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Chapter 91
“Has the fixed point changed?”
At the Crown Prince’s voice, the blades of the knights who were attacking the foreigners immediately stopped.
A chilling silence fell between stifled gasps and muffled sobs.
“An explanation is required…”
Breaking that silence, the Crown Prince blinked innocently, as if utterly unconnected to the cruel slaughter unfolding in the garden.
Only the gentle warmth of spring sunlight lingered on his soft face.
“Go ahead and speak.”
That was even more terrifying.
The woman who was once called the Saint of the Desert Tribes had now been reduced to the Crown Prince’s jester.
She spoke as though begging for the lives of her people.
“…Your Highness, you must know. Precognitive dreams do not always show what I wish to see.”
It was true.
The prophet did not see the future she wanted.
It was more as if fragments of the future had fallen into her dreams one day.
And not the future of her own tribe, but the future of a man named Adrian Turner.
Seeing that beautiful yet unfamiliar half-elf repeatedly in her dreams left her both puzzled and curious.
‘Who are you, that you appear in my dreams?’
And why do you always appear in a different form?
In some dreams, Adrian was a lowly slave, a pitiable guide exploited by those with powers.
In others, he was a ruler, with the very same power-users who had once exploited him now submitting utterly just to receive his guidance.
Even in these rapidly shifting dreams, some events remained unchanged.
The prophet called these events the “fixed points.”
The deaths of Dmyad Layerga and Princess Irene had been fixed points, unchanged in any of her precognitive visions.
‘But they survived.’
The prophet had been astonished when she heard the news from Godwin.
How could a fixed point change?
As if answering that question, she had a dream the next day.
“That happened three days ago. Why are you only telling me now?”
“I-I was not trying to hide it! It’s just…”
This time, the dream was not of the future.
“Hm?”
The Crown Prince waved his hand, clearing away corpses and foreign soldiers.
In the garden, where the scent of blood mingled with the fragrance of plants in an unsettlingly beautiful way, the prophet began to speak.
“In the dream I had…”
The protagonist remained the same—Adrian Turner, a beautiful and sensitive-looking half-elf.
But beside him was a figure who had never appeared in any prior precognitive dream.
Soft pink hair fluttering like cherry blossoms in the wind. Large blue eyes. A small, fair girl, evidently of elven blood.
‘Who is she?’
The girl looked close to Adrian, yet awkward. She instinctively showed affection, yet seemed unconsciously cautious.
She held his hand and seemed to be begging him for something.
Because precognitive dreams were, fundamentally, dreams, some words reached the prophet clearly, while others seemed muffled.
What exactly was she asking for? Curious, the prophet glanced at the figure beside the girl and…
‘Ugh!’
Even knowing it was a dream, she recoiled.
Sometimes the subconscious revealed things more clearly.
Like hearts, abilities, or abstract concepts of good and evil.
Through that, the prophet understood:
The being beside the girl was undeniable evil.
A dark, ominous, and malevolent force filling the space—power so terrifying it was almost unbearable to face.
‘Harris Godwin!’
It was then that the dream ended. Gasping awake, the prophet realized:
“What I saw was not the future… but the present.”
Harris Godwin had played a major role in the failure of the Crown Prince’s Godwin invasion.
The prophet had heard news that he had overexerted himself and collapsed.
But,
‘What does it mean when a seer who sees the future ends up seeing the present?’
Unable to answer, the prophet could not speak recklessly.
“I see. Understood.”
Elward, having heard everything, rounded his pink eyes and smiled softly, warmly.
“I never intended to hide this matter on purpose…”
Yet, facing that smile, the prophet stammered in fear.
“You did not… I know.”
The Crown Prince gently tapped the prophet’s hand.
“However…”
His lovely pink eyes gazed warmly.
“Neglecting to report is hard to forgive.”
“Neglect… no…!”
The prophet made a strangled sound.
The Crown Prince’s lips moved in a gentle voice:
“Consider this advice: do not make judgments or decisions based on dreams.”
Yet, meeting his gaze, the prophet trembled uncontrollably.
“Report everything to me immediately, no exceptions.”
“Gah…!”
Tears of pain welled in the prophet’s eyes. Just as her vision threatened to roll back,
“Do you understand?”
The Crown Prince blinked.
Her strength left her. But still unable to recover, the prophet gasped harshly, her swaying body falling with the chair.
Crash!
The chair and body hitting the greenhouse floor made a loud noise. The prophet shuddered as if losing consciousness.
“She seems to have understood.”
The Crown Prince answered without looking at the pitiful sight.
After that “lesson,” she would likely not resist for a while.
‘A girl of elven blood beside Harris Godwin.’
Naturally, Elward knew who she was.
Jade Lian.
Harris Godwin’s guide, recently a baroness through the Lian family, a girl with an unclear past.
No deep thinking was needed. Harris Godwin was a key figure in the future, so any changes around him and surrounding figures were carefully observed.
Those destined to die survived, monsters who should not have appeared escaped, and now a previously nonexistent figure appeared.
“…This founding ceremony will be interesting.”
The Crown Prince smiled like a blooming flower.
“So.”
Harris spoke as he finished a pungent, invigorating dish brought by the late duke.
“Why did you really come?”
“…”
The late duke said nothing, recalling when he first saw Harris, his immature grandson.
‘I didn’t know what dangers or variables he would bring to Godwin. I just wanted him to leave as soon as possible.’
He had negotiated where possible, fought to defend what could not be compromised.
As the lord of Godwin, he had to protect it.
The late duke smiled wryly. He had treated Harris not as a grandson, but as a natural disaster or plague.
Waiting passively, because there was nothing he could do.
Yet it was Harris, the grandson he wished would leave quickly, who repeatedly saved Godwin, while it was his trusted daughter, Irene, who brought calamity.
Knowing the full extent of events, the late duke could only sigh.
After sudden battles and cleanup, he had no energy left for anger.
He only wanted to ask:
‘Why did you do this?’
To Irene, once heir of Godwin, now its sinner.
‘How could you treat all of Godwin this way?’
She could have spoken beforehand, begged, or negotiated.
Even kneeling as a daughter, she could have appealed as a member of the Layerga family.
But she did none of it. Fearing the matter might leak, she hid it even from Godwin and herself.
‘How could you discard everyone who loved and raised you, who even felt guilty for not protecting you?’
The late duke realized the answer before hearing it.
Love flows naturally from parent to child.
Irene no longer cherished all of Godwin, including her father—she only valued the Layerga children more.
To protect those children, she would sacrifice anything, even Godwin who raised her—a cold, ruthless human.
Bitter sorrow and searing grief etched into the old man’s wrinkles.
“…I’m sorry, Father.”
Reading his father’s lament, Irene could neither raise her head nor offer excuses.
Seeing her, the late duke felt one of the cords binding his heart loosen.
He was the lord of Godwin. Almost blinded by affection, he could have destroyed it.
Yet the one who protected Godwin in that strange, terrifying way was…
“What’s with that creepy look?”
“…”
It was Harris.
The young grandson raised his brows, annoyed by the many emotions in the late duke’s gaze.
‘Even Jade is absent. If you have something to say, don’t delay.’
Under that silent pressure, the late duke touched his rising vein.
That boy really makes it impossible to maintain gratitude or guilt for long!
“…You’ve probably heard about the Layerga marquess’s wife.”
“I knew before hearing. Not an idiot—she was obviously scheming from the start—”
“—Exactly!”
The late duke cut Harris off with a cough.
“I’ll handle that matter as you wish. After all, you are the one most affected.”
“…”
Affected.
A word far too alien to describe himself.
Harris paused, and the late duke changed the topic.
“We’ll discuss details later… Soon, the founding ceremony will be held in the capital.”
“…!”
Both the late duke and Harris knew who was fundamentally responsible for this situation.
The royal family—and the Magetower.
Yet they ignored Godwin’s protests and evidence.
The remnants of old Godwin forces, as well as the Layerga family tied up with the heirs, could not confront them.
They had fled to Godwin because they could not oppose them.
“Since you are now Godwin’s heir, your attendance is mandatory. The royal family even sent you a personal invitation.”
In short, it was like jumping into enemy territory.
‘Just as I hoped.’
Harris laughed, red-faced.
