Round Eleven: Dreams (Part 2)

Si Qi Shi saw that Moriel was staring at the peaks silently, so he stepped forward.
“What’s so interesting about these broken rocks? Are there any inscriptions on them from ‘The Heroes’?”
The female mage didn’t respond. Si Qi Shi turned to look and then noticed something strange about her. Moriel stood there upright, her silver-blue hair falling over her shoulders. Her smooth forehead, straight nose, and slightly raised chin created a striking profile. Her gaze was deep and focused—not on the towering rock peaks ahead, but as if her soul had already ventured into some distant, unknown realm.
“Hey.” Si Qi Shi waved his hand in front of Moriel’s face several times, but she showed no reaction.
Kai Luo also sensed that something was wrong.
“Sister Moriel?” The girl stepped forward and grabbed her hand, feeling it extremely cold, like that of a dead person—which scared Kai Luo greatly. “Sister!”
“This is really weird,” Si Qi Shi immediately concluded that the system had been hacked. Moriel’s current state was exactly the same as when her AI’s central processor became overloaded due to an attack by electronic ether, causing it to shut down. Hackers, viruses, information warfare… Damn, nothing was more annoying than these things.
Si Qi Shi had already forgotten how he used various tricks to collect “videos of medieval human activities” everywhere with great enthusiasm. He clapped his fists together, and the dual-barreled bomb gun built into his arm appeared, ready for combat with a metallic clanging sound.
There were still only a few of them in the large circular basin. The sky seemed darker, casting ominous shadows over the towering rock peaks that surrounded and trapped the three of them like gray walls.
“I should take you two away first and then return to blow up this place,” Si Qi Shi’s dark red eyes scanned the distant rock walls using different spectral bands. But aside from varying shades of gray due to distance and shape, they revealed no information about enemies hidden in the darkness.
So he turned to lift Moriel up for a temporary strategic retreat, but was stopped by Kai Luo’s cry.
“No!” The girl seemed surprised after shouting that, not knowing why she did it.
“What’s wrong?” Si Qi Shi stopped moving, one hand still on Moriel’s back. The female mage’s body swayed slightly, but her posture and expression remained unchanged, like a statue that hadn’t been properly secured.
Kai Luo didn’t know what to say. She raised her hand to touch her forehead before lowering it again. “I… I don’t know how I know this, but we absolutely can’t move Sister Moriel now! She’s… I can’t explain it, but disturbing her too much would be very dangerous!”
“Can’t just touch someone who’s sleepwalking?” Si Qi Shi said dismissively, but carefully removed his hand from Moriel’s body. “So we just have to wait for her to wake up? How boring…”
But whether lucky or unlucky, the word “boring” never had a proper definition in his dictionary.

Shadows, caused by some unknown light source, moved menacingly through the recesses and cracks in the rock layers, gradually merging together. Their blurred edges stretched downward like tentacles, silently twisting along with those gray stone peaks—as if everything in the distance was no longer solid, heavy physical rock, but rather a crumpled, wet oil painting.

Forty-seven turned to face the viscous shadows flowing downward. They resembled clumps of thick ink, enveloping most of the edges of the circular depressions and creeping inward silently.

“What… what are those?” Kayro’s voice trembled slightly. “I seem to see…”

Something was stirring within the shadows.

Or rather, it was the shadows themselves. It became increasingly clear—the dark silhouettes resembled rapidly accumulating storm clouds or a large pool of spilled hot porridge, with dozens or even hundreds of bulges of varying sizes, like bubbles, rising on this massive curtain. They resembled poisonous sores that could no longer be controlled on a dying person, thriving by feeding on life itself.

Though various metaphors could be used, the changes in the black shadows formed by blocked light were actually merely illusory, barely perceptible. Even when Forty-seven narrowed his red eyes to the size of needles, his visual system could not convey much information to him—only a pulse called “intuition” kept reminding him that the dark mass was expanding, with a clear goal in mind.

“What… what should we do now?” After all, she was just a little girl; in the face of real danger, she still hoped an adult could help her make decisions.

“It would be dangerous to take her away now, right?” Forty-seven glanced at Moriel beside him. The female mage remained in a state of eerie silence, indifferent to everything happening around her. “Then we have no choice but to watch and wait…”

A crisp metallic click. Precise, powerful—hot streams of metal shot out from the gun on his arm, with numerous steel projectiles charging into the shadows amidst roaring flames, shattering those pus-filled masses like piercing through rotten sores. The shadow facing this attack seemed to shrink in fright, with countless shards of stone and dust bursting out like a disturbed swarm of bees, followed by a series of harsh cracking sounds. The compressed energy was finally released, its reverse force recklessly pouring into any substance it touched, breaking it down into tiny, insignificant particles.

When the dust settled, everything returned to silence. The shadows struggled to recover from the brutal attacks inflicted by the double-barreled gun, unwilling to give up. The supernatural darkness showed extraordinary tenacity—neither flames nor explosions could penetrate it. Inside, it seemed as if various completely incompatible substances were pushing against each other, creating a strange phenomenon where even within darkness, distinctions were clear. Not only in the material world, but even in the bizarre realm of stars, this was utterly astonishing.

“Hey! Weren’t you saying we should wait and see?” Kairo was caught off guard by the arms dealer’s sudden attack; the roar still echoed in her ears, and the smell of gunpowder lingered in her nostrils. She simply couldn’t understand 47’s logic—his reactions to anything seemed utterly different from those of a normal person.
“It’s moving too slowly. I’ll add a catalyst.” The machinery on 47’s arm adjusted and reorganized, and a massive chainsaw sword slowly emerged from his hand as activated metal parts came together. He grew taller, the dark red glow in his eye sockets flickering intensely, casting fragmented lights onto the surrounding dark shadows.
If light couldn’t penetrate matter, those shadows should have turned into actual substance by now. They seemed to reach some kind of consensus, stopping their mutual struggle and consumption, ending their chaotic expansion. Instead, they began closing in from all sides in a circular formation. Wherever they passed, there were no more dark rock peaks or ground—even light and air seemed to avoid those areas.
To Kairo, the color and texture of this dark tide resembled those of the alkaline lakes in the Rain City swamps—gods, she didn’t want to fall into them again.
“Ugh…” Realizing she would probably never be able to rely on 47 like she relied on Sister Moriel, she started to take action. A drop of transparent crystal hit the chainsaw sword he had assembled and instantly evaporated. Around the girl, numerous dazzling ice flowers appeared, fluttering around her like butterflies, reflecting brilliant light even in the dim twilight.
“What good is this little trick?” 47 activated the chainsaw sword, and a deafening noise, along with hot wind, blasted out from the steel blade, nearly dispersing the ice mist around Kairo.
The girl remained tense, but her gaze gradually shifted from fear to determination.
“I’ll protect Sister Moriel!”
The ice crystals formed into ice flowers, which then connected to form a hexagonal ice shield floating beside her, enclosing Kairo and the dazed Moriel.
47 touched Kairo’s magical ice shield with his chainsaw sword. The razor-sharp teeth moved at high speed, creating numerous splashes of ice shards, like a small snowstorm. Yet the ice shield only sustained a long scratch without shattering completely, proving its durability.
Among the advancing shadowy masses, entities with tangible physical forms finally appeared. Their bodies continued to flow or burn, and twisted, deformed limbs gradually solidified from their indistinct shapes as they emerged from the sea of shadows. It was as if the horrors buried deep in the darkest nights had finally gathered enough strength to bring real nightmares into the waking world.
Some of these black, grotesque creatures had arms and legs resembling human ones, but most had even more repulsive shapes. Unfazed by the terrifying noise from the chainsaw sword, they continued to approach silently, wielding black weapons in their hands or claws.

Forty-seven swung her great sword, the airflow rushing over the blade and producing a continuous thunderous sound.
“Very good.” The steel warrior, with his back to them, continued to have grotesque and chaotic images reflected on his ever-changing armor: “Then I’ll play a game of ‘Bloody Land’.”
Moriel sat on her throne in the archmage tower—her blood-red robe, adorned with intricate patterns, draped over her bare feet, with energy-filled magical symbols glowing within its folds.
The study was silent. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls that also emitted flickering, unstable lights, shifting from east to west without any pattern, so noticeable even in the afternoon sunlight. No apprentice or assistant mage dared disturb the prophetess in her solitude, no matter how urgent the matter.
She turned her gaze away from the parchment laid out before her—there for almost an entire afternoon—and looked out the window. Her large, gold-inlaid chair rotated silently half a turn on the carpet, perfectly matching her movements.
The sky over Ser was usually dull and yellowish. Two suns hung in the sky like hairy egg yolks, devoid of luster; staring at them all day long would cause no harm. The wind always carried fine sand, which not only stung pedestrians’ faces but also made a rustling sound when hitting the magically reinforced steel windows.
Through the grand window framed in gold at the top of the archmage tower, the entire city of Ser was in view. Numerous spires stood in rows, forming vast artificial forests. It was because the owners of these spires—the Red Robed Mages of Ser—cruelly and greedily seized resources, crafted spells to manipulate the weather, and endlessly exploited their already unproductive land to achieve unnatural harvests that the climate in Ser had become increasingly worse. Nature did not mock humble races like humans who became arrogant upon gaining a little power; it simply used its indifferent and law of karma to show the ignorant that the beautiful environment they lived in was not prepared especially for them. If they insisted on destroying their homeland into a lifeless wasteland, so be it—though black and white are distinct, in the eyes of something called “color,” there is no difference.
But the Red Robed Wizards had no time to care about this. They either craved freedom or sought greater power. It didn’t matter at all where Ser City or even the entire world would end up because of their actions. The only thing worth dedicating all efforts to was overthrowing those who stood above them.
Moriel gazed for a long time at the dark city of Ser against the dull sky.
The wind outside was low, whispering softly.
Isabella had already been overthrown. Her preference for torturing enemies rather than killing them swiftly was probably a mistake she would never overcome… That must have been twenty years ago. Maybe thirty? The female mage could no longer remember. Past events were like castles built on sand—after being washed back and forth by the waves of time, they would crumble and vanish without a trace.

Unlike in the past, the path ahead of Moriel was clear and unambiguous. Eliminate rivals, expand her influence, seize as much power as possible within the Red Robes Mage Council, and calmly navigate the intrigues among the leaders of various factions. She had done well—so far, three mentors had been ruthlessly cast aside to join the former Prophet Mentor, replaced by “younglings” she had promoted. Though their ambitious eyes also watched Moriel’s back, thanks to the Prophet Mentor’s precise calculations, none of them had the slightest chance.

Moriel’s gaze seemed to pierce through time and space, reaching to the other side of Ser City, to the Lich’s icy fortress. Even mighty Victor could only adopt a defensive stance in the face of her relentless assault, for the Prophet Mentor’s power was so immense that no one, nothing, and no plan could escape her predictions. With an outcome already predetermined, the process held no meaning. Perhaps that was why Moriel’s memories were so vague.

So, rarely… like now, would she be plagued by inexplicable distress.

Such great power, such boundless strength—were they all predestined? The female mage was no longer young. Though her formidable magic still preserved her appearance as that of a graceful noblewoman, Moriel knew she was like a rusty ball rolling along a set path toward its end, with no surprises possible.

Rusty. This odd, spontaneous metaphor almost made her laugh. Why had she thought of that?

A fleeting sense of lightness was followed by a desolate emptiness. Moriel closed her eyes indifferently. Victor was doomed to fail; she could even imagine the sound of the Lich’s life box shattering in her hands. Then she would rule over the entire Red Robes Mage Council, controlling everyone’s fate—the final outcome would be unremarkable, even unworthy of anticipation.

The ball was following the shortest path between two points. But there was an old proverb: An overemphasis on the outcome leads one to seek shortcuts, and seeking shortcuts leads to mistakes.

Very big mistakes.

Moriel opened her eyes again. But what was the true outcome, then?