Chapter 29: The Witch and the Prophecy

Because Ryan negotiated with Marquis Faher to take full control of all mines and logging sites on Salt Island, the family would soon be withdrawing their miners and lumberjacks from the area.

He had to find a solution for the resulting labor shortage himself.

If the extraction at these resource points ground to a halt, causing supply issues for shipbuilding and fleet maintenance, Marquis Faher would certainly turn on him—at such times, father-son affection counted for nothing.

The problem with Salt Island was its harsh environment and sparse population; everything had to be imported from Sea Rock City. Moreover, the Faher family had long made a habit of press-ganging people in Sea Rock City, turning Salt Island into a place that commoners feared like a venomous snake.

Whenever artisans in the market heard that Salt Island was hiring, they would wave their hands, shake their heads, and refuse.

Ryan asked Deya to use her powers of persuasion. Even after she tried every argument she could think of, the artisans still waved their hands, shook their heads, and refused.

With no other choice, Ryan stepped in personally, exercising his exceptional talent for eloquence:

"I will pay three times the market rate for labor here, with one-third paid upfront. You are only hired for three months, and you are free to leave when the term expires."

The artisans were awestruck and overwhelmed with gratitude, apologizing profusely for their previous rudeness and for slighting such a noble lord, promising to set off for Salt Island to serve him at once.

"See that?" Ryan said to Deya as he turned back. "Your rhetorical approach only works on some people, but my method of communication can persuade anyone."

"That was just you throwing money at them!" Deya retorted. "And where did you even get that much money?"

Indeed, this fellow had donated 200 gold crowns without hesitation just to break into the Amazon Memorial Association, Bethalia thought to herself.

Could it be that this guy possessed an artifact that could turn stone into gold?

As the Rose Queen of the Dark Elves, Bethalia had once owned an artifact called the "Golden Finger," which could liquefy and extract gold elements from any ore it touched. Relying on this artifact, Bethalia had amassed considerable wealth. She had so much gold that when she built her palace, she had artisans gild the roof tiles. When the sunlight hit them, they shimmered brilliantly, which was why it was known as the "Radiant Court."

Unfortunately, she hadn't had the artifact on her when she died; it was likely in the hands of the Church of Light.

Deep within Bethalia’s rose-colored pupils, only endless coldness remained.

Ryan swept through the market, causing many workshops to close their doors as master craftsmen packed up their tools and took their apprentices to Salt Island.

Many laborers at the docks, hearing that a new nobleman from Salt Island was offering exceptionally generous pay, crowded around to ask if the boss needed more hands.

Ryan waved his arm with a flourish and hired them all, packing them off to Salt Island!

That afternoon, ships shuttled continuously between Salt Island and Sea Rock City, transporting artisans, apprentices, manual laborers, and the eldest sons sent by impoverished knights to Iron Port City.

Ryan and his group were preparing to depart when they were blocked by an old woman at the docks.

Her face was painted with bizarre patterns in red oil paint, making her look exactly like the wicked witch from a fairy tale. Her eyes, showing more white than iris, stared at Bethalia with a chilling gaze as she let out a low, sinister cackle:

"Murderer of my grandson, tyrant who died by water and fire. I curse you; I curse you to die once more by wind and thunder!"

"When did I ever kill your grandson?" Bethalia glared at her, her hand moving toward the hilt of the sword at her waist. "Are you looking for trouble?"

"Stop." Ryan called out to her first, then looked at the old woman covered in oil paint.

He recognized this witch, Cyril, who was an extremely rare prophetic NPC in the game and likely had deep connections to the Keepers of Secrets who presided over fate among the Holy Spirits.

Although Ryan hadn't noticed Bethalia falling under any curse, he spoke to Cyril patiently just to be safe:

"Old woman, could you be mistaken? I can vouch that she hasn't killed anyone. What was your grandson's name?"

*Ever since I resurrected Bethalia, she hasn't participated in any combat. Besides, would I not know if the undead creatures I control have killed anyone?*

Witch Cyril did not answer, only staring at Ryan with a cold laugh:

"Mortal, marked by the ancient gods, your life will be plagued by conspiracy and chaos; you shall never find a moment of peace."

"Oh, well, thank you very much," Ryan laughed dismissively. "That just means my life will be quite spectacular; I don't have to worry about it being too dull."

"Grandma," Deya couldn't help but interject, "we really haven't harmed your grandson. Could there be some misunderstanding?"

Witch Cyril rolled her clouded eyes and locked her gaze on Deya. Suddenly, as if she had seen a demon, she backed away repeatedly, crying out:

"Dragon! It is a dragon! The dragon that destroys the world! I, I..."

She clutched her throat violently, as if her windpipe were blocked by a thick wad of phlegm, and her face turned purple from suffocation.

Bethalia quickly stepped forward and caught the witch's collapsing body. After checking her condition for a moment, she shook her head at Ryan.

She was dead.

Ryan walked up to confirm as well, discovering that Witch Cyril hadn't suffered a sudden illness; it was simply a natural death caused by her advanced age and failing organs.

Thinking of it that way, it felt as though she had burned her remaining life force to deliver one final prophecy, leaving a feeling that was truly eerie and ominous.

*Hmph, Bethalia was resurrected by me. Even if she dies by wind and thunder in the future, I can just resurrect her again.*

*My life will be plagued by conspiracy and chaos? That’s quite humorous. Anyone who deals with nobles spends their whole life being plotted against. Once you’re at the table of the Game of Thrones, can you really expect everyone to play nicely by the rules?*

Ryan didn't care about the first two prophecies, but Witch Cyril’s claim that Deya was a "dragon that destroys the world" gave him a moment's pause.

*I recall that in the original game plot, Deya didn't do anything world-ending, did she?*

*Oh, right! When I transmigrated, the game hadn't even finished or shut down yet!*

*Then it’s fine; it must be main story content I wasn't aware of.*

Ryan pondered this as he turned to look at the three women, each wearing a different expression.

Bethalia looked displeased, Deya was clearly distraught, and only Elina remained indifferent—after all, the prophecy wasn't about her.

"A prophecy is like a six-sided die; every number represents a different interpretation," Ryan said earnestly. "Only when the die is truly cast will you know what the correct interpretation actually is."

"Mmhmm." Bethalia also smiled, hugging Deya’s head and pressing it into her chest, rubbing it vigorously. "My cute little Deya, how could you be a dragon that destroys the world? I think that witch probably just had poor training and died of frustration."

"Destroying the world can be a physical destruction," Elina said softly, "or it could be a historical ‘ending of the old world’ and ‘opening of a new one.’ There really are many different ways to interpret it."

Seeing everyone comforting her, Deya’s mood, which had been shrouded in gloom, began to improve. She wanted to say something, but her face was completely covered by Bethalia’s bosom, muffling her voice until she couldn't even make a sound.

"Wuwuwu, let me go!"