167 Three Meetings, One Fate
Colin scoffed. "That was when I was young and reckless. Now that I’m older, I’d rather not die."
"Oh my, hearing you say that is quite the surprise."
"Enough teasing. Just read the signs already. How long are you going to drag this out?"
The woman standing before him, Helen, a fellow mage of the Celestial School, smiled playfully.
"Patience. The stars have not yet settled in place. The sky is ever-changing, its depths endless."
Colin exhaled, shaking his head. "Feel the change, don’t try to understand it—that’s what our master always said. Even I remember that much."
"I’m glad. You were always so stubborn back then. I thought you had ignored all his lessons."
Helen suddenly stopped speaking.
Then, without warning, she flipped over the first card of her deck.
Colin watched in quiet fascination.
He didn’t understand astrology, but he had always found it strange—she had already set the cards down, yet she still waited for the right moment to turn them.
Still, the results never lied.
And from the way her brows furrowed, he could tell this reading was no exception.
"…What is it?" he asked.
Helen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picked up a quill and wrote down a short passage.
After a brief hesitation, she handed it to him.
Colin read it aloud, his expression growing more confused with each word.
"Three meetings and three chances. Two failures, and one final opportunity. If grasped, a benefactor. If lost, the herald of death?"
Colin rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought as he mulled over the meaning of the prophecy.
Prophecies were always vague—more like cryptic riddles than clear predictions of the future. Even the diviner who cast them rarely understood their full meaning. That was why it was best to interpret them personally rather than rely on someone else’s judgment.
"Three meetings and three chances. Two failures and one final opportunity. If grasped, a benefactor. If lost, the harbinger of death."
Taken at face value, it meant he had already missed two opportunities. The last chance still remained, but if he failed to seize it, he would die.
The problem was that he had no idea what those failures referred to.
Sure, I’ve had two failures recently—Bornholm and Krefeld were both disasters. I barely escaped with my life, and I didn’t even get paid properly.
But those were just jobs, not encounters with someone important.
A benefactor… or death.
Who was this mysterious figure?
If it were just one or two people, he might have been able to guess. But Bornholm and Krefeld had been battlefields swarming with soldiers.
Anyone could have been there.
"How difficult is the interpretation?" Helen asked, watching him struggle.
"The interpretation itself is easy," Colin admitted. "The issue is the word meeting. Does that word ever have a figurative meaning in prophecies?"
Helen considered his question carefully before shaking her head.
"No, prophecies are very literal when it comes to meetings. If it says you met someone, it means exactly that."
Colin exhaled. "That’s the problem. I haven’t met the same person twice in recent months."
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"Perhaps the failure itself was not meeting someone," Helen suggested. "A missed encounter could be considered a failure."
"…Not meeting someone counts as a failure?"
"Ah, I’ve said too much." Helen smiled mysteriously and sealed her lips.
Colin had hoped she would give him more insight, but she clearly had no intention of interfering further.
He sighed and pushed himself to his feet.
"Well, since the esteemed prophet has spoken, I’ll just have to figure it out myself."
"Good luck, Senior," Helen said, her voice warm. "I hope you find your benefactor before it’s too late."
Colin left the cave, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He didn’t bother telling Helen to be careful—she had always been good at looking after herself.
The real concern wasn’t her safety.
It was his.
"Three meetings. Two failures. One last chance… Damn it, just who is this supposed benefactor?"
He kept turning the thought over in his mind as he made his way back to his hideout.
But no matter how hard he tried to recall, no name came to mind.
By the time his head started throbbing from overthinking, an unwelcome voice cut through the night.
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"…Sir Palmir," Colin muttered. "If you were going to visit, you could’ve at least sent a warning."
The disdain in the knight’s voice was unmistakable, and Colin frowned as he turned to face him.
Palmir stood at ease, looking down at him with the same condescension as always.
"A magician should be able to sense things like that," Palmir said, smirking. "And yet, here you are, unaware of someone approaching. Calling yourself a miracle worker seems a bit much."
"I’ve explained this before—magic varies depending on the school. A skilled horseman isn’t necessarily good at handling wolves," Colin replied, unimpressed.
"Oh? Sounds like an excuse to me."
"I assume you didn’t come all this way just to mock me," Colin cut in, unwilling to waste time.
Palmir clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he got straight to the point.
"There’s someone I need you to eliminate. You know how to summon lightning, don’t you?"
"…You want it to look like a natural disaster?"
"Precisely," Palmir confirmed. "We won’t be doing this in front of an audience, so as long as it looks like an accident, that will be enough."
Colin sighed but nodded. "It’s possible. But if a storm suddenly appears out of nowhere, people might find it suspicious."
"They won’t have time to be suspicious," Palmir said dismissively. "Just make sure it happens when I tell you to."
"Fine."
Colin agreed, but a bitter taste settled in his mouth.
A magician is meant to be a scholar… so why do I keep getting hired as a damn assassin?
He needed money to survive, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
"The exact date will be decided later," Palmir continued. "Make sure your mana is prepared. If you waste it on something unnecessary and screw up when the time comes…"
"That won’t happen," Colin cut in. "Just tell me who the target is."
Palmir smirked.
"William Hern. The Third Son of Duke Hern."
Colin let out a quiet hum.
So House Calix is making their move.
It was dangerous work, but he didn’t comment.
Hired hands like him didn’t ask questions. As long as the payment was good, the risks were irrelevant.
"Understood. I’ll be ready. Let me know when the time is set."
"Hmph."
Palmir scoffed and turned away, disappearing into the night.