Owen and Hard (2)

Hard said nothing. He took out another bottle stamped with a date and handed it over.

Owen took a look. This bottle was older, left behind four years ago. He opened it, and his expression grew even graver.

"Bow at the feet of the King of the Dead. Offer your loyalty and your soul. Seek life in death."

A bitter smile crossed Hard's face. "I have a few more dated bottles I didn't bring. They hold revelations I received through Random Prophecy over the years, but none are as clear as these two."

In truth, Hard's prediction three or four years ago that they would enter the Mist World was not so earth-shattering. The Prophet was an extraordinary profession unlike any other. If this were a game, it would surely be a hidden class: rare, with strange abilities.

At Apprentice Rank, a Prophet gained a basic ability—[Random Prophecy]!

It could be powerful or utterly useless. What event it foretold depended entirely on the Prophet's luck. The difference between fortune's darling and its castoff could come down to a single thought.

That was why Hard had hidden his identity as a Prophet all these years and passed himself off as a rapper. The ability was simply too unpredictable. Who knew when he might foretell something momentous? That would make many powerful people uneasy. However slim the chance, someone who could see their future was better off dead, as far as they were concerned.

So Hard had kept his ability well hidden. Even the people closest to him in the Nature Church had no idea he was a Prophet. They all thought he was merely a trainee priest of middling talent.

Only now, forced into the Mist World and unexpectedly reunited with Owen, had he hesitated for a long time before finally