Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 711 - 710: In Slumber

Bard stood silently in the vast and deathly silent underground space, his nerves tense, and his eyes heavy with apprehension.

The communication device fixed to his armor’s strap continued to emit hollow howls.

Even though he didn’t understand the principle of the device, from magical knowledge, he knew it was the result of a communication spell being completely blocked—yet when did this happen?

The crystals were still emitting a faint glow, and the magic symbols on the device’s surface were still functioning normally. This seemingly "nothing unusual" scene had lulled him into complacency, so much so that he couldn’t determine when the communication had been cut off... Maybe he had ventured too deep into this eerie darkness, and the Cecil Clan on the surface probably couldn’t see the images he sent back anymore?

Bard took a deep breath, slowly calming his anxious emotions. He didn’t rashly attempt further calls or continue forward; instead, he cautiously took a step back, preparing to retrace his steps.

He might have been blocked, or it could be that the distance was too great, causing the communication spell to fail. If it were the latter, returning the way he came should solve the problem.

But as soon as he stepped back, the scene before him suddenly changed.

The dark and shattered council hall suddenly lit up, bright magical crystal lamps illuminating the entire hall as bright as daylight. The giant cracks on the ceiling and nearby walls had disappeared without a trace, and the broken stone tables and chairs had also returned to their original state. In this suddenly restored council hall, dozens of figures in robes or gowns were seated around a long table, engaged in a tense and serious meeting.

Bard heard voices coming from around the long table:

"Something went wrong with the body of the fake god. We can’t control it. This is an unexpected development..."

"How is the Archbishop?"

"Barely detached from the body of the fake god, now severely injured and in deep rest, but consciousness has been restored."

"What about that creature?"

"Temporarily trapped below, it shouldn’t be able to break free from its bonds anytime soon. Preceptor Beltira is trying to put it back into a dormant state."

"That’s fortunate, there’s still hope for the situation, as long as we..."

Bard’s muscles tensed, his eyes fixated on the bizarre scene before him. In the span of a breath, the scene in the council hall suddenly "shook," the figures sitting at the table seemed to change positions or stances in an instant, and the topics they were discussing shifted:

"...The Archbishop has ordered a halt to the awakening work of the body of the fake god and called for a reevaluation of all project data."

"Based on the current information, intelligence coming out of the wasteland was incorrect. Luckily, we discovered it in time..."

Bard’s vision blurred, and the scene in the hall changed once more. This time, there were fewer gathered figures than before, and they were discussing how the church should be rebuilt after successfully destroying the out-of-control body of the fake god...

He finally understood what he was witnessing:

In this "council hall," things that never happened in the real world were constantly emerging. All scenarios had a common thread: What if that crucial project hadn’t spiraled out of control, what if the preceptors executing the ritual had noticed the flaw in time, what if everything had been fine, what if everything could still be recovered...

He looked at the figures gathered around the long table, already aware that he was deeply ensnared in a dream formed by obsession. In this deep, dark underground, at the deepest roots of the giant tree, the priests of the Oblivion Association who participated in the awakening ritual of the body of the fake god and were consumed to death—their obsessions resided here, and he unknowingly fell into a dream they jointly wove!

Bard realized he was in immense danger because dreams are things that ordinary transcendent forces find hard to combat. No matter how powerful one is, once deeply entrenched in a dream, unless they are a master in the mental domain, even the strongest transcendent becomes powerless—the Eternal Sleepers are fearsome precisely because they possess this power, and he, himself, likely missed the best opportunity to "wake up."

Even more lethal, the passage of time in the dream realm and the outside is often disproportionate. He didn’t know how long he had already been dreaming here, nor how long he would continue to wander—perhaps on the outside, only a moment had passed, but he might be trapped here for hundreds or thousands of years... before waking, his soul would die in the dream.

Amid anxiety and dread, the scene before Bard’s eyes suddenly shook again. This time, he found his perspective shifted from the entrance of the hall to the side of the long table—he was sitting at the council hall’s long table, in front of an ancient, heavy stone table, with imposing and composed preceptors beside him...

As a mid-level priest, he had no qualification to sit at this table to attend a meeting. He had once hoped for his own promotion, imagined what it would be like to sit in the council hall as a preceptor, but now, actually "sitting here," a chill surged in his heart.

The worst thing had already happened—he was being assimilated by the dream.

He had begun dreaming.

...

On the surface, Gawain and the others had been quietly waiting for ten minutes. The image relayed by the Magic Web Terminal remained unchanged.

The image showed a room filled with magic symbols, with two strange, black pillars shining with magical brilliance standing inside.

An emergency response team, long prepared, was already near the entrance, and the Druids were also ready to cast spells on the roots of the giant tree, trying to connect and verify Bard Wendell’s situation through the resonance of living entities. However, Gawain hadn’t given the order yet; everyone was on standby.

The situation below was complex, the current state mysterious, and rashly proceeding could expand damages. Moreover... Gawain was attempting to deduce what Bard had encountered from the frozen image.

The communication device was worn near Bard’s collar, as it was meticulously crafted by Saint Nicholas Egg (without hands), its sensitivity was high, able to record and transmit very subtle movements.

After amplifying the sound, Gawain could clearly hear Bard’s steady, long breaths.

This breathing indicated Bard was still alive and... conveyed some additional information.

"He’s asleep..." Gawain said, frowning, somewhat unsure, "Though it isn’t very obvious, he’s snoring."

There was a bit of silence around, and the atmosphere gradually turned strange.

But Amber found it quite natural: "It’s not unimaginable, after all, it’s said that he previously lingered in the rocky ridges Town prison, freeloading food and drink, even mastered the art of extending detention with nasal residue. His level of carefreeness leaves me in the dust. Such a character sleeping during exploration of underground ruins is understandable..."

Gawain quietly glanced at Amber. Although he didn’t speak, the half-elf lady felt Gawain’s look was one of doting kindness to an imbecile...

She almost wanted to jump up and hit Gawain’s elbow, but didn’t dare.

Gawain reminded before Amber spoke: "He should be dreaming now."

"You can tell if a person is dreaming from the snoring?..." Amber initially didn’t react, uttering half a sentence instinctively, but she quickly understood Gawain’s meaning, "Wait... dreaming?! The kind of Eternal Sleepers?!"

Those present were not fools. After Gawain’s reminder, they almost all realized it. The female Knight Margarita, who had personally led teams to clear several cult nests within the territory, remembered the strange and dangerous power of the Eternal Sleepers and exhibited a solemn expression. Meanwhile, Pittman stroked his beard, furrowing his brows: "Now that you mention it... it could indeed be possible..."

This old man, after all, was a dual cult member, having frequented both the Eternal Sleepers and Oblivion Association’s dining halls, so he’s essentially a veteran of the 2-5 realm. With his words, Gawain felt his judgment was solid: in the nest beneath the giant tree roots, there exists an invisible dream realm, and Bard Wendell was caught.

"But how could this be?" Pittman displayed a perplexed expression, "This is the nest of Oblivion Association, they don’t have dreaming technology..."

Gawain furrowed his brows slightly, suddenly recalling the events during the sentinel towers’ reinforcement and repair project at the great walls—

In the dream realm connection, he unexpectedly encountered members of Oblivion Association, including Beltira, who should’ve died seven hundred years ago...

Oblivion Association does possess dream technology, even if not the technology, they surely have related equipment—apart from Sons of the Storm’s confusing behavior pattern, the other two sects always kept close private ties, so finding Eternal Sleepers’ creations in Oblivion Association’s nest is quite normal.

Pittman, being residuals of dual cults, hadn’t thought of this in time, apparently back then he really wasn’t sincere in joining a cult, likely only entering for the food.

Pittman lifted his head in confusion, not understanding why Gawain suddenly glanced at him, and sighed while looking.

Gawain didn’t explain anything. After speculating about the underground situation, he already had a rough plan, and this plan was far safer than sending people underground.

"Let me try to pull Bard out," he instructed those around him, "this process requires concentration, ensure your surroundings are guarded."

Amber reacted exceptionally quick this time: "Oh, you’re going to ’meditate’, right? Guarding then, I’m familiar with this task..."

...

In this endless, obsession-driven dream that endlessly repeats the pathetic self-deception of the failed ones, Bard couldn’t recall how many times he’d gone through the cycle.

He sat at the long table that remained unchanged, bright lights illuminating the hall as the Archbishops sat around the table, discussing changes in the situation and subsequent plans.

Bard also spoke; he didn’t know why he was speaking here, but his mouth opened and closed on its own, uttering sentences he never thought of:

"...The missionary work in the eastern continent is going smoothly, we’ve already there..."

Occasionally, people would speak, all were familiar faces. Bard looked at these speakers, feeling an overwhelming calm.

But he vaguely felt that he shouldn’t be so calm; he was here... for some task.

What was the task again?

The scene before him suddenly shook, a round of meetings ended, a new scene quickly generated. In this mixed dream generated by numerous obsessions, the dominator kept changing, the theme kept changing. Bard Wendell himself was just one of the dozens of consciousnesses in this dream.

He sat again at the long table, feeling his throat move slightly as if preparing to speak.

However, a hand suddenly placed on his shoulder made him shiver.

A long-lost sense of clarity suddenly surged into his mind, amidst which countless memories he’d seemingly forgotten for a century flooded back, along with all sorts of emotions before he completely fell into the dream realm such as tension and fear. But before Bard could sort the newly resurfaced content in his mind, a dignified, steady voice came from behind him: "Awake now?"

Compared to this disturbing dream, the suddenly resounding voice barely made Bard nearly leap in shock. He stood abruptly, turning to see the tall Gawain Cecil standing behind him.

A fleeting sense of ambiguity assaulted him again, once more blurring the line between reality and dream.

Gawain spoke again, his voice seemingly carrying the power to awaken dreams: "Stay awake, you’re still in a dream realm, but your consciousness is awake now. As long as you don’t engage in unnecessary doubts and associations, your mental form is safe."

"Dream realm? Oh right, this is a dream realm..." Bard blinked, gradually shaking off the aftermath of the disturbing dream and regaining his ability to think. It wasn’t until a moment later that he realized the incongruity of Gawain’s presence here, "Wait, this is a dream realm... so why are you..."

"I’m still up there, talking to you with my consciousness now," Gawain explained casually, then began to look around the meeting room, where the "meeting" continued over and over again, yet to him, it seemed like a farcical drama, "Interesting, I didn’t think there’d be a dream at the roots of this giant tree..."

Bard watched Gawain in bewilderment; he vaguely realized this dream likely involved technological exchanges between Eternal Sleepers and Oblivion Association, hence Gawain directly projecting his consciousness here was especially shocking to him, and he couldn’t understand how the other achieved it.

This might be Gawain Cecil’s secret.

And now he was exposed to this secret.

Bard felt awe and became even more cautious.

Gawain noticed the change in Bard’s expression, likely aware of what the other was contemplating, but he didn’t comment, instead turning his head with interest to look at the doorway on the other side of the hall.

A new figure emerged in the dream realm, appearing there.

Upon seeing the outline of that figure clearly, Gawain raised his eyebrows.

Beltira Augustus walked into the hall.