The notification pulsed in the periphery of my vision, a steady, rhythmic throb of gold that felt less like a message and more like a targeted strike.
[Sponsorship Offer: The Patriarch of House Vorr]
I stared at the glowing text, the opulent starlight-marble of the ballroom fading into the background. The music, the clinking of goblets, the terrified or elated chatter of the other Aspirants — it all became white noise.
House Vorr. The Kyorians. The very empire whose vanguard fleet had nearly turned our survival into an apocalyptic battery, and the same empire currently bleeding out in a civil war I had manufactured by framing House Lyras.
"Eren?" Crys projected, her mental tone instantly shifting from amused boredom to razor-sharp concern. "Your internal pressure just spiked. Is the proxy failing?"
"The proxy is perfect," I projected back, keeping my physical body entirely still within its Veiled subspace. "I just received a sponsorship bid from the Patriarch of House Vorr."
Crys went very still, her faceted crystalline surface dimming into a cold, hard obsidian.
"The Kyorians?" Crys hissed into the Void-link. "The ones who nearly enslaved your planet? Why are they bidding on you? Did they find out…?"
"I don't think they know who I am. Because the Viceroy's system keeps the Aspirants strictly anonymous to the galleons to prevent pre-auction tampering," I replied, the realization cold and absolute. "Millimos Vorr fled Ferra before I revealed the full extent of my capabilities, and his 'Fate' pendant only warned him of localized death, not my identity. Also, I'm currently wearing a dummy signature constructed from pure System-approved mana, masking my Origin skill entirely, so even data taken from their deceased intelligence officer shouldn't match."
I looked at the golden ping still hovering in my interface.
"To the Patriarch, I'm hopefully just 'another potential recruit' — a highly competent gravity mage from an unnamed sector who just casually bypassed a Peak Tier 7 Demon Lord's Mythic Authority."
"Are you going to decline it?" Crys asked, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she scanned the floating galleons above the dome, searching for the Kyorian crest. "If you accept a meeting, you risk him piercing the veil of your proxy. He is a Patriarch of a Founding House. He will be very powerful."
"He's probably a Tier 10 Ascendant, at the minimum," I guessed, the [Void Star] turning slowly in my chest. "The [Symphony] is holding against the Viceroy's ambient scans, but a direct, focused interrogation from the Patriarch… it is a risk…"
I looked at the notification again. It was a massive gamble.
"But it's also a direct line to the man commanding the fleet that still holds the geographical deed to Ferra," I continued, my mind racing through the tactical implications. "If I want to dismantle them before the System drops the planetary Veils, I need to know his current disposition. Is he desperate? Is the civil war with Lyras bleeding him dry? I need intelligence, and he just offered me a private interview. We have been focused on the upcoming Crucible but a quick detour for more information on the Kyorians can't hurt."
"It could just be an elaborate trap, Eren. He could have methods to lock you in that room the second you materialize," Crys warned, her form vibrating with tension.
"It could. But it's also too big of an opportunity," I replied, tapping the holographic accept button on the Vorr notification. "Don't worry, I'll be right back. If my proxy shatters, I'll quickly grab the pieces and then we can use the exit key Oram gave me to escape through the Void."
A teleportation ring materialized beneath my boots the moment I accepted. I didn't resist the pull. The starlight ballroom vanished, replaced instantly by the interior of one of the massive spectator galleons hovering outside the arena dome.
The room was a masterclass in aggressive, militaristic opulence. The walls were lined with the massive skulls of Void-Leviathans, their bone structure reinforced with shimmering golden mana. The floor was a single, flawless sheet of polished onyx, reflecting the cold light of the nebulas outside.
Standing at the far end of the room, looking out an immense viewport that oversaw the ballroom below, was the Patriarch.
He didn't look like the panicked, fleeing Millimos I had faced down on the Spire. He was a mountain of a man, clad in armor that seemed forged from condensed sunlight and raw authority. His aura was an oppressive, physical weight — a dense, golden gravity that sought to force anything in its presence to its knees simply by existing.
I kept my proxy standing straight, anchoring it firmly to the floor using my own [Apex Mana Authority] carefully disguised as standard Tier 7 spatial resistance.
"Aspirant," the Patriarch spoke without turning. His voice was a deep, resonant rumble that shook the onyx floor. "A solid performance against the Cinder Throne's creation. Efficient and Unflinching. You did not waste energy on grandstanding."
"I usually prefer not to," I replied, my proxy's voice maintaining a flat tone.
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The Patriarch finally turned. His eyes were pools of molten gold, completely lacking pupils. He stared directly at my proxy. I felt the familiar, heavy scrape of a conceptual scan drag aggressively across the exterior of my dummy.
It was significantly sharper than the Viceroy's ambient sweep.
I held my breath inside the Void. I commanded the [Symphony of the Animus Arch] to output the exact frequency of a standard, talented cultivator — a perfect, hollow reflection of the fake contract I had signed, helped massively by the Prime System's assistance.
The Patriarch's golden eyes narrowed slightly, his aura pressing down like a physical hand, probing the edges of the construct. Then, the intense pressure slowly receded. The illusion held. To a Tier 10, I was exactly what I claimed to be: a promising tool.
"You lack a patron, Aspirant," the Patriarch stated, walking slowly toward a massive obsidian desk. "You fight like a man who has learned his lessons in the mud, not in a velvet training hall. I respect that. House Vorr was built on the backs of those who understood the necessity of violence."
"I've survived," I offered neutrally.
"Survival is a base instinct," the Patriarch dismissed with a wave of his massive hand. "I offer purpose. And a name. What do you call yourself?"
I didn't miss a beat. "Krom," I lied smoothly, quickly remembering one of the backstories I memorized to use should the Patriarch decide to dig further.
"Krom," the Patriarch tested the name. "House Vorr is... expanding its interests. We require a specialized force. I am forming a new Vanguard. An elite cadre of Ascendant-bound knights reporting directly to me, bypassing the traditional House hierarchy. We have big plans, and I need a loyal, powerful force of elites that will help us further advance our goals. The boons of such a service, of course, will be unimaginable."
He was being incredibly careful not to mention the civil war currently gutting his empire. He was framing his desperation as an 'expansion'.
"I need cultivators who understand raw spatial control and unwavering execution," he continued, leaning his massive hands on the desk. "I need a wall that will not break when the Core Sectors push back. Even the guaranteed, sign-on compensation will be... beyond your comprehension. Planetary fiefdoms. Ascendant-tier cultivation resources. Absolute impunity. Not to mention the rights to a respectable bounty percentage of every conquest you take part of."
He projected a holographic contract onto the desk. It wasn't like the Binding Will of the Viceroy; it was a private mercenary contract, promising astronomical wealth in exchange for temporary absolute obedience of ten years with additional clauses for 'optional' renewal.
"Pledge your blade to House Vorr, Krom," he demanded, the golden gravity of his aura flaring in a display of pure dominance. "And I will ensure your Ascendancy is paved in the blood of our enemies."
I kept my expression blank, but internally, the [Void Emperor's Omnipresence] was actively engaged. I wasn't just listening; I was mapping him.
Underneath the overwhelming golden aura, I saw the frayed edges of his foundation. His Tier 10 core was vast, but it pulsed with an erratic, frantic rhythm. He was expending an immense amount of conceptual energy just to maintain his position in this galleon, projecting absolute strength. He was desperate for loyal, powerful bodies, and I was really hoping it was to plug the holes in his sinking ship and not that he was being honest and truly seeking troops for expansion.
"The offer is generous, Patriarch," I said, bowing my proxy's head slightly. "However, I must evaluate all prospects before the final trials conclude. A blade pledged too quickly often snaps."
The Patriarch's eyes flashed with deep irritation, but he nodded slowly. He didn't have the leverage to force a Mythic Aspirant here; the Viceroy's Laws protected us from direct coercion during the event.
"Do not weigh the ledger for too long, Krom," the Patriarch warned, dismissing the contract with a flick of his wrist. "House Vorr rewards loyalty, but we do not appreciate hesitation. An invite can quickly expire."
The teleportation ring flared again, returning me abruptly to the starlight ballroom.
"Well?" Crys demanded instantly through the link.
"He's scared," I reported, the sheer satisfaction forming a cold knot in my chest. "He's trying to recruit a private army, most likely because his own House forces are bogged down fighting Lyras. He doesn't know it's me. This could be a perfect opportunity to send a clone in. If he is bleeding, and he's looking for bandages, I am hoping the security measures will be rushed or even completely ignored. I just need to make sure the System's Echo assistance works outside the Mythic Five."
I spent the next few hours fielding a dozen more offers out of sheer tactical curiosity and to maintain the illusion of an unaligned newcomer. I met with a representative of a mercantile guild who tried to buy my loyalty with exclusive mining rights in unstable sectors, and a bizarre, hive-mind entity from the Deep Spores who offered extensive biological augmentation in exchange for seventy years of service. I listened to all of them, playing the part of 'Krom' the mercenary, mapping their auras, their desperation, and their resources, slowly building a comprehensive geopolitical map of the localized empires vying for control.
As the sponsorship phase finally dwindled and the massive spectator galleons began to undock from the golden dome, their engines humming like dying stars, the Viceroy appeared one final time.
"THE MARKET OF MERIT IS CONCLUDED," the Adjudicator announced, his geometric form glowing with a final, blinding intensity that washed out the starlight of the ballroom. "YOU HAVE SECURED YOUR PATHS. YOU HAVE BOUND YOUR SOULS TO THE HORIZON. BUT THE PRIME DEMANDS ONE FINAL TRIBUTE BEFORE YOUR DISMISSAL."
The starlight ballroom shuddered violently. The massive mountain-sized archways holding the trapped nebulas began to spin, the localized galaxies within them accelerating into violent, chaotic vortexes of raw cosmic energy.
"A REWARD FOR YOUR SURVIVAL, DIRECTLY FROM THE ARCHITECTS," the Viceroy proclaimed, his tone sounding genuinely annoyed that he had to facilitate this specific part of the event. It clearly wasn't his rule. "A PERSONALIZED CRUCIBLE. A CONCEALED DUNGEON, TAILORED EXPLICITLY TO YOUR UNIQUE RESONANCE."
A series of swirling, deep-blue portals materialized in front of each of the thirty-two survivors. The portals completely lacked the Viceroy's oppressive aura signature; they radiated the pure, impartial, cold blue of the Prime System itself. I checked it thoroughly using my [Omnipresence] and found no traces of any external interference, and couldn't hide my grin after a notification confirmed that this is truly the Prime and not some elaborate trap.
"STEP THROUGH, ASPIRANTS," the Judge commanded. "CLAIM YOUR FINAL BOON, AND PREPARE FOR YOUR ASCENSION."
I stared at the portal. The last time the System had offered me a "personalized" challenge, I had walked away with Gluttony, my sentient, toxic-filtering Curse bracelet, and the ticket to the Zenith that had opened the flood gates of Essence accumulation and relaxation.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped the proxy-dummy seamlessly back into my Void-storage, completely masking my signature as I stepped fully into the material plane, wrapped tightly in my [Nullifying Veil].
"See you on the other side," I projected to Crys, feeling a genuine thrill of anticipation.
I stepped into the blue light, eager to see exactly what kind of nightmare the Prime System believed I deserved this time.