Surviving The Fourth Calamity

Hilbert did not feel any hatred toward Ruth’s decision.

He was, in fact, someone who lived with a very clear head, only that he occasionally liked to lie to himself.

So he knew he had no right to resent others for not regarding Gilbert as that important on Gilbert’s behalf.

To put it more harshly, even Gilbert himself would not be able to complain about this.

In this world, as long as there were people willing to keep him alive while making all kinds of calculations, Gilbert, besides accepting his fate, really had no one he could blame.

No, the only thing he could blame was his own lack of strength, which meant he could only become a pawn that had crossed the river on the board... even though these pieces were all protected by Preserving Spells and would not shatter when captured, they could only stay in the base camp, blankly watching the splendor of others.

Anyway, with the things happening now, Gilbert could see them clearly even in the Styx; he would weigh for himself how to handle his future relationship with the Tower of Dark Enigma, especially with Ruth.

Ruth and the others acting this way was, in turn, actually quite good for Hilbert—no, to be precise, for the future Russell.

Harmony and warmth based on shared interests are always easier to handle than genuine affection and righteousness.

If most of the goodwill the Tower of Dark Enigma showed the Hainarson Clan was founded on the word ”use,” Russell’s future independent life would be much easier.

Help with limits, versus a help that must be given with all one’s strength—there is a huge difference between the two.

And Hilbert himself had even less need to show any reaction to this matter... he had always had a sense that Ruth was a very contradictory person.

Ruth’s feelings for Oliva and Aislin, and even for Gilbert, were genuine; as long as it did not touch upon his so‑called ”grand plan,” he truly was tender and indulgent, willing to tolerate all those little flaws of his students.

But once he needed to place the life and death of these beloved disciples into his schemes, he absolutely would not balk.

Moreover, Ruth very clearly was someone who had even calculated his own life and death into the plan.

He did not want to die, but neither did he fear death; if forced, he would even, like those people of the Defense Tower, take the vast majority along with him into death.

Mages in this world, very likely because the final resting place of their Souls had been calculated to the point of having nowhere to return to, did things with a sort of all‑or‑nothing desperation that Hill could not understand.

Of course, it might also be because they knew that trying to escape from this world was equally impossible.

Between either complete corruption or total annihilation... for those more hot‑blooded Archmages, choosing to perish together with their enemies was, in fact, not that difficult to understand.

Hilbert would sometimes, putting himself in others’ shoes, think it through, and if it were him, he would probably do the same.

If he could live, he naturally wanted to live; but if the moment truly came when he had to choose, he would rather die than let himself become a Devil.

So even when he discovered that Ruth and the others were using Gilbert Hainarson as a pawn for tentative contact with Delphus, he merely smiled faintly and let it pass.

Yet this further confirmed one of his suspicions: this guy Nicholson was hiding very deep.

Yes, the one calling the shots between them was Ruth, but the one pointing out the direction was most likely this seemingly but very much unqualified Prophecy Mage.

Among those people Aislin occasionally mentioned as not to be trusted, he should be one of them.

Hilbert actually knew a bit about the method Prophecy Mages used to distinguish between reality and the future they glimpsed... namely, to cut out a portion of their own Soul and place it into some powerful Strange Objects that could keep their thoughts cool and calm.

Moreover, when they might be wandering along the great River of Fate, unable to find their way home, such Strange Objects could guide them back to their homeland.

Prophecy Mages were also the ones most fond of leaving descendants... a bloodline link could always help the Souls that were constantly running away from home find their way back.

Nicholson was likely the type who did both; Hill had originally thought he was only the second kind.

If a Prophecy Mage stayed separated from his own Soul for a long time, it would also turn him into a true Madman.

But if he merely kept at his side that powerful Strange Objects containing part of his Soul, the Prophecy Mage would become increasingly cold... and they quite liked this, because only by remaining indifferent to the outside world could they see fate more clearly, and not be misled by emotions into making the wrong decisions.

So in many fairy tales of the Fantasy World, if there appeared an old Wizard who looked mad but was in fact very cold, and seemed to know everything, there would always be someone trying to steal his Crystal Ball.

Once this thing was lost, he or she would become truly mad, even to the point of self‑destruction.

Stories of this sort all basically originated from Prophecy Mages... once they lost that Strange Objects hiding their Souls, sooner or later they would self‑destruct.

The reason Nicholson appeared not so obvious was that, in order not to draw the attention of Sia Tower, even though he had cut away a part of his Soul, the Strange Objects storing that portion of Soul should also be hidden within his Mental Sea.

Most likely, only when he needed to perform some relatively important Prophecy would Nicholson bring out this Strange Objects in an absolutely safe environment and use it as a compass.

Devils could not understand the practice of Prophecy Mages.

Not like Hill, whose inheritance practically spanned the history of the entire Multiverse... he now could not even figure out whether this knowledge related to Prophecy Mages had come from Coron or from some other side.

Ordinary people only knew that in order to make their Prophecies more accurate, Prophecy Mages would store away a portion of their own Souls.

As for why, very few knew.

Devils were very sensitive to Souls, but even they did not know these reasons known only to Prophecy Mages themselves.

At most they could sense that Prophecy Mages were, in general, somewhat Soul‑deficient... this was also one of the most basic methods of identifying dedicated Prophecy Mages.

Even if they had not cut their Souls, the long‑term consequences of communicating with the River of Fate would also cause their Souls to be worn away.

Paradoxically, only after cutting out a portion of Soul and leaving some degree of tether in the Prime Material Plane would this Soul attrition cease.

Fate had never been something mortals could spy upon lightly; one had to pay a sufficient price.

The ultimate end of Prophecy Mages was almost always madness.

The longer they lived, the deeper their madness.

Hilbert truly had not expected that Nicholson would be this ruthless to himself... after all, he genuinely did not know those specialized Prophecy Spells that communicated with the River of Fate.

Such things could not be concealed.

Those who tangled with the River of Fate would always be wreathed in the so‑called mysterious light.

Every time he understood a little more of the hidden workings of this world, Hill could not help but feel a bit of relief.

If a single Mage lived a hard life, that might be his personality and his fate.

If all Mages lived in such struggle, even when they were already among the most powerful figures in this world, that could only mean that this world was cruel from birth.

Although Teraxil had once been miserable too, at least it had not yet reached this state where even their struggles were like silkworm pupae in boiling water... if they could not struggle free, they would simply be boiled alive; if they managed to break free, they would shine and burn for one whole day, and then die in an instant.

Thus, even after uncovering those secrets, Hill chose to sink them back into his heart.

He felt he had no right to condemn anyone on behalf of those left in the dark.

At the very least, it was precisely because of the struggles of these people, from ancient times until now, that this world had finally seen a ray of hope today.

To be able, as the Tower Master of a Magic Tower, to still hide his deeds so deeply... Hill could easily imagine how many had lost their lives before this simply because they could not hide things well enough.

They had walked step by step on the blood of their predecessors, accompanied by their own tears, to get where they were today.

Hill might not like it, but he had no right to make carping comments about it.

Compared to that heavy past, he preferred to choose the stories he wanted to see.

For instance, letting those tiny mosquitoes land on the hem of the robe of some Junior Mage who was going to meet a messenger from the Nicholson Family.

His mosquitoes had no Attack Power at all, their tiny bodies bearing only two Arrays... the smallest one was an environmental‑adaptation Array, allowing those insects to merge completely into the surrounding environment.

This referred not only to color and background, but also to the aura of Spells.

The other, slightly larger Array was for spying and information gathering.

Hill had designed this thing a bit like Bluetooth.

So while the mosquitoes tailing that Mage were very small, following behind them were some relatively large flies.

The information gathered by the mosquitoes would be passed directly to this fly three kilometers away.

The fly’s head served as storage and transceiver, its body as the relay station.

Hill calculated that all the mosquitoes and flies he had on hand numbered in the thousands.

Among them was a portion of larger insects capable of maintaining signal transmission over ten kilometers.

In addition, further away from that group of people, there was a flock of birds responsible for carrying these insects and tracking their flight... although the Defense Tower was rather far away, it should be enough for him to watch this grand play from Sia Tower.

He had not done this before, of course, because he feared exposing himself.

But the Hill of today—what did he have left to fear?

Even if Asmodeus saw him, at such a critical juncture, he would pretend he had not.