[Possible Space-Time] The Deal

Prophetic Dream.

Serie sat on the windowsill, one leg bent, her hand resting on her knee. Her bare foot dangled in the air, swinging gently back and forth.

"Let's exchange information," she said decisively. "I'll explain my situation first. However, before we begin, I'd like to confirm one thing."

She turned her head, her golden eyes looking at the emperor standing by the table.

"With the emperor's authority, can he stop this assassination plan?"

"It's like asking a baker to harvest wheat in the field," the emperor replied calmly. "Why do you think the empire has lasted for a thousand years? Even under a foolish ruler like myself, the empire wouldn't immediately perish. Power is distributed among several people, and no matter who sits in that position, the imperial machine will continue to function normally. It's not like those insignificant little countries where power cannot, and will not, be concentrated in the hands of the emperor alone."

He withdrew his hand, his gaze meeting Serie's.

"Therefore, my hand cannot reach into the shadow of the empire."

Serie looked at him for two seconds. Then, she softly said "Oh," and turned her face to look at the night sky outside the window. The response was very soft, with the last syllable trailing slightly downward, like a feather falling to the ground.

"Is that so?" she said. "Then it seems you have no value as a hostage."

The emperor gave a faint, almost helpless smile.

"That's a terrible thing to say. Indeed, as you say, if something were to happen to me, it would just be someone else sitting in this chair. But I will do my best to help you. I am also a man of great loyalty, and I have always wanted to find an opportunity to repay Duncan's kindness."

"I haven't done anything yet." Serie jumped off the windowsill, her bare feet touching the cold floor, and walked to the center of the study. "Then I'll continue."

She stopped in front of the emperor, with a large desk between them.

"My Prophetic Dream Magic allows me to experience 'future' scenes randomly and in fragmented ways while I sleep. The timing and duration are uncertain, and the probability of triggering them is pitifully low. Of course, I also cannot see my own future after death."

She raised a finger.

"But ever since that one Prophetic Dream, I've never been able to see the future after the midnight bells of the ball. I will be killed at that moment."

The emperor nodded.

"That's so inconvenient."

"Of course, the magic of Future Prediction has always had many limitations, and there are countless examples of it going wrong." Serie walked to the wall, her fingertips tracing the spines of a row of ancient books on the bookshelf. "I only know of one person who can perfectly Future Prediction. Most other so-called 'foreseeing' is just piecing together clues, calculating probabilities, and trying to 'speculate' as much as possible. Compared to true 'seeing,' it's worlds apart."

"Really? Then why don't you combine it with other magic and explore more possibilities?"

"No," Serie answered decisively. "All I have left is 'Prophetic Dreams.' To be honest, I don't really like the idea of Future Prediction. But many magicians are obsessed with it, so I gave away the more practical ones as 'privileges.' In the end, this most useless and random Prophetic Dream was left, but because my death is near, it has lost its 'randomness' and become... exceptionally 'practical.'"

The emperor walked behind his desk and sat down in an armchair.

"Then why don't you join forces with those mages who are skilled in precognition?"

"They," Serie turned around, leaning against the bookshelf, "Are all dead. Most mages who can Future Prediction don't live long. Either they die from overconfidence in their own predictions, or... from the hands of someone else who can also Future Sight. Judging from the current situation, the latter is more likely. Those who wanted to kill me could also see the future, so they preemptively eliminated my disciples who could Future Prediction."

Her gaze fell on the emperor's face.

"At the ball tomorrow night, the moment the clock strikes midnight will be my death day. My neck will be severed by an attack from a blind spot. I won't be able to see the attacker's face, and my magical senses will be completely unresponsive—the one who kills me will definitely be a warrior. It's unbelievable that there are still warriors with such skill in this era."

"No matter where I escape to, the outcome will be the same. It's not just limited to the venue; even if I never come to the Imperial Capital, I still can't escape death."

The emperor leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table with his fingers interlaced.

"Is this your basis for believing that the other party can also Future Prediction?"

"That's not all," Serie replied. "I'm not one to run away. To avoid that outcome, I've tried many methods—clones, illusions, barriers... trying to confront it head-on. When I did that, the attack didn't happen, and I survived. But each time I escaped, the outcome was worse."

Her voice lowered, becoming calm, but each word was like an ice bead falling onto a jade plate.

"Many mages belonging to the Continental Magic Association were killed. Although sacrifice was inevitable regardless of the choice, this time, the number of deaths far exceeds that of the past. Many of them were indispensable to the cities where they lived. Some could even protect hundreds of thousands of people a year. To be honest, the Continental Magic Association has grown too large. I cannot protect everyone."

She looked up.

"They've all become 'hostages.' It seems they want to invite me to the ball, to dance one last dance, and force me to surrender my life."

"If the other party couldn't Future Prediction, and didn't know I could Prophetic Dreams, how could they have prepared such a comprehensive set of threatening bargaining chips?"

She looked at the emperor and asked the most crucial question.

"Then, Your Majesty, do you know anyone who has the ability to Future Prediction?"

The emperor was silent for a moment. He loosened his interlaced fingers, and his right hand unconsciously rose, the fingertips lightly touching his lower lip.

"As far as possibilities go... only Fres is possible. But her magic isn't that type. If she could Future Prediction, the empire wouldn't have fallen to its current state."

"That's true." Serie nodded. "Besides, precognitive magic is rare, and most of these skills were lost to a tribe that perished in the wars of the Southern Lands. Fres looks like someone from the Northern Countries; I don't believe she's a descendant of that tribe."

She walked to the desk, placed her hands on the smooth surface, and leaned forward slightly.

"In short, enough with the pleasantries. It's time to discuss the outcome. Let's work together to minimize the losses for both of us."

The emperor leaned back in his chair, his fingers gently stroking his smooth chin. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were focused, as if he were rapidly mentally calculating a complex series of numbers.

"I see, I understand now." He finally spoke, his tone calm and collected, as if the dust had settled. "So, what do you want to know from me?"

Reality surged back like a tide.

Inside the banquet hall, the grand feast woven from dazzling lights and melodious music was suddenly brought to a brief, frozen pause by some invisible weight.

The sound of neat and steady footsteps came from the side door, the sound of boots striking the marble floor rhythmic and clear, carrying an undeniable sense of authority, penetrating the pervasive music and whispers, and reaching everyone's ears clearly.

The guests instinctively turned their heads to look.

Eight members of the Magical Special Forces, dressed in impeccably tailored dark blue uniforms with meticulously applied epaulets and collar insignia, entered the hall in two columns. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, their faces expressionless, their gazes fixed straight ahead, like the most precisely tuned magical puppets, carving out a straight and silent passage through the surging crowd.

Then, the emperor entered.

He wore the same black robes as in the dream, the dark gold imperial crest shimmering with a subtle yet profound luster on his chest. His long golden hair was neatly combed, and the black velvet crown, inlaid with jewels and crystals, was placed squarely atop his head. His face was youthful, his expression one of a calm honed by countless trials, and his gaze slowly swept across the hall, as if he were merely conducting a routine, territorial inspection.

But the air in the entire banquet hall subtly changed density the moment he stepped in. Laughter subsided and then quickly dissipated; the figures spinning on the dance floor slowed down; and all eyes, whether openly or cautiously fixed on him, inevitably converged on that one point.

Guided by his attendants, the emperor walked toward the main guest area. Eight members of the Magical Special Forces followed closely behind, stopping half a step behind him, forming a tight semi-circle, standing silently and shutting out all irrelevant gazes and possibilities.

Serie leaned back in her high-backed chair, watching the Emperor walk towards her, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. A bright, unrestrained smile played on her lips, carrying an almost gleeful certainty of "See? Just as I thought."

"They've finally arrived," she said softly, a hint of amusement in her voice. "This vain fellow certainly has more entourage than I do."

Sense stood to her side and slightly behind, her long brown ponytail motionless. Her droopy eyelids lifted slightly, her gaze sweeping swiftly over the eight Magical Special Forces, lingering for a moment on the emperor's face before falling back down, returning to her usual bland and weary expression.

Beneath the palace lies a long-abandoned secret passage.

Two figures, Varos and Kleis, stepped into the darkness, one after the other.

Both were dressed in dark, form-fitting clothing that allowed for easy movement, almost blending into the surrounding darkness.

Not far from them, in the deep darkness, Falsh stood silently, his back against the cold stone wall.

He pushed up his round-framed glasses, his gaze piercing the darkness behind the lenses, settling calmly on the two figures that had just stopped. His breathing was completely still, his magical energy almost nonexistent, and he seemed to merge with the stone wall and the shadows themselves, becoming a lifeless and unnoticed backdrop.