Player of the Strings of Fate

Sart's status was so exalted that he could even disregard House of Iris within the kingdom. Naturally, a mere prison guard did not dare stop him.

Or rather, they pretended not to see Aaron striding along openly and deliberately pushed the heavy prison doors a little wider to make passage easier.

Sart even lowered his voice to explain, "My lord, I am temporarily staying at the city lord's manor. It is safer there."

Huh, "my lord" again?

Aaron noticed the honorific and suddenly recalled Colin, the captain of the city guard. That bald middle-aged man seemed to have addressed him that way as well.

At the time, he had thought it was merely a polite form of address, but now that he thought back on it, something seemed off.

"Then why is Uncle Sart staying at the city lord's manor?" Aaron asked instinctively.

If the two of them simply walked without speaking, the atmosphere would have been far too stifling.

Besides, he could no longer suppress his curiosity.

He knew perfectly well that Sart was definitely not his uncle in any real sense. There had been no reason for him to help.

Sart said softly, "I will explain this matter to you once we return, my lord."

For certain reasons, Leyden City's prison had been built near the city lord's manor. Sart led Aaron along a thick stone wall, passed several guard posts, and arrived at his temporary residence after only a few minutes.

It was still noon, and the sunlight illuminated every corner of the room.

Though the residence had been prepared for a high-status prophet, its furnishings were not particularly lavish. There was only a bed, a table, two chairs, and a box for miscellaneous items.

The room's sole decoration was a silver candlestick placed atop the wooden table.

Everything was simple, but built to last.

Sart took out his crystal ball again and poured the azure Spirit Powder from the leather pouch at his waist.

This time, however, after hesitating briefly, he gritted his teeth and poured out a little more, sprinkling it over the crystal ball.

Aaron could clearly sense an inexplicable ripple spreading through the room. Though the powder had been scattered over the crystal ball, the entire residence began to emit an azure glow.

Perhaps because he had used an especially large amount of Spirit Powder this time, the blue light did not fade away with the wind.

"Uncle Sart, this is..."

"My lord, this is a Star Art Barrier. It can prevent our conversation from being overheard by others," Sart said respectfully. Then he added, "Please just call me Sart. I believe you should know that I am not your uncle. It was merely a disguise for my identity."

Just as I thought...

Aaron understood. "Then, Sart, why are you helping me?"

"Because I am a prophet," Sart answered without hesitation. After a pause, he continued, "...My Advanced Prophecy told me that I should seek you out. There is something on you that I need."

"What do you need?" Aaron's mouth twitched.

When he had first transmigrated into this world, the old man at the beginning had wanted his life.

And now, two men were alone in a room with excellent soundproofing. It was almost impossible for anyone to interrupt them...

Having received an education shaped by the explosion of modern knowledge, Aaron could not help finding the situation a little strange, as though he could see some man's kindly face.

"I don't know." Sart shook his head with a bitter smile. "I am a prophet, but not a seer... I do not receive fragmented, obscure dream images. I only receive brief prompts."

His Advanced Prophecy had been specially prepared by his mentor. With the power of the Star Tower itself, he could grasp a certain possibility within the River of Fate.

This was also one of the Star Tower's benefits, something countless prophets dreamed of obtaining.

"What was the prompt?"

Sart instinctively glanced at the ceiling. After hesitating for several seconds, he said, "Go east. Player of the Strings of Fate."

Seeing Aaron's confused expression, Sart added, "Going east is easy enough to understand. I traveled east all the way here. As for the Player of the Strings of Fate, it mainly refers to someone whose fate has been altered."

As he spoke, he deliberately glanced at Aaron.

Even if Julian, the master of the Star Tower, believed Sart lacked the talent to become an exceptional prophet, he was still a genuine Bronze Rank prophet.

Of course he knew exactly what the words "fate has been altered" meant.

Everyone's fate converged into the River of Fate. Every person's fate had been set from the very beginning, and having one's fate altered was undoubtedly like making a drop of river water shift restlessly from its place.

Even if that might itself have been predestined fate and did not go beyond the bounds of fate, such an insignificant alteration still required an exorbitant price.

In Sart's memories, even the lowest level of fate alteration required a prophet above Gold Rank, working in conjunction with a specific ritual.

Not only was the success rate pitifully low, but regardless of success or failure, the ritual's performer—that is, the prophet—would have to sacrifice at least five years of lifespan. Worse still, he might see something he should not have seen during the ritual and go mad, or even become a Heretical Cult follower of some cult.

"The farther you see, the more ignorant you must be."

This was a maxim every Gold Coin Path transcendent had to remember. It was even engraved upon the gates of the Star Tower, reminding every visitor never to forget it.

With that in mind, Sart was convinced that some Gold Rank transcendent must be standing behind Aaron.

Or... perhaps I could ask my teacher?

The thought surfaced in Sart's mind, but he immediately extinguished it himself and smiled bitterly inwardly.

While Sart was lost in his memories, Aaron was thinking as well.

Though he did not understand the true meaning behind "Player of the Strings of Fate," he understood what it meant for fate to be altered.

It seemed his inexplicable transmigration had changed the fate of this body's original owner.

Memories from this period surged into his mind once more, flashing past one after another like a revolving lantern, but Aaron could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Do you know about the Rat-Faced Cult?" Aaron thought of the old man from the beginning, then of that mass of black smoke that had seemed alive, and asked hesitantly.

"I do not know the Rat-Faced Cult in great detail. I only know that they are a group of Heretical Cult followers skilled at concealment and disguise. The object of their worship is the Rat-Face, a rat with a human face. Of course, there are many such rats."

Sart frowned as he tried to recall more. "It is said that if a follower is devout enough, he may even gain a Rat-Face's recognition and become a Rat-Face himself. Of course, some followers also attempt to find sacrifices for their master, using a specific Descent Ritual to bring their master into this world."

He could not help glancing at Aaron.

It seemed Aaron had recently been treated as a sacrifice for a Rat-Face follower's Descent Ritual.

"Aren't you afraid that I've already become a Rat-Face?" Aaron said half-jokingly.

Of course, he did not believe he had been possessed by a Rat-Face.

He could now vaguely determine that the strange black smoke had likely been the soul of a Rat-Face, and his system had only been activated after absorbing that Rat-Face's soul.

But whenever Aaron thought of the system's requirement, his teeth began to ache. "Absorb new energy to activate the first stage."

But where was he supposed to find new energy to absorb?

Surely he was not expected to become a sacrifice in some cult's Descent Ritual all over again?

There probably wasn't some kind of half-price second time, right?