Severing the Threads of Fate

When Harvey saw that menacing squad of tiefling soldiers, he felt as though he had traveled back in time to his first encounter with Anbaixiu. Did every divination wizard have to swindle someone to advance into a legend? Was this some bizarre advancement ritual? Could the reason he had remained an apprentice for so long simply be that he wasn't ruthless enough? Reality, however, gave Harvey no time for philosophical musings. The ferocious soldiers were already charging forward to seize Mister Misfortune and Harvey, his apparent accomplice. Confronted by these menacing soldiers, Harvey hastily hurled the tavern mug in his hand at their feet. Ale splashed across the floorboards right under the soldiers' boots, and at that very instant, Harvey cast his Dice of Fate upon them. A chance of slipping turned into a certainty. The tiefling soldiers crashed to the floor, sliding a considerable distance. The sheer impact shook the tavern's chandelier violently, leaving the soldiers groaning and unable to climb back to their feet for quite a while. Harvey hurried to turn his head, intending to urge Mister Misfortune to seize the chance to flee. Yet he discovered that Mister Misfortune had already scrambled out through the tavern window and was waving at him. Harvey was now completely certain: this man was without question his mentor's fellow disciple. True to form for a divination wizard, he would never let himself remain in harm's way. Not one to dally either, Harvey immediately cast Misty Step, teleporting directly to Mister Misfortune's side. "Where do we go now?" he asked. This was tiefling territory. Being pursued by the authorities meant hiding in any random corner wouldn't work—and Harvey still had no idea why Mister Misfortune was a wanted man in the first place. Mister Misfortune merely shook his head. "Pay them no mind. They can't see us." Harvey was baffled. They had merely climbed out of the tavern window, and they were already safe? Driven by curiosity, Harvey glanced back inside the tavern. The soldiers who had just crashed to the floor were scrambling to their feet one after another, on the verge of spotting Harvey by the windowsill. Right at that moment, the swaying tavern chandelier dropped a burning candle that landed squarely on one soldier's face. Boiling wax splashed directly into his eyes, drawing a shrill scream of agony. Had the tiefling not possessed an innate resistance to fire, that drop alone would have scalded him blind. Thrashing about in frenzy, the blinded soldier slammed into his comrades who were getting up behind him, knocking them sprawling once more. Back and forth the chaos went, and not a single soul noticed Harvey standing outside the window. *Is this... the power of fate?* Harvey had not seen Mister Misfortune roll any Dice of Fate, nor had he sensed any spell being cast. Yet such a chain of coincidences was unmistakably the handiwork of fate. Offering no explanation, Mister Misfortune walked forward at a leisurely pace. Harvey had no choice but to hurry after him. And so the two strolled brazenly down the main street. The tiefling soldiers who had suffered such a wretched tumble burst out from the tavern in pursuit, yet no matter how they searched, their gaze simply never fell upon the pair. Either a passerby happened to block their view, or a carriage blocked their line of sight, or just as one soldier was on the verge of noticing them, a comrade would yell out, having mistaken someone else for their quarry. Harvey watched as a dozen soldiers sprinted right past them, completely oblivious to the pair strolling along at an unhurried stride. "Excuse me... just how is this done?" Harvey was thoroughly intrigued. Even with the Dice of Fate, an effect couldn't possibly last this long, could it? When Harvey rolled the Dice of Fate earlier to make people slip, they fell only that single time. Once they stood back up, the effect was gone; a single roll of his dice could never rob someone of the ability to walk for life. Yet Mister Misfortune was clearly sustaining this phenomenon continuously, rendering them invisible to the soldiers. It wasn't just the squad from the tavern either—several newly arrived soldiers were similarly blinded to their presence. Mister Misfortune chuckled. "More impressive than your teacher, isn't it?" Harvey realized that Mister Misfortune's relationship with his mentor was truly terrible. He looked for every chance to outdo him. Caught in a bind, Harvey hesitated for a moment before saying, "Back then, though, my teacher was the one who defeated you, wasn't he?" Mister Misfortune's smile vanished. "I was planning to teach you something. Now it seems you have no desire to learn." Harvey replied awkwardly, "I do want to learn, of course, but that shouldn't involve dragging my teacher into it." Mister Misfortune looked surprised. "With that bastard's temperament, how did he ever produce a student like you? He's the sort who'd do anything for profit. You two look nothing like master and apprentice." Harvey didn't know how to explain. Strictly speaking, he was mostly self-taught. Anbaixiu had offered him genuine guidance only a handful of times, usually preferring to shove piles of magic tomes at him to read on his own. Perhaps that was precisely why their personalities differed so sharply. "Never mind. No point teasing a kid like you. Let me show you." Mister Misfortune caught Harvey's hand and gave it a wave in the air before them. Instantly, dense clusters of lines appeared out of empty space. The lines shimmered in diverse colors, linking everything in their surroundings together. Furthermore, these strands were continually dissolving as new ones took shape. "Do you see? These are the threads of fate. Between person and person, person and object, and even between objects themselves, everything is connected by these threads. Every single thread represents a possibility—just like between you and me. We might have come to blows the moment we met, or we might have sat down together to share a drink. "However, if you sever the threads corresponding to certain possibilities, you extinguish those outcomes entirely. They cannot see me because I cut that thread!" Guided by Mister Misfortune's gesture, Harvey noticed a vivid scarlet thread that linked not only himself and Mister Misfortune, but also the soldiers, before stretching out even farther into the distance. Yet looking closer, one could see a distinct break somewhere along that strand. "Sever the possibility, and you preclude it from coming to pass. Your Dice of Fate collapses countless possibilities into one, whereas I completely sever a specific possibility. Until this thread knits itself whole again, they will never be able to see us, no matter what." Harvey was astonished. Could the power of fate be wielded like this? Very pleased by Harvey's reaction, Mister Misfortune said smugly, "Along the path of fate, I have walked farther than your teacher. He won back then, yes, but only because that bastard resorted to underhanded tricks." Harvey offered no defense. Knowing Anbaixiu, he truly was capable of anything; resorting to alternate methods to secure a victory was entirely within his character. Hardly eager to hear more slander about his teacher, Harvey hastily shifted the subject. "How long does it take for a severed thread of fate to mend?" "Depends on the circumstances. The section I snipped should hold for about five days." Harvey couldn't help asking, "Can a thread of fate ever be severed forever?" "Yes, but the price for doing so is far too steep. Ah, right—let me show you something good. Come with me." Mister Misfortune quickened his pace, leading Harvey to a low-rise building in the city. Harvey followed him inside and found a rather clean little home. Not only was the place spotless, but everything was neatly arranged, showing none of the disarray typical of a fugitive on the run. What caught Harvey's eye the most were the large bookshelves filling the room. Harvey skimmed through them and noticed a wildly eclectic selection, covering almost every subject imaginable. In this regard, Mister Misfortune bore a striking resemblance to his teacher. Back in the castle, the most abundant items hadn't been magical ingredients, but towering bookshelves spanning multiple floors. Noticing Harvey's gaze, Mister Misfortune said, "Read more books. Everything under the sun is part of fate; the more you know, the deeper your understanding of fate becomes." Harvey replied earnestly, "Thank you. I will certainly study diligently." "All right, come with me." Mister Misfortune led Harvey into a small room, rummaged through an iron chest, and produced an unassuming stone slate. Mister Misfortune handed the slate to Harvey and said, "Take it. This is your teacher's and my mentor." Harvey hurriedly examined it with care, yet he could discern nothing extraordinary about the slate. It was a thin piece, smaller than a palm, devoid of any text or carvings, bearing only the marks left by time, and perhaps faint stains where moss had once dried. No matter how one looked at it, it resembled an ordinary rock found anywhere on the roadside. Harvey said helplessly, "I'm sorry, I can't make anything out." Mister Misfortune didn't blame him, merely instructing, "Take it back to your teacher. I have kept this thing for so many years; it's time to return it to him." "I will deliver it without fail." Harvey stowed the slate into his magical pouch, finally unable to hold back from the main task at hand. "Sir, regarding the letter my teacher wrote..." Mister Misfortune said with a hint of distaste, "Enough, I know." With that, the old man walked over to a reclining chair, settled into it, and pulled out the letter Anbaixiu had written him. The more he read, the deeper his brow furrowed. In the end, he crushed the letter tightly in his hand, and a burst of flame erupted from his palm, reducing the parchment to ashes. Harvey was startled, but dared not utter a sound. He had no idea what Anbaixiu had written in the letter, and he was terrified of becoming the outlet for the old man's fury. After a long while, Mister Misfortune finally said, "Go back. Tell that bastard to come find me here in two months and three days. The things he wants, I will have ready for him." Only then did Harvey breathe a sigh of relief. So his teacher wasn't entirely unreliable every single time. He had hardly expected the matter to be resolved in less than a day since arriving in the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn. Curiously, Harvey asked, "Sir, were you waiting for me in that tavern all along?" Mister Misfortune nodded. "We divination wizards always have premonitions regarding major events concerning ourselves. I knew before you even set off. With the domestic situation so unstable, finding me on your own would have been next to impossible, so I might as well have waited for you there." "If you don't mind my asking, sir... why are you being hunted?" This was what puzzled Harvey the most. How could a legendary wizard—and a divination wizard at that, one of the rarest of breeds—find himself standing against the kingdom? "I don't mind telling you this. Those Unholy Ones have recently been gathering materials to construct new Gates of Hell. Do you know what materials are needed to build a Gate of Hell?" Harvey shook his head. "I'm sorry, I know little about that." Mister Misfortune let out a sigh. "A massive blood and flesh sacrifice." Harvey shuddered; the words reeked of a thick, suffocating stench of gore. Mister Misfortune said in a heavy voice, "Previously, the kingdom used the flesh and blood of livestock to construct Gates of Hell. Recently, they began using people."