He opened the notebook and handed it to Faruxil.
On it, dense data and analysis charts were meticulously recorded in his precise, print-like handwriting.
“First, it can be confirmed that it does indeed possess the ability to foresee the future.”
Nilo pointed to a line of conclusions in the notebook.
“But after I conducted dozens of stimulation experiments at different energy levels, I found that its foresight is subject to extremely strict limitations.”
He walked around the workbench to Faruxil’s side, extending a finger to gesture in the air.
“The first limitation is space.”
He drew a circle.
“This stone can only see an area with itself at the center and a radius of about five hundred meters.”
“It cannot sense anything or anyone outside this range, just like a natural near-sighted eye.”
“The second limitation is time.”
His expression grew more serious.
“What it can see is not necessarily the future that will inevitably happen, but the possibilities that are about to occur.”
“According to my calculations, this time window is about three to four hours.”
Faruxil listened silently, her initial hope slowly cooling with Nilo’s explanations.
She had originally hoped this stone could become a pair of God’s eyes, allowing her to grasp the course of the entire battlefield and predict large-scale enemy movements from the command room.
But now, it seemed that idea was too naive.
“In other words,” she summarized calmly, “it’s not a strategic-level prophecy artifact, but more like a… personal warning device.”
“Very precise.”
Nilo nodded.
“It can’t tell you which force the Demon King will send to attack tomorrow, but it might tell you that in three hours, a hungry Icefield Wolf will charge out from the Forest to your left.”
“Keep it on you.”
Nilo released the device’s force field, and the prophecy stone fell lightly into his palm.
He stepped forward and solemnly placed the cold stone into Faruxil’s hand.
“This is its most proper use. On the battlefield, in the midst of ever-changing crises, it might just save your life.”
Faruxil grasped the stone.
The cold sensation calmed her chaotic mind.
She lowered her head, gazed at the peculiar object, and was silent for a moment before she spoke.
“What is the price of using it?”
“Apart from consuming some Magical Power to activate it during use, I haven’t found any other cost.”
Nilo replied.
“But it seems that each foresight consumes an unknown energy contained within the stone itself, and this energy cannot be replenished.”
“In other words, it’s a consumable.”
“Each foresight shortens its lifespan.”
“So, don’t overly rely on it—treat it as your last insurance.”
Faruxil nodded and stored the stone close to her body.
“I understand.”
“Thank you, Nilo.”
“These half a month… you’ve worked hard.”
“This is what I should do.”
A gentle smile appeared on Nilo’s face, but it was soon replaced by deep worry.
He looked at Faruxil in her military uniform, knowing she was about to set off again.
“Faruxil…”
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
“This time, the expedition team has the optimal route provided by the [Jingwei Sages] and several top players traveling together, who can utilize their undead traits and level restriction characteristics to plan the path. But you must not let your guard down because of this.”
His voice became especially solemn, filled with an undeniable seriousness.
“Your Sentinel Plan can indeed mark certain areas as high-risk zones that you cannot enter, but don’t forget—the movement of monsters is free and chaotic. Powerful monsters can appear in so-called safe zones due to hunger, migration, or even a whim!”
He took a step forward.
At this moment, his blue eyes, always filled with intellect and calm, shone with genuine concern.
“Your destination may only be the periphery of the Abyssal Forbidden Marsh, but that place is, after all, shrouded in darkness.”
“Promise me, no matter what happens, never entrust your back completely to those players.”
“They see death as a line of data that can be reloaded, but your life… only happens once.”
Nilo’s words struck Faruxil’s heart like a heavy hammer.
She knew this was not just a professional warning from a military advisor, but a friend’s most sincere advice.
In this royal city filled with schemes, intrigue, and decay, such pure concern had become a luxury.
Faruxil looked at him silently for a long time before finally nodding slowly.
“I’ll remember.”
She didn’t say anything more.
She tightened her grip on the stone that carried both cold omens and warm trust, then turned and walked toward the blinding sunlight outside the door.
—
Night in the Abyssal Forbidden Marsh.
The pale moonlight was as thick as solidified amber, turning into mottled, dark purple patches.
A heavy, almost suffocating scent filled the air—that sweet, bloody odor from countless monster corpses fermenting.
The Demon King’s Seventh Apostle, Zecheriel, was elegantly walking across this Abyss.
He wore a finely tailored black tailcoat.
His pale skin glowed with a sickly shimmer in the darkness, starkly contrasting his long, jet-black hair.
He was like a noble strolling through his own garden, indifferent to the terrifying sights that would drive any living creature mad.
At the edge of his vision, a mountain, as if smashed through by an ancient god’s fist, sprawled across the horizon.
Nothing grew on its surface.
Only in the shadows was a vast, bottomless cavern—like a gaping maw—constantly exhaling dense dark energy.
That was the lair of the Sixth Apostle, the Abyssal Lord.
It didn’t possess Zecheriel’s complex intellect or cruel amusement in toying with minds.
Its existence was pure and primal: devouring, sleeping, and displaying absolute overwhelming power.
Zecheriel stepped forward, heading toward the giant cavern.
The closer he got, the more oppressive the environment became.
Huge trenches, as if plowed deep into the ground, began to appear.
On both sides, the remains of gigantic, deformed demonized beasts were scattered, their bones crushed, flesh drained—leaving only empty shells that silently proclaimed the terror of their master.
At the cave entrance, Zecheriel stopped.
He bowed slightly, his posture elegant and respectful, as if facing a noble king.
“Abyssal Lord, great power of slumber.”
His voice was not loud, but it echoed clearly through the darkness of the cavern, stirring a hollow resonance among the rocks.
“I, Zecheriel, the Seventh Apostle, have brought you an interesting piece of news—perhaps… it will add a hint of amusement to your endless slumber.”
Deep within the cave, there was only silence.
Zecheriel stood patiently, the same polite smile on his face.
He knew the Abyssal Lord was awake.
“I came to invite you to a hunt.”
He straightened, his tone seductive.
“The God-chosen of the Kingdom of Arslan, that woman named Faruxil, is becoming increasingly troublesome. Not only is she powerful, but she has also received help from those interworld travelers.
And now, according to the reports from my spies, she has acquired an artifact—a stone that allows her to see the future.”
After a long while, a bone-chilling scraping sound came from the depths of the cave.
The smile on Zecheriel’s face grew—apparently, the Abyssal Lord was interested.
Zecheriel continued, his words like a serpent’s fangs, striking at the Abyssal Lord’s greatest interest.
“In a few days, she will personally come here to establish a Transference Circle—a portal through which her army and those troublesome players can invade our territory at any time.”
“Abyssal Lord, don’t you find it most delightful to personally destroy this kind of hope built on delusional confidence?”
“I will handle all the plans and arrangements.”
Zecheriel spread his hands, his posture sincere.
“I will mobilize all my servants, set up a net to deplete her strength and confuse her senses, and make her laughable prophecy stone a joke. And you, great Abyssal Lord, need only descend at the critical moment and crush her and all her hope into dust with your unmatched power.”
“Afterward, that prophecy stone will be your trophy.”
A God-chosen far from the city’s strong walls.
A commander deep in the Demon Realm, with a long supply line and almost no reinforcements.
A prey carrying a danger-predicting artifact, yet ignorant of the true source of malice.
Zecheriel spoke no more.
He bowed deeply toward the dark cavern.
All terms had been laid out.
Now he awaited the reply of absolute power.
From the darkness came the sound of scales grinding.
Moments later, two enormous pupils, glowing with deep lake-green light, slowly opened.