Fated to Die to the Player, I'll Live Freely with My SSS-Class Ship!-Chapter 108: The Weapon That Shouldn’t Exist

"That bastard Alkhein! Is he playing around? There’s a gap of over 30 seconds between him and fourth place!"

Inside a shadowy room lit only by the flicker of massive display screens showing the real-time broadcast of the Aegis Grand Prix, a group of old men had gathered. Though their ethnicities and appearances varied wildly, one distinct feature unified them all.

Every one of them wore a suit adorned with a golden apple emblem, complete with two small leaves sprouting from its stem—the unmistakable crest of the Eden Company.

"At this rate, not only will we lose our top four standing, we could suffer catastrophic losses!" one of them growled, anxiety sharpening his tone like a blade.

"That’s not even the worst part," another chimed in, shaking his head gravely. "Because of those Knights of Camel-something bastards, even the betting pools are in disarray! We’re going to lose trillions just on payout margins alone!"

Each man voiced his own complaints, but underneath all the frustration and finger-pointing lay one shared root cause—one ship, one name: the Knights of Camelot. And the one steering their chaos: Arthur Grail.

"Silence!"

At last, the one seated at the head of the long table barked with a growl of authority.

His voice, heavy with command, coupled with an icy glare, instantly muzzled the room. One by one, he looked over the gathered executives before exhaling a long, heavy sigh.

"Under these circumstances, we can no longer afford to be selective with our tactics. I’m initiating the Primula. Any objections?"

"T-The Primula?!"

"But if we get exposed—"

"This is far too reckless, but still...!"

Voices rose, clashing and overlapping, but none of them offered a firm rejection. Each man wavered, hesitant to either approve or condemn the decision. All seemed content to remain comfortably on the fence.

"...I’ll take that as consent."

With a subtle nod, the leader accepted their silence as agreement. None dared to refute him. And yet, a silent relief settled in their expressions—as if each one believed that this absolved them of responsibility when things inevitably went south.

Without hesitation, the man reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small device—some kind of remote with a vivid red button enclosed under a plastic shield.

Calmly, he flipped the protective cover and pressed his thumb down.

*BEEP!*

A single, sharp tone echoed in the dim room, signaling the command had been executed.

Now that the order was sent, there was nothing left to do but wait. His gaze drifted back to the screens, eyes gleaming as he sneered toward the racetrack.

"To restore the natural order… you must die."

His focus landed squarely on the leading vessel, the one darting around the track while subtly forcing time penalties on its competitors—the Hunter Frigate of the Knights of Camelot.

Inside that ship were Arthur, Eva, and Cassandra.

And now, they were in serious danger.

Far away, inside the Eden Company’s ship, a quiet shift occurred.

On the frontmost dashboard—the one linked to the AI control systems—a single red indicator began flashing violently. All five crewmembers turned to look. Each reacted differently: one scowled, another remained utterly emotionless, while the rest grinned maliciously.

"Those geezers... They actually did it!" cackled the pilot, Alkhein Thal’Brien, Eden’s official representative.

To him, the blinking light was not a warning, but a blessing—a green light to unleash chaos. It meant there were no longer any rules he had to follow.

The navigator and strategist, clearly of the same mind, grinned wide, as if this moment was what they’d been waiting for all along. With this, they could finally tip the scales and steal back the race.

The Systems Manager stared blankly, detached, his expression unreadable. Whether he approved or not was impossible to tell.

Then there was Nyssra, who watched the light with growing dread.

’This signal…’ she thought, brow furrowing. ’They’re going to deploy the Primula?!’

Nyssra wasn’t officially part of the racing crew. She was present only to assist—a political gesture, a support role. If any cheating were to be exposed, she could wash her hands of it.

But this was different. This was Primula.

The Primula—short for Photonic Rift-Injected Manifold Unit Laser Amplifier—was not a tool for racing. It was an End-Game Level, planetary-grade weapon. A system so powerful, Arthur himself would’ve killed to get his hands on it.

It was a weapon capable of piercing through spacetime itself. By creating pinpoint apertures in the very fabric of the universe, it allowed beams of concentrated light to travel across galaxies—instantly—without wasting massive amounts of energy.

TLDR, it fires a beam directly through space, bypassing normal physics, striking the target with zero lag. A one-shot, no-dodge, no-warning execution.

A weapon that, by birthright, fell under the domain of Nyssra’s family.

"..."

Her face tensed, her lips pressed into a tight line.

The activation of Primula meant only one thing—someone was going to die. Worse, its use could spark an intergalactic commotion, something that even Eden Company might not recover from.

And yet, as just one isolated princess, she had no power to stop it. All she could do was clench her fists and hope. Hope that somehow, this wouldn’t lead to a catastrophe.

Moments later, the dashboard updated, displaying the targeting queue for the weapon.

At the very top of the list was exactly who she expected—the current frontrunner. The first-place team by a long shot.

"Knights of Camelot…"

Nyssra shut her eyes, her heart heavy with helplessness. She couldn’t do anything now but offer a silent prayer—that whoever was inside that ship would pass on in peace.

Because once Primula was fired, survival wasn’t on the table.

---

"Hmm?"

Just as we crossed the finish line, marking the completion of the 48th lap, I noticed something off about Cassandra. Her face had begun to pale, subtle but unmistakable signs that she was nearing her limit.

’Should we take another short break?’

Just as the thought entered my mind, Cassandra seemed to pick up on it, as though reading my mind. She spoke aloud—not to us, but to herself. Her voice trembled slightly, yet it was filled with fierce resolve.

"I... can still go on! We’ll finish these last two laps just like this!"

It was clear she was forcing herself. But despite the obvious fatigue, Eva didn’t question her. Not even once. As though she truly believed Cassandra would do exactly as she said.

I frowned but stepped back. "Alright then. Show me what you’ve got!"

"Yes...!"

She pressed on at the same pace, each lap averaging around five minutes. Her control was remarkably stable—no errors, no stutters. Even while exhausted, she flew with flawless precision.

Watching her felt like looking into a mirror, back when I used to pilot the Hunter Frigate in TSO, going toe-to-toe with pirates for hours at a time.

’Those were good times, really...’

Just as I was lost in the memory, a chill ran down my spine.

Something wasn’t right.

A strange, suffocating sensation washed over me—like we were being watched from a distance far beyond the visible sky. It was cold, creeping, and carried with it the undeniable scent of death.

Without thinking, I acted.

My fingers moved on instinct, darting across the control panel to activate all six shield generators simultaneously. I reconfigured them to converge their defense directly over the cockpit.

A heartbeat later, something happened.

*CRASSSSH!*

A tremendous impact struck the shields. Sparks exploded outward.

"W-What was that?!" Eva cried, a tinge of panic in her voice.

Even Cassandra glanced back, her voice shaky. "What’s going on?!"

There wasn’t time to explain—and honestly, I didn’t even have the full picture. "Focus on the race! We’re under attack!" I barked, because that was the only clear truth right now.

I quickly checked the shield status. Of the six, five were shattered from that brief impact, and the sixth was hanging on with just over half its integrity. It had been a very close call. That strike nearly pierced through the strongest pinpoint defense a Frigate could muster.

’That power… and such an unorthodox method of attack… No way—could it be?!’

The situation was far too abnormal. It left me with only one logical conclusion. I didn’t want to believe it, but the answer had practically screamed itself into my face.

We were under assault by one of the End-Game Weapons.

The infamous "Silent Reaper" of the galaxy—the Primula.

"But..."

The scenario still didn’t make sense.

Primula might be a recognizable name to veteran players, a devastating planet-sized weapon typically installed on Super Leviathans. But it had no reason to show up this early in the timeline. It wasn’t supposed to appear until at least the 15th to 20th chapters of the main story.

Right now, we were barely reaching chapter two. It was absurd. Way too soon!

’Unless… someone forced it into the story. But why us?’ I paused, thinking. ’No—there are a few possible reasons.’

Most of them pointed back to this very race.

"The bookmakers… Lightspeed Tech… or the Eden Company."

One of those three had to be behind it. But with no solid leads, it was impossible to pinpoint who exactly pulled the trigger.

"I’ve deployed the energy fluctuation sensor! That should help us track it!" Eva called out—but I caught the mistake.

"Not the energy sensors! Use the space sensors instead!" I shouted over.

Primula didn’t emit normal energy signatures.

It operated using advanced Quantum Tunneling—bypassing the conventional laws of space by delivering its attack through dimensional overlap. The laser didn’t travel in a straight path. It appeared at its destination—existing in two points at once before the spatial equation "collapsed" into reality.

Eva didn’t question me. She switched the sensor grid immediately, activating every spatial-flux-detection system we had.

Within moments, the alarms flared again. The warning pointed in the same direction—above us—but this time, the projected target had shifted.

It was heading straight for our thrusters.

"Shit...!"

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I jumped back to the controls, fingers flying over the interface. The shields were already in recovery mode but hadn’t recharged fully yet. They wouldn’t block another shot.

’Come on... make it in time...!’

I threw everything I had into realigning the defenses, repositioning the shields to guard the propulsion system.

And then, without any visual cue, another invisible strike came.

The shields shattered again—all of them. It would take at least 10 more seconds to recharge and become usable once more.

"...Phew..."

I exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders.

The laser had struck with almost the same intensity as before, strong enough to tear through six undercharged shield layers. But it had been redirected in time.

I had angled the barriers to deflect the shot, not stop it outright. It was a gamble, but it paid off—the laser veered slightly off course, sparing our thruster from fatal damage.

Still, we were running on borrowed time.

"Cassandra, finish the last two laps as fast as possible!" I shouted, my tone sharp and urgent.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but our priority had changed. We could no longer focus on trying to eliminate the Eden Company from the race, or uncovering the mastermind.

Right now, our survival came first.

One mistake... one hesitation... and it could all come crashing down.