Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 35 The Woman in the Red Robe

Harry learned the news on his way to the Warcraft Market.

The path south of the academy leads to the Warcraft Market, which is exclusively for trading within the academy. The path is made of compacted dirt mixed with gravel.

He clutched the few silver coins in his pocket, calculating how much cheap monster meat he could exchange for to replenish his magic power.

Halfway there, the conversation between two low-level mages dressed in black robes at the corner ahead clearly reached his ears.

"...Have you heard? The results of the Holy Mage's apprenticeship are out, and they're posted on the central bulletin board."

"Who is it? Is it that guy in the blue robe, the one whose fireball spell is especially powerful?"

"No! You wouldn't believe it, it's Harry! That novice mage Harry!"

"Which Harry?" "Who else could it be? The one who stood there like a log during the test, not a single leaf moved!"

"Huh? How could it be him? Are you sure? Didn't they say he almost failed the exam to become a formal mage? How could it be him?"

Harry stopped abruptly. The familiar stabbing pain in his left chest suddenly sharpened, like a cold needle piercing deep inside, making him gasp for breath and causing his upper body to arch involuntarily.

Harry felt not surprise upon hearing the news, but rather a cold, heavy sense of astonishment.

Without hesitation, he turned around and strode towards the central square of the academy, completely forgetting about the monster meat he wanted to buy and the silver coins in his hand. His pace quickened until he was almost running.

A small group of people were gathered around the bulletin board, whispering among themselves. Harry squeezed to the front, his gaze falling directly on the most recently posted parchment. The ink was fresh. A name was clearly written on it: Harry.

He stared at the name for a few seconds, then turned around, pushed through the crowd, and quickly left again.

He didn't return to the Warcraft Market, but instead headed straight for his magic shop, his steps quick and hurried, almost as if he were fleeing.

Back in that small, cold room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against the wooden door before his breathing became completely erratic.

How is that possible?

This question, like a cold iron hoop, tightly constricted his throat and his thoughts.

He had clearly let his magic crumble in front of everyone, making himself appear like a complete failure, a joke who couldn't even maintain the most basic magic. Yet, the Holy Mage Odel still chose him.

Those two blinks...

The scene from his memory appeared in his mind with unparalleled clarity.

Could it be that the Holy Mage had already decided to choose a disciple with high sensitivity, or perhaps he had already chosen me, so that he ignored me even though I didn't release any magic?

If that's the case, then test performance is completely irrelevant.

All his struggles, fears, and self-righteous "choices" are nothing more than a futile performance that has been seen through long ago, in the face of a higher level of power or will.

Harry felt a chill that was even more penetrating than the cold wind outside.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping blankly across the familiar yet unfamiliar room.

Becoming a disciple of a holy mage means leaving this place, heading to the capital, and embarking on the predetermined path.

The end of that road is a cold blade beside a campfire deep in the forest.

You changed the process, but you couldn't change the outcome. So, what is the meaning of this "starting over"?

Confusion enveloped him like a thick, inescapable fog.

There was no answer, only the persistent, lingering phantom pain in my left chest, a constant reminder of how real death had once been.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, the phantom pain in his chest not yet completely subsided. He subconsciously raised his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, but his fingertips unexpectedly touched a cold, hard object on his neck.

I looked down.

A slender chain, shimmering with a dull silver light, had somehow ended up around her neck.

At the bottom of the chain hangs an irregularly shaped red gemstone, about the size of a thumbnail.

The gemstone is very dark in color, almost dark red, with a smooth surface and no trace of carving. It feels icy cold to the touch, like a piece of ice that will never melt.

Harry frowned. He didn't remember ever having anything like it.

He tried to remove the chain from his neck, but found it wasn't long enough and was stuck under his double chin. He pinched the chain with his fingers, trying to pull it off his neck.

The chain appeared thin, but it was exceptionally strong. He increased the pressure, and the chain dug into his skin, causing a sharp pain, but there was no sign of it breaking or loosening.

He grabbed the ruby ​​again and pulled hard, but the gem didn't budge; the cold touch felt as if it had become part of his skin.

"It's no use, you can't get it off, you idiot."

A cold female voice suddenly rang out in the small room.

Harry was startled, his body stiffened, and he turned his head sharply.

Beside his simple wooden table, someone had appeared—a woman. She wasn't standing, but floating in the air, yet there was no trace of magical fluctuation around her.

Who is she? How did she suddenly appear in my magic house?

Harry's first instinct was to scream, but his throat felt like it was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and he could only make a soft "hoarse" sound, unable to utter a single sound.

He stared in horror, wondering what methods this woman had used.

Is it magic?

"Don't make a sound, you idiot." The woman's voice rang out again. Her voice was actually quite pleasant, but her tone was icy cold and devoid of any warmth. "If you try to make another sound, I'll cut your tongue out."

Harry immediately pressed his lips tightly together, afraid to make another sound. He could feel cold sweat trickling down his back.

The woman's gaze shifted from Harry, her blood-red eyes scanning the simple magic house. Her gaze swept over the "Tales of Magic" on the wooden shelf, the bare stool in the corner, the cold stove, and finally settled on Harry's pale, terrified face.

She raised an eyebrow slightly and whispered something that puzzled Harry: "Is this how it all begins?"

Harry could only make out her features with difficulty at that moment.

She looked very young, with fair skin and exceptionally beautiful features, even a touch of flamboyant glamour, but her face held a simmering rage ready to erupt at any moment.

What was most striking was her long, snow-white silver hair and her eyes with red pupils. The red was so intense it looked like it was about to bleed, and it was now flashing with a cold, chilling light. When she stared at him, he felt an inhuman, eerie, and intense sense of oppression.

She was shrouded in a bright red robe of a peculiar texture, the hem of which moved freely without wind, allowing her to float effortlessly in the air.

Overall, the woman's clothes looked like they were designed for when she was furious, and that she would wear them when she was enraged, because both her expression and tone clearly conveyed immense anger.

Harry knew that some great wizards could achieve this "levitation" effect through advanced magic, and some high-ranking warriors could also temporarily achieve this levitation effect by using their fighting spirit.

This woman is at least a level seven powerhouse!

This woman is not someone to be trifled with!

"Tell me," the floating woman in red spoke again, her blood-red eyes fixed on Harry, her voice still icy, "what has happened to you?"

Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind was in complete chaos due to the series of events and extreme fear.

He just stared blankly at the other person, his face filled with confusion and fear, and his body subconsciously shrank back.

"Speak, fat man," the woman commanded, her bloodshot eyes filled with impatience, her icy tone revealing a fury that could erupt at any moment.

Harry quickly pointed to his throat and waved his hand to indicate that he couldn't make a sound.

The woman waved her hand, and Harry immediately felt the pressure in his throat disappear. Air rushed in, and he couldn't help but cough twice. He then immediately lowered his voice, afraid of angering her, and cautiously asked, "Excuse me, who...who are you?"

His voice was dry and hoarse, trembling slightly with fear. His blue eyes were filled with terror, and his bulky body looked even more clumsy and fragile at this moment.

The woman did not answer Harry's question. Her blood-red eyes remained fixed on him, and her suspended body leaned slightly forward, creating an even stronger sense of oppression.

"I'm asking you," she repeated, each word like a pelt of ice, "what has happened to you right now? Tell me!"

Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He knew there was no escaping it; the woman's patience was clearly running out. He had to say something.

"I...I'm Harry," he tried to keep his voice steady, but the last syllable still trembled slightly. "I'm a first-class...novice mage at this magic academy." He paused, took a deep breath, as if speaking the next words would create a barrier. "Just a few days ago, I...I was chosen by the holy mage Lord Odel to become his disciple."

After he finished speaking, he looked up and nervously observed the woman's reaction.

The title of Holy Mage enjoys supreme prestige throughout the continent, and he hoped that this would at least make the other party hesitate.

But to Harry's disappointment, the woman's expression remained unchanged. Upon hearing the name "Odell," the corners of her full lips turned down slightly, not with fear, but with undisguised contempt.

Who is this woman?

They don't even care about the Holy Mage?

"Oh?" Her voice trailed off, a hint of emotion tinged with coldness, like confirmation or mockery. "So, 'now,' you've become his disciple."

Harry's heart sank. The word "now" was emphasized so lightly that it seemed particularly abrupt.

The woman was silent for a moment, her bloodshot eyes darting up and down, scrutinizing Harry from head to toe once more. Her gaze lingered for a second on the dark red gemstone necklace that couldn't be removed. Then, she looked up, her eyes meeting Harry's terrified blue eyes once more.

Her next words, though spoken softly, made Harry's blood freeze instantly.

"So," she said casually, as if stating a perfectly ordinary fact, "this is the second time now, isn't it?"

The last trace of color drained from Harry's face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; he could only stare wide-eyed at the eerie and powerful woman in red robes in the air.

How did this woman know it was the second time?