Episode 135: Chronomancers, the Empire's Most Peculiar Mages
Chronomancers were the most peculiar mages in the empire. Back in the days of the Golden Empire, they were known as "seers." Each pursued their own visions without sharing them, running their individual businesses much like other mages—latching onto nobles, lending their magical power, and collecting fees in return.
But unlike typical mages, seers weren't very popular. The reason was ridiculously simple: their prophecies rarely came true. Suppose a seer declared, "It will definitely rain heavily tomorrow!" The odds of it actually pouring the next day? Roughly fifty percent.
With hit rates that pathetic, nobles dismissed them as con artists or halfwits. "How could this happen on such a sunny day?" "This is bizarre. It shouldn't be..." Bad-tempered lords would whip the seers and chase them off, while the milder ones smiled to their faces but muttered "what an idiot" behind their backs, mocking the worthlessness of their prophecies.
At the time, the seers had no clue what was wrong. They just figured reading the rapidly shifting currents of fate was insanely difficult. But one day, a certain seer stumbled upon a theory by chance...
"Wait... What if someone else is interfering with the prophecies I make?"
Like-minded seers tested the idea with experiments. They agreed to make the exact same prophecy. The results were astonishing: the success rate skyrocketed!
"Damn, it works!"
"...We've been getting in each other's way."
The seers had their revelation. Imagine a bunch of chronomancers prophesying "It will rain tomorrow!" while others declare "It won't rain tomorrow!" Inevitably, the accuracy hovers at fifty percent—one side has to be wrong. But what if more joined the same prophecy? The success rate soars.
"Forget this—we need to gather all the other seers!"
"If a hundred of us foresee a single event, we'll know the future with certainty!"
Drawn by some inexorable current, the seers formed a group. That was the birth of the Chronomancer Conclave.
The information gleaned from the conclave was mind-blowing. They could truly divine the continent's future with pinpoint accuracy! It was the product of countless seers prophesying one unhindered vision.
"...The fall of the Golden Empire! The empire is doomed!"
"No way... We have to warn everyone!"
The chronomancers relayed the conclave's prophecy to the emperor and nobles. Alarmed, they poured effort into state affairs... and the Golden Empire averted its doom.
"??? It's not falling. You frauds!"
The hilarious irony? Publicizing the prophecy made it wrong. The chronomancers had warned of the empire's fall, scaring the emperor and nobles into working harder than usual. The future changed. Doom was postponed.
"But we clearly foresaw its fall...?"
"Argh! These damn frauds!"
The real victims were those who took the chronomancers seriously and prepared for the empire's collapse. Some liquidated their fortunes; others even turned vampire voluntarily. And they all got royally screwed!
"This is maddening..."
"If we speak the prophecy, it changes and becomes false. If we stay silent, what's the point of foreseeing it...?"
It was prophecy's chronic flaw. The conclave pondered deeply. Was there a way to resolve this paradox?
After much deliberation, they agreed to keep their visions secret among themselves. For truly pivotal historical currents, they'd spread the word and alter the future. Otherwise, let events unfold naturally.
"...But shouldn't we change this future?"
"Why bother?"
"It looks better if we do!"
"Have you ever seen such a barbarian? Fingers off that timeline!"
But despite their words, the chronomancers itched to meddle in big and small futures alike—debating what made a "better" one. In the end, the conclave became their private league, a bubble detached from reality. They huddled, whispering about timelines, deciding what to tweak and what to leave alone.
"Huh? Chronomancers? Those shady guys muttering among themselves?"
With contents shared only internally, the outside world had no idea what the chronomancers were up to. Strict secrecy preserved futures intact... but it bred one fatal flaw.
"Chairman! We're out of barley!"
"Too bad, but oats will do!"
"Oats ran out ages ago! And I foresaw the barley shortage three months back!"
"...So what?!"
The chronomancers were broke.
They could foresee the future, but voicing a vision destabilized it, raising the chance it'd fail. They only spoke at crucial moments, collecting fees sporadically. This medieval fantasy's brutal economy couldn't sustain shadowy cabals...
No one knew the conclave's true nature—which made earning money impossible!
"Lend us some wheat, will ya?"
"Sigh. Those creepy chronomancers are back."
So the conclave borrowed from other mages.
"Ahem. We provide critical intel at decisive moments...!"
"Yeah, yeah, sure you do."
Fellow mages took pity and fed the poor chronomancers. Fortunately, they had another quirky talent besides future sight: spatial translocation.
"Hey, chronomancer! Deliver this letter to Duke Alaz!"
"You got it! Teleporting like a boss!"
Yes. Letters that modern folk tap out on smartphones... chronomancers hand-delivered by hopping through space!
"..."
Ian was dumbfounded after hearing the full tale. Weren't they a group that foresaw the future? Shouldn't they be manipulating the world, plotting nefarious schemes? Instead, they were Couriers or postal workers.
"Chronomancers foresee the future, right? Don't you use it for world conquest or something?"
Gerard chuckled at Ian's question, clearly taking it as a joke.
"Just as you say, chronomancers see the future."
"And?"
"Ian. Do you think we've never foreseen a future where we aim for world conquest?"
"..."
"I'll leave it at that."
Ah. They'd seen it already... There was a reason they moonlighted as delivery boys.
"So you're here for an errand."
Gerard nodded glumly. Chronomancers were mages too. They loved researching magic and honing skills—not running errands.
"What's the job, then?"
Gerard spoke in a businesslike tone.
"Far southwest of here lies Baron Vincent's territory."
His voice was dry, but the content shocking.
"A mage named Ingrid Kate is imprisoned there."
"...?"
Ian tilted his head at the oddly familiar name. Ingrid... Ingrid...
"That university professor?"
"You know her too, huh. Yes. Professor of Photon Magic at Dranheim Magic Academy."
Ian's jaw dropped. It all came flooding back. Ingrid! The grave robber!
Back when he'd visited Baron Talian's tomb, Ingrid had been caught red-handed looting treasures with grave robbers. Ian had nabbed her, haggled a ransom, and let her go. Now she'd been nabbed by some Baron Vincent?
Was she a damsel in perpetual distress? Her hobby couldn't be getting kidnapped, could it?
"Caught grave-robbing again?"
"Grave-robbing?"
"She got busted looting Lucy's ancestor's tomb before... You didn't know?"
Gerard looked indignant at Ian's accusatory tone.
"How would I know something like that?"
"You're a chronomancer."
"...Chronomancers aren't gods."
Ian muttered, "A chronomancer who doesn't know that?"—turning Gerard's insides out. Chronomancers were human too! Human!
"This incident was Baron Vincent's doing alone."
"Alone?"
No fault on Ingrid's part.
"Baron Vincent refused her Mage's Summons."
"...!"
Gerard gave a brief explanation. Like Ian, Professor Ingrid Kate had been traveling the empire in pursuit of magic and mysteries. Running low on funds, she approached Baron Vincent—because he was a young noble.
Freshly minted nobles didn't know how to handle mages. Ingrid had banked on that. Flaunt a mage's authority, and they panic, coughing up gold! Seasoned old nobles knew to treat mages "appropriately," but green ones? Clueless.
In short... Ingrid had gone to fleece the naive baron!
"Suddenly don't wanna go."
"Honest, aren't you, Ian."
Ian clicked his tongue. Eaten up by greed again? Consistent guy.
But he shook his head. Gerard had already vouched for her innocence. No shady tricks this time.
"Professor Ingrid followed procedure with the Mage's Summons. But Baron Vincent captured her outright and locked her in a tower."
"..."
Ian pondered. Baron Vincent couldn't be a mind-reader who'd seen through her grift. Even then, you answered the summons. It was etiquette between nobles and mages. Ignore it, and your reputation tanks.
A noble refusing first... Something's up.
Ian suspected the baron had some devious scheme worth risking a mage's wrath.
...But then he tilted his head. Is there?
In this brain-dead medieval fantasy world, absurd crap happened daily. Maybe the baron was just an idiot making a dumb mistake. Young noble, after all. Might not know mage protocol.
"So, Ian. I want you to investigate Baron Vincent's territory."
"Me?"
"I figured you weren't busy. Wrong?"
Gerard said flatly. The guy had totally scryed Ian's future to show up. Sneaky chronomancer.
"Not sure my skills are up to investigating. Why not another mage?"
"Other chronomancers are already reaching out. I came to you."
Ian whistled low. Just ignoring a summons, and chronomancers were zipping around, rallying empire mages. No wonder nobles couldn't dismiss landless mages—with that unity and speed.
"Doubt I'll be much help."
Ian said politely. Too much hassle—can't you go without me~?
Gerard smirked faintly. The usually stoic man's fake smile made him look vampiric.
"Can't be helped, then. But Eredis will be disappointed."
"..."
Damn. Low blow, dragging in his master. Ian had half-expected it. Investigating a noble who snubbed the summons protected mage privileges—not a gig for personal gain. As a proper mage under a famous master, he couldn't bail on principle.
"Nah. Screw it, I'll swing by."
Gerard nodded, as if he'd known all along.
"Then I'll await good news."