Chapter 158: Fate and Conspiracy

Chapter 158: Fate and Conspiracy

As Meng Siyou sprinted back to the mansion, the seconds ticked away, soon reaching 2:38 PM.

In the bedroom, Isildur knelt before the bed, his face ghostly pale.

Enduring the excruciating pain of his mind being flooded with overwhelming negative emotions, he tried to focus his vision and pick up the curved mouse tail on the floor—its end bearing clear bite marks.

But everything in his sight kept doubling, making it impossible to steady his violently trembling fingers.

Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up…

Move already! He had to hide all traces!

Isildur urged himself relentlessly, gritting his teeth to suppress the urge to vomit, desperately avoiding thoughts of what "food" might still linger in his stomach.

God, he prayed on the brink of despair—

If the divine truly held even a shred of mercy for him, please grant him revelation and protection!

What should he do?

……

First-floor study.

The old Duke, too, wore an ashen expression. He sat motionless in his seat, the prophet’s sigh echoing in his mind:

"She was the ‘evil god’ you personally invited into this family."

The words brewed into a colossal storm in the Duke’s mind, instantly shattering many memories disguised as "love."

Once cherished memories fragmented into countless shards, cracks spreading across the face of his wife, Hekate, blurring her delicate features—only the faintly glowing green pupils in her dove gray eyes remained unnaturally vivid.

So vivid that cold sweat drenched the Duke’s back, his expensive silk shirt clinging cold and damp to his skin.

After a long silence, the Duke twitched his fingers, the golden family signet ring on his hand reflecting a brilliant arc of light.

The radiant gold illuminated his face, yet he instinctively turned away, as if ashamed to stand under the glory of the Iris family.

His back deeply hunched, the Duke appeared far older in that moment.

He removed the family crest ring and carefully stored it away, sighing. "I am no longer worthy of its weight."

"Honorable Prophet, do you have any other details you wish to know?"

The prophet stared intently at Hekate’s portrait, his fingertip hovering over her brooch. "Did she ever mention where she came from?"

The Duke shook his head with a wry smile. "It’s laughable, but I truly know nothing of her origins."

"This emblem—I’ve seen it before. It’s the sigil of the *Deconstructors of All Things*, a dangerous faction that believed everything—science, art, even the occult—could be measured, dissected, and experimented upon. Their methods led to several horrific incidents, earning them a multi-dimensional manhunt as a terrorist organization."

A rare flicker of confusion passed through the prophet’s usually indifferent eyes. "But to my knowledge, this group has long since fractured. Its members split into two factions—one advocating self-reformation, the other seeking new refuge—yet both eventually vanished from public sight..."

"So why does this emblem appear on Hekate?" The Duke’s voice trembled. "Could she be a survivor of that organization?"

At the same time, dread twisted his features.

The prophet had mentioned "experiments"...

Did that mean Isildur and Ernos were nothing more than Hekate’s crafted and observed test subjects?

Just as he was about to press him further, the prophet suddenly paused, his gaze shifting sharply upward as he murmured:

"Your Grace, you truly ought to pay more attention to your child’s mental well-being."

"What?" The Duke’s eyes widened in shock.

The prophet ignored his question, merely raising a finger to his lips in a silent command.

That simple gesture instantly silenced the mighty noble—a man who, in the eyes of the world, commanded boundless wealth and power—forcing him to swallow his words unspoken.

The prophet’s slit pupils contracted, thinning into dark fissures amidst liquid gold, reminding the Duke of jungle predators, poised to strike.

His vision saw through the barriers of the material world, observing every floor, every corridor, every hall, and the people moving within.

Among them, a maid suddenly paused, the faint glow in her pupils flickering before vanishing, as an invisible force planted a thought in her mind—

*Go to the young master’s room and ask if he needs tea service.*

Thus, without realizing it, she abandoned her current task and turned toward the second-floor bedroom.

The terrifying part? Throughout it all, the maid genuinely believed every action and thought was her own, entirely reasonable and uninfluenced by any external force.

The prophet smiled faintly, intrigued by such subtle manipulation, and tapped lightly his cane against the floor.

Ripples spread outward from the tip, disturbing fate's currents, leaving faint traces in the lives of those they touched.

The ripples reached the maid just as she stepped onto the first stair, where she was promptly stopped by a passing housekeeper.

"Where are you going? Are you free right now?"

"Ah," the maid blinked in surprise, answering slowly, "I—I noticed the young master hasn’t left his room for so long, so I thought to ask if he’d like some tea tray..."

"Is that part of your usual duties?" The housekeeper raised a skeptical brow, waving impatiently. "Stop interfering with matters beyond your role. Come help hang the laundry!"

The maid stood frozen on the stair, snapped to attention by the housekeeper’s scolding. After a hesitant glance toward the upper floor, she finally turned and followed.

And after her came a second maid, then a third...

Had one observed the mansion from above, they would have seen these women move like puppets triggered by some hidden script—each finding excuses to slip away from the group, heading for Isildur’s room, only to be intercepted by a series of interruptions, leaving none to reach his door.

The prophet represented the supreme law of fate and causality; Hekate, the complete mastery over minds and thoughts...

This battle between "Fate" and "Conspiracy" unfolded across the vast territory of the Iris family, with countless servants as its unaware instruments, every move concealed in the unseen.

Just as the two forces were deadlocked, Meng Siyou arrived at the mansion, gasping for breath.

He dashed straight to the second floor with strangely easy, managing to avoid every guard and servant along the way, until he stood before Isildur’s bedroom door.

"A few minutes too late..." he thought.

After a quick glance at the corridor clock, Meng Siyou clenched his fists nervously, scanning the silent corridor to confirm that the schemes of the Glowing Sea had yet to succeed. Only then did he breathe easier.

But merely guarding the door wasn’t enough—he needed to ensure no one could open it.

Browsing his item storage, Meng Siyou selected a useful occult device, and a long needle appeared in his hand, which he promptly inserted into the floorboard gap before the door.

「Item: Warding Needle (C)

Status: Bound to user

Description: This is an item invented by a deeply socially phobic Ability user from the Fate Domain. The needle carries the karmic principle of "keep strangers away"... With it, the desperate socially anxious individual can finally avoid disturbances from others!

Usage Condition: Fix the People-Repelling Needle in a certain position. Within a one-meter radius, no humanoid creatures other than the bound user will approach. The effect lasts for 15 minutes.

After setting up the item, Meng Siyou completely relaxed.

He rubbed his sore legs from running and casually leaned against the door, quietly waiting for Isildur inside the room to calm down and deal with the abnormalities inside.

Ten minutes later, the latest line in the Tome of Fate—"But just then, the door was knocked on"—was struck through with a single stroke.

The floating golden characters suddenly scattered into glowing motes, reforming into entirely new content.

"Isildur wordlessly begged for the gods' mercy, and under the intervention of ■■■, he was granted sufficient time to clean up the mess before him."

"After hiding the headless songbird and a rodent's severed tail, Isildur stood before the sink, washing away the filth from his hands bit by bit, meticulously scrubbing the blood from between his fingers. As he studied his mirrored visage, now restored to a normal and proper appearance, his chaotic mind gradually calmed, regaining its usual rationality."

"'Something’s wrong... all of this is wrong...' Isildur mused numbly."

"He was certain that in all his years, he had never experienced severe sleepwalking, eating raw food, or similar conditions."

"He had always adhered strictly to the Iris family’s rigorous creed and principles, maintaining flawless decorum in all interactions. Everyone agreed he was an outstanding heir—his only rebellion and defiance were reserved for his father."

"All the anomalies began with the sudden madness and fatal fall of Mrs. Ethel."

"Before her fall, the wet nurse had gripped Isildur’s sleeve, repeatedly warning him that in some unseen place, there was a 'she,' always watching him..."

"'I am normal,' Isildur stared into his own eyes in the mirror, his tone growing firmer. 'It’s that "she" who is trying every means to make me abnormal, to make everyone label me as abnormal!'"

"But the question was... who exactly was 'she'? And where was she hiding?"

"To be continued..."

"Current Fate Alteration Value: 58% (+N%)."

Meng Siyou froze for a moment before breaking into a feral grin.

The Fate Alteration Value had multiplied—indeed, driving Isildur to madness was a crucial step in the Boss’s plan!

Recalling the chapter title, "Burning Harvest Season," and the smoldering NPC remains he often encountered—

Meng Siyou speculated that perhaps the Boss intended to push Isildur into generating overwhelming negative emotions, ultimately leading him, in a deranged state, to reduce the ducal estate and surrounding villages to cinders...

Now that Isildur’s fate had been altered, the Boss might resort to other means to bring about that all-consuming conflagration.

Meng Siyou mentally underlined the keywords "Harvest Season" and "fire" in his mind, sharpening his wariness.

With the crisis temporarily averted, Meng Siyou retrieved the People-Repelling Needle and was about to make his escape when the door suddenly swung open from inside—

"It’s you?"

At the sight of Meng Siyou, Isildur’s expression momentarily tensed with wariness, but he quickly recognized the boy who had followed the prophet the night before—likely not an enemy—and modulated his voice: "What are you doing here at this hour?"

Meng Siyou began weighing how to concoct an alibi, only to see the other seemingly connecting the dots independently, nodding in understanding:

"Hmm—did the prophet send you?"

Meng Siyou was slightly surprised. So, he was being treated as a prospective acolyte favored by the prophet...

To become the disciple of a future True God, personally guided and taught by Him—he was far from worthy of such honor!

But for the sake of convenience, Meng Siyou let the assumption stand for now, remaining silent.

Thus, Isildur grew even more convinced. Perhaps the enigmatic prophet had already seen through the malignancy festering within the estate and deliberately sent this boy to him at this critical moment...

With a troubled countenance, Isildur realized the current situation far exceeded his understanding and capabilities.

Problems of the mystical world required professionals.

With this in mind, Isildur’s attitude toward Meng Siyou grew more solemn, a gesture of respect and sincerity toward the prophet behind him.

He lowered himself to meet the boy's gaze, and said gravely: "Please convey my most profound thanks to the prophet. I understand what He is hinting at—should further omens manifest regarding 'her,' I will notify you immediately."

After a pause, this noble heir who had never been devout seemed to steel his resolve, bowing his head:

"I only pray... that I may receive His grace and protection."