Chương 378: Chapter 350: The Architects of Trials

Thalion discovered, to his relief, that both his backpack and the scrolls inside were immune to seawater. That was a great find. To test it properly, he took out one of the very first scrolls he had bought from the system shop, the one about improving evolutions and submerged it. When it emerged unharmed, Thalion smiled. Knowing this, he had no reservations about bringing the backpack with all his belongings into the lagoon, alongside the shrunken crystal he had stolen from under the Leviathan's nose.

His progress had been staggering. The Tidecaller Serpent had now reached Ethereal rarity, a breakthrough that thrilled him. Once the great crystal was digested, Thalion was certain it would push him up by another rank, maybe even two. If he managed that, he would only need to nudge Eagly's power slightly to stand a chance of placing high in the system event. Realistically, now that he understood what chosen were capable of, such hopes were slim, but he would still try. That was his way.

The time had come to swallow the crystal itself. It was the size of a football, a monstrous chunk of concentrated power that he could barely fit down his throat without looking like a pregnant snake. With the Umbral Predator and the Crippled Eclipsari, he could consume far more than should be possible, without showing the slightest bulge in the belly. He could only pray the same was true for the Tidecaller Serpent; otherwise, his movements would be terribly hindered.

Dislocating his jaw felt alien and wrong, though he maintained full control of both halves as he slithered forward, nearly crawling over the crystal to devour it. Thankfully, his limited water manipulation helped him avoid inhaling gulps of seawater, which he despised. Nothing compared to the misery of surfacing from a deep dive, lungs burning for air, only for a wave to choke you with liters of saltwater forced through nose and mouth.

The moment he swallowed the crystal, it felt as though he had gulped down radioactive waste. Its aura pressed outward from inside him, mana streams burrowing like molten worms into his flesh. At first, the sensation was almost pleasant, a warmth similar to the smaller crystals. Then it turned savage, burning as if he had swallowed a boulder of molten rock. It took every shred of his self-control not to spit it back out.

In agony, Thalion bit down on his backpack, thrashing through the shallows as he tried to distract himself from the unbearable pressure. He forced himself further from the beach, away from where the elves would soon arrive. Hours dragged on, each moment more brutal than the last. He tried to regulate the absorption, taking in only small threads of mana at a time, but his body failed him. The power surged uncontrolled, stabbing through his veins.

By the half-day mark, the torment was so severe that he resolved to spit it out, only to find out that he could not. The crystal was lodged within him, immovable, its aura fused into the serpent's body. Even worse, he could not shift forms. The risk was too great. That left only one option. Endure. His tidecaller form overflowed with volatile power, threatening to rupture his frame. Desperate, Thalion burrowed into a reef hollow some fifty meters below the surface.

There, in relative stillness, he focused everything on keeping the serpent's body intact while the crystal's mana raged like a storm within him. This was not good. Not good at all. He prayed he could stabilize it before the system event began. <--- Strong silver winds tore across the beach where the human base had stood only days ago. The sand screamed in a storm, trees cracked and snapped, and the air itself seemed to howl in grief.

Liraeth stood at the center of the maelstrom, her passive aura whipping into a hurricane. Normally she was slow to anger, a calm commander, but this… this was unacceptable. She had sworn to her patron that the human would not escape, that she would catch him before the system event began. Now not only was he gone, but the entire base had vanished with him. Scouts scoured the jungle, their senses sharp as hounds, following every faint trail, but Liraeth held little hope.

Tomorrow the system event would begin, and she had no time left to waste. The human was a distraction she could not afford. The competition ahead would be brutal, filled with chosen of terrifying caliber. To place in the top ten, she would have to give everything she had. At least other matters progressed well. Her faction was steadily uniting with more elves, though no other chosen had yet joined. Still, if they failed to catch the human within the event, they might have to conquer this planet outright.

A daunting prospect given the sheer number of chosen and incursions infesting the world. She knew how dangerous those incursions could become if left unchecked. Closed early, they were little more than inconveniences. Left to fester, they could swell into horrors even she might struggle against. And with so many this time, it felt… unnatural. As though something was stirring behind the scenes. Information about rival chosen was scarce.

They knew that the chosen of Tenebrice, Aeta, and Solarian were here—each one a powerhouse, each one tied to a god with a vested interest in victory. Their powers could be guessed at, but bloodlines were the true danger. Rare mutations of lineage could elevate a chosen into something unstoppable. Her patron had once told her of a nightmare bloodline. A man whose gaze redirected every wound he received back at his attacker. By late A grade, he had grown eyes over his entire body.

It had taken divine intervention to erase him. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Liraeth shivered at the thought but forced her focus back. This was no time for fear. If anything, she felt excitement humming in her veins. She had never fought another chosen before. She longed to test herself, to measure the true depth of her power. She would not fail her goddess, not after the last tutorial, not after the promise she had made.

If she succeeded, her patron would be rewarded by the strongest elven god, and Liraeth herself would ascend with her. Until then, she had battles to win, humans to crush, and one man above all to capture. Perhaps if her scouts failed to track him, she could bait him with human slaves. The stories all claimed he spared them when given the choice. If so, they would become her weapon. She had no scruples about using them. The storm eased as she pulled her power back under control.

With one final glance at the deserted beach, she turned into the jungle. The system event loomed, and her hunt was far from over. <-- Across the multiverse, tension mounted as every participant prepared for the first system event. No second was wasted. Meanwhile, far beyond mortal reach, three gods stood within the void of system space, gathered around a colossal array. Maps of entire landscapes shimmered in the air, projected like visions across an infinite canvas.

These were not true gods but echoes of gods long dead, specters tasked with designing the events of the system. For them, time ran opposite to the mortals. Where the living scrambled in frantic hours, these specters had spent millennia refining the trials. Now they watched with the detached pride of architects unveiling their masterworks, boasting to one another about who had designed the superior challenge. The first was Ratgul, once a war god, his body shaped like a man but crowned with the head of a lion.

Six eyes gleamed above a mouth lined with shark-like teeth. His simple tunic contrasted with his stern, martial bearing, the demeanor of a general ready to flay his soldiers for the smallest error. He lived and died for battle, and in this shadow-existence he brought the same zeal to designing system events. The second was Lyrian, a starborn elf whose skin glimmered like the night sky, runes gliding faintly across his robes.

His hands remained clasped before his chest, every gesture calm, deliberate, tinged with superiority. He had ended his own life after concluding he had seen all the universe had to offer, only to be offered a new existence by the voice of the system itself. He had accepted, trading despair for eternity. The last was R-87, a rock elemental arranged into a hulking figure with a ridiculous stone mohawk. It had named itself after the eighty-seven rocks that had formed its body at birth.

Its life had ended in absurdity, distracted polishing its right foot while its favorite asteroid shattered. Before it could self-destruct, the system had intervened, giving it new purpose. Ever since, it was the most eccentric of the three, endlessly fascinated by the cultures of mortals, and its events were known for chaos, variety, and unpredictability.

"R-87, what do you think of this new integrated universe?" Ratgul began, just as he did at the start of every era.

"I assume you've designed yet another absurd event."

"Of course, of course!" R-87 chimed, rearranging its rocky face into a beaming smile.

"A completely new design this time. It will be amazing! Though once again, I've been placed in third position. The system never respects my genius."

"I imagine it's another mess, just like your last one," Ratgul replied dryly.

"The system knows what works. That's why my event is always first. Nothing is better than the hunt."

"Oh yes, your oh-so-special treasure hunt. Did you bury the chest a meter deeper this time?" R-87 mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You are wrong." Ratgul's tone hardened, though he kept his composure.

"This time I have built in unique twists. So unique, in fact, that the system raised the entry cost to fifteen hundred years." He delivered the words like a spear thrust, aimed to wound his rivals' pride. Lyrian's hands tightened slightly.

"Fifteen hundred? I thought the ceiling was five hundred." His curiosity broke his serenity.

"Apparently not. It must be my design and the rewards. Or perhaps something else looms on the horizon that the system has seen fit to prepare for. Either way, my event has never been so valued." Ratgul puffed with pride.

"Still, fifteen hundred years," Lyrian mused.

"That will eliminate most F grades and even many E grades. Only the confident and powerful will dare attempt it. The rest will burn centuries of life for nothing."

"Exactly!" R-87 laughed, stones clattering with mirth.

"It will be fun to watch the desperate tryhards claw at buried chests while the strong wait their turn." Lyrian smiled faintly.

"Then I am curious indeed. Let us see what your hunt has become and who will emerge victorious." Their debate ended, and the three specters turned their gaze upon the maps. Across the void, landscapes shimmered with the arrival of countless figures being teleported inside. The first system event had begun. Fifteen hundred years of life hung in the balance. Whoever entered would be fighting not just for glory, but survival.