Chapter 14: The Prophet

Raiga assessed the situation as quickly as he could, glancing at the armored knights and the mysterious old man who appeared to command them. For a moment, the thought of attacking the men-at-arms crossed his mind. Without his own armor, he might be able to defeat two or three of them at most, but certainly not the entire regiment.

Escaping, on the other hand, would have been possible if he were there alone. Fleeing with Emi was out of the question.

“I’ll say it again. I’m not your enemy.” The old man’s voice was calm, with no trace of hostility or desire to start a fight. Raiga could not help letting out a relieved sigh. He tried to gauge the Prophet’s strength, but the energy radiating from his aura was far greater than his own—or even Captain Jora’s.

In a one-on-one fight, Raiga would lose nine times out of ten. A quick assessment of the man’s mana was enough to tell him that.

“You’re the Prophet? What do you want?” the Heretic asked, remaining extremely cautious around the man in the golden robe.

“You were the one who guided me to Raiga. T-Then… have you been watching us this whole time?” Emi’s face turned red. Raiga still did not understand what his friend was talking about, so instead of blushing along with her, he remained on guard.

“I want to speak with both of you in my chambers, not here. I’m afraid this is a matter of the utmost importance. My knights and I will escort you there. None of the guards will bother you, and I have already had the charges against you at the Academy of Magic dismissed. My authority over the academy is absolute.” The Prophet’s tone made it clear that there was no room for negotiation.

Raiga decided not to tempt fate. Rather than trying to escape, he accepted the invitation.

“All right. We’ll go with you. Are you okay with that, Emi?”

“E-Eh? Of course. Yes, I agree. Thank you for asking me first.” The blonde smiled shyly.

“You’re my companion. I’ll always take your opinion into account.”

After exchanging gentle smiles, Raiga and Emi walked from the capital’s slums toward the northern district, escorted by the Prophet and his knights. Along the way, no one threw garbage at them or shouted insults. Such behavior would never be tolerated in the presence of such a high-ranking authority.

Forty minutes later, they arrived at the main temple. It was a castle-like stone structure surrounded by a marble wall decorated with dozens of golden statues depicting the entire pantheon worshiped throughout the kingdom. From Zeus to Tlaloc, deities originating from different lands were all worshiped side by side within the capital.

Believers from across the country traveled there in processions at different times of the year, and today was no exception. As they approached the temple, Raiga and Emi saw dozens of pilgrims lining up to enter the smaller temples surrounding the Prophet’s chambers.

“There are so many people,” Raiga said, amazed by the number of worshipers.

“And this isn’t even during the autumn festivals. The number of worshipers usually increases around that time of year. I helped with the preparations myself back when I worked as a librarian.”

“Oh, did you dress up like a priestess and everything?” Raiga pictured sweet little Emi wearing a red nun-like habit, similar to those worn by the temple’s abbesses.

“Ah! N-No, of course not. I just sold fried food. I didn’t look elegant at all.”

Their conversation ended as soon as they reached the main entrance. The knights stopped walking, but their piercing gazes never left Raiga. Even they harbored a supernatural hatred for the Heretic, yet they did not voice it openly. They continued to behave themselves under their commander’s orders.

“Let us enter the temple. Knights, you may stand down,” the Prophet ordered.

“My lord, are you certain? We are talking about the Heretic.” One of his guards stepped forward, and his concern was perfectly understandable. They knew nothing about Raiga personally. All they knew was his terrible reputation as a villain and the fact that he had knocked out one of the academy sentries’ eyes during a fight.

Those were hardly favorable credentials.

“Yes, I am certain. Guard the entrance and allow no one else into my chambers,” the old man ordered. “Emi, Raiga, please come inside.”

To a solitary, exiled adventurer like Raiga, the sight of the great temple was a masterpiece impressive enough to leave him gaping like a freshly caught fish. He could hardly believe the walls were made of marble, while golden ornaments bearing symbols he had never seen before decorated the entire hall. Farther inside, a throne made of fine wood stood prominently atop a carefully arranged set of steps.

Long ago, the Prophet had met with heads of state in this very hall. Today, however, there were no kings present—only an exile and an unemployed scholar.

“Lord Prophet.” Emi was the first to break the silence. The old man walked over to the throne and sat down. Then he snapped his fingers, causing a long bench to appear beneath the steps, and invited the pair to sit. “T-Thank you. Forgive me for asking… but why did you summon us?”

“First of all, Raiga, do you know why they call me the Prophet?” the sage asked, crossing his arms as he watched the brown-haired man take a seat.

“No, not really. I’m sorry.”

Emi removed her glasses and covered her face with both hands in embarrassment.

“Oh, Raiga, seriously? You don’t know? He’s the Prophet!”

“S-Sorry,” the adventurer whispered.

“I should apologize in advance, Raiga, because there will be a great deal of talking today. You see, I am the Prophet, a being capable of seeing possibilities beyond the boundaries of time. To ordinary peasants, that simply means I can see the future, but the truth is more complicated than that. Emi, would you mind explaining it more clearly?”

“Ah… A-Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to explain something incorrectly,” Emi replied, embarrassed by the Prophet’s request.

“Yes. I believe Raiga will understand it better if he hears it from you.”

“Well, let’s see… Prophet is a title given to those who have been granted the power to see possible futures. Not the future itself, but the different paths that may or may not lead to a particular outcome.” Emi took a deep breath before continuing. “However, Prophets can also see the past. They base their predictions on events from long ago as well as things happening in the present. It’s more complicated than that, but I’m trying to explain it as clearly as possible.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry if I can’t understand all of it right away. I-I’m a little slow when it comes to this kind of thing.” Raiga lowered his head, saddened by his lack of talent for theoretical matters. Emi puffed out her cheeks, immediately grabbed his face, and forced his lips into a smile.

“No, don’t apologize. Most people wouldn’t know any of this. I’m the bookworm here, remember?” Emi said with a huge smile.

Raiga blushed once again and nodded in agreement.

“All right, then. If you’re the Prophet, why do you want to speak with me? I’m the Heretic. I’m at the very bottom of society.”

“And that is precisely why I needed to find you, Raiga. I foresaw our meeting four hundred years ago. I planned everything that happened today, from the commotion at the gate to my knights patrolling the lower district. None of it was a coincidence.” The revelation left Raiga speechless. The young man tried to respond, but no words came out.

Emi, on the other hand, managed to put the pieces together.

The human stampede, the knights patrolling the streets, the red string of fate—it had all been orchestrated by the Prophet four centuries ago.

“My lord… how old are you, really?” Emi was the one brave enough to ask the question on both of their minds.

“I am exactly seven hundred and forty-eight years old.”

Raiga could not comprehend it.

How could a human possibly live that long?

“Are you a vampire?” Raiga instinctively backed away, but the old man merely shook his head.

“No. If I were, someone would have driven a stake through my chest by now. I am what I am—the Prophet. I have lived this long because the world itself willed it. Until someone else is born with my abilities, I will continue to exist. Unless someone kills me first,” the old man concluded.

Emi brought her right hand to her chin.

“Then why do you need us, my lord? We’re grateful that you stopped the guards from arresting us over the incident at the academy. But I’m only a researcher. I don’t know what use I could possibly be to you,” Emi said, still struggling to process the revelations that seemed to be raining down one after another.

And they had only just begun.

“Raiga, do you know what it truly means to be the Heretic?” the Prophet asked him plainly.

“Yes. A criminal and an exile. Someone everyone hates,” he answered, lowering his gaze sadly before sighing.

“But it goes far beyond that. You must have noticed it in the way people look at you and how they immediately recognize what you are. Being the Heretic does not merely sever your connection to the gods. It also places a curse upon you that causes intelligent beings to become hostile toward you. You are cursed, Raiga.”

Something suddenly went CLICK inside the Heretic’s mind.

“I-I’m… cursed?” Raiga’s eyes widened in shock. His mind could barely process the weight of the revelation.

Emi, however, nodded.

She had already suspected as much, and the Prophet’s words confirmed the conclusion she had reached on her own.

“So it’s true. Raiga was cursed when they named him the Heretic.” Emi stepped forward and looked the old man directly in the eyes, continuing without a trace of fear. “Did you read my research?”

“Yes. You came remarkably close to the truth despite lacking any verifiable source. But what interested me most was that you reached a conclusion that other scholars would never have dared consider: the gods can make mistakes. They are no longer perfect beings.”

Another enormous revelation struck them like a meteor.

They had barely begun processing one truth before another came crashing down on their poor minds.

“I-I… Oh… My head. This can’t be real. Have I spent all this time cursed because the gods made a mistake?” Raiga began to pant. His vision blurred, and he came dangerously close to hyperventilating. Emi reacted immediately, wrapping her precious companion in her arms and gently rubbing his back.

“Easy, Raiga. I’m here. It’s okay. Come here, everything will be all right.” Her sweet, almost angelic voice prevented what might have become a panic attack. The Prophet gave them time to absorb the truth and remained silent for several minutes.

“Yes, I know. I’m fine now. Thank you, Emi.” Raiga lied. His pale, sickly expression made it obvious that he was in considerable distress.

“No, you’re not. We’re going to pause this conversation for a moment. I apologize, my lord, but this is far too much to take in all at once.” Emi gave the Prophet a polite bow. Raiga followed her example almost automatically.

“Of course. Take a few minutes, and then we will continue. There is still much we need to discuss,” the Prophet concluded. A few seconds later, his body vanished, leaving the pair alone in the middle of the vast hall.