episode_0076

“Huh? Wh-what is this…?”

I frantically covered my mouth, but blood was already seeping through my fingers.

And the struggle was short-lived—

“Ghk—?!”

Unable to hold back the disgusting sensation rising in my throat, I coughed up blood again.

“Eric!”

“Oppa!”

The moment they saw me, they must have realized this wasn’t normal, because they all rushed to my side in a panic, trying to support me.

“Don’t touch me!”

I roughly swung my free hand to stop them.

“But, Eric! You’re bleeding—”

“I said… don’t… worry about it… It’s just— cough!”

Of course, the Trial didn’t let me off that easily.

“It’s just… a sore throat.”

“Do you really expect us to believe that?”

“I think you need to learn how to come up with better excuses.”

“This isn’t the time for idle chatter. Cecilia, contact the nearest church priest. If they demand payment, put it under my name.”

“No. I’ll just heal him right here. If it’s just a bit of blood, even I can—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cecilia. You don’t even know why Eric is bleeding, yet you’re rushing to treat him?”

“Are you saying you don’t trust my healing? It stings a little, coming from you of all people, Lucilla.”

“I’ve relied on your skills more than anyone, Cecilia. I know how capable you are. But right now, as Eliya said, we should use your status. A major church might be able to identify what’s wrong with him. If this is a backlash from the prophecy’s blessing…”

“A backlash from the prophecy? But—”

Before Lucilla could spiral into terrifying speculation, Chris quickly cut in. It seemed having at least one person know the truth was useful after all.

“What are you talking about? Our mansion is much closer. We have priests there too. And… it’s not like the church would give us a different answer anyway.”

…Never mind.

The moment Chris spoke, everyone else turned to stare at him.

“What do you mean? Chris, you sound like you already know why Eric is like this.”

“Chris? Do you know something?”

Chris quickly exchanged a glance with me. His eyes seemed to ask, What do I do? I desperately shook my head.

“Ghk—?!”

“Grab Eric!”

Fortunately, they interpreted my movement as another fit of coughing and immediately pinned me down.

“Stop it! Stop! I said stop! I—I—I… I received the prophecy… and with everyone… the Hero, the Sacred Sword, the dra—”

I started spouting nonsense, anything that came to mind. Chris, who seemed to have caught on, subtly nodded. If we were going to act, we might as well commit.

If I fed them bits of the prophecy they’d recognize, it’d be easier to steer the conversation later.

The moment even one of them decided to dig deeper or investigate my “prophecy,” things would get very annoying.

Frankly, any mage—not just the church—could tell I had no prophetic abilities. A prophet’s mana is fundamentally different from that of ordinary magic users.

People call prophecy a blessing from the goddess, but it’s so twisted that it barely qualifies. Those who receive it end up with a nauseating type of mana, distinct from the Hero’s divine power.

And of course, I had the most boring, ordinary mana imaginable.

In past loops, I’d scraped together enough to mimic a prophet’s state, but not this time.

My body is precious.

“Dammit. Why all of a sudden—”

“Do you remember what we were talking about? There must be a reason for this sudden fit.”

“We were just about to wrap up the meeting after he gave us advice on what’s to come…”

“And then Eric suddenly coughed up blood.”

“Chris. You said you knew the reason. Care to share?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a side effect of the prophecy.”

Ah.

Right.

That’s probably the best excuse Chris could come up with in this situation—but for me, it’s the worst possible cover.

Now, I have no grounds to refuse any investigations.

In past lives, no one dared to scrutinize me, and I was too reckless to care.

In the end, the Empire labeled me not as a potential prophet, but as the mad second son of House Grave.

And that decision satisfied everyone—the Empire’s higher-ups, Lucilla, and the rest of the Hero’s party.

But now, things are different.

They’ve realized I was telling the truth, and to hide my knowledge as a transmigrator, I carelessly passed it all off as prophecy. Now, they’ll investigate everything thoroughly.

With their power, it won’t even be hard.

In past loops, they wouldn’t have cared if I got sick or died from the prophecy. But in this world, they’ll do everything to cure me—and the first step would obviously be stopping the prophecy’s penalties.

And if they can’t sense a prophet’s blessing in my mana?

It’s only a matter of time before the other three start interrogating me like Chris did.

“…Let go.”

But it’s fine. I’ve prepared excuses for situations like this.

“Eric? Are you back to your senses?”

“Just now, you were like—”

“I know exactly how I looked. I remember everything.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah. The damn prophecy won’t let me go. Seriously, who the hell called this a blessing?”

“So what Chris said was true? You coughed up blood because of the prophecy’s backlash…?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Every time I try to change the future or deliver a prophecy, this happens. I thought I could get away with just giving advice, but—cough!”

I made sure to cough lightly again for effect.

The Trial’s blood-coughing was perfectly calibrated to make the situation awkward—no more blood came out. But by gathering the remaining blood in my mouth and spitting it out, I made it look convincing.

“Oppa!”

“Tch. We’ll ask for details later. First, we need a priest!”

“No… I don’t need a priest. Just… listen to me.”

I shook off Eliya and Cecilia’s support and brushed myself off.

The next words out of my mouth would decide my future.

My head spun from the blood loss and coughing, but the thought calmed me.

The Trial was just a warning—it didn’t actually harm me.

No matter how much blood I spat out, I wouldn’t hemorrhage or go anemic. No matter how much I coughed, my throat wouldn’t rupture.

“My prophecies… seem to displease the goddess quite a bit.”

I decided to throw the goddess under the bus.

The being who inflicted the Trial on me was practically a god anyway, and the goddess of this world was so hands-off she might as well not exist.

I felt a little bad slandering her just because they were both divine, but this was for the sake of the world.

“The goddess chose you, Lucilla, as the Hero of the Sacred Sword. Or at least, in the prophecies I’ve seen, you were the one destined to lead this world against the Demon King.”

Lucilla nodded silently.

“And the most important part of that process is your growth—and everyone else’s. So when I carelessly give prophecies or advice… the goddess doesn’t seem too happy about it.”

“Every time you prophesize, your body deteriorates?”

“Well, it’s not that severe. I could’ve dropped dead on the spot or lost an eye. A little blood is cheap compared to incurring the goddess’s wrath.”

“The goddess… is against the prophecies…?”

“Honestly, what’s the point of prophecies if no one believes them?”

The mood shifted instantly at my last words.

Good, good. Let’s push a little further.

“Nothing happened in the first semester, but now that you’re all finally listening to me, this happens. Even the goddess must’ve thought she failed. ‘Why did I give this power to someone like him?’”

I deliberately stressed the word failed, and they all flinched.

They probably knew why.

Suppressing the urge to laugh, I continued.