Chapter 92: The Prophet of the Seventh Night (2)

"Marcellus, tell me, what is weighing on your heart today?"

The effeminate yet masculine voice that echoed from all directions belonged to a very elegant-looking man, dressed in a sacred church robe with a white hood that prevented anyone from seeing his face. Beneath the white hood, all you could see was a gleaming golden headband, though it had slipped partially to one side.

His hands were unadorned, but he carried an elegant staff crafted from dragon bone. The staff alone exuded an aura that made those who looked at it tremble. It was a weapon that was difficult to carry or control.

"Prophet!" Cardinal Marcellus and the rest of the cardinals immediately greeted him with respect.

The other members of the church immediately knelt in deep reverence, admiration, and near adoration.

At the same time, the prisoners were completely overwhelmed by that powerful aura. The only one who looked him straight in the eye was Martin; he was of noble blood and had a status to uphold, even in death.

The prophet did not lean on the staff as he walked, but it was not merely for decoration either. This was his weapon of prophecy, called the Staff of Divine Prophecy—a weapon crafted from the pure bones of true dragons.

The Prophet walked over and stopped in front of Marcellus. "Well? What’s weighing on your heart, Marcellus?" From his voice, you could tell he was a young man.

Marcellus sighed heavily. "Prophet, we couldn’t track down the special guest. He slipped away by running down the mountainside."

The Prophet’s clothes fluttered for a moment, as if a breeze had blown against them, and he suddenly laughed. "Unbelievable. This must be the first time anyone has slipped past Cardinal Marcellus."

He laughed heartily, and his laughter brought a strange sense of calm and peace to everyone in the room, including the nonbelievers. That powerful voice was the most challenging thing Khan and Martin had ever faced.

It could make them change their minds with just a few words; they were certain of it. That’s why they chose to bite their tongues repeatedly to resist the strange temptation to give in to the desires of their minds.

They bit it so many times that they started to bleed.

The Prophet turned toward them from a distance. "Don’t do that," he said gently. "Everything will happen according to fate. Why cling to what fate has not decreed? Later, you won’t have a tongue left to bite."

Martin and Khan shuddered... "Is that a prophet? Shit, he practically guessed what we were doing from a distance. This guy really can see the future!" they exclaimed, in complete shock.

My God, was there really a Talent as wonderful as that?

Even though Martin and Khan possessed Talents that others could only dream of having, they had just witnessed someone perform such astonishing feats that now they, too, dreamed of having a similar Talent.

The prophet smiled beneath his hood and looked at Marcellus again.

"But I’m surprised—not many people are able to escape from you, Marcellus. Is it that strong?" he asked softly, his voice sounding like a beautiful poem... Too dangerous.

"He’s not really strong..." Marcellus said. "He just has a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He has a flying cat that’s very resilient, for example."

"A flying cat?" The prophet was genuinely surprised. "A spiritual being?" he asked.

Marcellus thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "That’s likely, Mr. Prophet."

For the first time, the prophet fell silent for a few seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

"Your charms don’t affect him; he’s not weak, but he’s cunning. He has some peculiar traits... He’s an interesting guy—do you see? Do you understand now why he’s a special guest?"

Marcellus nodded. "But he left..."

"He’ll be back—don’t worry." The prophet shrugged and looked toward the center of the room.

The goddess hadn’t descended, but he was more interested in what was beside the sacrificial altar.

"Alice, the true sorceress..." he whispered.

Although Marcellus was already accustomed to the prophet’s ability to recognize practically any being in this world thanks to his "gift" of prophecy, it was still astonishing that he could name someone and reveal their exact identity just by looking at them for a moment.

"It is her, sir." Marcellus and the other cardinals confirmed it.

"Her blood is very pure, and she is the daughter of a distant descendant of an Ancient Clan," said the prophet.

Marcellus was moved to hear him speak of someone like that. He stepped closer. "Prophet, do you know whose daughter she is?"

"I understand your intentions, but I must tell you that I do not. I will pray to the goddess that she may grant me a direct answer, but for now, she is enough. She is a true sorceress, after all."

Marcellus sighed helplessly, but after listening carefully, he perked up and smiled. "Very well, Lord Prophet."

The prophet finally looked at the other believers, blessed them, and addressed a few words to them. Then he looked at the prisoners, especially the strongest ones who were gathered together in a group.

"Mr. Khan, Mr. Martin Lawrence, Young Finn..." He named each and every one of them. "I’m impressed that such distinguished figures have come to visit." The prophet laughed.

Martin Lawrence, who knew no fear, continued to look him straight in the eye. "Hiding your face behind a hood and some trinkets—is that what the famous Prophet of the Seventh Night looks like?" he sneered.

"How dare you!" Suddenly, among the archbishops and cardinals, fury flared up like gunpowder or gasoline. They immediately pointed their fingers at him, and some were ready to draw their weapons.

However, the Prophet raised his right hand to stop them. "Preserve your holiness, little ones," he whispered.

They shuddered slightly at the memory and lowered their weapons and their egos.

The Prophet looked at Martin again.

"Mr. Martin Lawrence, it’s not always good to act so harshly when you’re facing someone else. Some things are better left unsaid, because speaking up sometimes makes things go wrong."

Martin scoffed. "I’m Lawrence. Who cares if things go wrong? Lawrence isn’t afraid of anything!"

"True, that’s true too. The Lawrences are pretty aggressive and crazy... I don’t think they should keep being so crazy, you know?"

"You’re not in a position to tell us how we should be."

"No, no, really. I’m saying this because there are only two of them... Or maybe three? Oh, I forgot. Well, never mind. There are so few of them that they should be more afraid of things. At least until they can produce new offspring, don’t you think? It would be a shame if they disappeared."

"Who do you think you are to tell us how to do things?" Martin growled again.

"Oh, I don’t believe a word of it." The prophet laughed and raised his arms in the air as if to signal that he was giving up.

He moved on to the next person.

"How is your teacher, little Finn?"

Finn shuddered slightly and looked up at him.

"You brought us here to kill us. Why are you asking unnecessary questions? Just kill us already!" he exclaimed.

"That’s a harsh request, little Finn. I just stopped by to say hello."

"I don’t want your damn hello!"

"What a rude boy... It seems the old man really is past his prime, and his disciple is barely on the right path. Sigh." The prophet looked at Khan.

"The one they say might have surpassed Carl Magnus’s achievement, Khan... I remember you were a mercenary—are all of you here mercenaries?"

Khan frowned and looked him straight in the face. "Can my answers set my companions free?"

The prophet was taken aback by the question. "You want to free them, but you don’t want to free yourself?"

"I know how your ritual works, Seventh Night."

"Well, that’s a surprise." Although he said it seriously, the mocking tone told Khan that this prophet was just toying with him.

"That’s why you just need to kill me and steal all my power... I’m a very powerful Rank B; if you know me, you know that. I’ll be enough, and I don’t need you to free everyone—it’s enough that they’re my companions."

"And what would I gain by letting my prisoners go? Everyone out there would talk about the Seventh Night, and all the information about our holiness would be revealed. Then they would attack us, and a great war would break out in the kingdom that would destroy it... What’s in it for me?"

Khan frowned. "They’ll leave, and no one will bother them anymore. I’ll make sure they sign blood contracts to that effect."

"Oh. An interesting proposal." The prophet shifted slightly, as if he were excited.

However, at that moment, Khan realized that this guy was just toying with him.

"Look, it’s not that I don’t want to do it. But my Goddess has grown fond of your friends. So I don’t think it’ll be possible. I’m sorry, Lord Khan."

Khan sighed heavily.

"Hmph, you don’t need to talk to that guy, Khan," Martin said. "If he kills us, you’re doomed. Once Gio takes that information to my family and the guild... I’m afraid even running away in terror will be impossible."

"Hahaha..." The prophet suddenly burst out laughing. His movement nearly knocked his headband askew, but by some magical means, it didn’t fall off as he leaned forward.

"Interesting, interesting. Lawrence, the Celestial Guild... If they were able to attack us, it would surely be catastrophic."

Martin tried to speak, but the prophet beat him to it.

"For them, I mean."