The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 672: Prophecy
Divination and prophecy, a desirable power.

This power that enables the ignorant to know the future happens to hit the softest and most desired part of the human heart - curiosity and exploration of the unknown.

Especially on the path of "Destiny", even a ritualist with such superb skills that can accurately predict when the next rainy season will arrive will inevitably become addicted to this power and constantly try to use it to see farther away -

At this point, the future is no longer limited to one's own future.

It will be bigger, deeper and brighter.

For example, the future of the monarch.

The future of the country.

The future of the world.

Once this thrilling thought occurs, no hiker on the trail can resist the temptation.

Some amazing people would think.

If I could immerse myself in the sleep world even more, cast a spell, and predict what I would be like in a year's time -

Then, the self one year later can also cast the spell a second time and predict the self two years later.

So, what about me after the second year?

'I prophesied what I was prophesying.'

This technique, which is very "mysterious" and logical but difficult to achieve, has indeed been able to shine in the hands of some explorers of the road of "destiny" - it can be continuously superimposed, making the performers of the ceremony more and more painful, while indeed laying out a beautiful canvas that quickly jumps backwards.

'I predicted the first year, I predicted the second year, I am predicting the third year, I am predicting the fourth year...'

If the numbers were changed from 'one' to 'three', 'five', 'seven', or 'ten', we would see a completely different world -

That was a world of collapse and destruction.

A black dragon with cat eyes and ears streaked across the sky; a huge fortress with shattering parts stepped through the fog with spider-like skinny legs, and the steam it emitted created more fog;
The land that should have been solid seemed to be flowing slowly like liquid; all the houses were swaying, moving to the left or right, singing the boatman's song, and pulling themselves out of the flowing land with a whoosh.

The nameless barrier was covered with frost-like cracks, and the sun and the moon were nowhere to be seen.

The half-wolf girl was running in the smoke, flashing and weaving in the bullets and flames, using her sharp scimitar to blow away the broken limbs and arms. The bright red blood beads formed lines and poured onto another handful of gray-white long hair.

laughter.

Explosion.

Steam cars running wildly.

Small, flying bombs.

A monster made of machinery and flesh.

In the grotesque apocalyptic chaos, all the solemn landmark buildings collapsed like an incredible belief.

The world sincerely kisses the offspring it has bred, bids farewell, and then moves towards destruction.

'Cigars and cakes! Kisses and fists!'

'… Greetings to you.'

There was a loud bang.

The man rolled off the luxurious bed and fell onto the carpet.

His purple eyelids began to melt, and the paint randomly drew out lush snow-green trees on his face.

He breathed in and out, holding his breath against his heart, in so much pain that he even ignored the worried nobleman standing beside him. He just rashly took the cup of water handed to him by the maid, wishing he could pinch his esophagus short and pour the liquid inside into his shrinking stomach.

This painful time will not be shortened by the arrival of fluid.

He drank more than a dozen cups until some things no longer had any appeal, until he felt like he was floating on air, about to be peeled off from his skin and flesh, peeling off the grid-like floating bladder, and standing up from this shaking world.

"Destruction..."

He slammed his thigh hard, calling on the pain to pull back his drifting soul.

"It is destruction, my Lord."

The man let the maids lift him up and sit him back on the soft bed. He let them fiddle with his face and wipe away the cyanotic pus that was about to corrode his eyeballs to the point of complete blindness.

Then, emphasize again.

"Destroyed."

The lady beside him, wearing a tailored shirt and a cape of gold thread, was only worried about the health of her minister. She held his hand, and her face, as brilliant as the country, was now filled with turbulent anxiety - for this man who had dedicated himself.

"I said I didn't want to..."

"Such is the fate of Fate, Your Majesty."

The man narrowed his eyes and tried to comfort his monarch. He rudely grasped her increasingly swollen hand with his backhand, using almost all his strength, and then let go before she felt uncomfortable.

"That is a sign of ruin, Your Majesty. You must take it seriously, with the utmost care."

He recalled everything he had seen and described it to his monarch in the simplest words: the strange creatures that should not have appeared in this world, the terrible ritualist, the walking castle, and the soft earth.

And the dome is about to collapse.

During this time, the Queen just stared at his face quietly, and as the description became more complicated, his pain became more and more serious.

She shed tears and refused the handkerchief offered by the maid.

"…I am just a woman, benefactor! My lucky yet unfortunate fate has made me sit on this noble yet painful chair. Now, people around me are suffering one after another because of me - I am the source of all the pain…"

She did not scream and go crazy like someone who had an emotional outburst or had just lost love. Instead, she was like an old person who had experienced a lot of hardships and was even accustomed to them. She just recited calmly and shed tears silently.

This made the maids and the man who predicted the future even more sad.

He was so anxious that he almost opened his eyes: "How can this be your mistake?!"

He shouted, "This is the fault of those cultists! My majesty, you will lead us to a glorious event! This country, this land, and every person on this land will be honored!"

"How could you think that?!"

Lavia Heidi stood behind him, feeling the sadness of the person she loved, and a boundless anger ignited from the pumping blood in her heart.

"I will open up a path for you."

She lowered her head slightly, and a shadow passed over the bridge of her nose, covering her eyebrows and eyes.

"no matter who."

The Queen shook her head.

She could only comfort the suffering ritualist in a gentle voice, who might never again be able to perform divination or prophecy, never be able to take a step forward on the road, or even...

The poor man who can no longer feel the "secret" and witness another magical world...

Now, she just wanted to use her kindness, compassion and timidity to weave into a gentle spring to cleanse his extinguished loyal and pure soul that would never be revived again.

…………

……

The palace that is always magnificent is also always quiet.

Victoria walked slowly forward in her cloak.

There were still traces of tears on his face.

"'Tea Party Greetings' - Your Majesty, please send me to deal with that evil cult."

The maid, Lavia Heidi, followed behind him, with a volcano in her eyes that was about to erupt.

The queen, however, was in no hurry to deal with this small cult which probably had not yet sprouted, and inquired about the ritualists other than the men.

"We have three more Fates standing by, Your Majesty. If you require—"

"Do not."

Victoria shook her head, with a barely perceptible disdain in her eyes: "Even if it is a consumable, it must be used in the right place..."

suddenly.

She paused in front of the tearoom door.

He pushed the maid's arm away and turned the doorknob himself.

Silent gusts of wind passed through the crack in the door.

In front of the long table in the setting sun.

The woman in the jet-black dress was holding a porcelain cup and motioning to her from a distance: "Good afternoon, my supreme."

(End of this chapter)