The Astrologer’s Diary (Part 1)

January 17, 2037, cloudy turning clear, astrological fortune: Great Omen of Misfortune.

Ultimately, the relationship with the Dragon Race had deteriorated completely.

Generations ago, an elder had glimpsed the death omen star of the Seventh Venerable Lord, “Black Dragon Emperor” Skasha, in the cosmic rifts. Skasha vehemently asserted that this omen was a conspiracy orchestrated by that very elder.

Now, a century later, the truth of that time was lost to history, leaving only the certainty of war.

Rumor had it that the enraged Dragon Race had already launched an assault on the second Ancient Star Palace. While the previous attack could have been dismissed as an accidental bombing, this time, such an explanation was utterly impossible.

Everyone seemed to be in a state of panic and unease. The elders were deep in discussion, their voices a constant murmur, and the very air crackled with tension, thick with the scent of gunpowder.

Yet, none of this truly concerned me.

For someone like me, who had barely stepped foot outside Waterborn Village, these events felt incredibly distant.

My sole diversion was to repeatedly watch the video archives of the Ninth Apostle.

Beyond that, I found no joy in life.

January 26, 2037, light snow, astrological fortune: Great Omen of Misfortune.

The Dragon Race, it seemed, had grown too lazy even to concoct excuses.

Their attacks grew increasingly brazen and reckless, showing little regard for whether civilians would be affected. It was utterly outrageous.

The elders were currently seeking aid from the other Venerable Lords. However, all but the Third Venerable Lord had failed to respond for various reasons.

Moreover, given Skasha’s temperament, it was highly unlikely they would heed the Third Venerable Lord’s counsel.

The elders had begun visiting Waterborn Village frequently to see me, a stark contrast to their rare appearances before. I knew exactly why they came.

What people called ‘interpersonal relationships’ was nothing more than a cycle of utilization and being utilized.

Those who broke free from this cycle, acting according to their own will and principles, casting aside the pursuit of justice—such individuals were called heroes.

I knew I was no hero.

In this world, the one who came closest to the word ‘hero’ was probably the Ninth Apostle of the Human Race.

If he were in my position, what would he do?

February 14, 2037, blizzard, astrological fortune: Extreme Omen of Misfortune.

This day had finally arrived.

The prophesied time of destruction had at last descended, with the impatient Skasha personally taking to the field.

As I penned these words, I could already hear the approaching footsteps of the elders.

They were hurrying toward me.

I knew it.

They had nurtured me for fifteen years, all for this very moment.

February 16, 2037, sleet, astrological fortune: Extreme Omen of Misfortune.

My first kill.

More precisely, my first dragon kill.

It was also the first time in my life I had slain a creature larger than a cockroach.

To be honest, it felt terrible.

Not guilt, nor remorse, but a pure, unadulterated… terrible feeling.

I truly disliked killing.

Yet, what was called ‘maturity,’ what was called ‘responsibility,’ was to do things one disliked.

Everyone experienced this on their journey of growth.

February 23, 2037, cloudy, astrological fortune: Extreme Omen of Misfortune.

We finally breached Cliffhold, one of the Dragon Race’s largest strongholds.

This place was a natural fortress, easy to defend and difficult to attack, further protected by two Dragon Kings and their kin. Advancing gradually in the usual manner would have taken far too long.

Therefore, we had no choice but to evaporate it directly with a super-tier magic spell.

This was my first time unleashing my Minor Cosmos and fully expanding my Star Palace in actual combat, and it was more exhausting than I had imagined.

Perhaps I was gradually growing accustomed to it, as I felt nothing upon seeing the dragon corpses disintegrated by starlight.

Would I become a callous executioner if this continued?

Tell me, Ninth Apostle Corvus Archia Lupercal, my pillar of strength.

If it were you, what would you do?

March 1, 2037, clear turning cloudy, astrological fortune: Death Omen.

I saw my own death omen star.

It was very close, extremely close. In no more than five days, a fatal misfortune would surely descend.

Skasha, I presumed, could no longer sit still and was coming to challenge me personally.

My opponent was a Dragon King who had lived for centuries, while I was merely a fledgling girl who had just turned sixteen.

What were my chances of victory?

What kind of resolve should I hold?

What was the Ninth Apostle thinking back then, when they successively fought the Sixth Venerable Lord and the Unranked Venerable Lord?

March 4, 2037, light rain, astrological fortune: Death Omen.

Skasha’s roar echoed from outside the encampment. It was truly dreadful.

This would likely be the last entry I ever wrote in this diary.

Should I miraculously survive, I vowed to secretly journey to the Human Race’s territory to meet the Ninth Apostle.

The time had come.

It was time to go.

March 11, 2037, fog, astrological fortune: Minor Omen of Good Fortune.

I was alive.

I was alive.

I was alive.

I was alive.

I was alive.

I was alive.

I won.

Everything felt like a dream.

The battle had lasted a full week, progressing from mutual probing to fierce clashes, then to desperate combat, and finally a protracted war of attrition. The Dragon Sanctuary was utterly annihilated by my nation-level magic, and it was Skasha who fell first.

My death omen star was gone.

I was alive.

It was truly good to be alive.

March 29, 2037, clear, astrological fortune: Minor Omen of Good Fortune.

After nearly a month of recuperation, I resumed writing in my diary after a long hiatus.

I must have been overly excited immediately after the battle, as I actually dipped my fractured pinky finger in starlight and carved that day’s entry into a stone. In retrospect, it was quite unseemly.

After the intense battle, with every bone in my body broken, not a single piece of intact skin, my internal organs displaced, and in a state of extreme weakness, I had finally managed to recover.

Moreover, during my recovery, I was constantly surrounded by people, making it impossible to secretly watch the Ninth Apostle’s videos. It was truly frustrating.

Once my injuries were fully healed, I would secretly slip away and explore the Human Race’s territory.

However, it seemed other Venerable Lords would be visiting me tomorrow. I wondered what their intentions were?

March 30, 2037, clear, astrological fortune: Omen of Misfortune.

Things had spiraled out of control.

What was initially a private feud between the Dragon Race and the Astrologers had now escalated into a full-blown crisis.

Skasha was, after all, the Seventh Venerable Lord, a crucially important combatant. With relations still tense with the Human Race, one of the Seven Venerable Lords had been slain by me.

I had mentally prepared myself to fight my way out and escape. Yet, the First, Third, Fourth, and Fifth Venerable Lords who came to see me showed no signs of blaming me.

Only the Third Venerable Lord appeared to have a headache, while the other three seemed more intrigued.

March 31, 2037, clear turning cloudy, astrological fortune: Great Omen of Misfortune.

“Every Venerable Lord is invaluable. Since you killed Skasha, you must bear the responsibility and take their place.”

—That’s what I was told.

I did not want to be a Venerable Lord.

But the choice was not mine.

I could not refute it, nor did I have anything to argue. My inheritance of the Seventh Venerable Lord’s position was already set in stone.

If I claimed I was too weak to bear this responsibility… well, even I wouldn’t believe it. Objectively speaking, I was indeed very strong.

The investiture ceremony would take place in a week, but considering the current tension with the Dragon Race, it would not be publicly announced for now.

April 7, 2037, light rain, astrological fortune: Omen of Misfortune.

In a daze, the ceremony concluded.

I, a rustic girl raised in Waterborn Village since childhood, had transformed, becoming the “Supreme, Great, Mighty, and Majestic Seventh Venerable Lord.”

Naturally, I also became the new elder of the Astrologer clan, but this was meaningless, as most Astrologers had been slaughtered by the dragons.

Those old men seemed eager for me to quickly find a man among the remaining few to marry and continue the bloodline. It was somewhat disgusting.

Logically, a new Venerable Lord would inherit their predecessor’s subordinates, but the Dragon Race naturally wouldn’t show me any goodwill, constantly opposing me both openly and covertly.

The title of Seventh Venerable Lord brought me nothing but trouble.

A sudden thought struck me.

Could the Ninth Apostle’s disappearance actually be because… like me, they were forced to shoulder a burden they never wanted?

September 1, 2037, cloudy turning clear, astrological fortune: Great Omen of Good Fortune.

I had finally endured through it all.

It seemed that during an investigation into an old cold case, the higher-ups had stumbled upon a mysterious incident called the “Night of the Hunt,” requiring a deep investigation into the Human Realm.

This matter appeared to hold many secrets, too complex for ordinary investigators, so I volunteered myself.

This was an excellent opportunity to shed all the annoying troubles and enjoy a vacation among the Human Race.

Perhaps I might even meet the Ninth Apostle.

Even the astrological fortune was a Great Omen of Good Fortune!

Over these past few months, I had devoured countless fashion magazines and had, at least, learned how to present myself. I couldn’t possibly be unkempt in front of the Ninth Apostle.