The Weight of Prophecy and Unveiled Intentions

Daphne was, in fact, even more astonished than the two women below her.

While contemplating her response, she had inadvertently recalled the vivid scenes from her dreams. She had never anticipated that this enigmatic space would project those visions in a holographic form, startling even herself.

Ever since transmigrating to this world, Daphne had been relentlessly tormented by similar nightmares. These harrowing, apocalyptic scenes invariably surfaced in her mind the moment she drifted into sleep. It felt as though she had personally experienced and borne witness to the world’s destruction a thousand times over.

After her involuntary transformation into a girl, the nightmares intensified further. Almost every time she slept, she would relive these terrifying images, day after day.

Given their questions, Daphne decided to lay bare her true intentions. She had meticulously worked and planned for so long to combat the Twilight of the End; there was no reason to conceal anything at this pivotal juncture.

The profound impact of the holographic projection far surpassed any verbal explanation. Even though the images had long since frozen, Gwynevere and Verilia remained deeply captivated by the tragic and magnificent spectacle, unable to tear themselves away.

This conveniently spared Daphne the need for lengthy explanations. She was confident that anyone who witnessed such a vision of the apocalypse firsthand would undoubtedly comprehend why she had toiled so tirelessly for the past thirty years.

“So, what is your answer?”

After a prolonged silence, Gwynevere and Verilia once again heard the profound, ancient voice of the female figure, sculpted from a purplish-red nebula, posing the question.

Verilia felt a pang of trepidation. She was still immersed in the sorrow of her teacher’s disappearance, and the political struggles of her two elder brothers already weighed heavily on her mind. The Ael Territory had always known only pleasant winds and fair weather; these horrifying future visions felt utterly distant from her world.

To be suddenly whisked away to this unfamiliar place, told it was a test, and then presented with a proposal to combat an apocalyptic catastrophe—it all felt utterly nonsensical. How was Verilia to discern that this entity was not deceiving them? Opportunities to be chosen by an unknown existence were rare, and the intensely curious Verilia did not wish to miss out, despite knowing it might not be safe.

Just as Verilia was about to give her answer, Gwynevere spoke first, seizing the moment. “If your enemy is an inevitable calamity, then I am willing to follow your guidance.”

So decisive. Verilia was astonished by the spirit and resolution of the unfamiliar girl beside her. Once she recovered, she quickly followed suit. “I concur. Though the objective is grand and distant, I am still willing to offer my humble strength.”

Though she could not discern the girl’s features, and her voice was distorted within this space, Gwynevere could roughly deduce from her tone and phrasing that the girl dragged here with her was likely a noble lady from a privileged background.

Gwynevere had given her affirmative answer without hesitation because she believed that, having been blessed by a deity, she inherently bore corresponding responsibilities. She could not tolerate seeing those weaker than her sacrifice themselves on the front lines while she merely stood by, watching with cold indifference. If disaster was destined to strike, Gwynevere saw no reason not to rise and confront it.

Although the Pope’s disappearance and the subsequent cascade of events left her stretched thin, Gwynevere knew perfectly well that she could not remain confined here indefinitely.

Was this a benevolent invitation? Or the insidious temptation of a Chaos God? She would make her own judgment. Even if it were a trap, this was certainly not the time to expose it. The entity had the power to summon her consciousness or soul here without permission, indicating a status far superior to Gwynevere’s. Rash resistance might only invite danger.

Though both girls had given affirmative replies, they each harbored their own considerations and hidden intentions. They did not fully trust Daphne.

The apocalyptic vision behind the veil gradually dissolved, and suddenly, columnar crystals, like emerald gems, rose from around them. With a thunderous tremor, a palace in the style of a Greek temple soared into existence. Constructed entirely of translucent jade, light poured through the dome, bathing the crystalline structure. Illusory green specters drifted through the air.

Gwynevere and Verilia discovered their nebulous forms had reappeared. Before them, a long emerald table slowly materialized, crystallizing into existence. Flanking both sides of the table were high-backed chairs, also crafted from jade.

The mysterious woman sat at the head of the table, one leg casually crossed over the other. She gazed slightly upward, her vision sweeping across the entire jade palace, with brilliant stars perpetually swirling around her. A sense of nobility, aloofness, power, and the unknown—an overwhelmingly oppressive aura silently permeated the entire space. Both Gwynevere and Verilia felt a slight sensation of suffocation.

They had no other choice but to take their seats. There were three seats on each side of the long table, and one at each end, totaling eight seats. Presumably, only those of equal status to the mysterious woman were qualified to sit at the ends. Gwynevere chose the nearest seat, which was the third seat to the woman’s right. Seeing Gwynevere sit, Verilia instinctively walked to the other side and took the seat directly opposite her.

“Esteemed Lady, specifically, what should we do?” Verilia sat upright and demurely, cautiously asking, “How… can we help you?”

“The time is not yet ripe. Simply wait.” After a moment of silence, a deep, succinct reply resonated from the head of the table. “Perhaps you should first overcome your current difficulties,” she added in a low voice after a pause.

Gwynevere and Verilia both trembled internally at her words, for they had, by coincidence, struck at the heart of their troubles. Before being forcibly drawn here, they each had their own worries and anxieties.

‘As expected of a high-status being, close to a deity,’ Gwynevere thought. ‘This one likely knows everything about us, including our thoughts and minds. She clearly didn’t care about any suspicions she might have heard or seen just now.’ A trace of reverence involuntarily arose in Gwynevere’s heart.

“This time, we begin with you, lost wanderer of the snow peaks.”

Like a roll call, when that solemn, bell-like voice resounded once more, all of Gwynevere’s thoughts vanished. She immediately sat straighter, her gaze fixed on the head of the long table. Meeting those eyes, composed of starlight, required immense courage. Gwynevere merely glimpsed them and felt as if she were about to be consumed. Profound, icy, incomprehensible—as if her very soul were frozen.

“A victory,” she said. “They need a victory.”

Gwynevere felt as if she had been enlightened, her body trembling as if struck by lightning. “You mean…”

Verilia did not understand, but seeing the usually composed and indifferent girl across the table react so intensely, she surmised it must be a profoundly effective insight. Her curiosity was piqued.

“They lack confidence. Let them regain it. It’s a simple logic.” Daphne leaned against the armrest, offering her hint with a condescending, benevolent tone and posture.

“So that’s it,” Gwynevere murmured to herself. Constant setbacks and no achievements had eroded their confidence and patience, leading them to believe everything they did was meaningless. But if a righteous victory could restore their sense of purpose, the situation would completely reverse. Without even a chance to express her gratitude, she was already envisioning her next steps to rekindle the morale of the knight order.

“As for you, innocent bud amidst the lion-tiger struggle,” Daphne shifted her gaze to Verilia. “Yet, you are not truly innocent. You are deeply rooted, intertwined in the soil. Even with the savagery of lions and tigers, your existence can no longer be ignored.”

Verilia froze for a moment. She felt a strange familiarity with this didactic style. Though the tone and phrasing were entirely different, driven by her infatuation and devotion to Teacher Aisara, a peculiar intuition began to pull Verilia’s suspicions towards a daring hypothesis.

‘To know me so well, and possess such wisdom… beneath that veil of nebula, it is highly likely to be Teacher Aisara, who disappeared.’

She knew Teacher Aisara would never abandon her so casually; it was simply a different form of companionship. But then, who was this woman across the table? Where did this vixen spring from?

Receiving no response for a long time, yet sensing Verilia’s fervent, infatuated gaze, Daphne suddenly had the illusion of being back in the days when she, as Aisara, had tutored her.

‘Was I found out? That’s unlikely, isn’t it?’ Daphne held onto a sliver of hope, feigning composure. Then she noticed the almost palpable hostility in Verilia’s gaze towards Gwynevere across the table.

‘Hostility? Haven’t these two just met for the first time? And shouldn’t they be unable to recognize each other at all?’