Ferrus stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door, and looked at Curze kneeling on the ground. He almost couldn't hold back a laugh.
Betting against a complete stranger was truly an ignorant and reckless act.
The nameless one could travel through time and space and shatter stars. Even the Chaos Gods could not easily provoke him.
Curze, even if you can foresee the future, betting against the nameless one is like inviting disaster upon yourself.
"How could I lose so completely?"
Curze raised his head. His black eyes burned with anger as he pointed at the dice cup. "It's a cheat! It has to be a cheat!"
He had guessed high or low ten times and had not gotten a single one correct.
Every time, he had seen the numbers inside the dice cup in his visions.
But every time the cup was opened, he was wrong.
Was he being deceived by the illusions of his precognitive ability?
"Little Curze, the most important thing in gambling is learning to accept the outcome of the bet."
Datch spread both hands in a helpless gesture. "You were all watching the whole time. How was I supposed to cheat?"
Curze was surprised and immediately recalled the movements of the Nameless One shaking the dice cup. He had indeed been observing them the entire time.
The inspection had found no problems with the dice cup.
But why?
Why couldn't I get even one correct answer in ten consecutive rounds?
Leaving aside their precognitive abilities, even if they suffered the worst luck imaginable, wouldn't it still be possible to accidentally discover something and guess correctly by chance?
The result was a crushing defeat. Is this scientific? Is this scientific?
"Prediction is not omnipotent, and there is no guarantee that it will necessarily happen."
Datch saw through Curze's thoughts and explained, "The future is in your hands. What you believe shapes you."
"Impossible!" Curze stood up and shouted while shaking his head violently like a madman.
"What I see will ultimately come true. It will definitely come true!"
Fate cannot be changed — this had always been Curze's belief, the only thing he could understand in this dark world.
Those hallucinations, those precise and detailed hallucinations, were the basis on which he judged sinners.
If the future could be changed, then it would mean that his methods had been wrong.
Therefore, the future would not change.
"In that case, let's do it again."
Datch looked at the frenzied Curze and could only shrug helplessly.
"If you believe in the prophecy you saw that much, then prove to me that it is correct."
Curze stared at Datch with almost desperate stubbornness.
"Will you play another round?"
"Alright, let's do another round." Datch and Curze looked at each other. Datch spoke in a relaxed tone. "This time I'll have someone roll the dice one hundred times. It's still a guessing game, and if you get even one correct, you win."
Curze's eyes widened. He suspected he had misheard.
"One hundred times? You're joking, right??"
Datch nodded in a serious tone. "I'm not joking. One hundred times. If you get even one correct, you win."
Curze, reject him. You absolutely must reject him.
Ferrus stood to the side and silently screamed in his heart.
Good brother, you cannot win.
Even if you can foresee the future, it is meaningless, because the nameless ones can shape the future as they please.
He will turn every future you envision into a false future and make every result you firmly believe in wrong.
You absolutely cannot imagine it. Absolutely not.
"Fine."
Curze's voice seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of his throat. It was hoarse but powerful.
He was prepared to bet everything in order to win.
Even if he kept betting "high" one hundred times in a row, he would definitely be able to win.
Even if the person rolling the dice possessed tremendous luck, it was impossible for a low result to come up every single time, right?
The match resumed.
Datch then called another person forward and had him shake the dice cup.
The man put the dice into the cup, clasped both hands together, and shook it up and down.
The dice collided with each other inside the cup, producing clear, successive sounds that rang out especially distinctly in the silent hall.
When the dice cup was first opened, the result was low.
Curze furrowed his brows slightly.
The second time was still low.
His lips were tightly pressed together.
The third time was still low.
His hands began to tremble faintly.
The fourth time was low.
The fifth time was low.
The sixth time was low.
For more than ten consecutive rounds, it was always low.
Curze's breathing quickened. His chest rose and fell violently. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the dice cup as if he were trying to burn it away with his gaze.
No, one hundred times really means one hundred times!
His worldview appeared to have collapsed.
That dice cup seemed to be cursed. It always came up low.
"I don't think it can keep coming up low forever."
Curze stubbornly continued betting high, even ignoring the illusion that the dice cup was full of low numbers.
In the matches where Curze bet "high," he lost all ninety-nine consecutive rounds.
Finally, Curze's eyes finally lost their strength.
"Low…"
Immediately afterward, the dice cup was opened.
The number of dots inside was high.
Seeing the result, Curze's eyes widened. His body stiffened, and he toppled straight backward.
Bang!!
His body slammed into the floor with a dull thud.
"Did Curze… die of anger?"
Ferrus rushed over, crouched down, and checked on Curze.
He was still breathing. He was not dead. He had simply been overwhelmed by anger.
Alright. The nameless one's power is still as formidable as ever.
Ferrus had never dreamed that he would be able to make Curze faint from anger.
…
After a while, Curze slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing he asked Datch was, "How did you do it?"
Datch made no attempt to hide anything. He revealed the Time Stone mounted on the Infinity Gauntlet and pulled both Ferrus and Curze into the flow of time.
Curze felt his vision blur. Everything around him disappeared and was sucked into an endless void.
Before his eyes stretched countless glowing lines. Each one extended forward, constantly branching, leading to different futures.
"I simply chose the timeline where victory was certain. There are countless possibilities in the future. The rest is just a matter of which one you prefer."
Datch showed Curze various timelines and explained why he had been able to win.
Curze was at a loss for words.
Is this acceptable?
Physics is truly dead.
Ferrus calmly patted Curze on the shoulder. His face showed the composure of someone who had experienced the same thing.
"These are all minor events."
Curze turned his face toward Ferrus.
From among countless timelines, freely choose the future you desire.
Is this considered a minor event?
What kind of magnificent spectacle is that, then?
Creation?
"Alright, Curze. You lose."
Datch pulled Curze and Ferrus back to reality. "As previously agreed, you must listen to what I say."
"But…" Curze wanted to say this was cheating, but the words would not come out.
He himself could use his precognitive ability to see the numbers inside the dice cup. If examined carefully, that could be considered cheating.
It was simply that the other party's skill at cheating was superior to his.
Did he have the right to criticize the other side or call it unfair?
"Fine."
After hesitating for a moment, he sighed and said, "I am prepared to accept the outcome of the bet."
A smile appeared on Datch's lips.
"Excellent. From now on, you will serve as the prosecutor of the New Safe Zone."
Curze raised his head. Surprise flashed in his eyes for an instant.
Datch continued, "Your daily duties will be to gather evidence and arrest villains, but you do not have the right to judge anyone on your own authority. All criminals must be tried according to the law."
"Curze, always remember this. You can only guide the people. You cannot make decisions in their place. Learn to accept imperfection, and learn that justice is not always absolute."
Curze furrowed his brows. A look of confusion returned to his pale face.
"Why? You have the ability. You should be able to create a perfect world. A society where justice is fully realized, with no dirt or shadows."
"What happens if I am not here?" Datch asked calmly.
"If all good things are built upon my will, then what will happen to the innocent people once I am gone from this world?"
Curze tried to retort for a moment but found no words.
"According to your methods, cruel lynching can certainly produce results in a short period of time."
"Using fear to suppress people's greed and desires, replacing cumbersome trials with lynching, and promoting so-called 'justice.'"
Datch's voice continued in an unhurried, calm tone.
"But once you are gone, they will retaliate and turn the entire world into a terrifying hell."
"Give people the power to choose, encourage the formation of consensus, and give them the ability to resist injustice."
"Do not use the excuse of 'it's for their own good' to prevent them from choosing. Otherwise, they will remain cowardly and believe that only the strong can rule society."
"The pursuit of justice itself must not be meaningless. People need to be told what they can gain by upholding justice."
After a long silence, Curze nodded.
"I understand."
"Go. Carry out your duties. Bring those criminals here to stand trial," Datch said. "Their crimes should be judged by the law, not by lynching."
Curze said nothing more. He quietly turned around and walked into the darkness, flowing into Nostramo's eternal night.
A sudden gust of wind blew past. Datch and Ferrus completely forgot Curze's presence.
Curze was like a drop of water melting into the sea, a snowflake drifting down into the night. He disappeared completely into the shadows of the city.
Ferrus walked over to Datch's side and stared in the direction where Curze had vanished. Complex emotions resided in his eyes.
"Nameless Lord, can he change the situation?"
"Curze's dedication to justice is greater than anyone can imagine." Datch turned toward the NPC Ferrus and answered unusually.
"He was prepared to give his life to protect the justice he held in his heart. His greatest troubles were that he never received proper guidance and that he was tormented by dark delusions."
Both Curze and Sanguinius possess the ability to foresee the future. However, Sanguinius sees both light and darkness in the future.
He chose to believe in the light and to confront despair with hope.
Curze, on the other hand, abandoned goodness and chose only the hopeless dark future.
He firmly believed that human nature is essentially evil, that evil cannot be eradicated, and that only fear can rule humanity.
The pursuit of beauty, and the gap between prophecy and self-perception, ultimately tore Curze apart and transformed him into the mad Night Haunter.
"Curze will surely find the correct path," Datch said.
...
On Nostramo, in an alley outside the New Safe Zone,
"The Night Haunter is here."
"He is here."
A gang youth named Kazan was fleeing for his life.
His lungs burned with pain. His legs trembled with terror. His heart pounded so hard it felt as if it would burst at any moment.
He did not dare look back, did not dare stop, and did not even dare think about whether that something was still chasing him.
There was only one thought in his head — run, run, run.
Thirty minutes earlier, he and several companions had spotted a beautiful girl in an alley.
Behind such girls there were often protectors.
If she had been from a disadvantaged background, she would have been hired as a prostitute long ago.
But Kazan did not care whether the other side had backing or not.
No one knows whether they will still be alive tomorrow, so they might as well enjoy themselves now.
And so they dragged the girl into the back alley.
They tore her clothes and were about to go further…
The Night Haunter appeared and said in a hellish voice, "Let that girl go."
Kazan's companions, without the slightest hesitation, immediately opened fire on the Night Haunter.
This was an extremely foolish act.
The companions who fired were torn apart in an instant by the Night Haunter.
A man wearing prosthetics could smash through a brick wall.
His head was crushed by the Night Haunter with a single hand.
While the enemy was absorbed in slaughter, Kazan turned on his heel and fled.
In the alley filled with garbage and rubble, Kazan lost one shoe. His feet slapped and slipped in the sewage.
Something tore his trousers. A cut opened, and blood flowed down his calf.
But he did not dare stop to check the situation. He simply kept running forward with all his might.
Finally he saw light at the end of the alley. It was a streetlight on the main road.
If he could dive into the crowd, he might survive.
A light of hope appeared in Kazan's eyes.
At that moment, a powerful hand stretched out from the darkness, seized him, and dragged him back into the alley.
Kazan screamed, but no one paid attention. No one wanted to get involved in trouble.
Carrying Kazan, Curze easily climbed to the top of a high-rise building.
There were no handrails around. Wind blew in from every direction, chilling him to the bone.
But the view from here was extremely open. Everything around could be seen.
Curze roughly threw Kazan down.
The sharp pain in his ankle felt as if the bone had broken.
Kazan's hands, knees, and face were covered in wounds.
His clothes were torn in several places, and bruises could be seen underneath.
He collapsed to the ground, his entire body trembling. Tears flowed endlessly from his eyes, leaving two shallow tracks on his dirty face.
He did not dare raise his head. He did not dare look at that thing. He sobbed like a child.
After a long time — or perhaps only an instant — he finally mustered the courage to raise his head.
He saw a face as pale as paper, perfectly angular.
A high, straight nose. Deep-set eyes. Thin lips. And long black hair flowing down to the shoulders.
The face was so perfect, so inhuman, that he forgot to cry or to die.
"Who… exactly are you?" Kazan asked in a tone filled with awe.
Curze looked down at him and said slowly and clearly, "Justice."
The word that came from his mouth were as cold and hard as steel, as sharp as a blade.
An absurd feeling involuntarily rose in Kazan's heart.
Justice??
These were completely unknown words on Nostramo!
At that moment, Curze felt dizzy and had to grab a nearby ventilation duct to keep from falling.
Countless hallucinations appeared one after another, weaving the truth in his mind.
Curze saw two futures.
In the first future, he brought the youth named Kazan back to the New Safe Zone and handed him over to the newly established court for trial.
Kazan was imprisoned for his crime, served his sentence in prison, and underwent labor reform.
The reason he did not receive the death penalty was that he was a minor.
Furthermore, in an environment like Nostramo, it was extremely difficult to survive without committing crimes.
Therefore, he was given a chance to reform himself.
That prison had clean beds, abundant food, teachers who taught reading and writing, and craftsmen who taught skills.
Kazan learned reading, writing, arithmetic, and mechanical repair inside.
On the day he was released from prison, he had already become a full-grown man.
At that time, he no longer had gang tattoos on his face.
His hands were covered in calluses, but not from gripping a knife — from gripping a wrench.
When Kazan walked out of the prison gates, the light of a real sun fell upon his face. He regained his freedom and shed tears of joy at being reborn.
Kazan found work in a factory. He worked long hours every day, but at least he could eat his fill and sleep soundly at night.
He met a girl at the factory.
Like Kazan, that girl had also returned to a normal life after leaving the streets.
The two of them married. They argued, but it was a very happy marriage.
Kazan had two children — a boy and a girl.
The boy was mischievous but considerate and kind-hearted, always trying to help others.
The girl was quiet and gentle, but like her mother, she hid a stubborn side deep in her heart.
They complained about the boredom of school yet studied diligently, becoming ordinary people living stable lives that were not wealthy but secure.
In his later years, Kazan sat in a chair in front of his home and watched his grandchildren running and playing in the yard.
His hair was mixed with white. Deep wrinkles were carved into his face. But his eyes no longer held the intensity or despair of youth — only the quietness cultivated by experience.
The aged Kazan regretted the mistakes of his youth every night.
In his heart, he thanked the Night Haunter who had given him a second chance.
Society had completely changed. People acted under the constraints of the law and could survive without committing evil deeds.
Those who had returned from the streets swore to protect everything they owned with their lives.
Even if it cost them their lives, they would never allow their children to live in a chaotic, lawless world where violence and slaughter were the only means of survival.
No matter how desperately the evil forces tried to reclaim their former glory, they would be overthrown by an angry populace armed with weapons.
In the second future, Curze continued the same acts as before and used cruel torture to bring about death.
Criminals trembled before him. Villains lived in constant fear within the darkness.
Thanks to Nostramo's deterrent force, the crime rate plummeted. The city became safer, and society became a better place.
But after he left, the hidden criminal organizations and crime families quickly returned, and Nostramo once again turned into a terrifying hell.
People could not exercise overwhelming force like Curze to plant fear and deter criminals, so they had no means of fighting back.
In order to survive, they had no choice but to join in the crimes together.
Beauty created by fear can also fall into the abyss of despair by fear once more.
When the visions faded, Curze's gaze returned to the gang youth who was screaming in terror.
He was being forced to choose — to stick to his own methods, or to listen to the mysterious outsider and bring the criminal back.
...
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