At Moon Worshipper Sacred Land, a human Imperial Dao figure appeared, dressed like a mortal fortune-teller—neither fish nor fowl.
Before the altar, Ning Chen looked at the visitor. After a few pleasantries, a helpless smile appeared on his face.
"Kid, that old man, the Lord of the Divine Realm, said you are humanity's hope. This old Daoist came especially to see for himself, but now that I have, apart from that fate of yours that courts baleful intent, you do not seem particularly special," the fortune-teller said bluntly, sizing up the young man before him.
"This junior has met the Lord of the Divine Realm only once. I do not know why that senior would make such an assessment. Perhaps he was merely joking; Senior need not take it seriously," Ning Chen said calmly.
"Heh."
The fortune-teller smiled faintly. "That old fellow never jokes. If he said you are humanity's hope, then you must be. No need for false modesty."
Ning Chen smiled but said no more on the matter. Humanity's hope had never been him, nor did he have the right to decide another's fate.
"You have been to the Primeval Demonic Realm?" the fortune-teller asked.
"I have."
Ning Chen nodded and answered truthfully, "A hundred races contending in song—it truly opened my eyes."
"What odds does humanity have if it goes to war with the Primeval Demonic Realm?" the fortune-teller asked directly.
"Less than ten percent," Ning Chen replied without hesitation.
To the side, Peacock's willow-leaf brows furrowed slightly as she sat in her wheelchair. Only a ten percent chance?
"Little girl, what do you think?" The fortune-teller turned his gaze toward the woman in the wheelchair.
"I previously estimated that humanity should have roughly a thirty percent chance. However, Marquis of Knowing Fate has personally visited the