Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 811 - 810: Between Illusion and Reality

The gods are dead... and now they’ve finally begun to decay...

The old man before them spoke in such a normal, natural tone, yet it left everyone present with an indescribable sense of weirdness.

Magnan’s hand was already resting on the table, slightly crossing, as he stared intently at the old man calling himself ”Duvalt”: ”Which god are you talking about?”

The old man laughed, speaking with great candor: ”Who else could it be? Of course, it’s the Supreme Narrator.”

When the suspicious old man uttered the term ”Supreme Narrator,” Yuri and Magnan’s pupils noticeably contracted, but the situation didn’t unfold as they imagined; everything seemed just like a normal conversation.

At this moment, Gawain finally discerned some details from the ragged patterns on the old man’s worn-out robe, depicting a fragmented earth with a symbolic hand hovering above...

”You’re a priest of the Supreme Narrator,” Gawain said calmly, ”but why do you say the gods are dead?”

Duvalt did not answer immediately. Instead, he picked a pastry from the lavish spread on the table and placed it in front of Nariteer. The white-haired girl didn’t speak, simply taking the pastry and lowering her head, eating quietly yet very quickly, as if she had been starving for a very long time.

”The gods have been dead for many years; before the world was ruined, the gods had begun to die,” Duvalt spoke slowly, his words seemingly carrying traces of ancient times, ”Upon realizing the truth behind the world, the gods went insane. When the gods went insane, they died... They took a century to die, another century to decay, and after that, the world became what it is now.”

As he spoke, Duvalt raised his arm, adjusting his overly worn-out robe. Gawain vaguely saw that not only was the robe’s edge tattered and filthy, but also draped with cobwebs—showing that its owner had visited many abandoned and desolate places, even lingering in one such ruin not long ago.

If Sandbox One is viewed as a post-apocalyptic world, just how long has this priest of the Supreme Narrator, named Duvalt, been wandering in this ruined world?

The other seemed solely interested in finding someone to chat with. Although the situation was somewhat bizarre, Gawain decided to seize the chance to gather more information, and smoothly carried on the conversation: ”Apart from us, is there anyone else in this world?”

”People? They’ve long since vanished...” The old man said in a deep voice, ”The world has already ended, civilization is gone. Only Duvalt and Nariteer roam here among the ruins.”

”Has everyone died?” Yuri asked, ”Or... disappeared?”

”I don’t know, perhaps they’ve all returned to the Lord’s side.” The old man gave an ambiguous answer, taking another piece of food from the table and handing it to Nariteer, who continued to eat quickly and quietly, seemingly indifferent to the conversation occurring around her.

”How many years have you wandered here?” Selena also joined the conversation, asking gently.

”I don’t remember; I’ve been lingering here since the world ended,” the old man said calmly, ”I still remember some vague things, remembering this city when it was bustling with life; there were many people living in these houses. Merchants from swamps, forests, plains, and coastal city-states strolled through the streets. There were festivals and hero dramas, philosophers giving speeches and debates on high platforms, the city’s church was bright and spacious, sunshine streamed through the clean windows onto the pulpit, the believers were calm and joyful...

”I also remember news coming from the south that scholars had created a device to gaze at the stars. Sailors from the Western Coast discussed strange fish caught from the deep-sea in taverns, a dancer from the oasis region came to town, and half the city was talking about her beauty...

”Ah, those were truly wonderful times... But alas, they’ve all passed.”

The old man shook his head, taking a cup of fine wine handed by Yuri, tasting it tentatively, and then exclaiming, ”Oh, this is truly an amazing flavor... Nariteer—”

The white-haired girl, burying her head in the cake, lifted her head, glanced at the wine cup in the old man’s hand with confusion, and after receiving confirmation from him, cautiously sipped from the cup.

The next moment, she spat out the wine completely, sputtering repeatedly: Evidently, she disliked the taste.

”...I’m curious,” watching the ever-peaceful old man and the peculiar girl before him, Gawain suddenly broke the silence, ”what did you eat before we arrived—are there still food supplies in the city?”

”We haven’t eaten in a very long time,” Duvalt shook his head with a smile, ”so Nariteer has grown quite hungry.”

...

Within Typhon borders, in Orlandeau Region, the night had fallen, stars lit up the night sky, illuminating the sparsely lit village below and the ”Throat of Orlandeau” situated at the region’s center.

In a nameless village, a shepherd who had just fallen asleep tossed and turned in bed, seemingly fighting an invisible dream. But soon, he quieted down, breathing became calm and deep, as though his dreams had been stripped away, and he entered a profound, dreamless sleep.

Outside the window, a shadowy figure flickered by.

In the utter silence and darkness, the village, with all the households having turned out their lights and retired for the night, saw two figures draped in black robes slowly moving through the streets, bathed in starlight, walking from one end of the village to the other.

From beneath the hood of one black-robed figure, a young male voice announced, ”The last village’s dream control is complete, everyone will have a good night’s sleep tonight, and no one will enter dreams.”

The shadow beside him nodded, and a steady female voice resonated from beneath her hood, ”Even so, we must patrol throughout the night to ensure no one breaks the control to reenter dreams—His Holiness the Pope demands we create an absolute ’dream vacuum’ throughout the Orlandeau Region, and within this zone, as long as one person continues to dream, their dream could be exploited as a springboard, leading to unintended events.”

”Will such a ’dream isolation zone’ truly be effective?”

”Whether or not it works is for His Holiness the Pope and Wanderers from Outer Realm to consider; whether we do it is our task,” the steady female voice replied, ”Rather than worry about those, we should pray tonight’s actions proceed smoothly. It’s best we don’t need to resort to our preparations.”

”True...” the young male Eternal Sleepers Priest said as he walked toward the outskirts of the village under the starlight, silence reigning except for the occasional rustling of wind through the grass, making the world seem even quieter.

”Legend says... seven hundred years ago, the Dreams Cleric were tasked with these same duties.” The male priest suddenly remarked.

”What duties?”

”Walking in the night, soothing disturbed dreams, healing those who suffered trauma, just as we are doing now.”

”Sounds...indeed similar.”

”I never imagined I’d have a day when I’d come out of the underground ruins to do such things—my great-grandfather once possessed an amulet of the Dreams Cleric, but in my father’s generation, it was destroyed,” the young male priest shook his head, ”It’s said after this event, we will have the opportunity to obtain new identities and operate openly—but in return, we must relocate to a new place.”

The woman walking beside him remained silent for two or three seconds, shaking her head in a reminder, ”Don’t discuss these things outside.”

”...True.”

The male priest seemed to smile, as he answered while raising his head to look at the vast wasteland outside the village, gazing towards the wasteland’s end.

A winding, fragmented earth slope undulated under the distant night sky, with starlight illuminating the edges, revealing the presence of a ravine or a deep pit.

Orlandeau, the former imperial capital of Typhon, now quietly buried at the bottom of that gigantic pit.

...

In the ancient, deep underground ruins, the solemn and gloomy Archbishop Semyr was inspecting the deepest layer of the containment area.

The newly installed Magic Web Device powered the Magic Crystal lamps, illuminating this once darkest and deepest area. The bright glow seemed to simultaneously dispel the oppressive, gloomy atmosphere brought by the Supreme Narrator. Semyr walked through the assembly hall on the lower level, and a priest, who appeared to have just arrived, quickly stepped forward, slightly bowing in respect:

”Archbishop, the surface dream control has been completed, and the void zone now covers the entire Orlandeau region.”

”Good,” Semyr nodded, ”Maintain the surveillance on dreams in the Orlandeau region, and send out the Spirit Knights’ reserve team to support any area with breaches at any time.”

”Yes, Archbishop.”

”Also, pass down the order to increase the personnel guarding the connection passage at the bottom of the Throat of Orlandeau. If a ’Level Zero’ leak occurs here... destroy the dome if necessary.”

Facing such an order, the priest hesitated a bit: ”Archbishop, doing so might cause irreparable damage to the palace’s upper area, and even expose the entire underground ruins...”

”The upper area can be abandoned; all our important facilities are in the middle and lower layers. These two regions have the earth elementals’ blessing and strengthened spells, which can withstand the dome collapse. We can solve the problems slowly after sealing the underground ruins. As for exposure... that’s already unimportant.”

”Yes, Archbishop,” the priest slowly nodded but couldn’t help but ask, ”But... can merely destroying the dome really block the ’Supreme Narrator’?”

”A pile of collapsed stones couldn’t possibly block the formless and intangible gods,” Semyr sneered, shaking his head, ”But collapsed stones can block the ’followers’ of the Supreme Narrator, and that’s enough.”

The priest felt an indescribable pressure, but he soon took a deep breath under that pressure and nodded forcefully.

The priest left, and Semyr stood silently in the empty, quiet corridor of the containment area for several seconds before slightly shaking his head and walking towards the section where the Psychic Choir members were housed.

Clad in thick silver-white armor, with many mysterious magic symbols embedded on the helmet, the Spirit Knight guardian lowered his head in front of him: ”Archbishop.”

”Is everything normal?” Semyr asked deeply.

A muffled voice came from under the Spirit Knight’s helmet: ”Everything is normal, Archbishop.”

”Has anyone conversed with the outside world?”

”No.”

”Very good.”

Semyr nodded, passed the Spirit Knight guardian, came to the door of the outermost room of the containment area, and gently knocked on the metal door decorated with magical symbols, embedded with Mithril and purple copper magic-conducting materials. The sound of knocking echoed far down the deep, long corridor.

Two seconds later, a gentle, melodious female voice sounded from behind the door: ”Who is it?”

”It’s me, Semyr,” said the solemn and gloomy Semyr, ”Lady Wendy, I’ve come to check on your situation.”

”Ah, Archbishop Semyr,” Wendy, who was idly observing a spider weaving its web in the corner of the room, stood up, patted the dust off her skirt corner, and came near the door, ”I’m doing well here—the bothersome sound hasn’t appeared for a long time. But this room is indeed somewhat boring, only spiders keep me company to break the monotony.”

”Just bear with it for a little longer,” Semyr heard Wendy’s voice inside the room, ”Spirit Singer” Wendy’s voice was calm and clear, her state sensible and awake, which made him breathe a sigh of relief, ”We’re already at the critical stage. When the sun rises tomorrow, everything will be fine.”

”Hopefully.”

...

Near the temple of the desert city-state Nim Sandro, in the only dwelling lit by lamps, a white-haired girl named Nariteer had already fallen asleep against the corner in a haystack, while the elderly Duvalt sat cross-legged on the ground not far away, seemingly praying devoutly like a guardian.

Yuri watched this scene and couldn’t help but whisper to Selena beside him, ”Honestly, when Duvalt mentioned Nariteer being very hungry, I was ready for battle. I really didn’t expect she was just hungry...”

Selena’s response was very brief: ”The more normal, the more abnormal.”

”... How long do we have to ’accompany’ these two?”

”That depends on the opinion of the person from Outer Realm... Gawain Cecil.”

Selena said softly, as her gaze fell upon Gawain not far away.

Gawain stood up, walked over to Duvalt, who seemed to have finished a round of prayer.

”God is dead,” he said to the elderly man, full of vicissitudes, ”Who are you praying to?”

”It’s a habit,” Duvalt smiled and shook his head, ”You know, faith... has inertia.”

When he mentioned that ”faith has inertia,” his tone seemed quite complex.

Gawain couldn’t comprehend the psychological changes someone wandering in a deserted world for years could experience, he simply shook his head, waved his hand, dispersing a spider running across a nearby pillar.

”There are many spiders here at night,” Duvalt commented, ”But don’t worry, they’re very gentle and harmless, and will actively avoid humans.”