genome by adding a layer of intelligence. In theory, a mid Tier race specialized in adaptation could sort its mutations on the fly—keeping the helpful ones and discarding the harmful—to evolve in the right direction. Say you fall into water. Fifteen minutes later, your body starts sprouting gills. In comparison, a Tier 3 race is binary: you’re either open to mutations or resistant. No middle ground.”

The explanation didn’t sit right with Priam. He wanted to have the cake and eat it too.

“You’re sure there’s no workaround?”

“Well… I’ve got a theory. If someone had absolute control over their own body, they could manually accept or reject mutations—maybe even rewrite their own genetic code. If I had to name that ability…” Osiris grinned. “I’d call it Micro.”

Priam swore—partly because the kid’s smugness was unbearable, partly because he realized just how wide the gulf was between low and mid Tier. A serious issue for a tank like him. The System had already flagged genetic mutation as one of his weak spots during his quintuple Tribulation. His son’s virus had twisted his high vitality against him, turning him into a meat stump.

Still, if he had to pick between easily resisting enemy gene-hacks and keeping his adaptation edge as the Juggernaut, the choice was obvious.

“I believe this is how certain martial, technology-averse and magic-averse civilizations evolved their species. However, this aspect of the Supremacy is clearly reserved for mid-tiers.”

“Hum. Guess we’re going with the mutation-friendly route then…” Priam slumped in his chair. “I’m too into my resistances to give ’em up.”

“It’s risky,” Osiris warned. “Your soul and body are linked. One mutagenic poison and your soul could turn into a nightmare.”

“Not if I build up resistance first.”

“Your funeral.”

“Funerals,” corrected Priam with a grin. “So, what’s next on the checklist?”

“Environmental optimization. Even with a Tier 3 race, a seafolk with fins is gonna be at a serious disadvantage fighting a low race biped on land.”

Priam had already pondered this problem during the initial creation of Homo Elysian, and it was one of the reasons he had shelved Arnold’s genetic blueprint. Where humans fell under the umbrella of carbon-based lifeforms, the Var Elegis were built on silicon chains. That kind of biology was suited to sulfuric acid-heavy environments, only viable in hellscapes like Venus. On a water-covered planet like Earth, carbon had simply been the better pick for life.

“My goal is to evolve Homo Elysian vertically,” Priam explained. “By that, I mean a biology fine-tuned for my lifestyle. So no fins, no wings, no gills, no tentacles, no claws, no talons, or any extra appendages.”

“A boring biped, then,” Osiris summarized. “Still sticking with two arms? Four would be way more efficient.”

“Yeah? Try finding shirts that fit four arms.”

“You wear shirts?” Osiris blinked. “Seth said you’re a perv who just struts around naked.”

A vein twitched on Priam’s forehead. “I wear boxers.”

Osiris's eyes widened comically as he waited for a follow-up that never came. The judgment in the kid’s eyes was so loud, Priam steered the convo back on course.

“Look, I’m not an idiot. The Tutorial wasn’t that long ago, and already I’ve changed. My pupils are shrouded in mist, my hair flares up like fire when I get bloodthirsty, and my anger messes with people’s breathing. I can live with all that. What I can’t accept is not recognizing the guy in the mirror. If Priam Azura hits the Zenith, but it’s no longer me… what’s the point?”

That was one of his deepest fears.

“Looks are just skin-deep. What matters is right here,” Osiris said, tapping his chest.

“I agree, but my appearance is an anchor for my ego,” Priam admitted. “So here’s the line: if a human baby looks at me, I want them to recognize me as one of their own.”

Once he was sure Osiris understood what he wanted, Priam pulled a collection of genetic materials from his inner world.

“Ever since I evolved into a Homo Elysian, I’ve been gathering... racial samples. I figured that by studying them, I could cherry-pick the traits I wanted—build the ultimate Tier 3 race, tailored to my specs.”

Osiris raised an eyebrow as Priam opened the box. Inside were vials of blood, a fingernail, a few bones, and even a whole arm.

“I’m guessing these aren’t exactly ethically sourced?”

Priam cleared his throat. “Don’t ask too many questions.”

Osiris sifted through the morbid assortment until he found a note written in Priam’s under dictation from his add-on:

[Genetic Material Inventory for Racial Tier Advancement:

• Blood of Eleha Aelbes / Rohan Aelbes - Tier 2 Race. Racial Talents revolve around agility, and instinct.

• Left arm of Ophis Snahert - Tier 2 Race. Racial Talents revolve around sensory enhancement and poison affinity.

• Fingernail from Ève, the fae - Tier ? Race. Racial Talents unknown. Do not use to unlock [Memory Manipulation Resistance]; possible backdoor. Consider for ideal prerequisites instead?

• Blood of Taishi - Tier 1 Race. Racial Talent revolves around violence. Low priority; [Hoplite Warpath] already acquired.

• Femur of unidentified Valarythian warrior - Tier 3 Race. Retrieved from the Deluge’s core. Racial Talents unknown.

• Corrupted blood of Draashat’h, consort of the Drakes - Tier 3 Race. Racial talents unknown. Sample heavily tainted by Necromoon.

• Corrupted blood of Nemesis - Tier 2 Race. Dream Tribulation timeline. Likely optimized for me. Racial Talents revolve around adaptation and aether affinity. Mild Necromoon corruption.

• Cursed blood of Priam Azura - Sample harvested at the final moment of the Thirteenth Tribulation. Racial Talents corrupted. To use as a benchmark.]

Osiris stopped breathing. “Thirteen Tribulations?!”

Priam shrugged. “More like fourteen. That one was a double.”

*

You'll get the juicy Tribs summary next chap!
That was also the last chap in Oasis.