Chapter : 687

He felt the familiar, exhilarating rush of the engineer on the cusp of a breakthrough. It was a feeling he hadn’t truly experienced since his days in the research and development labs back on Earth. It was the feeling of creation, of bending the rules of the universe to his will, not through brute force or magical might, but through the elegant application of logic and innovation.

“Administrator,” he began, his voice crisp and authoritative, “provide me with a comprehensive summary of the Kingdom of Zakaria. Political structure, primary economic drivers, key power players, and current diplomatic relations with Bethelham and Eldoria.”

[Acknowledged. Compiling data,] the monotone voice replied in his mind.

A wealth of information began to flow directly into his consciousness, not as a dry list of facts, but as a coherent, structured report. He saw a kingdom built on a single, unwavering principle: the sanctity of the contract. Zakaria had no grand army, no legendary warrior houses. Its defense was its economy. Its banks held the debts of a dozen other nations, its merchant guilds controlled trade routes that were the lifeblood of the continent. To attack Zakaria would be to commit economic suicide, to invite the wrath of every power whose supply chains would be severed. It was a fortress built of gold and parchment.

Its ruler was not a king in the traditional sense, but a figure known as the ‘First Seal,’ a title passed down not by blood, but by a complex election held by the heads of the five great merchant families. The current First Seal was a man named Valerius Thorne, a shrewd and notoriously pragmatic patriarch of a family that had built its fortune on trading in rare alchemical components and magical artifacts.

Lloyd’s grin widened. The man in charge of the kingdom was a merchant who dealt in exactly the kind of exotic materials he was seeking. The pieces were not just falling into place; they were leaping into their designated slots with a satisfying click.

“Administrator, what is the status of the Lilith Stone mine within Zakaria? Is it controlled by one of the great families? Is it an open market?” he queried.

[The Lilith Stone mine is designated ‘Z-4.’ It is independently owned and operated by a minor but ancient artisanal guild known as the ‘Crystal Weavers.’ They are not affiliated with any of the five great families. Their operation is small-scale, and they trade the raw, unimprinted stones exclusively through the Zakarian Royal Exchange, where they are typically purchased for use in high-end scrying devices and arcane communication tools. Their use as a programmable instruction engine is a non-public, system-exclusive classification.]

Even better. The source was a small, independent guild. They wouldn’t have the political leverage of one of the great families. They would be susceptible to a large, well-funded offer. A ducal house with the backing of the Bethelham crown, arriving with a mountain of gold and a proposal for an exclusive, long-term supply contract… they would be irresistible.

The plan was solidifying into a masterpiece of commercial and logistical strategy. He would travel to Zakaria under the guise of sourcing new, exotic oils for the next evolution of the AURA brand. It was a perfect cover story, plausible and aligned with his public persona as an innovative industrialist. While his commercial team negotiated with the oil merchants, he would discreetly make contact with the Crystal Weavers. He would secure the future of his military-industrial complex while appearing to be shopping for perfume. It was elegant. It was deceptive. It was perfect.

He was filled with a sense of absolute confidence, of unshakeable certainty. The path ahead was clear and bright. He had the plan, he had the resources, and he had the will to see it through. The ghosts of his past were still hunting him, but he was about to build a weapon that would turn them into dust. He had found the key to his ascension, and it was waiting for him in a quiet mine in a kingdom of merchants.

He leaned back in his chair, a deep sense of satisfaction settling over him. He allowed himself a moment to simply savor the victory, the intellectual triumph of solving an unsolvable problem. He had faced the limits of this world and, with the help of the ghost in his machine, had found a way to shatter them.

It was in this moment of pure, unadulterated hubris that the Administrator’s voice cut through the silence of his mind. It was as flat and monotone as ever, but the content of its message was a bucket of ice water thrown directly into his soul.

[A warning is advised,] the voice stated, with no preamble.

Chapter : 688

Lloyd’s triumphant mood evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp prickle of alarm. “A warning? Regarding what?”

[The previous query concerned the acquisition of Lilith Stones from the Zakarian mine, Z-4,] the Administrator continued. [The System has run a high-level probability analysis based on your current trajectory. This analysis incorporates thousands of known and projected vectors, including your current power level, your established geopolitical relationships, the known disposition of your enemies, and a series of classified, fate-based chronal variables.]

Lloyd’s blood ran cold. Fate-based chronal variables. That was a new and terrifying phrase.

“Get to the point, Administrator,” he commanded, his voice tight.

[The analysis has reached a conclusion with a statistical certainty of one hundred percent,] the voice droned, its dispassionate delivery making the words infinitely more chilling. [If you, Lloyd Ferrum, travel to the Kingdom of Zakaria at this specific temporal juncture, you will meet a certain fate.]

The words hung in the silence of the study, heavy and absolute. A certain fate. Not a possibility. Not a risk. A certainty. It was a prophecy delivered by a god of data, a mathematical proof of his own destiny.

A hundred percent certainty. The phrase echoed in the silent chambers of Lloyd’s mind, a stark, unassailable fact presented by the most logical entity he had ever encountered. It wasn't a warning from a superstitious fortune teller or the cryptic riddle of a mad oracle. It was a statistical conclusion, a final output from a cosmic supercomputer that had calculated every possible variable and had arrived at a single, inevitable outcome.

A certain fate.

The words were a cage, a set of predetermined railroad tracks on which his life was now set to run. A cold dread, sharp and familiar, tried to assert itself. It was the dread of the pawn, the feeling of being a small, insignificant piece being moved by unseen hands in a game of incomprehensible scale. He had felt it as a boy, a disappointment in the shadow of his powerful father. He had felt it as the "Sofa King," a powerless husband in a political marriage. He had spent every moment of this new life fighting against that feeling, clawing his way towards agency, towards being the master of his own destiny. And now, in a single, monotone sentence, the Administrator had seemingly stripped it all away.

“Define ‘certain fate,’” Lloyd demanded, his mental voice a blade of sharp steel, fighting back against the encroaching dread. He refused to be cowed by ambiguity. “Is it a positive or negative outcome? Am I destined to succeed, or to fail? Does this ‘fate’ involve my death?”

[The data is insufficient to provide a qualitative assessment,] the Administrator replied, its serene indifference a maddening counterpoint to his own turmoil. [The term ‘fate’ in this context refers to a nexus event. A singular, unavoidable encounter or occurrence that will fundamentally and irrevocably alter the primary trajectory of your existence. The nature of this alteration—whether it is beneficial or detrimental—is an unknown variable. The event itself, however, is a statistical absolute.]

An unavoidable nexus event. A fixed point in time. The concept was both terrifying and infuriating. It flew in the face of everything he believed in. He was a man of will, of action. He made his own fate. The idea that a single, predetermined event was waiting for him, regardless of his choices, was anathema to his very core.

“And you cannot provide any further details?” Lloyd pressed, his frustration mounting. “Who I will meet? What will happen? You have access to vast archives of data. Analyze it. Project it. Give me something to work with.”

[Negative,] the Administrator stated flatly. [To provide specific details of the nexus event would be to introduce a new, primary variable into the probability matrix. Your foreknowledge would alter your behavior, which would in turn alter the event itself, creating a paradoxical feedback loop. The prophecy would invalidate itself. The integrity of the causal chain must be maintained. The System is an observer and a facilitator, not a manipulator of destiny.]

Lloyd wanted to scream. It was the ultimate bureaucratic cop-out, a cosmic version of ‘I can’t tell you because then it wouldn’t be a surprise.’ He was being told, with absolute certainty, that he was walking towards a cliff, but the System was refusing to tell him if there was a bridge or an empty chasm waiting for him.