Chapter 50: Into the Lion's Den
Maya's eyes widened as she read the System's notification. Stunned by the news, she reacted a fraction of a second too late and Kenzo's saber stopped just a millimeter short of her eye. The warrior hadn't held back, Maya had simply prepared the ground. Multiple threads, all thinner than a hair, were blocking the saber blade. These wires were stretched across the duel zone, and Maya's opponent spent his time getting tangled up in them.
In the private training room, the two adversaries looked at each other for a moment. Without warning, Maya activated a skill and a storm of wires was unleashed. Hundreds of wires swirled around the swordsman. The eye of Maya's cyclone was the most dangerous place. Kenzo tried to defend himself, but the attack was omnidirectional.
A few light wounds began to appear as the swordsman's defensive style began to be overwhelmed. A second later, the warrior was immobilized: hundreds of razor-sharp wires held him at bay. One of the greatest Mercenary fighters had just been easily defeated.
Maya smiled and Kenzo returned her smile.
"End of training," Maya announced, fetching a towel to wipe off her sweat. A dozen fights stopped in the next few seconds and the Mercenaries left the sand arena.
Maya always insisted on selecting a sandy arena. Moving around in the sand was tiring, even more so when gravity artificially increased. In this new aether-filled world, physical exercise was never finished. The harder the training, the better the results and the greater the skills level up. Maya had already evolved [Athletics] and [Fitness] into rare skills thanks to her iron discipline and rigorous training.
"Still, it's not enough to catch up with that monster..." murmured Maya.
"Excuse me, Leader?" asked Kenzo.
"Nothing. I want everyone in the conference room in five minutes," declared Maya before heading for the showers.
"YES!"
Five minutes later, Maya entered the conference room. Twenty-three Mercenaries were present. All were fighters, even those in administrative positions. Humankind had around a hundred Mercenaries, but Maya only took the best with her. Only the elite team was currently absent, busy trying to defeat a Viscount. Maya was confident they would succeed before the end of the Meeting.
The Mercenary Leader walked around the central table and sat down. She took a second to organize her thoughts before speaking.
"I won't keep you long. You've all seen the global announcement. Priam, humanitys champion, has received a second Completion. This time, he survived after resisting the wrath of a god."
Maya marked a second of silence.
"In light of this news, a policy change is in order. The Mercenaries are neutral, but we are not pacifists. Quoting from the System, 'Priam Azura refused to obey the tyranny of a minor god.' Which means he was attacked first. The Cult of Viracocha - since that's them we're talking about - lost its right to neutrality. Paolo, what are our options?" Maya asked her assistant.
He stood up and pretended to read a file. Maya rolled her eyes. She knew her assistant knew its contents by heart.
"An attack on the Champion of Humanity is an attack on humanity. If the majority of this assembly agrees, we can order a Hunt."
Exclamations erupted as Paolo sat back. For two minutes, various Mercenaries shouted to be heard. The question wasn't whether they should remain neutral - they all admired Maya enough to join her.
The real question was whether they should start a Hunt: the total annihilation of the Cult. It meant actively invading Viracocha to execute Anatole and all allied factions - including the most important, the Revenants.
After two minutes of heated debate, Maya clapped her hands and the assembly fell silent.
"I think most of these questions are pointless," she said. "Priam is at direct war with the Revenants. They've practically merged with the Cult of Viracocha. At least Anatole is the leader of both factions. This war is the crucible in which Priam will be reforged. If he succeeds, we'll have an exceptional champion. If not, the Revenants will be weakened," said Maya. She swept her gaze over the assembly.
"In the meantime, let's focus on our objectives. We have no time to lose. If humanity survives this Reunion, later will come the Meeting of Civilizations. We must be ready."
The assistant opened his notebook. "Concerning the Revenants, our final position?"
"No Hunt," Maya decided. "But they are declared enemies of the Mercenaries and will be executed on sight. Any faction that collaborates with them will suffer the consequences."Ñ00v€l--ß1n hosted the premiere release of this chapter.
Anatole sighed as he read the notification. He grabbed a rag and methodically wiped his bloody hands. He could already hear the panicked footsteps of his henchmen in the corridor. They came closer and stopped in front of his door. Anatole sensed their fear. This feeling was a formidable tool for dominating the weak.
Revenants were weak. For Anatole, being afraid enough of death to accept a resurrection in exchange for a contract was a sign of weakness. The Grand Master of the Cultists was not scared of death. He had even committed suicide before the Tutorial. When the System offered him the chance to become a Revenant, he refused it. He then made another proposal to the System. He would destroy humanity and die. In exchange
Anatole chased away his useless thoughts as he observed his work. His thirty-seventh Chimera - or Abomination as the System identified them - would not be weak. Anatole smiled as he watched the spirits of a few Revenants writhing in pain as they were gradually fused into the monster's flesh. Their sacrifice, catalyzed by the Urn of the Depths, was the cement that solidified the Abomination.
For Anatole, their sacrifice was an honest ending for these perjurers. They had promised to fulfill their mission and had failed miserably. Some should have brought him Baron cores - indispensable ingredients for creating chimeras. Others had been tasked with stealing treasures from enemy factions. They failed. The price of it was terrible. Fortunately, Anatole would find a use for them if they failed to be useful to the cause.
In fact, some of them found an unsuspected usefulness. If Anatole had been a gambler, he'd have bet that his thirty-seventh creation would soon face Priam. In a way, it was his destiny. "I wonder if Priam will be happy to have you back Albin..." he murmured as he watched a face writhing in pain, melted into the Abomination's flesh.
Albin had disappointed him greatly. The Revenant had been so afraid of death that he'd sold important secrets to Priam. Anne, too, had been punished, but her talents could be useful in attracting an Earl. Albin, on the other hand, had been a disappointing subordinate as well as a traitor and a coward. Now he was paying the ultimate price, and his punishment would motivate the other Revenants to succeed.
The henchmen were still hesitating and Anatole unfolded his right index finger. The door opened and two officers entered then saluted. It was easier to manipulate men when they were conditioned. Anatole didn't claim credit for most of his ideas; he had freely drawn inspiration from the worst dictatorial regimes to control his faction.
Anatole stared at the two Revenants for a few seconds, and they began to tremble. The Grand Master winced inwardly. Fear was a useful tool, but it often broke the weak.
The officer on the right, trembling slightly less than his comrade, cleared his throat.
In addition, he had stolen some of the best objects currently in the possession of humanity. If he added to this the various treasures of the Revenants - which would soon be his own - he had a real chance of getting out alive.
Priam rose to his feet. The Tribulations were coming and he wanted to be ready.
The spiral staircase descended with torches fixed to the wall. Some footsteps sounds reached him in the distance. Priams bare feet made no sound on the carved steps. The coffin closed behind him.
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps faded and Priam cautiously descended the last few steps. At the bottom, he glanced around using a mirror borrowed from Sphinx's palace.
The staircase led to a twenty-square-meter room occupied by two guards. They looked more like assassins given leather armor, but the shortage of fighters forced even the most powerful factions to use any man-at-arms to protect themselves. The quality of their equipment also seemed to leave much to be desired, but their mere presence was problematic.
Priam wondered for a second. Should he try to penetrate the complex discreetly? Or should he kill all the Revenants to not give them a chance to sound the alarm?
Another question appeared in the back of his mind. Could he really massacre former men and women, resurrected by the System? There was a difference between killing Generals and leaders and slaughtering henchmen who couldn't defend themselves.
While Priam was still hesitating, he noticed a disturbing detail. The walls of the staircase leading downwards were covered with marks. Dozens of clear lines were carved into the soft rock at shoulder height. Suddenly, Priam understood.
These weren't sordid decorations. They were fingernail scratches. Not everyone who had descended those stairs had done so of their own free will, and some had resisted.
Priam gritted his teeth and gripped his spear. He had made up his mind.
Status: (Average value for a Homo sapiens male before integration: PHY 10 / MEN 10 / META 0)
PHYSICAL:
Strength 130
Constitution 197
Agility 146
Vitality 212
Perception 279
MENTAL:
Vivacity 168
Dexterity 153
Memory 38
Willpower 187
Charisma 135
META:
Meta-affinity 118
Meta-focus 85
Meta-endurance 61
Meta-perception 7
Meta-chance 114
Potential: 736
Tier 0
[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED.
[Tribulation]: Tribulations are coming.
Time: 24 hours 2 minutes 16 seconds.
