Prime System Champion [A Multi-System Apocalypse LitRPG]

The sudden, sharp cries from the elven sentries — high, clear, like shattering crystal — echoed through my Glimpse. It was an urgent sound in the otherwise peaceful music of their treetop city. Seeing three nocked arrows, their leaf-shaped heads glinting with some inner light, aimed right at my visionary chest, sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through me.

Their fear was so strong you could almost touch it, a wave rolling off them. It was shocking, especially against all that serene beauty. This wasn't the reaction of trained warriors, confident and ready for anything. This was different. Startled, almost like they were superstitious and terrified, as if I was some boogeyman from their oldest myths, suddenly standing right in front of them.

My mind, already running fast thanks to the multiple enhancements, kicked into overdrive. My [Prime Axiom's Nullifying Veil] was up, a constant, subtle shimmer around me, carefully set. To anyone watching, I'd look like a reasonably strong Tier 2 — powerful enough not to be mistaken for a lost puppy, but hopefully not so strong they'd freak out and attack immediately. So what set off such a huge, way-over-the-top fearful reaction? Was it just that any outsider showing up was a shock, or was it something specific about me, even with the Veil on?

A few heartbeats later — though it felt like agonizing seconds dragging by — another figure came out from under the archway of blooming moonpetal flowers. The flowers themselves seemed to pull back a little, or maybe it was just the light shifting as he passed. This elf was clearly older. You could feel the weight of years and experience coming off him. His silver hair, fine as spun moonlight, was intricately braided with living, emerald-green vines. They looked like they were growing right out of his temples, their tiny leaves unfurling and closing with a subtle rhythm. His face, sharp-featured and noble, was like a map of ancient wisdom, with a deep, subtle sadness etched into the corners of his eyes and mouth. But he still moved with this smooth, natural grace that spoke of a vitality that hadn't faded.

He carried a staff of polished, living wood. The natural grain patterns swirled on its surface and glowed faintly with an inner light. The whole thing hummed with a barely contained power that made the air around it vibrate. His eyes, the color of old, sun-warmed amber, were wide, but he was forcing himself to look composed as they fixed on me, piercing and analytical. This had to be Elder Valerius, the one the sentry had yelled for.

"Outlander." Elder Valerius' voice was a low, resonant bass. Much calmer than his guards, but I could hear an undeniable tremor of deep worry just under the surface, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm. He held up a hand, his fingers long and slender, adorned with simple rings of woven grass and polished stone. The archers, though their knuckles were still white on their bowstrings and their eyes still flickered with leftover panic, lowered their bows just a tiny bit, a grudging nod to his authority.

"You stand before Sylvandell, a sanctuary of the Eldarin people," he went on, his tone measured, choosing each word carefully. "We are a peaceful enclave, seeking only to live in harmony with the Verdant Mother, the spirit of this ancient wood." His gaze, sharp and disturbingly perceptive, swept over my visionary form. It lingered for a long, crucial moment on the [Helm of the Shadowed Monarch] I wore. Its design — ebonized, monstrous bone, shaped to inspire primal fear — and the subtle aura of focused dread it naturally gave off, were probably making things worse for them. I could almost feel the waves of discomfort rolling off them as their eyes caught on it. "We have no quarrel with those who dwell beyond our borders. We ask only that you respect our sanctuary and depart in peace. What is your purpose here, garbed in the relics of shadow and bone?"

A wave of dawning, slightly embarrassed realization hit me. The Helm. Of course. My System interface had described its properties clearly: 'Evokes a sense of foreboding and intimidation in observers.' To these serene, nature-loving elves, whose whole lives seemed dedicated to light, life, and harmony, I must have looked like some demon of darkness, a creature of nightmare and rot, no matter what my projected Tier 2 aura said. That definitely explained their intense, almost physical fear. It wasn't just an unknown; it was an unknown actively radiating terror. My attempt to look non-threatening but capable had been completely ruined by my choice of headgear.

My visionary self moved slowly, deliberately, making sure every motion screamed 'not aggressive'. I reached up and unlatched the Helm. The ghost of its weight felt familiar in my grip. I tucked it under my arm, showing my normal human face. It was a gamble. Showing up as a plain human in a settlement of potentially xenophobic, isolationist elves might bring its own problems. Old Earth legends were full of tales of fey creatures who hated mortals. But the Helm was clearly a huge mistake, an accidental provocation.

A subtle, collective sigh, almost too quiet to hear, rippled through the elven guards. It wasn't exactly relief, more like the tension eased up a tiny bit, as if a really bad smell had been partly cleared from the air. Elder Valerius' amber eyes, which had been narrowed in suspicion, softened almost imperceptibly. The deep, ingrained caution was still there, a shield around his real thoughts, but the outright fear seemed to pull back, replaced by something else.

"A… a human?" he murmured. His voice lost some of its strained formality. Now it was tinged with a deep confusion and an even more intense curiosity. His eyes, no longer fixated on the Helm, scanned my face, my clothes, my stance, with an unnerving, meticulous thoroughness. I felt like I was under a magnifying glass. [True Sight] pulsed faintly, not giving me much on his capabilities, but confirming the strong, nature-aspected Essence flowing through him, deeply connected to the very forest around us. "It has been many ages, generations uncounted, since one of your kind has been seen so deep within the Whispering Woods, let alone at the Verdant Gate itself." He paused, his gaze flicking to Kaelen, a faint frown creasing his brow. "And one of such apparent capability, for someone of your nascent years. Your intent, human? Your need? Why have you sought out this secluded place?"

Before I could figure out what to say, trying to make our intrusion sound like harmless curiosity instead of a scouting mission for loot, Jeeves stepped forward. He'd been a silent, invisible shadow beside me until that exact moment. He moved with that unnerving, fluid grace of his, a motion that seemed to displace no air, make no sound, yet he was undeniably there. His very presence, even masked by his own carefully set layer of the [Prime Axiom's Nullifying Veil] — which, as I'd set it during our Sanctum prep, made him look like a non-threatening, almost unnoticeable Tier 1 attendant — was enough to make the elven guards stiffen up again. Their bows, which had dipped, twitched upwards slightly. Their eyes darted towards this new, unexpected factor. Jeeves, however, seemed unaware of their renewed tension, or maybe he just chose to ignore it. He offered a shallow, impeccably courteous bow from the waist, a gesture of refined respect that seemed almost out of place in this ancient forest. His silver eyes, normally glinting with dry wit when he talked to me, held a calm, neutral, almost serene expression as he addressed the Elder.

"Esteemed Elder Valerius," Jeeves' smooth, cultured baritone resonated with an almost hypnotic calm. His words were precise, his pronunciation flawless, each syllable perfectly clear. The sound of his voice alone seemed to soothe the agitated air. "My Master, Eren Kai, and I are but humble explorers, wayfarers navigating the altered cartography of this Great Confluence. We are recently arrived in this remarkably vibrant and aesthetically pleasing sector." His gaze swept briefly, appreciatively, over the blooming moonpetal archway. "We seek no conflict, nor do we entertain any desire to disturb the profound tranquility of your commendable sanctuary. Our purpose is merely one of peaceful observation, of furthering our understanding of the manifold wonders this new era has unveiled." He paused, his head tilting slightly as if choosing his next words very carefully. "We find ourselves unacquainted with the local geographies, the prevalent customs, and indeed, the more noteworthy phenomena unique to these lands. The tapestry of existence has been rewoven, and we are merely endeavoring to discern its new patterns." Another subtle pause. "Perhaps, if your people and their esteemed leadership are amenable, a mutually beneficial exchange of information might be possible? We possess certain resources, tangible and intangible, that might prove to be of interest. And knowledge, as you are undoubtedly aware, Elder, is a currency of its own, often more valuable than gold or steel."

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Elder Valerius studied Jeeves intently. His amber gaze lingered on my Anima's calm, almost supernaturally composed demeanor, and the sophisticated way he spoke, which seemed so out of sync with his projected status. I could almost see the gears turning in the Elder's mind; a Tier 1 attendant speaking with such articulate grace and confidence was… odd. There was a long, charged silence, broken only by the gentle sighing of the wind through the massive trees — a sound like the world itself breathing — and the distant, ethereal chiming I'd noticed earlier. The elven guards stayed poised, arrows still ready but not aimed directly, their initial fear slowly giving way to a wary, cautious curiosity. The Elder's gaze again flickered to Kaelen, who had remained a nearly invisible shimmer of obsidian shadow at my heels, his star-markings subtly pulsing. Valerius' nature-attuned senses probably registered Kaelen's presence more clearly than his sight could. Then his eyes returned to me, then finally, rested once more on Jeeves.

"Explorers," Valerius repeated slowly, tasting the word as if it were foreign, or maybe one loaded with forgotten history. "And you offer… trade? For knowledge?" His expression was still guarded, the lines of worry etched deep around his eyes, but the outright fear had mostly gone, replaced by a thoughtful, cautious contemplation. He was weighing risks against potential opportunities, the instinct for self-preservation fighting with the possible benefits of dealing with outsiders who, despite their initially alarming appearance, now presented themselves with civility. "Sylvandell has remained isolated for a very long time, human Eren. By choice, and by necessity. We are wary of the wider Confluence, of the cataclysmic changes it brings, and the shadows that too often follow in its wake." His eyes held mine for a moment, a silent question in them. "Yet, your directness in revealing your face, and the articulated civility of your companion… it is not what our oldest tales, our deepest forebodings, would have led us to expect from your kind, or indeed any Outlanders, should they venture into the Verdant Mother's embrace uninvited." He took a slow, deep breath. The scent of pine and damp earth seemed to fill my visionary senses. "We value our peace, our harmony, above all else. If your intentions are truly as stated, if you can assure us that no harm, no disruption, will come to Sylvandell or its people through your presence, and critically," his voice grew graver here, his gaze sharpening, "that no shadow of Imperial entanglements follows in your wake, then perhaps dialogue is not entirely unwelcome."

Jeeves inclined his head gracefully, his demeanor radiating sincerity. "Master Eren operates under a personal mandate of scrupulous neutrality regarding overarching political structures, Elder. And our interest in Imperial entanglements, as you so astutely term them, extends only so far as to meticulously avoid them. Their ambitions are not ours; their conflicts are not ours to inherit. We can offer you our solemn assurance: no hostility will be initiated by us, nor shall we respond with undue aggression unless provoked by a clear and present threat to our persons. Our presence is one of inquiry, not conquest. We seek only understanding, and perhaps, a mutually respectful exchange that benefits all parties."

Valerius stroked his silver-plaited beard, his amber eyes searching ours, weighing the sincerity in Jeeves' words, the quiet stillness of my own posture. Another long silence stretched, filled only by the forest's ancient breathing. My time in the Glimpse was rapidly running out; I could feel the edges of the vision beginning to fray, the vibrant colors dimming slightly, the sounds becoming less distinct, like a dream fading as you wake up. I needed his decision before the connection snapped.

Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries, the Elder gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Very well, human Eren Kai, and… companion Jeeves." He still sounded hesitant, the acceptance grudging, but it was acceptance. "The paths of fate are often strange and unexpected, weaving patterns beyond mortal or even Eldarin comprehension. Perhaps your arrival is not the ill omen some might perceive at first glance." He gestured with his staff towards the moonpetal wreathed gateway. The living wood of the arch seemed to shift slightly, the flowers pulsing with a soft, welcoming light. "You may enter Sylvandell, under the understanding of peaceful discourse and mutual respect. We will speak further within the sanctity of our village. But know this," his voice regained some of its earlier sternness, his eyes like chips of hard amber, "the Verdant Mother watches. Her spirit is this forest, and the guardians of this sanctuary are ever vigilant. Any transgression against our peace, any betrayal of this offered trust, will be met with the full measure of the forest's displeasure. And I assure you, its displeasure can be profound and lasting."

The warning was clear, no doubt about it, but so was the grudging acceptance. A path, however narrow and risky, had opened.

The [Glimpse of a Path] shattered — not violently, but like a soap bubble popping — plunging me back into the dusty, gritty reality of the Confluence Zone plains. The harsh, violet-tinged sunlight felt abrasive against my skin after the soft, filtered light of the elven forest. The air, thin and smelling of ozone and metallic dust, was a poor substitute for the rich, loamy fragrance of Sylvandell. The emerald light of the Rift still pulsed nearby, a steady, rhythmic heartbeat in the desolation. My own heart was still hammering from the unexpected intensity of the encounter, leftover adrenaline from the vision. My muscles felt tight, coiled.

These elves, Sylvandell; it was a completely different world from the brutal, straightforward fights in the Gauntlet dungeons or the transactional dealings at Confluence Nexus Delta-7. This felt… ancient, deeply connected to something fundamental, something pure. And in its own way, seriously dangerous because of how fragile it was and how fiercely its people would protect it.

Jeeves was watching me, his head tilted slightly, his silver eyes holding that unreadable expression that always made me wonder what calculations were running through his Anima-core. Kaelen whined softly, a low thrum in his chest, and nudged my hand with his cool, damp nose. His feathery antennae twitched as he sensed the lingering aftereffects of the intense vision. He always seemed more tuned into the Glimpse fallout than even Jeeves.

"Well," I said, letting out a slow, deliberate breath to steady my nerves. The transition always left me a bit disoriented. "That was unexpected. A lot more high-strung than I thought they'd be." I glanced towards the pulsing Rift. "They're cautious, extremely so, but it seems they're willing to talk, as long as we don't show up looking like messengers of doom and destruction." I glanced down at the [Helm of the Shadowed Monarch], now clutched in my hand. "Definitely leaving this piece of scary art behind for the real visit. It's good for scaring monsters, not so much for diplomacy with skittish nature-lovers. And showing my true Tier 3 self is out of the question; Tier 2 felt like the right balance of capable without setting off major alarms."

The information I'd gotten from those few precious minutes of visionary scouting was priceless. Their deep fear, their intense isolation, their cautious willingness to talk despite that fear, Elder Valerius' specific concern about "Imperial entanglements" — it all painted a picture of a community walking a knife's edge, desperate to keep their way of life safe in a universe that had become terrifyingly unpredictable. This was a unique opportunity, but one that needed a very careful touch.

"Jeeves," I said, my decision solidifying as the last echoes of the Glimpse faded. "Prepare our most non-threatening but clearly useful trade goods. We need items that say 'peaceful intent,' 'shared value,' not 'conquest' or 'crude wealth.' Some of those polished, naturally-formed mana-conductive gemstones from the Gauntlet's deeper levels — the ones that hum with elemental energies — they might like those. Maybe also a selection of the more exotic preserved fruits and viable seeds we've gathered from our explorations; things that mean growth and sustenance. Nothing that looks like weapons or stinks of System exploitation." My mind started listing the contents of our Sanctum's limited stores. "We want to project an image of sophisticated, resourceful travelers, not plunderers."

I looked at Kaelen, who was now sitting patiently, his intelligent eyes fixed on me. "Kaelen, you stay sharp, but act friendly. No bared fangs, no shadow tendrils unless absolutely necessary. Think… overgrown, slightly intimidating puppy. We're going in for real. And this time," I added, a grim smile touching my lips, "we try very, very hard not to look like anything more than curious, capable, and impeccably polite travelers seeking knowledge and maybe a bit of sanctuary."

The Emerald Rift pulsed, its vibrant light a stark contrast to the desolation around us. It was a doorway to a realm of forest beauty, ancient secrets, and wary, ancient guardians. It was time to step through, to see if peace, understanding, and maybe even a fragile alliance could actually be made in this chaotic, new universe. The potential rewards — a safe haven, unique resources, knowledge of this sector, and perhaps even allies who understood the Imperial threat — were too big to ignore. But the risks, if we messed up, were just as huge.