< 104. There is no fate. >
*
When I stepped out of the tent, Partak approached with a snicker. Fernandez chuckled as he watched Partak sniffing the air.
“I smell tea leaves. Is he joining us now?”
“Of course he is.”
“Heh, splendid, my lord.”
Partak bared his black teeth with a satisfied smile. He looked at Fernandez with a mix of awe and respect.
“Where did you learn such swordsmanship? If I may ask without being rude…”
“Speak.”
“Are you… not human?”
Partak’s voice cracked as he whispered very low. Fernandez stifled a laugh and looked at him with mock seriousness. He twisted his finger slightly, touching the spell of obedience bound to Partak’s heart.
“Don’t talk nonsense, Partak. It’s not time yet.”
“Hehe, of course, my lord. As long as my heart beats, I swear loyalty to you. My lord, you must see it. This old man is more trustworthy than that unpredictable little brat who acts like a puppet. I’m bound by your magic, so there’s no fear of betrayal.”
Partak snickered. He knew he was still useful, and Fernandez would never discard a useful piece.
Magic superior to his own, and over there, a warrior who could rival even the strongest. And on top of that, an impossibly youthful face. To Partak, Fernandez was no human.
A demon, and a high-ranking one at that. At least a duke-level demon. Partak knew exactly who he was dealing with, and all the circumstances confirmed it.
Fernandez could clearly read Partak’s thoughts as if they were laid out in his hands. Then Partak whispered again.
“Batras wishes to see you. Be careful. Batras is a formidable warrior and a highly respected tribal chief among the Beastman Nobility. He’s suspicious of you.”
“Ah, I was planning to talk to him anyway. Where is he?”
“At his camp. Are you okay going alone into enemy territory?”
Just then, a clear voice came from behind him. Partak stiffened, baring his teeth and growling.
“He’s not alone.”
“Abel.”
Abel glared at Partak with blue eyes filled with hostility, as if he were a bug. Partak momentarily flared up and reached out, but after catching Fernandez’s gaze, he quietly retreated into the shadows.
‘She’s the lord’s concubine.’
So, in terms of rank, she’s above him. A worthless human woman. Partak grumbled and disappeared into the darkness.
Watching this, Fernandez let out a small laugh.
*
Batras’s tribal camp was starkly different from the festive atmosphere outside—tense and ominous. They didn’t stop Fernandez, but their sharp eyes followed him relentlessly.
In the center of the camp, in front of a massive campfire, Piel, dressed in ornate robes, was throwing ashes, metal powder, and animal bones into the flames.
Batras stood with his arms crossed, watching. Fernandez slowly approached him.
“Oh, you’ve come.”
“I heard you called for me.”
“Indeed. I have business with you. Wait until the ritual is over, then come to my tent.”
Batras turned and headed back to his tent. The color of the campfire gradually shifted to yellow. Piel’s dancing figure in front of it was striking.
‘She’s learned proper shamanism?’
-Even with only half of her past life’s abilities, that girl would be among the most talented in the human world.
‘Let’s hope she’s favorable to us.’
Fernandez had little knowledge of the indigenous shamanism of the Great Wilderness. His expertise lay in battle magic, enchantments, summoning, and curses.
So, for the first time in a while, he took his time leisurely observing a new spell. The campfire turned yellow, red, and then purple. The powder Piel threw into the flames crackled and sent colorful sparks flying into the air.
-Whoosh…
As the wind settled, the campfire’s color returned to normal. Fernandez watched for a while before realizing Piel was staring at him.
Abel, standing beside him, whispered softly.
“That child’s eyes are gazing at time itself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. That child has a very rare gift—the eyes of a prophet. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a thing.”
“Not good.”
Fernandez clicked his tongue. Prophets always die young. He slowly approached Piel, who was staring at him intently.
Soon, Piel gasped and stepped back. She seemed to finally recognize Fernandez, her gaze softening as she bowed her head.
“Tribal Shaman. You’ve seen me before, haven’t you?”
“…Karashi.”
Karashi, meaning Ghost Sorcerer. Fernandez’s eyebrow twitched, and Piel shrank back in fear.
“You’re a complex person. I’m afraid of you.”
“Did you see a future where I harm you?”
Piel quietly shook her head.
“Prophecy doesn’t work that way.”
“I know.”
Piel looked at Fernandez with a puzzled expression. Fernandez calmly gazed into her honey-colored eyes. Talent? Spirituality? Divinity? No, he felt nothing.
‘Is she really the Archangel?’
-At this time, no prophet with such power has appeared in the Great Wilderness.
‘She looks just like her. She must be… Is she sealed?’
-That’s highly likely.
He slowly locked eyes with Piel. Whether the seal would break or not, Vaitas had said his four daughters were his support for Fernandez.
They couldn’t be incompetent.
“Prophet, seer, oracle, grand shaman, shaman, high priest… Do you know? Despite the variety of those who claim to see the future, the way they glimpse it is always the same.”
“Huh…?”
Fernandez looked into her eyes. The eyes of a prophet. He had never seen such eyes before. All prophets realize their abilities and soon…
“Because you’ll die if you don’t.”
From a magical perspective, the powers that glimpse the future are assumed to be a single type of ability.
“Reverse causality and information reflection entities. That’s how we see it.”
“What does that even mean…?”
According to modern magic, all events and states are reflected through something called ‘information.’ This ‘information’ is reflected regardless of causality. That is, it is reflected without regard to the concept of a timeline, such as the future or the past, but is generally perceived within the same timeline.
There are those who are independent of this information reflection theory. Those who can observe this information, ignoring causality. Those who can perceive information reflected from the future or the past.
From the perspective of modern magic, those with such abilities are called ‘prophets.’ And Piel was a true prophet. One who had not yet fully grasped her own abilities.
It was fortunate. Prophets who fully awakened their prophetic abilities all ended up committing suicide.
“Can you specify the target whose future you wish to see?”
“Uh… yes.”
“Can you see a specific future of a specific target?”
“No, not really. Only very, very rarely. Very rarely.”
Piel was terrified by Fernandez’s businesslike tone. She had seen Fernandez’s magical prowess and fragments of his past.
His gaze and tone, as if he were experimenting on her, frightened the young Piel.
“You are a second-level reverse causality and information reflection entity. You can perceive the random future of a specific target. That is, you can see the future or past of a desired target, regardless of causality. Correct?”
“…Yes.”
“You have a very, very high potential to become a first-level entity.”
Prophets who can sense sudden information regardless of the target or time point. Third-level. Prophets who can sense information about a specific target, regardless of the time point. Second-level.
And those who can observe a specific time point of a specific target, the so-called true prophets, are first-level.
First-level prophets all, without exception, either went mad or committed suicide.
‘Was this one of the reasons why Vaitas wanted to save his daughter? To save Pielanel of wisdom and truth from the risk of suicide?’
-Perhaps.
“So, try not to attempt prophecy if possible. The more you hone your abilities, the closer your destruction will come. To look forward to the days of living is the same as peeking into the days of dying for that target.”
“I understand that you want to block my abilities. But Karashi. I don’t trust you.”
“You are wise. Keep it that way. But prejudice is not good. Shaman.”
-Swoosh.
Fernandez reached out his hand over Piel’s frightened face. Piel flinched, but Fernandez simply gently stroked the crown of her head.
She was a very small girl. Fragile and tiny. About the same age as Aria when he first met her. Fernandez looked down at her with a momentarily sentimental gaze.
“Always remember. No matter how certain the information, the future you see is merely the most probable future. There is no such thing as fate, where all information follows a predetermined path.”
“That’s very romantic…?”
“It’s very objective. I’ve experimented with it myself.”
This is a hypothesis cross-verified after personally killing those he had never killed before. Fernandez didn’t bother to mention that.
Behind him, Abel was looking at him with an impressed expression. She whispered playfully.
“So, there’s no fate?”
“What are you talking about now?”
“I don’t think so.”
Abel laughed softly.
*
Batras was sitting on a chair covered with tanned tiger skin. He flexed his muscular arms and crossed them.
“Doesn’t seem like the atmosphere for a cup of tea, does it?”
“If the reason you called me was a declaration of war, how nice that would have been. If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be agonizing over it like this.”
Batras paused for a moment before speaking.
“I heard from my Partak. That the catwoman is an apostle of God. But isn’t it strange? Partak fears you more than her. And she seemed to respect you more.”
Considering Batras had only arrived at this camp half a day ago, it was surprisingly quick and sharp reasoning. Fernandez chuckled.
“The Federation of Beastmen Nobles is split in half, and civil war is imminent. Even I, who just arrived today, can see that. In the midst of that, I wondered why you didn’t purge me. I’m a good catch, aren’t I?”
“If I kill you, I could swallow a tribe with many excellent warriors whole. Of course.”
“Right. What’s the reason? My eyes aren’t full of holes. Clearly, you’re the leader of this tribe. So, convince me. Shall we have tea, or share a drink?”
War or negotiation. Batras spoke with authority, even though he knew better than anyone that choosing war would mean his head. His attachment and patriotism towards the Federation of Nobles were genuine.
Fernandez opened a barrel of liquor in a corner of the tent, took a sip, and threw it to Batras. Batras quietly caught the bottle.
“I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“The Federation of Nobles must move south and east. This position isn’t safe. Tutankhamun Gartep’s legion is moving south from the north.”
“Where are you going?”
“North. To the Mepa tribe, between Tutankhamun Gartep’s military encampment and us.”
Fernandez took out a map from a corner of the tent and spread it in front of Batras, drawing a line from the north where Tutankhamun Gartep was located to the west where they were.
“The Federation of Nobles can’t clash with the Pharaoh right now. We need to grow our forces and unite the Federation of Nobles. So, you assist the Chieftain.”
“And during that time, you…?”
“I’ll handle the tribes in immediate crisis and strike the Pharaoh. I’ll buy us some time.”
Batras was confused. Why? Why would a human who holds the heart of the Federation of Beastmen Nobles volunteer to be a disposable pawn?
“May I ask why?”
“It’s hunting season.”
Fernandez chuckled.
“Because the protagonist of this game should be the Chieftain, not me.”
He needed to create the most dazzling hero of the Great Wilderness. A figure who would become the icon of this wasteland. Not just to cultivate a hero who would later become his support base.
Literally, he needed the most dazzling figure. A hero who could capture the attention of all the powers in the Great Wilderness, a hero of reversal, an undefeated warrior.
‘A hero even the Great Demon would focus on.’
-In the meantime, we become the hidden blade in the shadows.
To either kill the Great Demon or seal it away for at least a hundred years.
The clock of the wasteland was ticking. There was no more time to stand still. Fortunately, there were plenty of pawns in this wasteland for him to use.
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
