Prophecies could not be changed. But if they were shown to be false, then there was still some wiggle room.

It was just like what had happened in Alkhemia. A fabricated prophecy had convinced everyone that the sewers concealed the secret to godhood. Adventurers flocked there to die, becoming nourishment for the Chairman's ascension.

In the end, Ambrose had exposed the false prophecy and claimed the true fate for himself.

A fabricated prophecy would not possess the immutable quality of fate. In theory, if what Harvey saw was a future forged by someone else, then he might yet survive.

This time, Catherine followed the logic, but she couldn't help but ask, "How do you prove that? What if no one fabricated anything?"

Who would bother framing a diviner they had never met? No one even knew when he might attempt to glimpse the future.

Ambrose laced his fingers together beneath his chin, deep in thought. "The only person who can fabricate that prophecy... is me. That's the only way to save him."

"What? I don't understand a thing," Catherine grumbled.

She had always thought herself clever. A prodigy who had advanced to a legend in two separate domains—every mentor she had had in the past had called her their brightest student.

But Ambrose's mind worked differently from anyone else's she had ever known.

He had solved the elves' supposedly incurable mana addiction in a matter of days. He had deciphered and wrested control of the elves' Wheel of Fate with ease, while the elders could do nothing to resist him.

Knowledge of fate was impossibly profound. Though each individual word he spoke made sense, they became incomprehensible when strung together. Here was this lich, calmly researching how to alter the fate of a man doomed to die.

Could fate truly be rewritten?

Catherine felt a thrill of excitement. Staying home would never have broadened her horizons. Following this lich on his journey had been a wise decision.

Ambrose, however, felt no such excitement. Instead, he spoke almost wearily, "Do you know the most tragic thing for a diviner? To foresee your own death and realize that it can't be changed—such an outcome might drive most people mad.

"I've been thinking about this problem for a long time. Is fate truly fixed? I once considered trying to counter a prophecy with another. Can my Loom of Fate overwrite an observed prophecy?

"I did test it. I prophesied the death of a mouse, then tried to weave a different future for it. I failed. The Loom of Fate wouldn't take effect.

"To observe fate is to collapse the entire distribution of outcomes into an immutable one. The resulting outcome is certain to come to pass, as long as someone has observed it. Two prophecies can never contradict one another. If they do, then one must be false."

Catherine frowned. "So how do you prove a prophecy false?"

Ambrose smiled faintly. "Simple. If I fabricate it myself, I'd be able to guarantee that it's false."

"But you only just heard about this. How could you possibly—" Catherine froze mid-sentence as realization finally dawned. "You're going to return to the past... and fabricate the prophecy for him. To complete the logical loop of fate."

Ambrose nodded. "Exactly. That's the only way to save him without violating natural law."

Catherine's eyes widened at his audacity.

Going back in time? That was no mere mortal spell. It would require divinity.

Still, Ambrose seemed to have a plan.

"If you succeed, wouldn't that let you bypass the side effects of prophecy entirely? Whenever something goes wrong, you could just return to the past and revise your own prophecy," Catherine murmured excitedly.

If fate could be corrected endlessly like that, wouldn't Ambrose be all but a god?

Ambrose gave a bitter smile. "It's impossible. The moment I conceived of this method, it ceased to be a way to save myself.

"The Goddess of Fate is... idealistic. The most fundamental law of fate is this: you cannot change a fate you know.

"Diviners can never alter their own destiny. That is the foundational law of our school. Accepting fate is the source of our power. The moment we harbor the intent of changing it, our power will fail.

"If I tried to return to the past to alter my own prophecy, only two outcomes would be possible. One: no matter what I do, something will go wrong during the journey, and the revision will fail. Two: I successfully return, but all my fate-related powers vanish, leaving me unable to fabricate anything at all.

"You cannot change what you know. Observing a fated future guarantees it. That is fundamental to the school of divination.

"That's why I didn't tell Harvey about this method. As long as he doesn't know of it, his future can still potentially be revised. The moment he catches wind of it—or thinks of the idea himself—that possibility will be erased. And if I try to go back to save him then, countless accidents will block me from doing so."

Catherine was stunned. "So you can't even tell other diviners about this method. Diviners who learn about it will lose their chance of being saved in this way."

Ambrose nodded. "Correct. The moment I conceived of it, all my own futures excluded this path of salvation for myself. I once considered publishing it as a paper. In the end, I refrained, in order to leave some hope for future diviners. If I revealed it to everyone now, it would cease to be a failsafe altogether."

Catherine hadn't expected such restraint from him. "Isn't it possible that someone in the past also discovered this method, and never shared it for the same reason? There must have been geniuses who tried to save someone this way... What a dramatic story that would make. It would be a modern epic."

She could already imagine tragic ballads buried in the long history of divination.

Ambrose chuckled. "I'm not nearly that sentimental. I simply didn't want to harm others for no benefit to myself. If the journal paid better royalties, I might have published it anyway. You've no idea how bad it is. The field is so niche that Legendary Spellcraft offers the lowest rates for divination papers. I wouldn't even be able to feed a dog with the royalties."

Catherine wasn't entirely convinced. Sometimes, this lich was modest in strange ways.

"So... you're confident you can save him now?" she asked.

"It's a conjecture that I've never tried," Ambrose replied. "There are too many uncertainties. And there's another crucial issue: what price must I pay to reverse time? And is Harvey worth that price?"

He wasn't joking. However much he appreciated Harvey's talent, he had to measure its worth against the cost he would incur.

Reversing time was firmly within the domain of gods. No legend had ever accomplished it alone.

And divine assistance would demand a tremendous price. If the cost was too great, Ambrose would walk away. In that case, it would simply mean the Goddess of Fate was merciless beyond appeal.

"Reversing time... I've heard of something like that," Catherine said slowly. "During the era of the Dragon Tyrant, the dragons possessed a divine artifact that could reverse time. That's how they ruled the world for so long. Later, the founding emperor of the Lyon Empire stole it and overthrew their reign." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Ambrose had heard similar tales. "Isn't that apocryphal? I've read dozens of versions of similar tales. Some say the artifact reversed time, others say it granted infinite resurrection, and yet others that it could slay any dragon instantly. There's never been solid evidence one way or the other."

Lyon had been founded for ages by the time Ambrose arrived in this world. Records of such an ancient era had largely faded into rumors and obscurity. Perhaps only the imperial archives of the Lyon Empire retained any detailed accounts.

Catherine shook her head confidently. "What I'm telling you isn't a fabricated legend. The previous king of the elves was a friend of Arthur Lyon. They spent their youth together as adventuring companions who lived and died side by side. If anyone knows the truth about the founding emperor, it's us."

"Seriously?!" Ambrose stared at her.

"Of course. Elves live long lives. Long-lived races preserve history far more accurately than short-lived ones."

That caught Ambrose's attention. An eyewitness from that era, even one prone to embellishment, would still be far more reliable than mere rumors.

"Do you think he knows where the artifact is now?" Ambrose asked.

"I can ask, but I can't promise anything. And if he doesn't, what then?"

Her eyes shone with anticipation. She desperately wanted to see Harvey's story given a perfect ending.

Ambrose couldn't understand why she was so invested. She wasn't even a diviner. But considering how eager she looked, he responded anyway. "If the artifact can't be found, I'll try my luck with the gods. Conveniently enough, I happen to know several."

"The gods? You're not going to ask the God of Liches, are you? I've heard that one isn't particularly helpful," Catherine said.

"What kind of stereotype is that?" Ambrose scoffed. "Just because I'm a lich doesn't mean I worship the God of Liches."

"Then which god would you ask? If you're not their follower, most deities won't bother with you. You're not planning to petition the Lord of Dawn, are you? And don't expect me to help you appeal to the elven pantheon. I'm practically a criminal to them. Not being punished is already mercy enough."

She wasn't making excuses. Though once the beloved of the elven pantheon, she had erred so gravely that she had not heard their voices in a long while.

Ambrose waved a hand. "I never intended to trouble the elven pantheon. I forgot to mention that the God of Alchemy is my former master."

Catherine froze. "What did you say?!"