Chương 369: Chapter 358: A History Lesson

"When are we getting there?" asked Osiris, his steps crunching over dead leaves.

"Soon," said Priam, eyes scanning the forest ahead. The path to the tribes wound through shady stretches of wilderness. Off to the right, he spotted a magpie between two leaves. It turned its head, revealing a crimson eye and a mangled wound. Necro-spy. Priam picked up a stone and infused it with just enough kinetic energy to snipe the abomination cleanly. Satisfied with his shot, he turned back toward the trail. Rose was talking.

"When I was little, I wanted to be a hairdresser."

"That's the people who cut hair, right?" Osiris wrinkled his nose as she nodded.

"You folks have weird jobs. On Duatia, we just cut our own."

"Back home, some would do that too."

"So why'd you want to do that for strangers?"

"One day I came home from school and saw my mom had shaved her head. She said her hairdresser had messed up. I could tell she was sad. Took me years to realize it was cancer. By that time, she was healed."

"What's that?"

"Cancer? Cells gone rogue. They multiply until they kill you—or something like that."

"That's—" The explosion of a tree cut him off. Shards of wood, some larger than basketballs, flew toward the two teens at lethal speeds. Before they had time to panic, Priam rode the mist and intercepted the projectiles. [Kinetic Sovereignty]. Like a paused movie, the splinters froze midair. Beyond them stood a half-rotted skulc. Tier 2. Flexing his skill, Priam amplified the wood shards' kinetic energy and reversed the vectors. The air howled as a thousand wooden daggers shattered the sound barrier.

The corrupted undead vanished in a burst of red mist, obliterated by the Juggernaut's riposte.

"Woah." Priam smiled at the awe in Rose's voice.

"Still sure you wanna come with us to the tribes?"

"With a protector like you?" She stuck out her tongue.

"I feel pretty safe." Osiris frowned.

"I could've handled it too…"

"Oh yeah? How?" He straightened.

"My Destroyer—""We can resume," Priam called to Kazuki, who had paused. The hoplite was acting as their snowplow, cutting down undead like weeds while Priam watched the flanks, and Jasmine the rear. In the center, Rose and Osiris formed one pair, with Louis and Blueberry the other. Sphinx had decided to stay behind at Oasis to watch over Moonie. The young wyrm had begun her metamorphosis a few days prior. As the artificial creation of the System, the Holy Guardian would emerge from her cocoon as a proper Tier 1.

"That's the fifth Tier 2 we've run into," Priam remarked.

"Keep this up, and they'll be a dime a dozen in a few weeks."

"More like a few months, but yeah," Osiris confirmed.

"You sound like you know your stuff. Seth clued you in?" The boy grimaced, then shrugged.

"Not really. According to my brother, necro-slaves grow by feeding off the crimson curse. It's some kind of link to the Necromoon. The wider the channel, the more that entity cultivates their soul and strengthens them."

"It gives them its power?"

"I think so."

"Doesn't that drain it in the long run?" Jasmine asked.

"I'm not sure a Tier 9 can run dry. At least, not just by juicing up a bunch of low and mid-Tiers."

"Makes sense," Priam muttered, thinking of the Grand Concepts ruling over an entire universe. Even if the Necromoon played in the junior leagues, it was still impressive. Osiris pushed aside a low-hanging branch to let Rose pass. When he let go, it slapped Blueberry in the knee. The bear growled.

"Sorry," the teen said quickly.

"Didn't think it'd hit you."

"You calling me fat?" rumbled the ursine. Osiris's eyes went wide. He shot a look at Priam, pleading for backup.

"He didn't call you fat. He said you've got a generous hitbox," Priam deadpanned. Blueberry narrowed his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Generous is a synonym for altruistic."

"That's not what he meant!" Priam chuckled while focusing on their surroundings. Three minutes later, Osiris slowed his pace to match Priam's.

"When are we getting there?"

"Soon."

"You said that five minutes ago," Osiris grumbled and jogged to catch up with Rose. Seeing Priam's lips twitch, Louis slowed down as well.

"All kids are like that. You were probably the same at his age."

"I was worse," Priam admitted. Thanks to his eidetic memory, he remembered asking the same questions on repeat during long car rides.

"No idea how my father stayed sane."

"Children teach us patience," the old man smiled.

"Mmh. Depends on the kid…"

"I've got no doubt you'd make a fine father."

"I hope so," Jasmine chimed in from behind them. She had a hand on her stomach.

"I'm already two months along…" Priam stumbled, caught off guard. Tyr Lögsögumad, Judge of the Aesir, stepped onto the cracked earth of a forgotten island. The air reeked of toxins—not enough to harm him, but pungent enough to wrinkle his nose. Turning his head, he noted poison pools and alien flora in garish colors—beauty that usually meant death. Under his feet, the ground trembled. Fissures split wider as a chimera slammed its fists into a Necro Envoy's corpse.

Despite the Tier 3 bedrock, each blow cracked stone like it was pottery.

"Kala, that's enough," ordered the Judge.

"It's already dead." His voice, laced with charisma and magical authority, snapped the nightmare beast from its frenzy. The nightmare beast—a fusion of four high-tier bloodlines—shrunk and shifted. As her monstrous form receded, it gave way to a gorgeous woman. With ebony skin and snow-white hair, she stood barefoot in the dirt, her nudity stark against the ruined landscape. Nothing survived her transformations—no garment could survive the wrath of the Beast.

"Ève," she murmured, eyes cast downward. A stranger might have assumed she was embarrassed by her nakedness, but Tyr knew better. Kala was always reserved. In the next breath, the memory of a simple white dress draped itself around her. Then came the third member of the trio: a hooded little girl, strolling into view like a breeze through smoke. She eyed the pulverized bone dust embedded in the rock—the only trace left of the Necro Envoy—and smiled.

"Tyr, our friend seems worn out. Perhaps we should make camp here tonight?"

"Fine." Picking up a bone lying at his feet, he tossed it into the maw of a plant that would soon digest it. When he turned back, the fae had summoned a large hut from memory. He stepped inside and sat on a log. The dwelling lacked comfort, but it was a copy of Kala's house before the Tutorial. The young woman found solace in that familiarity.

"... stand watch?" Kala whispered. Pre-Tutorial, Tyr wouldn't have heard her.

"No need. This island's so toxic, even the corrupted steer clear," the fae replied, humming as she began preparing dinner.

"We'll be safe here," Tyr confirmed. Kala nodded silently. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyr saw Ève pluck some local poisonous flora and toss them into a simmering pot.

"There's a Concept shard warping the environment," he said.

"I want it."

"Dinner's in thirty." Tyr stood and left the hut. The Wandering Islands were vast, most of them featuring overgrown forests with biomes ranging from tropical jungles to frozen taigas. Still, some broke the mold: volcanic islands, thunderstorm-ridden wastelands, floating metallic platforms, illusions made manifest… Still, the strangest were the islets warped by more esoteric powers, where space, time, emotions, or memories were twisted and unraveled.

Tyr's research had shown these anomalies stemmed from shards, physical echoes of Concepts. The same fragments that powered certain Tribulations or were capable of catalyzing revelations for those wielding cousin Concepts. The Judge had another use for them. After twenty minutes of searching, he found a violet shard buried at the bottom of a toxic lake. Pleased, he returned for a shower. After a silent meal, Tyr handed the shard to Ève.

"Can you take a look?"

"Mmh." The fae closed her eyes, channeling her power to peer into the shard's past.

"Little interference... So, it's the crystallization of a Tier 5 Concept—something like Natural Toxin or Organic Poison. The island beneath our feet is the remnant of its creator's inner world."

"It's small," Tyr noted.

"He'd just hit apotheosis." Ève let out a low whistle.

"Wasn't even a hundred yet."

"A genius?" Kala murmured.

"I don't think so." Ève frowned.

"Ah, I see it now. His Concept was perfect for poisoning those weaker than him. He used it to farm contribution points during the Faith War—leveled up fast." The locals called them Sun Points—better than most systems. In the Empire, only the Empress had known that era, and time had blurred the details, but rumors told that Graces had been available in limited numbers then. Many would sell their parents to Tier up without facing a High Tribulation, but Tyr knew the truth: such rewards were to be gifted.

Multiversal wars spilled enough blood to drown whole worlds. Whoever won such a prize wouldn't flinch at mere trials. Ève continued.

"When the armistice was signed between the Grand Concepts and the Tier 10 enemy…" she muttered a curse.

"The rest is hazy. I see the Empress of Knaya, some gods, and then nothing. Death caught him off guard."

"The Fracture," Tyr concluded.

"If his inner world became one of the Wandering Islands, then he died the day they were created."

"Probably," Ève said, handing back the small shard. What had once been the crystallized insight of a powerhouse was now just a pathetic Tier 2 Concept fragment. With time, even a Tier 5 creation withers. I need to aim higher. Tyr pocketed the shard and walked to his bedding.

"When do we reach the first fortress?"

"Two days," Kala whispered. As sleep crept in, the Judge's thoughts drifted to their current goal. According to army recruiters, fighting on the frontlines meant big opportunities. Beyond Sun Points, the Empire had introduced quest missions with rewards to attract mercenaries. Tyr hoped to bring tempering methods back to his people. Proxima was a death trap, and he wouldn't let them rot there. With Kala's alien Talent, failure was impossible.

Tyr couldn't understand how the Concepts or the System itself could allow such an unfair advantage, but since she was his friend, he wasn't about to complain. As for the young woman, she stayed close because the Judge was the only one capable of waking her when bloodlust took over. Then there was Ève… The fae was as dangerous as she was useful. For her, what better place than the frontlines and their horrors to grow? It was there that the darkest memories were born. And in her own words, Ève liked her meals fresh.

Next arc already complete on Patreon if you want to find out what happens next! https: //www. patreon. com/ANovelConcept