...
Nope.
Absolutely not.
That sentence was halfway to destroying four weeks of carefully cultivated Prophet Brand Recognition.
I straightened slightly in my chair before Emilia could finish processing my hesitation.
"Correction."
I lifted a finger.
"I do not know the exact minute."
That sounded significantly better.
Professional.
Mystical.
Vague enough to avoid follow-up questions.
The holy trinity of successful prophecy.
Across from me, Emilia remained seated on the edge of the bed, watching carefully.
I continued before momentum escaped me.
"The future is not a clock. It is a current."
That sounded smart.
Write that down later.
"What I know is the window."
I took a slow breath.
Then dropped the actual problem.
"We have approximately 10-to-13 days"
Silence.
"Two-hundred-forty to three-hundred-and-twelve hours."
Still silence.
"After that, events become extremely difficult to control."
Emilia blinked.
Then slowly frowned.
"What happens in thirteen days?"
Excellent question.
The apocalypse. Several of them, actually.
"The first threat is a creature that has existed for over four centuries."
I carefully shifted my cane against the floor.
"A calamity known throughout the kingdom."
"The White Whale."
Emilia froze.
Not metaphorically.
Actually froze.
The name hit like a physical impact.
Which made sense.
Normal people did not hear "White Whale" and think "boss fight."
Normal people heard "White Whale" and thought:
"Oh."
"We're doomed."
I continued before panic could establish a foothold.
"In approximately two to three days, it will appear near the Flugel Tree."
"It will descend onto the Liffatus highway."
"Trade routes will halt."
"Travel will become impossible."
I folded my hands.
"Imagine a mountain deciding to fly."
"That is essentially the problem."
Emilia looked horrified.
Reasonable.
Mountains should not fly.
The world had standards.
The White Whale violated all of them.
Unfortunately, I wasn't finished.
"The second threat is more immediate."
Her eyes widened slightly.
Never a good sign when someone hears 'second threat.'
"A hostile movement is currently mobilizing."
Careful.
Very careful.
Do not say Petelgeuse.
Do not say Archbishop.
Do not say Witch Cult command structure.
Do not accidentally sound like a subscriber to the cult newsletter.
I aggressively monitored my own vocabulary.
"A group of rogue cultists."
Good.
Safe.
Normal.
"A large force is gathering within the forests surrounding Irlam Village[1] and the Mathers domain."
Emilia's face immediately paled.
"Cultists...?"
"Yes."
"I do not know their exact chain of command."
Lie.
"I do not know who leads them."
Lie.
"But I know they are moving."
Technically true.
"And they will arrive soon."
That part was definitely true.
The room became very quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
The kind of quiet that appears right before someone begins emotionally self-destructing.
And right on schedule—
Emilia lowered her head.
"It's because of me."
There it is.
Called it.
Predicting emotional self-sabotage is significantly easier than predicting the future.
"The village..."
Her voice had become smaller.
"The villagers only got involved because they were helping me."
"And now..."
She looked away.
"If those cultists are coming..."
"They're coming because I'm here."
"Because I look like..."
She stopped.
Didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
I knew exactly what word she wasn't saying.
Satella.
The room suddenly felt heavier.
Emilia wasn't thinking about the White Whale anymore.
She was thinking about the children.
The villagers.
Everyone she had helped.
And she was already preparing to blame herself for whatever happened next.
Not really my job to comfort her but I'll become more trustworthy.
Maybe.
I leaned forward.
"Emilia."
She looked up.
"This is not a personal failure."
"It is a security failure."
She blinked.
The statement clearly wasn't what she expected.
Good.
Disrupt the spiral.
Corporate training manuals occasionally possessed useful applications.
"What?"
"The difference matters."
I pointed toward the window.
"If a warehouse catches fire, the warehouse manager does not stand in front of the building apologizing to the flames."[2]
"The manager identifies the threat."[3]
"Allocates resources."
"Creates a response plan."
"And solves the problem."
Emilia stared at me.
I continued.
"Panicking consumes energy."[4]
"Energy is a resource."
"We currently have a resource shortage."
"Therefore panic is an inefficient investment."[5]
God, I sounded like a middle manager fighting for his life in a quarterly review.
But it worked.
Slightly.
Emilia's breathing steadied.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough was all I needed.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
Unfortunately, once Emilia regained the ability to think clearly, she immediately identified the next problem.
"We don't have enough people."
Correct.
"Reinhard is unavailable."
Also correct.
"Roswaal is at the mansion."
And completely useless.
Not because he lacked power.
Because he was Roswaal.
Which was often worse.
"Rem is the only fighter with us."
She looked directly at me.
Then buried her face in her hands.
"Two maids, a half-elf and a strategist with a cane can't defeat a four-hundred-year-old flying monster."
"Correct."
"And they can't stop an army of cultists."
"Also correct."
"Then what do we do?"
Her voice became smaller.
"Run?"
"Surrender?"
"Hide?"
For a brief moment, genuine despair entered the room.
The math was impossible.
One whale.
One cult army.
One maid.
One exhausted half-elf.
One suspicious prophet.
The equation looked terrible.
Fortunately—
I had absolutely no intention of solving it personally.
[ ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ─── ❖ ─── ]
I smiled.
Not my normal smile.
Not my nervous smile.
Not my "please don't notice I'm improvising" smile.
The customer-service smile.
The smile that said:
"Everything is under control."
Even when absolutely nothing was under control.
"Emilia."
I tapped my chest.
"A prophet does not rely on physical strength."
"He relies on delegation."
She stared.
"Delegation?"
"Delegation."
I nodded confidently.
"Tomorrow I intend to negotiate a corporate merger."
"A what?"
"A strategic alliance."
"That sounds different."
"It's the same thing with more paperwork."
I rose carefully from the chair.
My leg complained.
I ignored it.
"Crusch Karsten requires a public victory."
"A very large one."
"Preferably legendary."
"Preferably kingdom-shaking."
"Preferably the kind people write history books about."
I pointed toward the horizon.
"I happen to possess the coordinates to the largest trophy in the world."
Emilia blinked.
Then blinked again.
Slowly.
"You're going to recruit Crusch?"
"I am going to sell her an opportunity."
"Those sound different."
"Again, same thing."
I reached for my cane.
The familiar wood settled comfortably into my hand.
I think I should just make it firewood already.
The next phase had officially begun.
And unfortunately, the next phase involved negotiating with Crusch Karsten.
Which meant I would also be negotiating with Wilhelm van Astrea.
Which meant I would need to deliberately weaponize an old man's grief.
Fantastic.
My life choices continue to impress nobody.
I turned toward the door.
"Stay here."
"Keep Puck manifested."
"Do not leave the hotel."
"Do not attempt heroics."
"Do not challenge any flying mountains."
"That last one feels oddly specific."
"Experience."
"What experience?"
"Theoretical experience."
Before she could ask more questions, I opened the door.
[1] I just found out Irlam Village is called Arlam but I call it Irlam.
[2] Nga, she can't understand you
[3] She don't know what a damn manager is
[4] OMG, Rocket Science!
[5] I really hate writing cringey lines.