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

Gozmo watched the meat cook intently. Seven small sausages sizzled in butter, directly laid out in a pan. The divine aroma wafting from them made his nose twitch.

"Almost ready," he murmured, blindly reaching to his right to pull a plate closer. He didn’t dare look away, fearing the meal might burn. Under normal circumstances, that would have been unfortunate. Today, it would be catastrophic as the dollop of butter he had used might very well be the last in all of Proxima.

The Tutorial had whisked the Arkanians’ elite to this hostile planet, but while most of them were barely better than swine, no actual animals had made the journey. Gozmo was fairly certain that a minimum level of intelligence and self-awareness was required to qualify for the System’s Tutorial. Without dairy animals or factories to produce artificial protein and fats, producing butter had become an impossible dream. It was a prime example of the loss of abundance Arkanians had enjoyed all their lives. Only lunatics and enthusiasts were excited about the System’s existence.

“A catastrophe, if you ask me,” he growled, flipping his homemade sausages one last time.

Unlike butter, meat had a price—one Gozmo couldn’t afford. The surrounding forests teemed with game, but few soldiers had the patience or inclination to hunt. As a tailor, even one as skilled as he was, Gozmo lacked the funds to indulge in such luxuries.

That was why the last grams of butter in Proxima were now cooking rat meat. Somehow, those wretched rodents had found a way to infest an entirely new planet. Not that it had saved this one from ending up in his pan.

“Dinner is served!” the tailor declared with a grin, sliding his meal onto a plate. He stowed the utensils in the sink and wheeled his chair toward the wood stove. Electricity was expensive without power plants, and with no gas or fuel, wood remained the best option for heating and cooking.

Grabbing a plump sausage with his less-than-immaculate fingers—soap was another luxury these days—he brought it to his mouth and took a bite. The explosion of flavor nearly brought tears to his eyes. Even the stove’s flame seemed to flicker brighter. That second reaction wasn’t normal.

“What the—”

“Good evening,” said the infernal being, demanding his attention.

“... Are you real, or am I hallucinating?”

Priam blinked, caught off guard. Of all the questions he had expected after teleporting over ten thousand kilometers into a stranger’s living room, this wasn’t one of them. And at… what time was it? Three in the morning? A bit early for breakfast. Well, different cultures, different habits.

“I’m real,” Priam replied, his gaze sweeping the room. The apartment was undeniably luxurious—though it was clearly being squatted in. Dozens of flat-screen TVs, sculptures, and other pieces of art had been shoved into a corner, leaving space for the wood stove that had just erupted. Most of the doors were barricaded with overturned furniture. As for the windows…

“Where are the windows?”

The room had none, illuminated only by the dim, flickering glow of the fire. Every wall was a solid, oppressive black, swallowing what little light remained.

“The previous tenant was too powerful to risk having such vulnerabilities,” the Arkanian muttered between bites. Noticing Priam’s incredulous look, he elaborated: “I don’t want to die on an empty stomach.”

“First of all, you’re not going to die.” Priam grimaced as his [Identification] skill kicked in. “Assuming, of course, your rat sausages are fully cooked. Second, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Gozmo—his name according to the System—refocused on his plate as Jasmine answered the question.

“All resources in Arkana belong to someone,” she began.

“Belonged,” Priam corrected, stepping closer to the wall. His Domain probed its structure—solid metal, layered with cables running between thick, reinforced panels.

“In any case, the only way to gain more power was to take it from others. Naturally, that created enemies. Most of the wealthy dealt with an assassination attempt or two every year. Long before I was born, the aristocracy started projecting images of the outside world onto their walls instead of installing windows. A security measure. Nowadays, only the poor and Barons have real windows.”

“The ones we’re looking for. Aren’t they afraid of assassination?”

“Don’t forget, our racial Talent enhances instincts. Barons are Tier 3, which multiplies that effect. Taking them by surprise is nearly impossible.”

Priam knew the Talent well as he had incorporated it into his own race.

[MKX Flair - Gold] - MKX Arkanian's racial talent. Your animal instinct is highly developed.

“Instinct or not, death has a way of catching up with everyone,” Priam said darkly. He and Jasmine were here for a mission that demanded the death of one of the Baron.

“I bet that sounded really cool in your head, Mr. Juggernaut.”

“Fuck you.”

Priam smirked and drew Promesse. With a single thrust, he pierced the wall, creating a makeshift peephole to take in the cityscape.

Skyscrapers, vivid neon lights, giant billboards, and a familiar stench confirmed he had arrived in Arkana’s capital on Proxima.

“I’d almost forgotten pollution was a thing,” he murmured. In cyberpunk games, you didn’t smell anything. In reality, toxic fumes, smoke, and solid microparticles reeked.

“What are you going to do with me?” Gozmo asked, breaking Priam’s reverie.

“Well, [Identification] says you’re a tailor. I need a suit.”

A toga made of mist and flames wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“... I’m guessing I won’t get paid?”

Priam tilted his head. “I’ve got no money, but I do have high-quality meat. Trade?”

“Deal.”

Buildings so tall they blotted out the stars, and advertising screens creating enough visual and auditory pollution to make Times Square blush: the essence of an Arkanian city was easy to summarize. However, neither the Akira-style bikes nor the exotic street food distracted Priam from his discomfort.

“This is too tight!”

“It looks good on you,” Jasmine replied.

“I look like a penguin.”

“A sexy penguin,” she teased. “What is that?”

“A small flightless bird. Well, some fly, but who cares?” Priam replied unhelpfully before letting out a groan. “This shirt feels like it’s strangling me.” He raised a hand, and something cracked audibly in his back. “Cheap junk!”

“Maybe the seams weren’t designed to hold back a troll,” Jasmine shot back, her voice amused. “Stop fidgeting. We’ll draw attention.” Taking advantage of the green neon glow from the window of a nearby massage parlor, she adjusted the collar of his suit and dusted off the shoulders. “There. Better.”

“Easy for you to say. Your outfit actually looks good,” Priam grumbled.

“No, it highlights my figure. Not the same thing. It’s not exactly comfortable,” Jasmine replied, shifting in her black cocktail dress with its plunging neckline and open back. The term “plunging” was an understatement—the clothes showed her navel.

“Because of the stares?”

Just three minutes earlier, a man had walked straight into a lamppost, too busy ogling Jasmine to watch where he was going.

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“That doesn’t bother me. But if we get into a fight, this dress won’t last a second before a boob pops out.”

“That might distract the enemy.”

“And it’ll throw me off balance,” Jasmine countered. “I was the best shadow in my generation, but my peers weren’t weak, and some of my instructors were practically monsters.”

Just a hundred meters from the nightclub they were heading toward, Jasmine stopped abruptly and turned to face Priam. “I know Proxima feels like a joke. No one we’ve seen so far is anywhere near our level. But don’t get cocky—there are Tier 3s here. We’re not invincible. The wolves’ den is close, and I need you focused.”

“You think we could lose?” Priam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think I could die,” she said bluntly. “Some of my instructors have been manipulating shadows for a century. I only have one life, Priam. If they catch me off guard, it’s game over.”

The admission of weakness snapped Priam awake. The Champion had treated this mission as a casual stroll, a final walk in the park before his Tribulations. But this wasn’t a game. Jasmine wasn’t weak, and anyone who had trained her had to be highly competent. “Sorry.”

The young woman searched his eyes and must have been satisfied with what she saw because she nodded. Taking his hand, she guided it to her right hip and leaned in close, wrapping his arm around her. The two of them resumed walking, blending seamlessly with the other high-society couples heading to the club in the hours before dawn.

“I still don’t get why your guild’s entrance is in a nightclub.”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? A secret staircase in a dark alley?”

“A little,” Priam admitted. “Isn’t it supposed to be, I don’t know, hidden?”

“Arkana has a surveillance camera, webcam, or radar every ten meters, on average. If the same three hundred people went to a sketchy neighborhood every day for no apparent reason, it’d raise red flags. Police data analysts are paid to look the other way, but there are limits.”

“Whereas in a crowded place, it’s easier to blend in and have a legitimate reason to be there,” Priam said, starting to understand.

“Exactly. Plus, it makes interacting with clients, contacts, or targets much easier. Of course, I know a few more entrances, but the System only transported a small part of the city here. The others are… more heavily monitored.”

Priam nodded, plastering a cocky, idiotic grin on his face as they approached the bouncers. It was entirely unnecessary. Both men’s attention was glued to Jasmine’s ample cleavage.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” one of them said in Arkanean. Bald, sporting a gold tooth and cauliflower ears, he looked about as gentle as a starving pit bull.

“Hi, Momo. New hand?” Jasmine asked, gesturing at his entirely cybernetic right arm, which gleamed like something straight out of Terminator.

“Tutorial got me,” Momo grunted. “Annoying as hell since it doesn’t benefit from my status, but they say there are ways to get it recognized by the System.”

“I’ve seen someone pull it off,” Jasmine replied casually, though Priam suppressed a shudder at the thought of Arnold. “Did you screw up to end up as a bouncer here? You’re too cool for this gig.”

“Ah!” Momo laughed, a harsh bark of sound. “We’re short-staffed right now. You know how it is since—” He broke off, turning to Priam. “Who’s this guy?”

“A VIP,” Jasmine said with a sly wink.

Priam debated whether to smile or introduce himself before remembering he was impersonating an Arkanean noble. Accordingly, he looked down his nose at the bouncer, as if the man were worth less than dog shit—or whatever canine species was native to Arkana. At least dog shit didn’t waste his time.

“This place looks low-class, darling. Are you sure you want to go in?” he drawled, leaning hard on his six levels of [Acting].

Jasmine pressed her chest against his arm, playing the part of the enamored lover. “I promise it’ll be amazing. Sorry, Momo, we’ll catch up later.”

“I thought—” Momo hesitated before clearing his throat. “Whatever. Have a good night.”

“You too!” she replied, steering Priam toward the entrance.

A hallway, a coat check, and a set of double doors later, they were inside. Pink and blue neon lights flashed in chaotic rhythm, strobe lights pulsing in time with the bass-heavy music. The air reeked of something Priam couldn’t quite place, but the activation of his [Poison Body] skill told him it was some kind of potent drug.

“They knew you—” Priam tried to raise his voice over the music. “THEY KNEW YOU WELL.”

“WHAT?”

“They knew you well,” Priam repeated through their mental link.

“I used to bring men here often. Jealous?” Jasmine teased, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the crowd like an icebreaker. People moved aside as if by magic, and those who didn’t move fast enough earned sharp elbows that left them doubled over.

“It’s weird seeing you like this,” Priam admitted. “It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“You haven’t changed since the Tutorial?”

“...I have. A lot.”

“Same here. The Jasmine they know—that’s not me anymore. If it ever was.”

Priam looked at her silhouette and smiled. Whatever her past actions or values had been before the Tutorial, she had changed, and he trusted his friend.

A hand clamped down on his arm.

Priam tensed every muscle in his body, aligning himself for the strike. His legs rooted him firmly, giving his hips the torque to twist a quarter turn, driving his torso toward the target. The uppercut that followed packed the kind of power that could decapitate an elephant—nearly a thousand points of strength delivering a blow of cataclysmic potential.

His fist stopped less than a millimeter from the chin of a young woman. While her flesh was spared, the displaced air sent her hair whipping wildly.

“A SOLDIER? I LOVE SOLDIERS! WANT ME TO POLISH YOUR SWORD?!” she shouted, laughing uproariously.

Priam’s gaze locked onto hers, and he saw nothing but void—courtesy of too much booze. Sweat beaded on her skin, plastering a few pink strands of hair to her face. One strap of her white dress hung loose, almost exposing a nipple. Above it, a realistic tattoo of a snake coiled around her collarbone gleamed faintly under the light. With his Domain, Priam detected no weapons—just three hidden piercings and an artificial liver.

What he had mistaken for an ambush turned out to be a young woman on the verge of alcohol poisoning.

I’ve really changed since the Tutorial… Elysium and the System have reshaped me, haven’t they?

With a universal nod of rejection, Priam withdrew his hand and moved on, trailing behind Jasmine and leaving the drunken stranger behind.

Five steps later, it was Jasmine’s turn to be accosted. The encounter was as brief as it was amusing. The assassin took the hand of her admirer, spun him in place four times like a dancer, and left him doubled over, heaving on all fours.

After three more similar encounters, they finally reached their first objective: the restroom. The noise level dropped instantly below the threshold of physical pain.

“Now I remember why I hated clubs,” Priam grumbled.

“Why’s that?” Jasmine asked, leading him into the women’s section.

Priam shot an apologetic glance at the dozen women waiting in line or reapplying makeup.

“The loud music gave me temporary tinnitus, the drinks were overpriced, the dance floor was always packed, and drunk idiots kept hitting on my exes right in front of me. Plus the impossibility of having a conversation…”

Jasmine chuckled softly. “I get it, but I like that you can’t talk in clubs. No lies, just deep eye contact and body language. It’s like foreplay.”

“You know you can talk during sex, right?”

“Never tried,” Jasmine said with a sly grin. Before Priam could ask what she meant, she knocked on the door of the last stall.

“What’s your deal?” a voice called out.

“Move, or I’ll kick the door down,” Jasmine replied.

Before Priam could determine if it was a threat or a password, the door opened, and a young woman stepped out. A book in her hands, she stared at Jasmine, and widened her eyes.

“Oh. I… It’s an honor!”

The assassin raised an eyebrow before shoving Priam into the stall and shutting the door behind them.

“Stay sharp. We’re stepping into hostile territory.”

“…This is the secret entrance to your guild?”

“What were you expecting?”

“Something that doesn’t reek of piss.” Priam surveyed the space, trying to spot the entrance. Two walls made of material blacker than night, a wooden door, the thin partition to the neighboring stall, and a toilet. Priam eyed the last one darkly. “Don’t tell me we’re going through the pipes.”

Jasmine shot him a look of pure disdain. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Priam shrugged. He had never been convinced by that scene in Harry Potter either.

The young woman pressed her hand against the only blank wall in the stall, closing her eyes. A second later, the obsidian surface parted like a curtain, revealing a hidden corridor. “Shadow wall.”

Priam let out a low whistle as he stepped through. Before Jasmine activated her Concept, neither his perception nor his Domain detected anything unusual. Clearly, the Guild of Shadows hadn’t survived for centuries by cutting corners.

The entrance sealed behind them, and a long hallway stretched ahead, its end lost in darkness. A few LEDs on the walls cast long shadows. The best assassins used them to move swiftly.

Deploying his mist, Priam waited for Jasmine to lead the way.

“From now on, no talking unless I say so. [Ciphered Record] will cloak your shadow and mask your lack of affinity with our Concept, but we can’t be too careful.”

“Lead the way. What’s the next move?”

The main objective was simple: locate the leader of the Arkanians, kill them to complete a quest, and secure one last reward before the Tribulations.

At least, that’s what he had told Jasmine. Priam had his own side quest to help his friend, which was unrelated to the System.

“At the end of this corridor is the reception desk. We ask the secretary which Baron currently heads the council and where to find them.” Thanks to the oligarchic-aristocratic system of Arkana, their leader wasn’t as obvious as with humanity or the Empyreans. Every six months, one of the Barons was elected president of the Council—essentially the ruler of Arkana—and presided over meetings. Their address was, of course, a well-guarded secret, but sensitive intel like that was exactly what an assassin’s guild specialized in. “Then, we leave, you take them out to earn the System’s quest reward, and I assassinate their successor.”

“Works for me.”

Quest: Proxima - Domination

A territorial war pits humans, Arkanians, and Empyreans against each other.

Eliminate a crowned enemy leader.

Reward: Teleportation of one million humans to Proxima.

Reward (last hit): A̶c̶q̶u̶i̶s̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶a̶r̶g̶e̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶r̶a̶c̶i̶a̶l̶ ̶T̶a̶l̶e̶n̶t̶(̶s̶)̶. Understanding of associated Talent (Homo Elysian Predation).

Difficulty: Mythic

One million more humans… Maybe I should’ve warned Prometheus.

Next arc already complete on Patreon if you want to find out what happens next!

/ANovelConcept