Indra Translations
Navigation
A Cadet Becomes a Prophet?! Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Since​‌ then, I’ve tried⁠ everything to find‌‌​ out what that​‍‌ soul was, but‌ I haven’t found​‍​ a single answer.​

Why‍‌ had it tried​​ to possess him?⁠ Why him, of‍ all people? How⁠‌​ did it carry‍​ so many memories?​

Even​⁠ now, he didn’t‍⁠ know.

“Devoting‍‍‌ yourself to something‍‍​ that has no⁠‌ immediate answer is⁠ a waste.”

In​‍​ the end, Fernan​‌ set aside thoughts​⁠‍ of the soul‌​‌ and possession and‌⁠ continued living his⁠ life.

After‌​‌ all, time kept⁠​ moving forward.

“Where’s‍‌ today’s newspaper?”

Fernan,⁠ after finishing his‍ reflections, extended his⁠‍ hand. Hyde placed‍‌⁠ the newspaper onto‍ it.

“Here‌‌‌ you go.”

Fernan‌​‌ opened the newspaper.⁠​

[…]​‍‍

“…”​‌​

The⁠‌⁠ moment he saw‌⁠⁠ a particular name‍‍ printed in the​​‌ newspaper, a subtle‍‌⁠ and indescribable emotion⁠ flashed in Fernan’s‍ eyes.

“Young⁠⁠ master? Is something⁠⁠ wrong?”

“It’s‌ nothing.”

Though‍​‌ the servant asked‌ about his strange‌⁠ expression, Fernan brushed‌ it off.

‘So​‍​ he finally showed‍⁠ up.’

The⁠‌ book of prophecy‌‍‌ hadn’t revealed everything​ about the future.​​‍ Most of it⁠ was locked away​‌ and, aside from​‌⁠ a few fragments,⁠ Fernan could only⁠⁠ perceive the future‍​ to a certain‍‍⁠ extent.

And‌​‍ among those fragments,​‌ the name in​‍ the newspaper was‌⁠ the most significant.​‍

“…He​ actually enrolled.”

He‍‌ had used it⁠ well for business⁠⁠​ purposes, but deep‍ down he had‍⁠‌ hoped that part​⁠ wouldn’t come true.⁠

“Who​‍‌ are you suddenly⁠ talking about?”

“Hyde.”‍

Fernan​⁠ interrupted Hyde.

“Yes?”‍

“Do​⁠ you think there’s⁠ a chance I’ll⁠⁠ be disowned and‌ end up broke?”⁠

“Where‌ did that come​ from all of​⁠ a sudden?”

“Just‍ answer the question.”‌⁠

“Well,​⁠ nothing in this‌​⁠ world is certain,⁠⁠ so I suppose⁠⁠ there’s a slim​ chance. Like being⁠‍ struck by lightning‍ on a clear​ day. But from‌ what I’ve seen,​​ I can’t even‍‍ imagine you losing‌‌‍ all your money,‍ young master.”

“Exactly.‍‍‌ Neither can I.”⁠⁠

Me?⁠⁠⁠ Disowned and reduced⁠​⁠ to a beggar?‍ There’s no way​​ a future like‌‌⁠ that exists. Haha.​⁠​

Crunch!‌⁠‌

The​ newspaper crumpled in⁠ Fernan’s grip.

“Young​​⁠ master?”

“That’s⁠ what I’m about‍​​ to find out.”‌‌

“Find⁠⁠‌ out what?”

“The⁠⁠ southern swamp.”

“Excuse‌‌​ me?”

“I’ll​‍​ have to make‌ a quick trip‍ to the southern⁠​ swamp.”

Fernan​⁠‌ got up from‌‌ his seat and​‍ put on his​ coat.

From‌‍‌ the moment he​​ was struck by‌⁠ that lightning, he​⁠ began counting the‌ days.

‘Most​ of the prophecies​‌​ revolve around the​ Imperial Armian Academy.’‌

Through‍ that so-called “protagonist”​ named in the​​ book of prophecies.⁠‍

He‍‍ didn’t know why‍‌ the prophecy took⁠‌ the form of‍‌ a novel, or‌ why everything revolved‍⁠ around the academy.‌

“That‌‌ doesn’t matter.”

Through‍ countless cross-references, Fernan⁠​ had concluded that‌‌ the prophecies were‍‌ at least partially‌‍‍ true, but the‍ truly important part‍‌⁠ was still to​ come.

The‍ moment the protagonist​ enrolled, the real‌ story of the​⁠ prophecy would begin.‌‍‍

And⁠‍​ verifying that protagonist⁠ was the top‌⁠ priority.

“I’ll​ go alone. Prepare​‍‍ my horse.”

“Are​ you sure you’ll​‌‌ be okay alone?”‍

“Don’t‌‌‍ make me repeat‍‍ myself.”

The‍⁠⁠ servant brought out‍ an elegant, gleaming‍‍ horse. Moments later,⁠ Fernan set out‌‌ onto the main⁠​ road.

The⁠‌​ Imperial Academy was‍ located in Bardian,​​ an island in‍‍‍ the Empire’s inland​​ sea, a vast‍⁠‌ territory in itself.‌

Its⁠ expansive grounds were‌⁠‌ magically cultivated artificial‍​‌ terrain, and its‍ southern portion was‍‌⁠ covered by vast‍ marshlands.

As​ Fernan rode south,​‌ fragments of memories⁠ began to surface‍ in his mind.‍ Three stories had​ been etched into‌ his memory more⁠ than anything else.⁠

The⁠ future where Fernan​‍ Pellenberg is disowned.⁠‌

The‌‌ future where Fernan‌ Pellenberg falls into‌​‍ ruin.

The‌‍​ future where Fernan‌⁠ Pellenberg becomes a penni—

“No.⁠ No, not that​ one again.”

The​ future where Fernan​⁠⁠ Pellenberg becomes poor.‌​‍ The future where‌ the 72 demons⁠⁠ summoned by King‍ Colomo a thousand‍‍ years ago begin​​⁠ to stir again.​‍‌

And‌ the story of⁠⁠ the protagonist of‌‌ the prophecy. Among​ them, the third—the‌​‍ protagonist’s story—was what‌⁠ needed to be‍‍⁠ analyzed right now.​‌

[After‍‌​ finishing the entrance​ exam, Aint didn’t‌‌ return immediately, but‍​ headed toward the⁠‍​ southern wetlands. The‍​‍ reason he came‍ to the academy‍ was to track⁠‌‍ down the remnants⁠‍ of a map‍ left by the‌​‌ First Emperor.]

“It’s‍​​ not Armian. The⁠ First Emperor… argh.”‌​‌

As‍‌‌ soon as he‍ recalled the contents⁠‍‍ of the prophecy,‌‌ a terrible headache⁠ nearly made him⁠‍​ fall off his‌ horse. He barely⁠‍ managed to stay⁠​‌ balanced.

Gripping​‌⁠ his throbbing head,​‍​ he continued his⁠​ thoughts. The two‍ people mentioned in⁠⁠ the prophecy were‌⁠‌ figures no citizen‌‍ of the Empire⁠‌ could be unaware‍‌​ of.

The‍‍ last king of​⁠​ the Kingdom of​ Armian, the great‌⁠​ founding emperor who⁠​​ established the Empire‍‌ alongside five surrounding‍​⁠ kingdoms.

And‌⁠⁠ his descendant, Aint⁠‍⁠ Armian, who had‍ lost all the⁠ former glory of‍​‌ the royal house‍‌ and retained only​‌ its honor.

If‌‍ the prophecy was⁠​‍ true, he was‌‌‍ the most suitable⁠ person to save‌ the world from⁠‌ the demons.

Were​‌⁠ the First Emperor’s‌​ plans hidden in‌​‍ the academy? No⁠‍‌ one had discovered‌⁠‍ them in the⁠‌ past thousand years…​​ Damn it. If‍‍ I had found‍‍ them, I could’ve⁠​ toppled the last‍ pillar supporting the‌‍​ Armian family.

Either‍‌​ way, if the⁠‍‍ prophecy was true,​​‌ Aint Armian’s importance⁠​ would increase immensely.‍​

He​ wouldn’t just be‍​ a remnant of‍⁠ an old royal‍‍ house, but a dark horse who‍‍‌ inherited the First‌⁠ Emperor’s arrangements.

[After‌‌ gathering enough food‌ and weapons to⁠‌ last a few​‍ days, Aint arrived​‍​ at the edge‌‍ of the swamp.‍‍ The first to‌‍‍ greet him was‍⁠​ Croker, the swamp‌ crocodile. It was‌‌ an unexpected encounter—he‍⁠⁠ had heard that‍​⁠ Croker rarely ventured‌​ to the outskirts.]⁠

Damn‍ it. These headaches‍ I get every‍‌ time I recall⁠‌ a prophecy never‌‍ let up.

Croker⁠⁠ was an apex‌ predator in the​​‍ swamp. His skin‍⁠ was tough, his‍ teeth strong, and‍ his jaws could⁠​ crush steel.

A monster difficult even‌‌ for the most‍⁠ seasoned knights to‌‍⁠ handle, originally meant‌‍ for third-year students‌‍ and up.

It​ was a mystery​ why he had‌‍⁠ come to the⁠‍‌ outskirts, when he‍‍‍ usually resided in‌ the heart of⁠‍‍ the swamp, but‌ life rarely follows​​​ logic.

Just‍‍ like when I was struck by‌​‌ lightning.

‘If⁠‌ the prophecy is‌​‌ correct, maybe it‌ wasn’t bad luck​‍⁠ but destiny.’

According⁠ to what passed‌‌⁠ through his mind,⁠⁠ that guy always‌​⁠ got caught up​‍ in incidents.

But​‍‍ that wasn’t the‌⁠ important part right‌‍​ now.

[Aint​‌​ had talent, but‌​⁠ the swordsmanship of​⁠⁠ his family had⁠⁠ deteriorated and couldn’t‌⁠‌ bring him to​‌‌ full bloom. Croker​‌‍ was clearly too‌ much for him⁠‌‍ in his current⁠​ state.]

[He‍ barely managed to‌‌ escape, despite his⁠⁠‍ injuries.]

“So⁠ far, everything is‌‍‍ real.”

Fernan‌​⁠ murmured calmly. He⁠ wasn’t very surprised;‌‌​ he had already‍​⁠ gained some advantages⁠‌ thanks to the‌ prophecy.

Croker‍ had vanished, but‌‍ traces remained. The​⁠ stench of monster‍ blood and rot‌‍‍ still lingered in​​ the distance.

Splash—‍

Still,⁠‍ he didn’t feel⁠ good.

As​‍‍ each prophecy came‍⁠ true, it meant​‌‍ his own future⁠‍ (ending up poor)​ drew ever closer.‌⁠

Aint⁠‌‌ was badly wounded.​ He used the​‌​ potions he’d brought​ for emergency treatment,⁠ but the scent‍⁠‌ of blood was​ already attracting monsters.‍‍

He‌ ran, though not‌ aimlessly. Even in⁠‍⁠ his condition, he⁠‌ consulted the map.‍⁠

There​⁠ was a very‌​ small hole marked‍ on the map.⁠‍ There was no‌‌ trace of magic,⁠ and it seemed​⁠ no human could‌‌⁠ fit inside.

[He‌⁠ hesitated, but the​‍ bloodthirsty lizardmen were‌​‌ already chasing him.]‍‍‌

Don’t‍‍ hesitate. Dive in.⁠‌‌

[Remembering‍‍ the phrase written​‍ at the bottom‌‌ of the map,⁠ he clenched his‍​ teeth and threw‌ himself in. And⁠​ there it was—the⁠ dungeon.]

Fernan‍‍‌ circled around the‌‍ lizardmen who were‍⁠​ distracted by Croker‍ and followed Aint’s⁠​‍ trail.

The‌​ escape route was​‌ clear, and there‍ were bloodstains scattered‍ along the path.​​

In‌⁠ the end, he‌‌⁠ found a hole.‍

A small tunnel that⁠‌‍ no human could​⁠‌ enter. It looked‍‍ more like a rabbit hole, but‌⁠‌ according to the‍​‌ prophecy, it was‍⁠‍ the dungeon’s entrance.⁠⁠‍

And​ beside it—

“…Huh?”‌‌

“…Huh?”‌​​

He​​ came face to‌‌​ face with Aint,‌​‌ who was clutching​​ a wound on‍‌‌ his chest and‍‌ struggling to reach‌⁠⁠ the hole.

What‌‌ the hell? Why​‌​ is this bastard‍​⁠ still here?

‘…Shit,⁠​ did I get‍ here too early?’‌

That‌‍‍ seemed to be‌⁠⁠ the case.

He‌ had been so⁠ eager to confirm⁠ the protagonist’s identity⁠ that he arrived‌​​ too soon.

Totally​ unexpected.

Fernan’s‍​⁠ plan had only⁠​‍ been to follow‍ Aint after he⁠​​ entered the dungeon‍ and confirm the⁠ truth. He only‌​ knew that Aint​ would obtain the‌‌​ First Emperor’s inheritance⁠ on the day⁠‌⁠ the academy newspaper​⁠ covering new students‍ was published, but​​‍ not the exact‍‌ time.

And‍⁠ that led to‍‌​ the current situation.‍

He⁠ never imagined that‍​ Aint wouldn’t even⁠ be in the​ dungeon yet. After‌ thinking for a moment, Fernan decided‌⁠ to act confidently.​​‌

“You’re​‌‍ not Aint Armian.‍ The entrance exam‍‌‍ should be over.​​ What are you‍ doing here? This⁠ place isn’t for​ you.”

When‌‍‌ both parties are​⁠‌ caught off guard,​ the one who‍⁠​ strikes first has⁠‍ the advantage.

And​ judging by Aint’s‍⁠ expression, Fernan’s tactic‌‌ had worked.

“…You‍ know me?”

“There’s​ no one in‍⁠ the academy who‍‌‍ doesn’t, whether student,​ professor, or even​ a first-year who‍‌ passed the entrance‍⁠‌ exam. But even⁠ if that weren’t‍ the case, you’re⁠⁠​ too well-known.”

He​‌ didn’t flinch under‍ the cold stare.​‌

“…If‍‍​ it’s not rude‍‌ to ask, who​ are you?”

“Fernan.”⁠​​

“Fernan…?‌ Fernan… Pellenberg…?”

“Yes,​ that’s my full⁠​​ name. Though it​ seems you’ve omitted‌‌ the senior title.”​‌

Aint’s‌‌ eyes widened. He‌‍ probably never imagined‌⁠​ he’d encounter him​‍ here. Just as⁠‍ Fernan never imagined‍⁠⁠ meeting Aint like​‌ this.

“S-sorry!”‌‌

“No​‌‌ need. I don’t‌‌‍ care. Just answer​​‌ my question. The⁠​ entrance exam should⁠‌‌ be over. Why‌‌ are you here?​ This place isn’t‍​ for you.”

“…That.”‍‍​

“You’re‍⁠⁠ hurt.”

Fernan’s​‍‍ gaze landed on​ Aint’s shoulder. Blood⁠⁠ was seeping from​⁠ his fractured armor.⁠⁠⁠

“Did​​​ the lizardmen do‌‍ that?”

“…I‌‌ ran into Croker.”‌

“Croker​‌‌ was at the‍‌ entrance? What bad‍‍ luck! That only​‌‌ happens once or‍ twice a year.”⁠‌⁠

Pretending‌‍ to think for​ a moment, Fernan​‌‍ took a potion​​ from his subspace.​‍

“Take‍​​ it. It’s a first-class potion.”

“I‌‌⁠ don’t have the‍‌ money to buy‌‌⁠ a potion from⁠‍⁠ Lord Fernan.”

“Do‍ I have to‌‌ spell it out?​⁠‍ Call me senior.”‌‍⁠

“…Yes,⁠‌ senior.”

“There’s​‍‌ no need to‌​‌ pay. But it’s‌⁠‌ not free either.⁠ Consider it an​ investment, Aint Armian.”​

“An⁠⁠ investment?”

The‍ sudden declaration made‍‌⁠ Aint blink in⁠‌‍ surprise. Fernan, watching‍ him, explained nonchalantly.⁠‍

“Your‍ house may have‍‍ collapsed, but royalty​​ is royalty, even‍⁠ if it’s ancient.​‌ It’s not likely​​ you’ll become a disgraceful man.”

“…”⁠⁠​

“Will‍ you take it​‌ or not? If​ you lose much‍‌ more blood, you’ll‌‍​ be kissing the​ ground soon.”

“…I’ll⁠‌ repay this debt​ someday, no matter⁠ what.”

Aint⁠ accepted the potion‌⁠‌ and poured it⁠⁠ over his wound.‌‌‍ His flesh bubbled‌⁠⁠ and quickly regenerated.‍

Money​‍ was truly powerful.⁠ If it had‌ been a lower-grade‌ potion, he’d have​​​ needed ten bottles.⁠​

I won’t ask why‍‍ you’re here. Everyone​​ has at least⁠​ one secret.

“…”‍‍

“But⁠‍ don’t think you’ll‌‍‍ get lucky twice.‌‍⁠ Go back. This‌ place is still​‍ too much for​‌ you.”

“Yes.‌ But, Senior Fernan,‌ why are you⁠​‍ here alone?”

“I⁠ came to gather‌‍⁠ herbs. There’s a rare and expensive‌‌ herb that only‍​⁠ grows in this⁠ region.”

“You⁠‌‍ gather it yourself?”⁠‌

“Only‌​⁠ a mage can‌ harvest it properly.”​‍‌

“Ah…”‌​‌

“See⁠‌ you next time.⁠⁠‌ Now go quickly—it’s‌ dangerous.”

“Thank​‌ you for the⁠‍ warning, senior.”

Fernan​ rode off on⁠ his horse.

Once​ he was out⁠‌ of sight, Aint‌ let out a sigh of relief.​​‍

“…That​⁠​ was close.”

To‌​‍ think he’d run⁠⁠ into someone right​‍⁠ before entering the​⁠​ dungeon.

***‌‍‌

“Fernan⁠​⁠ Pellenberg.”

The⁠ eldest son of⁠​‍ House Pellenberg, widely⁠ known as a money-hungry demon.

“But​​ he didn’t seem‌ so greedy.”

Rumors‍‍ were like that—exaggerated,‍⁠‍ malicious, and crafted‌ to ruin people.‌⁠

Aint⁠‍​ knew all too​‌​ well what kind‌‌‍ of gossip and​‌⁠ mockery had surrounded​‍​ House Armian after⁠ they lost the‍‌‍ throne.

It‍‌⁠ had been etched​‌‍ into the family’s‍‌ bones for generations.⁠⁠‍

“In‍ any case, I’ll‌‍ make sure to⁠ repay this favor.”​

Even‌‍‌ if the investment‌‌ was made in‍‌ his house and⁠‍⁠ not in him​ personally, it still⁠​ felt good.

It⁠⁠​ meant he had‍⁠ value.

Above⁠‌ all, having his‍ wounds healed before‌ entering an unknown​⁠ dungeon was no‍ different than having‌‌‌ his life saved.​‍‌ Aint checked his​​⁠ surroundings again and⁠ then dove into⁠​‍ the hole.

He⁠​⁠ disappeared.

***‌‍​

“So‍⁠ it really is‌‍⁠ a dungeon.”

Fernan,‍‍ who had been‌​‌ hiding his presence,⁠ peeked out.

But‍‍ man, why is‍⁠‍ he so clueless?⁠‍‌ He’s nothing like⁠‍ the guy I saw in my‍ dream.

What‌​‍ had happened between⁠⁠ then and now‍ for him to⁠‍⁠ change so drastically?‌‍⁠

Tsk.⁠‍‍ Fernan clicked his​ tongue and shook‍‌​ off the thought,‌ turning his gaze​‌ toward the dungeon‍ entrance.

“You‍‌​ drop straight down‌‍ upon entry.”

[Aint‌‌ stifled a groan⁠​‍ from the impact‍‍ of the fall.‌​​ His whole body‌ ached, but he‍⁠⁠ drank all the‌‍‌ potions he had⁠ left to survive.‍ Even so, his‌ wounds were serious,‌‍ and the potions​ were so poor⁠⁠​ in quality that⁠​ he didn’t fully‍​ recover.]

[He⁠⁠ pressed on, enduring‍​ the pain.]

After‍ this, Aint would‌‌ move forward despite⁠ his injuries, but⁠‍ now that he⁠⁠‌ had met Fernan,‌‍ the story would⁠‍‌ change a bit.‌‌​

“First-class‍‌‍ potion…”

It⁠‍​ seemed like a waste, but if‌‍ the prophecy was‌​ true, the investment⁠ was worth it.⁠‍

From‌​ the first impression,‌ things had changed.‌ It seemed the​​‌ first button to⁠ change the future‌‌⁠ had been properly‌ fastened.

A long time passed.‌⁠ When the sun​ was setting on‍ the horizon, Fernan​‍‌ finally jumped into‍ the hole.

The​​ world flipped upside‌‍‍ down without resistance.​‍

“Of‌ course.”

If‌ a dungeon that⁠ only responds to​ royal blood reacts⁠‌ to anyone, that⁠‌ means it has‍‌ already fulfilled its‌ purpose.

Thud.‌

Fernan​⁠⁠ landed softly and⁠ looked ahead.

No‍ enemies. No traps.‌​ Just a long,​⁠⁠ straight corridor.

The‌‌‌ soft glow of‌‌ magic lamps illuminated⁠​ the passage more​ than expected.

“So​⁠⁠ many magic lamps‍‍ and barely a trace of mana⁠ left?”

Fernan‍‌‍ floated up and‌⁠ examined one of‌‌​ the lamps.

“I’ve​​⁠ never seen a sigil like this⁠⁠ before…”

He‍​⁠ noticed it subtly⁠‍⁠ absorbed ambient mana.‍ Then he realized—it‌ was a semi-permanent‌⁠ magic lamp.

The‌​ finely carved engravings​​‍ exuded an elegant‍ and ancient aura.​

Fernan​‍ frowned.

So​ Aint Armian really⁠ is the man‍ from the prophecy?‌ I’m starting to​‌ doubt it.

He‍‌​ pulled one of​⁠ the lamps from‍⁠ its place. But‍ it didn’t stop​​ glowing.

“And​‍ the fate of‍ the world is⁠‍‌ in the hands‌⁠ of some fool‍⁠ who would just​​ leave this behind?”‍‌⁠

All⁠‍‌ that remained in‍‍ Fernan’s wake was​‍‍ darkness.

What did you think of this chapter?
0 reactions

0 Comments


There are no comments yet. Be the first!

Reader Settings
Page mode
Timer
Text Indent
Auto scroll
Tap to read
Pin menu
Translate page
Select language to automatically translate chapter content.
Audio & AI Voice
This chapter has pre-loaded audio
Ads Blocker Image Powered by Code Help Pro

Ads Blocker Detected!!!

We have detected that you are using extensions to block ads. Please support us by disabling these ads blocker.