Prime System Champion [A Multi-System Apocalypse LitRPG]

The world was a frozen tableau, held in the grey, silent fist of my will. The wind itself seemed to have been arrested mid-howl. Eight warriors, eight pillars of defiant strength, were trapped in the amber of my Domain, their faces a gallery of shock, fury, and a dawning, terrible comprehension.

Freja was the epicenter of their resistance. I could feel her soul, a thing of storm and iron, straining against my authority. Her muscles trembled, the lightning in her spirit crackling uselessly against the absolute, conceptual truth I had imposed upon this patch of reality. Her magnificent axe, inches from its upward swing, was held as if by an invisible mountain. Her piercing blue eyes, wide with a horror that eclipsed mere fear, were locked on me.

"Never," she snarled, the single word a monumental effort, each letter costing her an immense expenditure of will. Her voice was a strained rasp, robbed of its commanding alto. "I would rather my soul be scoured from this world... than chained to a tyrant's will."

Behind her, the red-bearded berserker, Bjorn, was a volcano trying to erupt against a tectonic plate. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, and the faint crimson of his battle-aura pulsed, a dying heartbeat against the overwhelming grey of my Domain. They were incredible. Even in total paralysis, their spirits burned with a ferocity that demanded respect. They had survived out here not just because they were strong, but because their will was absolute.

"We aren't tyrants!" Anna's voice was sharp, cutting through the suffocating tension. She took a step forward, her hands held open in a gesture of peace. "We're trying to help you. Can't you see that? We could have killed you all before you even drew a breath. We didn't."

"Your 'help' looks like a collar," the dark-haired scout, Astrid, managed to hiss, her form flickering faintly. "We know the look of it."

"Please," Lucas said, his voice the calm, steady baritone of reason. He stood his ground, not advancing, a bulwark of earnest diplomacy. "This is a misunderstanding. We aren't your enemies. Just lower your weapons, let us talk, and we can sort this out."

"Talk?" Freja spat the word like poison. "The last man who asked us to 'talk' put a knife in my father's back and an Imperial flag over our hearth. We will die on our feet before we make that mistake again." Her glare was a physical force, a promise of unending hatred. "Do it, Imperial hog. Kill us. Give us an honorable end. We will not kneel."

The sheer, unbending pride was breathtaking. They truly believed this was it, a final, glorious stand against another wave of Imperial conquest. They were choosing death over what they perceived as subjugation. My team looked at me, a silent question in their eyes. For a moment, a flicker of that cold, predatory satisfaction from the throne room in Aethelgard surfaced.

I let out a slow, deliberate sigh. It wasn't one of weariness, but of theatrical patience. "I have no interest in your lives, your honor, or your knees, Freja," I said, my voice calm. "I have an interest in a productive conversation. But I will not have that conversation with an axe aimed at my sister's head."

I let the glowing soul-contract hover in the air before her, its golden script a stark contrast to the twilight grey of my Domain. "You cannot move. You cannot fight. You cannot win. Your choice to die is noted, but it is not currently on the menu."

My gaze swept over each of them, meeting their hateful, terrified eyes. "I am going to make a simple request. I want you to read the contract. That is all. Read it. If, after reading its terms, you still believe death is your best option... we can revisit the topic."

The absurdity of the situation, the sheer, confident logic of my demand in the face of their absolute helplessness, seemed to break something in their resistance. Freja's eyes flickered from my face to the shimmering text. The fury in her expression didn't lessen, but it was now joined by a sliver of confused uncertainty. What kind of conqueror negotiates with a contract before the slaughter?

I waited. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I could feel the frantic, desperate struggle in Freja's mind. To even read the words felt like a concession, a betrayal of her own defiance. But the alternative was to stand here, a helpless statue, until her will finally shattered.

Finally, with a barely perceptible, agonizingly slow dip of her chin, she conceded. Her eyes focused on the text. I felt the others do the same, their minds, the only things they could still command, latching onto the words.

[Covenant of Sealed Knowledge]

Preamble: This System-binding contract is entered into by the party known hereinafter as 'The Signatory' and the offering party. This covenant governs the protection of sensitive information, hereinafter referred to as 'Protected Knowledge.'

Clause 1: Definition of Protected Knowledge. 'Protected Knowledge' shall encompass any and all information — verbal, visual, telepathic, or otherwise — conveyed to the Signatory by the offering party or their associates following the ratification of this covenant. The specific nature of this information is to be revealed only after said ratification.

Clause 2: Conditions of Secrecy. The Signatory swears upon their soul-core to maintain absolute secrecy regarding all Protected Knowledge. This oath is eternal and binding across all planes of existence.

Clause 3: Protocol for Coercive Extraction. In the event that an external entity attempts to extract Protected Knowledge from the Signatory through coercive means (including but not limited to: magical, psychic, chemical, or physical duress), the Signatory's soul will automatically and irrevocably enact a full cognitive purge of all Protected Knowledge. The memories will cease to exist, leaving no trace of their passage. This process is absolute and will protect the Signatory from charges of perjury or broken oaths under any known System law.

Clause 4: Protocol for Volitional Dissemination. In the event that the Signatory makes a conscious and willing attempt to disseminate, reveal, or otherwise compromise any Protected Knowledge to any unauthorized third party, this covenant will immediately enact a painless dissolution of the Signatory's soul-core. This termination is instantaneous and merciful, leaving no remains.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Ratification: By accepting the terms herein, you, The Signatory, affirm your understanding and consent. This covenant is unbreakable.

I watched their faces as they processed it. The fury gave way to utter bewilderment. This wasn't a contract of servitude. It wasn't an oath of fealty. It was the most ruthless non-disclosure agreement they had ever heard of. It protected them from torture and guaranteed their silence with the ultimate penalty. It was the tool of a spymaster, not a warlord.

"What... is this?" Bjorn grunted, the question torn from him.

"This," I said calmly, "is the price of admission to a conversation that could save your people. Just accept it already."

Freja stared at the contract, then at me. The hatred was still there, but now it was laced with a desperate, pragmatic curiosity. She was a leader responsible for hundreds of lives. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford if there was even a sliver of a chance I was telling the truth.

"We... accept," she finally ground out, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

The moment the words left her lips, eight copies of the contract flared to life. With a thought of acceptance from each, the blue light of the System flared, searing the covenant onto their very souls, and then faded.

The oppressive weight of my Domain vanished.

The release was so sudden they all stumbled. Bjorn gasped for air as if he'd been held underwater. Astrid sank to one knee, her face pale. Freja stood her ground, her knuckles white on the haft of her axe, her chest heaving, but she made no move to attack. They were all looking at me now as something far more terrifying: an unknown. A monster operating by a set of rules they didn't understand.

"This field is too open," I said, turning my back on them in a deliberate show of confidence. "Follow me."

I led them a short distance away to a small, secluded grove of large greywood trees that offered some privacy.

"This will do," I said, stopping in the center of the clearing. I reached into my System storage — a vast, extradimensional space now, a personal warehouse I'd filled with a curated selection of the Cradle's finer things. With a simple act of will, a large, polished obsidian table and thirteen comfortable, high-backed chairs materialized from thin air with a soft thud.

They stared at the impossible furniture, then at me, their suspicion warring with awe.

"Please," I said, gesturing to the seats. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

Hesitantly, they took their seats. Freja sat directly across from me, her back ramrod straight, her hands resting on the table, inches from the axe she had leaned against her chair. The tension was a living thing, a coiled serpent on the table between us.

I let them stew in it for a moment before I began. "Let's start with what you think you know," I said, my voice low and even. "You think we're agents of the Kyorian Empire, sent here to bring you to heel. You are correct."

A flicker of bitter validation crossed Freja's face. "So you admit it."

"I admit to the mission, not the allegiance," I corrected her. "Adjutant Lyra Vayne, the head of Imperial Intelligence in this sector, gave us our orders personally. We were to infiltrate your settlement, gain your trust, and convince you 'by any means necessary' to accept the Governor's authority. The reward for success would be a seat at her table. A higher, more comfortable position within the cage she is building on this world."

I leaned forward, my gaze pinning each of them in turn. "She sent us because we are human. She assumed we would be a more palatable fist than an elite unit of hers like her loyal four-armed Groknar. She wants you subjugated or eliminated, and she wants it done quietly, without turning it into a martyr's cause that might unite the other settlements against her. We were to be her solution."

I let that sink in. I had just confirmed their worst fears, laid my mission bare.

"But Vayne made a mistake," I continued, my voice dropping. "She underestimated us. She thinks we are ambitious assets to be managed. She has no idea that we are building an army of our own, right under her nose. An alliance of free peoples, dedicated to one day throwing the Kyorian Empire off this world for good."

The shock on their faces was absolute. This was so far beyond what they had imagined that they struggled to process it.

"Bastion. Silverwood Reach," I listed. "We are not a large army, not yet. But we are growing. We are getting stronger. And we are looking for allies. For people with the will to fight. People like you."

Freja stared at me, her mind clearly racing, trying to find the lie, the angle. "Why?"

"Because I saw your strength," I said simply. "And because if we had refused Vayne's mission, she would have sent another team. The Vanguard, perhaps. A group with no conscience, who would have carried out her orders without question. They would have manufactured an atrocity, painted you as savage aggressors, and used your ashes as a justification to tighten the leash on everyone. I am here to prevent that. To control the damage."

I leaned back in my chair. "So now, you have a real choice. Not leave or die. Not kneel or perish. Option one: You can join us. Secretly. Become a hidden part of our growing alliance. We will help you, arm you, and when the time comes, we will fight beside you. Option two: You walk away. Your contract will ensure our secret is safe. But you must, for a time, cease all hostilities with the Empire. My team needs to return to Vayne and report a successful 'diplomatic resolution.' You need to play the part of a pacified tribe, long enough for the heat to die down. If you don't, she'll know we failed, and she will send the butchers."

A tense, heavy silence fell over the table. The Norenki looked at each other, their faces a mixture of turmoil, suspicion, and a dawning, unwelcome understanding.

"We cannot stop," Freja said finally, her voice strained. "It is not that simple. Your choice is no choice at all. Our raids on the Imperial mining caravans... they are not for sport, or for defiance. We lack resources. Our lands are harsh. The beasts here are too strong for our weaker hunters. We do not have enough food. We do not have enough medicine. The Empire's caravans are the only reason my people are not already starving."

It was a stark, brutal confession. Their aggression wasn't born of pride, but of sheer, desperate necessity. My Glimpse had shown me their strength, but not their struggle. This changed things.

I looked at Freja, at the hard lines of worry etched around her eyes, the burden of a leader trying to keep her people alive in a world that wanted them dead. A plan, audacious and risky, began to form in my mind.

"Your problem isn't a lack of will, it's a lack of infrastructure," I said, the pieces clicking into place. "You have warriors, but you don't have the foundation to support them." I paused, letting the statement hang in the air. "Take me to your Sanctum. We can continue this conversation there."

The reaction was instantaneous. Every one of them stiffened, their hands instinctively going to their weapons. Astrid's eyes widened in pure shock, while Bjorn let out a low, threatening growl. The existence of a Sanctum was probably the most closely guarded secret they possessed.

"How…" Freja whispered, her face pale. "How could you possibly know of the Hearth?"

"I know a few things," I replied, my voice quiet but absolute. "I know you are fighting a losing battle. And I know I can help you win it."

I stood up, the meeting concluded. "Take me to your Sanctum. Let me see what you're working with. I have a plan."

Freja stared at me, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief, fear, and the undeniable fact that her people were starving. I had her trapped, not by force of arms, but by offering the one thing she couldn't refuse: a flicker of genuine hope.

Her eyes, a mixture of terror, fury, and that desperate, traitorous flicker of hope, met mine. "...Fine," she bit out, the word tasting like a surrender. "Come."