Fairy Tale: With Sin Of Pride

"A prophet?"

That was something Rod was familiar with.

In this world, various gods spread their influence. Apart from the God of Light, there were other powerful deities:

For instance, the Grim Reaper, who reaped souls and determined the life and death of all beings.

The God of Life, who ruled over all living creatures.

And the Goddess of Harvest, who ensured bountiful growth and flourishing of all plant life.

But there were also mysterious gods, with few followers but immense power.

The Pale Lord of Mist, the God of Judgment and Contracts, and the Three Goddesses of Fate.

Those who followed the Goddesses of Fate and had strong intuition could sometimes be blessed with the ability to glimpse the future. These people were known as prophets.

However, the future they saw wasn't set in stone; it was just one of many possibilities.

A prophet could only see the most probable future, like looking through the fog to glimpse a vague direction.

It was possible that in one version of the future, Brittany might become Yulia's apprentice.

But that wasn't guaranteed.

For instance, if Rod prevented Brittany from becoming this woman's disciple right now, that particular future would be nullified.

Still, Rod wasn't in the habit of deciding someone else's future for them.

He turned to Brittany.

"What do you think?"

"I am Master Rod's slave. I will follow whatever you say."

Brittany's eyes were filled with determination, naturally slipping into her role as a slave.

Though Rod hadn't explicitly acknowledged it, in her heart, she already saw herself as his devoted servant.

This merciful man had saved her soul from the devil's grasp, and she was more than willing to be his slave.

"If she stays with you, she'll waste her potential. But if she becomes my apprentice, I'll mold her into the finest fire mage."

Yulia couldn't help but interrupt. She didn't want to see such a talented young mage rot away here.

"The prophecy says this child is destined to become the most powerful fire mage in the Holy Roman Empire."

Rod stroked his chin and glanced at Brittany, whose eyes were wide with anticipation.

It was impossible for anyone from the slums to refuse the allure of becoming a mage.

Becoming a mage meant ascending to the ranks of the nobility and embarking on a brand-new life.

Especially after witnessing the clash of power between Rod and Yulia, the seed of desire for strength had already taken root in Brittany's heart.

"You make a fair point," Rod said, still pondering. "But what makes you think you can teach her better than I can?"

He rubbed his chin again, considering the fact that Yulia, a so-called "legendary" mage, couldn't even beat him at night.

It felt like a mediocre university graduate claiming to be more knowledgeable than a top student from Tsinghua or Peking University.

"Since I'm in a good mood today, why don't you just leave?" Rod said lazily.

He was confident that if this girl stayed with him, she'd eventually surpass this so-called "legendary" mage.

"Incomprehensible." Yulia's face flushed red with anger.

"How can you be so selfish, deciding her future for her?"

"Only the imperial capital can provide her with the stage she deserves."

Rod couldn't be bothered to reply.

"This is her choice, and it's also mine. As for you?"

"Go roll off to wherever you came from."

The imperial capital? A cradle for the strong?

A place filled with people who couldn't even withstand a flick of his finger. Spending too much time with such weaklings would only turn Brittany into one herself. [T/N: Dear diary, today MC was a menace.]

It was true—strength didn't always translate to capability.

While Rod might not be the best teacher, he had other ways to make Brittany strong.

Worst case scenario, he could always capture a mage and force them to teach her.

Whether he taught her himself or made someone else do it, the result would be the same, wouldn't it?

Rod's thoughts wandered as he glanced at the furious Yulia, rubbing his chin and eyeing her with a curious expression.

"What are you looking at?" Yulia snapped, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. His gaze made her feel offended.

"I've just changed my mind," Rod said, stretching his shoulders. His hand slowly reached out toward her.

"You… better stay here as my... tool." [T/N: Hell yeah...]

Seize!

"You despicable—!"

Half an hour later, the once fierce Yulia lay thoroughly subdued, bruised and tied up in the corner, a gag stuffed into her mouth.

"Was that the power of a 'legendary' mage?"

———

In the palace, a tall, gaunt figure stared toward the castle, where the lights flickered.

The dim glow illuminated a pale, emaciated face. His lightly curled golden hair framed eyes that gleamed with a murky crimson hue.

Dressed like a tailor, the man picked up a sharp pair of scissors and began cutting into the skin of some unknown creature, carefully stitching the pieces together with practiced skill.

Layer by layer, he was sewing different patches of magical creatures' skins together, crafting a grotesque and twisted demon shell.

"Almost done, almost done!"

The tailor's eyes were filled with madness as he looked at his nearly complete creation.

"Tomorrow at noon, my master will descend upon this world!"

"Everything will be bathed in my master's glory. The so-called God of Light? A mere false deity, destined to be driven away by my master's radiance!"

Legendary mage?

Under the brilliance of his master, such titles were meaningless.

Only suffering would remain eternal!

And as the priest of this new dark god, he would rise to become the ruler of this demon-controlled world.

"How are the Count's new clothes coming along, Tailor?"

A haughty palace guard strode in, paying no attention to the grotesque sight before him.

"Tomorrow, the Count plans to flaunt his new clothes before the entire kingdom, so everything must be perfect."

The tailor's crazed expression faded, replaced by one of obedience and humility.

"Rest assured, the Count's outfit is nearly ready. Nothing will go wrong tomorrow."

"However, there's just one final thing..."

Seeing the tailor's troubled face, the guard frowned.

"How could something so crucial slip your mind now? The Count's outfit must be flawless. Whatever you need, I'll have it fetched immediately."

"It's nothing major. I just need a few souls filled with pain and hatred… to serve as sacrifices for my master's arrival."

Splat!

The guard's face twisted in terror as he fell into a pool of his own blood.

The tailor wiped his knife clean without any emotion.

"Slaughtering everyone in this palace should be enough to gather the remaining sacrifices for my master."

"And the worthless peasants in this castle? They'll serve as the first gift when my master arrives."

The tailor sighed.

What a shame that Jack had been killed.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have had to get his own hands dirty.

"That damned mage… Since you killed my servant, you'll have to repay me with your own body."

That night, the palace was soaked in the stench of blood.

The demon's shell, submerged in the blood, grew more grotesque and twisted, as if it were on the verge of coming to life.

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