Chapter 130: Dark Tide

"Scratch, scratch, scratch." The sound of a pen tip racing across paper echoed incessantly within the confines of the room. What should have been a faint, barely audible whisper became sharp and distinct in the profound silence.

The curtains were drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of sunlight to pierce the gloom, leaving the interior of the room steeped in shadows.

The wooden desk was buried under a chaotic sprawl of manuscripts covered in symbols, diagrams, and text. Though they appeared haphazard, they were in fact meticulously categorized; yet, due to their sheer volume and the impenetrable complexity of their contents, they looked like nothing more than a tangled mess at first glance.

"Damn it, damn it all! This shouldn't be happening. Every time I calculate based on those things I see, the results come out different. How is that possible? Even if I made a mistake, it’s impossible to be wrong every single time, and in a different way each time!"

Frustrated, Charles flung his pen into the corner of the desk and clawed at his already unruly hair, pulling it into an even more disheveled state.

"How can this be? While I never believed our family’s ability could perfectly foresee the future, using the visions and information gathered to deduce the path ahead should be entirely feasible. But why? Why is every result different, and why do they all look so disastrous?"

Charles furrowed his brows, the persistent failure gnawing at his nerves. He drained the water from a wooden cup on his desk, hoping the cold liquid would quench the searing, frantic heat in his brain.

"Calm down, calm down. You’re a genius, Charles. If you pull this off, it’s fame and fortune, right? Probably. Ugh, anyway, let’s try again."

Taking a ragged breath, Charles suppressed his irritation and picked up the manuscripts once more. He reviewed his calculations; they were sound. By taking a piece of information and using his unreliable gift to leap to the next, he could, to some extent, predict the future.

But why were the results so dire? Though hazy, years of practice had taught him to recognize the signs of a catastrophic outcome. This result—Alastair was finished? How could that be?

"But no, it’s not that I don’t believe the result. It’s that the calculations are correct, so why do the intermediate answers keep shifting? And why do they all point to this same end? Charles, believe in yourself. If your math is right, then there must be something anomalous at play."

He rapped his knuckles against his skull, trying to shake out the self-doubt. He was certain his deductions were flawless; if his ability wasn't failing, then he was right.

"So, something external is interfering with me? External force... external force? An external force?! No way!" A sudden realization struck Charles, shock washing over his face. He began to pace the room rapidly, his mind racing.

"Xiao Yi! Is it you? No, it has to be you. Who else would have the leisure to meddle with my calculations?" He asked uncertainly, then quickly confirmed it himself, scanning the room.

[I didn't expect you to figure it out so quickly. Long time no see, Charles.]

As he searched the room, Charles spotted the change. On his vanity mirror—a dusty relic he hadn't touched or cleaned in years—a line of faint, black text was manifesting.

He let out a sigh, relieved that he hadn't been shouting like a madman in an empty room, though a surge of irritation and confusion followed.

"It has been a long time. So, why are you interfering with my work? All these results are far too bleak."

[Sigh. Though it’s abrupt, Charles, please stop trying to involve yourself in these events concerning Alastair. What you see is only a fraction of the truth. The war between Sewintan and Alastair is largely superficial; many entities are meddling with Alastair, and that includes my own brothers and sisters.]

"Huh? Is that so? But I still don't want to give up. Since I can see the possibilities of the future, how can I not try to change them? Even if you won't help me, Xiao Yi, don't sabotage my calculations."

[Your prying into the future won't change anything. There are too many schemes at work. No matter what you do, the result will likely remain the same. They will interfere, bit by bit, until the outcome is back on its predestined track.]

"But Aunt Ponia was the same, wasn't she? Was she guided by one of your siblings? The outcome of events didn't match what I saw, and it certainly didn't match what they wanted, right? At the very least, my prophecies and my involvement changed the ending. It should be the same now."

[I'm sorry, but this is also what I came to tell you: you must stay away from that companion of yours, Wang Yu.]

"Why?" Charles froze.

[Because the greatest possibility is not that you influenced the result, but that he did. All the threads of fate are broken when it comes to that fellow; he has no origin, as if he appeared out of thin air. Either he is something far superior to us, or someone else is interfering with him.]

"Huh? While I trust you, Xiao Yi, I also trust Wang Yu. If you're saying that, does it mean if I help him, things might change?"

[Sigh, I knew you'd think that way. But you must understand, what he has shown so far only proves he is a 'variable.' He is too weak, and there are entities already laying traps for him, yet he seems entirely oblivious. If you use him as the key to break the deadlock, the most likely outcome is that you, too, will be dragged into the vortex of schemes and find it impossible to escape.]

"Damn it, so you're saying the ending is already set? Alastair is doomed sooner or later? What kind of nonsense is this? Tell me what is actually happening that could wipe out Alastair! It’s a kingdom, Xiao Yi!"

[I'm sorry, but my capabilities are extremely limited. I can only ensure your survival in the coming chaos. Though these events seem confined to Alastair, they are connected to far greater things.]

"No, even if you say that, I won't give up. I changed that so-called fate with you when I was a child, which is why I've always felt like an outsider in this family. Now you tell me to give up? We proved that 'fate' can be changed, and I refuse to believe otherwise."

Charles was thrown into a state of agitation by the words on the mirror. He slammed his fist onto the table in frustration, causing the water cup to jump and tip over. He scrambled to catch it, his sleeves dampening with droplets, and as he set the cup back down, he fell into a heavy silence.

The room descended into an eerie stillness.

[...] The mirror remained blank for a long time.

"Scratch, scratch..." The sound of the pen against paper resumed, clear and distinct in the quiet room, accompanied by Charles’s muttering.

"Wang Yu once mentioned his understanding of fate—a sandbox. In a limited condition, within a specific environment, if you know all the variables, you can indeed predict the outcome. But in reality, it's almost impossible to obtain all that information."

"But I know there is one thing that can, in a sense, collect all information: the Void. It’s like a reflection; every change in the material world cannot escape the observation of the Void. If you master that information, you can indeed predict the future under certain conditions."

"And I have always known that even if the Void seems superior to the material world—even if the wizards' power seems to toy with reality—the Void and the material world are equals."

"The relationship between the material world and the Void has always been one of mutual influence. Otherwise, the things the Night’s Edge fights would have long since broken through and slaughtered everything in the material world."

"Just like you, Xiao Yi. Observing the material world through the Void can never be complete or flawless. Changing things in the material world can absolutely influence the Void in return. This 'unchangeable' future you speak of is absolutely changeable, just like in the past. I will never give up."

"Change—it only takes a little change. It can be done." Charles's words echoed in the room. The silence was not one of resignation, but of deep, concentrated thought. Voicing his resolve, he buried himself back into the pile of manuscripts, searching for a way to break the deadlock.

"Fine. I’ve always liked that about you—you never give up. Sigh, it’s useless to persuade you, so there’s no helping it. I have to admit, much of what you said is right, even if parts of it are completely wrong. But since you’ve chosen to keep trying, I’ll lend you a hand."

A soft voice drifted into his ears. Charles paused. Even after all these years, it was just like it used to be, even though his own voice had changed.

"Thank you," Charles smiled, focusing his mind on the deduction before him.

"You're welcome..."

In the room, only the sound of pen on paper remained.

...

A long time later, Charles set down his pen. Looking at the results, his expression grew complex. It was truly unbelievable; his ability could only calculate the immediate future. The powers involved beyond that point were far beyond his personal capacity—he couldn't even begin to calculate them.

But even the events he had glimpsed for the near future were enough to leave Charles feeling a chilling, indescribable dread.

"So, is it worth it? The most likely outcome is that your efforts will be utterly meaningless in the end."

"Those who are enlightened are always happy!" Charles suddenly jumped up from his heavy mood, striking a strange, difficult pose as he declared the line.

"How about that? Pretty cool, right? I learned it from that guy you told me to stay away from."

"...No, it looks incredibly punchable. I don't know why, but I want to hit you twice."

"Damn it, you just don't have any taste. That line makes perfect sense. At least I’ve made my resolve now." Having stood up for the pose, Charles sat back down, fixing his eyes on the events to come.

"Sigh, Wang Yu, I hope you're as reliable as always, otherwise all my effort will be for nothing..." Charles muttered.

"...Are you ready? Then I will use my power to erase part of your memory and the memories of what you have done over the next period."

"Is erasing my memory enough? The influence of my actions will still be observed and calculated, right? What about that part?"

"My power can only alter your soul without drawing attention. As for the secrets, you believe in the god served by your archbishop friend, don't you? That is a truly overly merciful 'god'."

"Oh, I see. He is truly generous."

"Then I shall begin."

"Wait."

"What is it?"

"Don't you think our act of turning the tide is pretty cool? Just like my previous action and line, isn't it? I think we need to name this operation!"

"..." The disembodied voice seemed rendered speechless by Charles, falling silent for a moment.

"Say something!"

"Fine... alright. What do you want to call it..." Charles's shouting forced a response, the originally stern tone now tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

"Let's call it... 'Dark Tide,' because..." Charles began to explain his naming choice, intending to justify why it was the perfect title, but a palm pressed firmly against his forehead before he could ramble on.

"Shut up, you idiot."

...

"Ah!" Charles jerked his head up from the desk. He looked out the window; the sun had set, and the world outside was shrouded in darkness.

"Ugh, did I oversleep? Why is it already dark?" He looked around, bewildered, and suddenly noticed his secret diary lying open on the desk.

"Damn it, how did this thing get dug up? This is not fit for eyes to see. Am I drunk or what? To hell with it, why is my mind so clouded?"

Hastily shoving the diary back under the bed, Charles patted his heavy, muddled head and took a moment to rummage through his pockets.

"Huh, why is a Tarot card missing?" Frowning, he realized that such spellcasting components were not things one could simply lose; it meant... what did it mean again?

"It hurts, why does my whole body ache? I feel as exhausted as I did after running all afternoon. Damn, I just woke up and now I need to sleep again? Am I a pig?"

The tension that had just gripped Charles was inexplicably suppressed, replaced by a wave of fatigue that swept over his brain. Combined with the palpable weakness in his limbs, he collapsed onto the bed, his eyelids beginning to flutter and fight.

In the narrow space between wakefulness and slumber, Charles’s lips moved slightly: "Dark tide, heh..."