Prophecy Cannot Be Changed

Harvey's lonely, bitter smile made Anbaixiu realize his suspicion was true. Prophecy—a power as formidable as that of the gods. Either you could not see it at all, or the future you foresaw would inevitably come to pass. Because fate was unalterable, prophecy possessed such terrifying certainty. Thus, the greatest tragedy was that when you foresaw your own death, no matter how desperately you struggled, it was nothing more than futile thrashing. Death would arrive precisely as you had witnessed it, down to the exact second, without the slightest deviation. Not even the gods could save you. "How much time do you have left?" Anbaixiu asked Harvey. Harvey gave an emotional sigh. "Probably less than two months. My vision wasn't entirely precise, but since I've met you here, Teacher, there likely aren't many days remaining." "You've been waiting for me here the whole time?" Anbaixiu asked. Harvey nodded and continued, "I had a vague feeling that I would be able to cross paths with you here, Teacher. I just didn't expect it to take over half a month. Still, being able to return your phylactery to you before I die leaves me with no regrets." Anbaixiu fell silent. Every time an old friend departed, it felt much like this. "Haha, don't take it to heart, Teacher. Didn't you ask me before how I'd react if I found out I was going to die tomorrow? Back then, I said I would quietly write down some records and review my life. Looking at it now, fate hasn't treated me too badly. At least it isn't tomorrow—I still have quite a bit of time." Anbaixiu studied Harvey once more and realized he was not merely putting on a brave face; he had genuinely accepted his fate. This kid was far more remarkable than he was. Anyone who could face death with such composure was an extraordinary soul anywhere. The more he saw this, the more Anbaixiu felt it was a tragedy for Harvey to die. "Have you considered turning into an undead after death?" Anbaixiu asked tentatively. "I've made some new breakthroughs in necromancy recently. Perhaps you wouldn't have to become an ugly skeleton or zombie, and it might even be better than a living human body." Harvey pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, that would be running away. The Goddess of Fate didn't reveal the date of my death just to give me an escape route. Even if I turned into an undead, I'd likely lose her favor entirely, wouldn't I?" Anbaixiu fell silent again. This kid saw things even more clearly than he did. The Goddess of Fate was a generous deity. She demanded no prayers, sacrifices, or offerings; so long as you believed that fate was predetermined, you could obtain power rivaling that of the gods. Yet the Goddess of Fate was also the most demanding. Even the Lord of the Dawn did not care what his believers thought in their hearts. As long as your deeds were righteous and noble, and you upheld them for a lifetime, then even if you cursed him to high heaven in your mind, he would still welcome you into his divine realm as a saint. The vast majority of gods in the world judged their followers by their actions rather than their thoughts, for they understood that mortal hearts were fickle and constantly shifting. If judged by thoughts alone, every mortal would be a blasphemer and an apostate. But the Goddess of Fate was different. She was generous enough that mere faith granted power, yet demanding enough that the slightest wavering in your heart would cause her to strip everything away. Anbaixiu had experienced this himself: just as he was on the verge of advancing to legend rank, his conviction had wavered, and as a result, he spent many years as a substandard fraud. Not every divination mage would be relentlessly haunted by the Goddess of Fate, forced to reclaim the power of prophecy. Harvey understood this well, which was why he would rather face death with composure than betray all the years of effort he had poured into his craft. Judged by this resolve, Harvey deserved the favor of the Goddess of Fate far more. Yet fate was ever capricious. Harvey, who believed so devoutly in destiny, could only wait in silence for death to come. What you desired, fate withheld; what you shunned, fate forced upon you. And if Harvey was unwilling, Anbaixiu could not forcibly turn him into a lich either. Doing so would only damage his soul and reduce him to an empty puppet, retaining a trace of spellcasting at best—a fate far worse than death. Anbaixiu said to Harvey, "Come on. Since you're going to die anyway, tell me in detail what you saw." Harvey asked, puzzled, "Does that have any point? You know very well, Teacher, that prophecies cannot be changed." Anbaixiu explained, "I'm not doing it to change anything. But you call me Teacher, so the least I can do is avenge you." "Er... well, vengeance might not be very realistic," Harvey said awkwardly. "I only saw the scene of my death. I didn't see who the killer was." "Details. Tell me every detail you saw," Anbaixiu insisted with utmost seriousness. Harvey gave an indifferent shrug and described the future he had witnessed in meticulous detail. Anbaixiu listened with rapt attention, continually asking questions and taking careful note of everything Harvey said. The two spoke for over half an hour before Harvey bowed in farewell. "Teacher, my days are numbered. There's no need to trouble yourself with avenging me, but please keep this safe for me." Harvey handed Anbaixiu a thick notebook. When opened, it was filled with his insights on magic, various notes, and theoretical designs for spell matrices. Between the lines lay a brilliance belonging only to true genius. Even Anbaixiu could not help but admire it; Harvey's comprehension of fate ran in a completely different direction from his own, and reading these notes proved remarkably illuminating even to him. Harvey looked as proud as if he had accomplished something monumental. He said brightly, "As I said before, I was definitely going to record a lifetime of effort before I died. Teacher, I know this stuff might be beneath your notice, but if you take on new disciples in the future, you can let them read it. It's definitely much more accessible than that introductory textbook on the School of Divination you wrote." "What good is being accessible? Just lure more people into the pit that is the School of Divination?" Anbaixiu retorted, but he tucked the notebook safely away all the same. Harvey smiled faintly, turning away in deep satisfaction. Anbaixiu watched as Harvey strolled over to the nearest gambling table, pulled out dozens of gold coins, and tossed them down. The Dice of Fate spun beside him, settling with uncanny precision right over the table's dice. The rascal was using the power of divination to cheat. Before long, he had won a massive pile of chips and attracted two lovely drow elf women to his side. "Tsk, that's the extent of his ambitions." Having muttered that, Anbaixiu turned and walked toward Catherine, who was already tipsy. Anbaixiu said to Catherine, whose face was flushed from drinking, "That's enough. If you keep stepping on them, these two drow are going to die." The two drow elves were pinned under Catherine's boots, their backs mashed so hard into the tavern floor that a large crater had caved in. Who knew how many bones had been broken; in any case, they were exhaling more air than they took in. These two drow were idiots too, daring to drug Catherine. She was the Elven Queen, beloved above all by the gods. The elven race was delicate and perceptive. The gods had bestowed upon them absolute free will, granting them immunity to the influence of drugs and spells—things like sleeping teas or charm spells simply didn't work on them. Never mind Catherine, whose resistances against such trickery were maxed out. So when Anbaixiu had seen the two drow drugging her drink, he hadn't been worried in the slightest. Sure enough, Catherine had immediately noticed something was wrong with the alcohol and beaten both drow half-dead on the spot. Delivering such brutal punishment stemmed not just from fury over being drugged, but likely also from the generational hatred between high elves and drow. In short, the two drow had walked straight into a death trap; if they survived, it was sheer luck. Seeing Anbaixiu return, Catherine set her hands proudly on her hips and said, "Adventuring is so much fun!" "Fun or not, that's enough for today. Time to head back." Anbaixiu's mind was now consumed by Harvey's prophecy; he had no patience left to play house and pretend to be an adventurer with Catherine. Fortunately, Catherine wasn't prone to drunken rowdiness. Hearing Anbaixiu's words, she set down her cup, kicked the two half-dead drow aside, and obediently followed behind him. At that moment, everyone staring at Catherine turned eyes blazing with jealousy toward Anbaixiu. The orcs in particular could not bear to see their goddess following behind a human. Burly brutes with bursting muscles crowded in, looking ready to crush this puny human between them. Yet Anbaixiu had no interest in squabbling with these orcs. He unleashed the fear aura of a legendary lich, and the orcs who had looked so arrogant a moment before felt their legs turn to jelly, as if they had come face-to-face with an ancient dragon. This had nothing to do with willpower. A lich's fear aura, much like a dragon's frightful presence, was a biological suppression rooted in the instinct of any living being. It could not be resisted through sheer grit; one could only withstand it if one's own power reached a comparable threshold. A fear aura was largely useless against paladins of the Ryan Empire, who possessed various aura effects to counteract it. But against the small-fry adventurers in this tavern, it was devastating overkill, leaving the orcs collapsing to the floor, unable to even crawl to their feet. Anbaixiu led Catherine out, and not a single soul dared stand in their way. Only after the two had left the tavern did the weak-kneed orcs recover. Wearing thoroughly sheepish expressions, they prepared to flee this humiliating scene. However, before they could bolt, the female orc bartender called out, "Where do you think you're running? Who's paying for all these smashed tables and chairs?" An orc roared, "We're not the ones who smashed them!" The female orc bartender sneered and said, "Next time that little sister comes back, I'll be sure to tell her who paid the repair bill." Thud, thud, thud! Several heavy coin pouches were slammed onto the bar. The orcs swarmed forward, clamoring over one another to announce their names—all ridiculous monikers like 'Iron Bull' or 'Blazing Stud.' "Hah. Men." The female orc bartender scoffed inwardly, but she still took out a small notebook and made a show of recording them diligently. Consequently, even more patrons threw money at her—and not just the orcs. Meanwhile, Anbaixiu took Catherine and checked into a random inn. The flush on Catherine's cheeks hadn't fully faded, but alcohol hadn't dulled her mind in the least. She keenly sensed that something was off with Anbaixiu's mood. Catherine asked tentatively, "What's the matter? Was I behaving too wildly back there?" Anbaixiu sighed and told Catherine about meeting Harvey. Hearing this, Catherine asked in confusion, "The power of fate... Didn't you say before that you could weave fate? You even claimed you wove a future for me so I wouldn't die and all that. Couldn't you weave a future for him too?" Anbaixiu shook his head. "If I want to save him, I cannot interfere with his fate in any way. At least, not right now." "Does that mean the future actually can be altered?" Catherine asked. Anbaixiu shook his head once more. "No. Fate is predetermined. If what he saw is the true future, then it cannot be changed. Even if the gods intervened, the most they could do is let his soul ascend to a divine realm after he dies. They still couldn't alter the destiny of his death." Catherine furrowed her brows, feeling thoroughly baffled. Did divination mages always speak in such convoluted riddles? "Could you explain it in simpler terms? I don't understand what you mean at all." Anbaixiu tapped his finger rhythmically against the table and murmured to himself, "To save him, the only way is to prove that the future he foresaw is false—a deliberate fabrication."