Colin rested his chin on his hand and began interpreting the prophecy.
Prophecies, by nature, reveal the future in vague terms.
Since even the one who cast the reading could not know its exact meaning, it was better to interpret it oneself rather than entrust it to someone else.
"The meaning itself isn't all that difficult. Three meetings and three chances, two failures and one chance. If I seize it, he becomes a benefactor; if I let it go, he becomes a reaper…?"
Taken at face value, it meant that Colin himself had been given three opportunities, and that he had squandered two of them.
If he could seize the final chance, great fortune would follow—but if he missed even that, it would mean death.
What truly troubled him was that he had no idea what those "failures" referred to.
He had indeed failed twice recently. He'd fled Bornholm and Krepfeld without even receiving proper payment.
But those were merely contracted jobs—he hadn't been targeting any specific individual…?
A benefactor or a reaper.
Who in the world was the person in the prophecy, the one who could become either?
If there had been only a few people, he might have been able to hazard a guess.
But both Bornholm and Krepfeld had been battlefields where armies clashed.
Amid the swarming masses of people, there was no way to know who might have been mixed in.
"Is the interpretation difficult?"
"No, the interpretation itself is easy. The problem is this word 'meeting.' Is 'meeting' also used as a metaphor?"
At Helen's words, Colin handed the paper back to her and asked again.
After pondering for a long while, Helen slowly shook her head.
"Usually, it's not a metaphor. If a prophecy says 'meeting,' then it wouldn't be used with any other meaning."
"Huh. But I haven't really met anyone twice recently."
"Perhaps the failure lies in the fact that there was an opportunity to meet, but you didn't."
"So failing to meet someone you could have met counts as a failure?"
"Oh dear, I've said too much. A prophet does not involve herself further once the prophecy is complete."
With that ambiguous smile, Helen closed her mouth and said no more.
Colin would have liked her to help further with the interpretation, but it was clear that once shut, her lips would not open again.
Letting out a sigh, Colin rose from his seat.
"Well, if that's how the prophet says it is, I suppose I'll just have to interpret it on my own."
"A fine attitude. I sincerely hope you manage to seize your benefactor, senior brother."
Leaving behind his fellow disciple's brief words of goodwill, Colin stepped out of the cave.
She hadn't bothered telling him to be careful.
Perhaps thanks to astrology, she was someone who, appearances aside, took uncanny care of her own safety.
What mattered now was Colin's own survival—the prophecy had explicitly mentioned a "reaper."
"Three meetings, two failures… damn it, who the hell is this 'benefactor' supposed to be?"
On his way to the hideout, Colin tried again and again to identify the benefactor from the prophecy.
But no matter how much he rummaged through his memories, no one came to mind.
By the time his head began to throb from thinking too long—
"You're late, sorcerer."
"…Sir Palmyr, if you were coming, I believe I asked you to notify me in advance."
At the sudden slur coming from beside him, Colin frowned.
When he turned his head, the expected figure was looking down at him.
"If you're going to use sorcery, shouldn't you at least be clever enough to notice something like that? Calling yourself a 'Manifestor of Miracles' when you don't even know who's approaching from outside."
"As I've told you many times, magic varies greatly by school. Just because someone handles cavalry well doesn't mean they're good with wolves too."
"Is that so? Then it must be my imagination that it sounds like an excuse."
"You didn't come all this way just to mock me. What brings you here?"
Cutting off Palmyr's remarks, Colin asked calmly.
There was no point in letting the conversation drag on—nothing good would come out of it anyway.
Clicking his tongue briefly, Palmyr finally got to the point.
"There's someone I want dealt with. You can call down lightning, can't you?"
"Planning to disguise it as a natural disaster? It's possible, but if storm clouds suddenly gather, people may find it suspicious."
"That's fine. I'm not planning to do it in front of onlookers. As long as it looks like a natural disaster, that's enough."
"In that case."
Even as he accepted the commission, bitterness welled up inside Colin.
For someone who was supposed to be a scholar, how many times had he taken on assassination jobs by now?
It was unavoidable if he wanted to survive, but at times the self-loathing pressed down on him heavily.
"I'll let you know the exact date and timing later. Until then, conserve your strength. If you waste it on something pointless and then start making excuses on the day of execution—"
"That won't happen, so please don't worry. Still, I'd like to know who the target is."
"Lucian Valdeck. The third son of the Grand Duke of Valdeck."
"I see."
So House Calyx was crossing a dangerous line.
Thinking that, Colin nonetheless added nothing more.
As a hired hand, once he received his payment, the danger facing the target was none of his concern.
"Then I'll make my preparations. Let me know once the day of execution is decided."
"呵."
With a scoff in place of an answer, Palmyr disappeared down the slope below the hideout.
Seeing the contempt dripping from his attitude even to the end, Colin spat out a curse.
"A bastard who tossed chivalry into the gutter long ago, yet still has the nerve to cling to his pride."
Clicking his tongue, Colin went back inside the hideout and calmly organized his vials.
Just in case, he planned to prepare a few catalysts to amplify his magic in advance of the operation day.
"Valdeck, huh. I seem to get tangled up with that name oddly often. Back in Bornholm, and again when I was involved in Krepfeld… this makes it the third time…"
Clack.
Colin froze mid-motion as he set a vial down.
A shiver ran through him at the thought he'd just had.
The third time? The third?
"Three meetings, two failures. Could failing to meet someone when there was a chance count as a failure…?"
An inexplicable sense of dread spread through his entire body.
He had the feeling that if he brushed this thought aside, a true "reaper" would come for him.
Without another moment's hesitation, Colin tossed the vial aside and headed out.
He needed to find out just what kind of person the Grand Duke of Valdeck's third son truly was.
***
As soon as Lucian sent his reply to House Calyx, he decided to move swiftly with his retainers in tow.
Now that things had come to this, there was no need to give the other side time to regain their composure.
The best course was to strike like lightning and finish it before they could even attempt anything.
"Viscount, have you no intention of coming with me? You'd see quite a few interesting sights."
"I'm truly grateful for Your Highness's offer, but my territory is still unstable, so it's impossible at the moment. Until my second son returns, I must remain here to hold things together."
Lucian nodded at Harald's regret-tinged reply.
With the eldest son having staged a rebellion, chaos still lingered, and more than anything, there was no knowing what further schemes Calyx might attempt.
Until the second son returned and a proper heir was officially named, it would be difficult for him to leave his lands.
Left with no choice, Lucian's party departed without Harald and headed toward their next destination—Baile, the only territory that had once belonged to House Grimaldi.
"I'd heard plenty about it, but this really is the middle of nowhere."
After surveying the village, Lucian let out a dry laugh.
Despite bearing the name of a ducal territory, its population was little more than that of a rural backwater.
"Even so, about eight hundred years ago, there were two rare-metal veins here, and it was quite prosperous. It gradually declined once the veins were exhausted."
"How long ago was that? Eight hundred years is enough time for a kingdom to fall twice and be rebuilt."
"That's true. In a way, it's a village that should have perished long ago, yet it's survived to this day thanks to its historical value."
After finishing his explanation, Raymond's gaze shifted toward the ducal lord's manor.
In stark contrast to the village, the manor was immaculately maintained and overwhelmingly grand—to the point of seeming out of place.
"It's like a desperate struggle against dying as it is."
Perhaps it was the last vestige of pride in the north.
Lucian had heard that when his maternal grandfather was still alive, the other lords would pool their resources to make up for the shortfall in maintenance costs.
After his passing, House Calyx had maintained it at great expense, intending to make use of it.
Thanks to that, at least in outward appearance, the manor looked as though one could move in and live there immediately without any trouble.
"Halt! Identify yourselves!"
As they approached the half-ruined inner wall, soldiers blocked Lucian's party.
Seeing the crest of House Calyx engraved on their armor, Lucian clicked his tongue.
"Who are you?"
"We are assigned to guard this place."
"That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking why you're standing guard here. I never hired you."
"…Pardon?"
"I am the owner of this house."
At Lucian's words, the guards exchanged looks.
They seemed thoroughly confused, unable to process what they'd just heard.
At that moment, with the clatter of armor, a knight emerged from inside.
"I don't know which house you belong to, young lord, but you're saying some very strange things. This is the private residence of Duke Grimaldi. Are you perhaps mistaken about the house you're looking for?"
Though his wording was polite, his voice was sharp enough to cut if one drew too close.
Lucian, however, looked straight at the young knight without blinking.
"No, I've come to the right place. I happen to be his grandson."
"…Could it be that you are Lord Lucian? The third young master of House Valdeck?"
"You know me well. I do appreciate you maintaining the place without being asked. Now then—will you step aside?"
"I'm afraid not."
Without the slightest hesitation, the knight spoke his refusal.
No—more precisely, he was about to voice his refusal.
But before he could give his reason, someone else appeared in front of the knight.
It was Glen, the Imperial Inspector dispatched by the Imperial Family.
"There is no 'I'm afraid not.' I am here to oversee the inheritance procedure of the late Duke's estate. Step aside. This is an imperial decree."
"What…!?"
At the words imperial decree, the knight's eyes went wide.
When he saw Glen's seal, his face fell.
Regional arrogance—north or outsider—only worked within a closed environment.
The moment a matter of "legitimate procedure" like this intervened, there was no room for such posturing.
"What are you doing? Stand down at once. The late Duke's grandson has come to inherit the title and its accompanying estate. What further justification could you possibly need?"
"But… House Calyx has maintained this manor all this time!"
"How truly admirable. To tend so carefully to property that wasn't even your own. I shall be sure to repay that kindness someday."
The knight bit his lip but said nothing further and stepped back.
If he tried to play the 'northerner' card in front of an Imperial Inspector, he'd only be rebuked for spouting nonsense.
More importantly, the other party had said he was here to inherit even the title of House Grimaldi.
If he were merely taking the estate and leaving, that would be one thing—but inheriting the title meant becoming an outright member of the north.
"At this point, no one would sympathize even if I tried to brand him an outsider. Damn it… if that's how it is, then there's no choice but another method."
The knight shot a subtle glance at one of the elite soldiers beside him.
Understanding the signal, the soldier slipped quietly inside.
Just as Lucian's party crossed the drawbridge and was about to pass through the main gate—
Boom.
"Hihihing!"
"…!"
With a sudden, thunderous crash, the main gate slammed shut.
As they hurried to calm the startled, rearing horses, Felicia shouted in fury.
"What is the meaning of this!? You pretended to step aside and then shut the gate!"
"You misunderstand. It seems the mechanism for opening the gate has broken. Would you mind waiting just a moment until it's repaired?"
It was a laughable excuse.
A gate that had functioned perfectly until now—one that House Calyx had even been maintaining—wasn't going to break all of a sudden.
In all likelihood, they were merely pretending it was broken to buy time.
"Judging by how desperate that excuse is, they must be in quite a hurry. Is there something inside they need to move before I get in?"
House Calyx had likely wanted to occupy this manor for its symbolic value alone.
With no other competitors, they must have felt secure enough to leave everything inside as it was.
But now that Lucian had suddenly arrived to claim the castle, they were scrambling.
"Sorry, but that won't do."
Even if the items held no value beyond symbolism, every piece of Grimaldi's inheritance belonged to Lucian.
He had no intention of giving House Calyx even a single dish or rag for free.
Dismounting, Lucian drew his sword and called out beyond the gate.
"If there's anyone behind there, stop loitering and move aside. Don't get dragged into this and end up hurt."
"You'd do well to stop. That gate is made of adamantium alloy—it won't be cut. Best to give up and wait."
The knight's tone was polite, but laced with mockery.
Lucian, however, merely let out a quiet chuckle and raised his sword high.
At the same time, he unleashed the maximum amount of magic power he could currently wield, reinforcing his entire body.
Woooooom—
"What in the—!?"
The knight recoiled in shock, stumbling backward.
Perhaps it was his first time seeing condensed magic power—his wide eyes were filled with sheer astonishment.
A beat later, just as he was about to shout something—
KWA-A-A-ANG!
Amid an explosive surge of magic power, the sword came crashing down, smashing straight into the gate.
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