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

Chapter 308: The End of Innocence

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: OFF. Reloaded in 8 hours 43 minutes 18 seconds.

“NO!”

Priam slammed into the sand at Mach 5, the impact shaking the beach like a minor earthquake. Flashing out of the crater, he backhanded a punk who had a chainsaw grafted in place of his forearm. The Arkanian’s body detonated under the force of the blow, shards of bone and brain matter scattering across the beach.

Ignoring the geyser of blood, Priam dropped to one knee beside a decapitated corpse. Gently, he lifted the severed head lying nearby, studying the lifeless features of a young man roughly his own age.

Dark brown hair, green eyes, lightly tanned skin, the dead man could have been his brother. Priam froze, staring into the face of death. Terrible memories assaulted him. Back in Time, the Reunion, and the Tutorial. Violence, blood, and screams filled his mind. He had grown desensitized to his own death but not that of others.

Plop, plop, plop…

Priam looked down. Red liquid flowed from the severed neck, tracing down his forearms, pooling at his elbows before dripping onto the thirsty sand. This was the lifeblood of someone who had dreamed, hoped, and loved. In the grimace of horror etched onto the face before him, Priam read a reproach. If you had been faster, I wouldn’t be dead.

The young Champion gently laid the head back where he had found it, then wiped the innocent blood from his hands. Rising, he turned toward the battlefield. A chilling silence blanketed the combatants, his explosive entrance having stunned everyone.

“C-Can you save us?” asked a young woman.

As a sniper adjusted his aim, Priam roared, unleashing the full weight of his charisma and Conquest Aura. The air itself seemed to buckle, and most of his enemies dropped to their knees, crushed under the oppressive force of his presence. Refusing to sully Promesse with impure blood, Priam surged forward unarmed.

A brutal acceleration brought him to the enemy front line. His first punch shattered an Arkanian’s ribcage, reducing bones, lung, and heart to pulp. Before life had even left the man’s eyes, Priam was already moving. Four meters further, his elbow obliterated a machete, a cheekbone, and the brain behind it in a single motion.

Drawing on Micro’s control, Priam weaved through his allies, delivering death to every Arkanian in his path. Jabs, uppercuts, and kicks moved too fast for the Tier 0s to track, and no flesh could withstand the force of his blows.

A shield blocked his view. Priam struck, deforming the metal with a single blow. The warrior behind the shield grunted but remained standing as runes absorbed much of the impact. Humanity was losing because their equipment was inferior.

Furious, Priam dropped low and swept the legs from beneath his opponent. His tibias smashed through steel boots and flesh alike. Pushing off the ground with his hands, the Champion sprang up, ripped the shield from his dying opponent's hands, and hurled it like a frisbee. The makeshift weapon decapitated five Arkanian fighters before embedding itself in a cyberpunk-styled tank.

Raising his left foot, Priam brought it down on the shield-bearer’s skull. The sensation of brain matter oozing between his toes made him want to vomit.

“Watch out.”

Jasmine’s warning rang out an instant before the tank’s cannon glowed orange. Priam summoned his wings and overclocked his legs, launching himself out of harm’s way as the cannon fired. A glowing projectile shot past, scorching the air.

Summoning a sphere of ice in his hand, Priam hurled it into the tank’s barrel. When the weapon fired again, its cannon ruptured. Despite this, the tank remained a threat.

Flashing directly onto its hull, Priam plunged his Conquest Aura-shrouded hands into the armor. Against his overwhelming force and the silvery halo, the steel parted like water, and his arms disappeared up to his shoulders.

Feeling air through his fingertips, Priam summoned Pyro, igniting a fireball inside the cockpit. Pressure built instantly, and he rode his mist as the tank detonated.

Cheers erupted from the human defenders. With Humanity’s Spear, they found hope once more.

Priam reappeared in front of a young Arkanian woman. The ferocity of her facial tattoos clashed with the fear in her eyes. He hesitated for a heartbeat, and a shadow blade slit her throat before he could act.

“Before you showed up, she was killing with just as much savagery as the others. I saw it,” Jasmine said coldly.

“You don’t have to fight them.”

“Because she’s an Arkanian? Screw that. I was born on the same planet as them, but I chose to be your Shadow.”

There was nothing more to say. Priam turned to his next target and executed him with a crushing headbutt. He had witnessed Arkanian cruelty firsthand. There would be no prisoners today.

The two Champions spread death without anyone able to stop them.

[Observation]

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[The Juggernaut - ?] - ?

Leopol dal Sallan’s hands trembled as he watched the slaughter through his binoculars. Three kilometers away, his forces were being annihilated. The comet from the horizon had turned out to be a monster—a living engine of destruction obliterating his subordinates and artillery with bare hands. Flames and shadows occasionally added to the carnage, crushing any resistance. The Tier 0s and 1s stood no chance.

“Young master, I recommend we retreat.”

Leopol turned to his bodyguard. “If I abandon my troops, my father will—”

“They’re already lost.”

Leopol turned back to the battlefield and grimaced. Of the thousand men and women he had brought, fewer than a third were still standing. In moments, none would remain, and nothing could change that. Unless...

“Gerald, could you stop him?”

“It’s not my role.”

“Your role is to protect me. If I draw his attention, he’ll come. Can you defeat him?”

Gerald’s expression turned thoughtful. The System restricted the movement of powerhouses, but his bodyguard had arrived on Proxima as a Tier 1. His recent, local ascension bypassed those rules—a trump card Arkana’s nobles sought to hide from Prometheus. If the Divine King learned of their existence, he’d take troublesome measures. But if every human dies, he won’t find out!

“Hard to say,” Gerald answered after considering. “His raw agility and strength match mine, but the deceleration during his arrival would have shattered my legs. His unarmed combat is crude, but his earlier roar worries me—it felt like a mental attack.”

“A fear spell?” Leopol shuddered, thinking about the primal roar. Had he been closer, he might have lost control of his bladder.

“Possible.”

“And his scorching fire? His evanescent shadow? He wields those Concepts masterfully.”

Gerald nodded. “Despite their qualities, they aren’t Tier 2; my Tenacity would shield me. What bothers me is his high resistance to observation. He had to possess a legendary item to block such scrutiny. I might be able to take him, but it would be hard to ensure your safety at the same time.”

Leopol clenched his fists, watching his last soldier fall. This expedition was a catastrophe. Would his father forgive him if he returned with the Champion’s head? Should he risk his life to avoid punishment?

A blinding flash erupted before a shockwave knocked him to the ground. As the dust cleared, Leopol’s breath caught. The slayer was only meters away.

Up close, the figure was imposing. Towering, muscled, and wreathed in flame, he seemed more force of nature than man as his misty eyes were judging Leopol. His wings shimmered with heat, lifting him just above the ground like a demigod refusing to dirty himself with the world.

Leopol wanted to swallow, but the Juggernaut's presence was so oppressive that he was paralyzed. His rage was palpable, suffocating the young noble.

The Juggernaut was power incarnate.

To Leopol's shame, he lost control of his bladder. Time resumed, and Gerald stepped between them. The sight of his protector reassured Leopol, but Gerald had taken several seconds to recover. Even the Tier 2’s experience hadn’t shielded him from the Juggernaut’s overwhelming aura.

The monster opened his mouth, and a cascade of incomprehensible sounds poured forth. Leopol grimaced. He had long since abandoned any hope of learning the language of these savages after discovering they spoke in thousands of conflicting dialects.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted when it became clear Gerald wouldn’t respond. You’re going to pay for this. I’ll tell Father!

“I’ll translate.” A feminine voice startled him, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “My boss says you look like an aristocrat. Is that true?”

“I… I am a dal Sallan,” Leopol stammered, swallowing hard.

“Ah, yes. Charls’ son, right?”

Leopol’s eyes widened in shock. No identification skill he knew of could pinpoint someone’s lineage. Is this some kind of setup? He began to sweat. Did my fiancée use the war as an excuse to get rid of me?

“You’ll do nicely.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“You’re going to contact your father and let him know the Champion of Humanity will be visiting your capital in a few hours.”

Leopol’s eyes widened as he grasped the weight of the statement. If she wasn’t lying, he was facing the Champion. “V-very well.” Images of his father screaming at him filled his mind, and he mustered enough courage to ask, “May I ask why?”

The Champion’s presence shifted, and Leopol nearly burst into tears. The woman’s voice erupted into laughter, musical but utterly devoid of comfort.

“Why else? To gather you all in one place, of course. It’ll be easier for Priam to annihilate your army if it’s all in one spot.”

It was the response of a madman. Had he not been so terrified, Leopol might have laughed. But this might be my chance. Despite the fear gripping him, Leopol felt a surge of hope. If Gerald could defeat the Champion of Humanity, the war would be won, and the dal Sallan family would reap many rewards.

The young noble had witnessed what Priam was capable of, but the Champion was still just Tier 0. With a two-Tier advantage, his bodyguard stood a real chance. Greed eclipsed fear as Leopol gave a signal. Somewhere deep in Gerald’s body, a hidden capsule shattered, flooding his system with a berserker elixir.

The air detonated.

Leopol was thrown like a ragdoll as the two warriors launched themselves at each other. In the blink of an eye, a hundred blows were exchanged—cut, uppercut, slash, kick. The earth quaked under their assaults, shockwaves ripping through the air. Both combatants had overclocked their bodies past their limits, elevating the clash to a Tier 3 level.

As abruptly as it had started, the fight ceased. Dust settled, revealing the outcome. Gerald’s blade had penetrated a few centimeters into the Juggernaut’s neck, while Priam’s hand rested lightly against his opponent’s chest.

Just as Leopol began to smile, he noticed his subordinate’s flushed face. Despite straining every muscle, the man stood frozen, completely paralyzed.

“History will remember him as a level in [Shear Resistance],” the feminine voice whispered in Leopol’s ear.

The Juggernaut brushed the blade aside, and his flesh began to knit itself together in seconds. He stepped forward, placed a hand on Gerald’s skull, and clenched.

Leopol nearly vomited as a drop of blood splattered into his right eye. He wiped it away with his hand before realizing he was now alone. The Champion had vanished, likely to rally his people.

“See you in a few hours.”

Leopol could have sworn his shadow just winked at him.