Crawford left the mansion.
Watching him go, Elliot could not help recalling Tobias's prophecy about him-the Tyrant.
Back then, Elliot had refused to believe that this man could become emperor. There were many in the royal family more talented and more powerful than he was.
Now, it seemed Tobias probably had not been wrong.
Elliot had already noticed that as long as he did nothing to change things, the future really would move closer to the course foretold by the [Prophet in the Urn].
History had inertia, and even some strange tendency to correct itself. It was always trying to return to its original script and move toward its predetermined future.
Like a pool of water, no matter what waves were stirred up, it would always settle on its own given enough time.
And Elliot was a fish swimming in that pool, the only variable in this stagnant water.
The small changes he made would always be gradually smoothed away.
But if he kept stirring up waves, stacking them upon one another, could they ultimately become a towering surge that swallowed everything?
Elliot slowly withdrew his gaze.
He had not given Crawford an answer about what had happened last night.
Uncovering the truth was not particularly difficult. The Sacred Blood Nobles were far from united, and asking around a little more would let him piece together the answer.
If Crawford truly wanted to become emperor, this was merely the most basic of requirements.
Elliot wanted to see just how far this least qualified prince could go.
"Young Master..."
Not far away, Conrad hesitated to speak.
"Try contacting the Reforging Flame, but don't place much hope in the Church, and don't force the issue. The other noble families must be keeping an extremely close watch on them."
Elliot spoke.
The Machine