Although the Principal had cleared Newman of suspicion, he couldn't shake his unease. He sighed silently and followed the Principal back to work.
Meanwhile, the scene shifted to White Eagle, the Prophet's territory, where two figures suddenly arrived.
After creating the Herta Puppet and the Sword of Promised Victory, Herta's third priority had naturally been brewing potions. Now, the first batch was complete, and it was time for testing.
These two figures were none other than Elysia and a Herta Puppet—essentially the same person from any perspective.
But that wasn't the point. They headed straight for the Prophet's flower field, where they found an extraordinary coffin. This magical artifact, procured from Egypt, possessed the power to suspend time. Entrusting Elysia's promise, the Prophet had entered it before her death.
Little Herta examined the coffin, instantly discerning its strangeness. "This is a very peculiar form of magic," she observed. "Unlike anything in Great Britain. It's as if it belongs to an entirely different system."
An example being the magic systems of the Harry Potter World and the Dungeons & Dragons World, both are completely different. The former features spells like "Expelliarmus" and "Accio," while the latter relies on spells like "Fireball" and "Ice Lance."
It's worth noting that even though Elysia and Herta were the same person, Elysia couldn't discern anything from the coffin before her, while Herta could instantly perceive a wealth of information.
This felt peculiar, like trying to write an exam with her left hand, requiring slow calculations and careful thought, but switching to her right hand brought sudden clarity, allowing her to effortlessly write down the answers.
However, this didn't particularly bother her. After all, both hands were hers. Moreover, she only experienced this strange disparity when she and Herta were together, doing the same thing. When separated, the sensation vanished.
Returning to the present, Little Herta stepped forward, her hands, marked with distinct joint lines, gripping the edge of the coffin. She slowly lifted the lid, revealing a white-haired young girl in a white dress, her hands folded demurely across her chest. She lay there like a tranquil Sleeping Beauty, awaiting a prince's kiss to awaken her.
There was no prince, only two beautiful girls.
Without hesitation, Little Herta produced a vial of potion. She uncorked it, pried open the Prophet's mouth with her other hand, and poured the entire contents down her throat.
Time was of the essence. With the coffin open, time had resumed flowing. The Prophet's life hung by a thread, flickering like a candle in the wind. If the potion failed, Little Herta would have to reseal the coffin immediately and brew another batch—no time to waste.
One second passed, then two, then ten. Apart from a few drops of the cloudy white potion dribbling from the Prophet's lips—a result of Little Herta's hasty technique—and tracing a strangely sensual path down her cheek and neck, nothing happened.
"That's odd... Did it fail?" Little Herta raised an eyebrow, her expression puzzled.
Even geniuses face the possibility of failure. This setback meant little more than trying again. No big deal.
Just as Little Herta was about to replace the coffin lid, having already closed it halfway, the Prophet suddenly gasped and sat bolt upright.
Thud!
"Ouch~"
She immediately lay back down.
Blinking, the Prophet pressed a hand to her forehead and stared blankly at the unfamiliar young girl outside the coffin. Utterly bewildered, she stammered, "Um... who are you?"
"Oh, it seems it worked, just with a bit of a delay," Little Herta said, pushing the coffin lid back open.
The Prophet slowly sat up, her gaze sweeping across the familiar flower field before settling on Elysia. Had she truly been saved? Had Elysia actually succeeded?
Elysia had made a sincere promise to revive her, and while the Prophet had nodded in agreement, she secretly doubted it was possible. After all, she possessed the ability to foresee the future, and in every future she had glimpsed, there was no path to her survival.
This seemed only natural. The Prophet turned her gaze to Little Herta, concluding that the problem likely stemmed from this child—someone she had never encountered in her prophecies before.
Instinctively, the Prophet activated her ability, only to widen her eyes in shock. She found herself unable to foresee anything concerning Little Herta. She couldn't discern the girl's destiny or glimpse her future.
No, to be more precise, it wasn't that she couldn't make predictions, but rather that the sheer number of possibilities far exceeded the Prophet's capacity.
The future wasn't a fixed path, but a tapestry of countless branching possibilities. Imagine someone standing at a crossroads: they could proceed straight, turn left, turn right, or even backtrack. But these were, at most, four choices.
In reality, such "crossroads" were rare. Each individual had very few pivotal moments where their decisions truly mattered. Yet when these destinies intertwined, they formed a relatively stable and predictable future.
But Herta was different. Her choices were far too numerous. A crossroads with four options? No, no, no—think digging tunnels, boarding planes, building rockets, constructing space teleportation devices, and so on and so forth.
Every moment, every second, countless possibilities—inspirations—arose. Whether Herta acted on them or not, her very existence plunged the future into utter chaos.
"Cough! Cough!" The Prophet suddenly coughed twice, a thin stream of blood trickling from her nose. She stared at Herta in shock. "Th-this..."
Ignoring the searing pain radiating through her body, the Prophet activated her Ability once more. This time, her Prophecy targeted a point further into the future—the originally predicted date of the apocalypse.
Though the future remained hazy, its broad strokes were visible. She whispered in disbelief, "The great calamity... it's been accelerated?!"
The cataclysm that was supposed to strike in three years was now less than a year away.
P.S.: The Prophet's ability couldn't foresee the System. This meant that when Elysia assured her everything would be alright, the Prophet couldn't predict the arrival of Lingsha and Herta, leading her to believe she was beyond saving.