Chapter 170: Growing Shadows
Gawain wandered through this lucid dreamscape.
He didn’t fully understand the mechanics behind these changes, but he suspected the cause was tied to that ill-fated Sleeper cultist. In the process of devouring the remnants of the cultist’s mind, he had come into contact with fragments of the Sleeper’s knowledge. These fragments weren’t mere memories—they were a form of power in the supernatural realm.
This power granted Gawain the ability to move freely within this waking dream.
As he walked, he occasionally shaped objects in his hands according to his thoughts, discovering the limits of this “creation.” Since he hadn’t truly acquired the Sleeper’s power, the things he fashioned in the dream remained purely imaginary—convincing in appearance but utterly useless. The drinks he conjured had no taste; the phones he modeled from memory wouldn’t turn on.
And the purely fantastical items, those that didn’t exist in reality at all, couldn’t even hold their shape for long.
Yet from this flawed and powerless ability, Gawain gradually unraveled the essence of the Sleeper cult and their possible aims.
They immersed themselves in eternal dreams, seeking escape in a false world. Their skill at weaving illusions within the dream realm was so perfect that anyone entering a Sleeper’s dream would instantly lose themselves in the fabricated reality—unless they already knew the truth. Even then, the weak-willed could easily become addicted to the beautiful illusions.
Though outsiders labeled the Sleepers as “masters of nightmares,” Gawain sensed that their true pursuit was a beautiful dream—and that nightmares were merely a means to that end.
He walked down a long corridor, his mind calm and clear, thoughts sharp as ever.
To borrow a phrase from his past life: most who lose themselves in virtual worlds do so to escape reality. The Sleepers, in Gawain’s eyes, were like a collective of virtual world fanatics fleeing from reality. But what part of reality were they running from?
Was it the societal collapse and environmental decay caused by the magical cataclysm? The shifting religious landscape and persecution from other sects? Or perhaps… the truth that the gods were dead?
At the corridor’s end stood a heavy oak door. Gawain frowned as he noticed a familiar emblem carved into it—the Kant family crest.
Had his recent focus on the Kant family caused their emblem to appear in his dream? Or was this truly Kant Castle?
He scanned the surroundings, confirming he had never been here before. Normally, human dreams don’t contain things beyond one’s memory or knowledge. Even bizarre elements are usually distorted versions of familiar things. But this dream was stable and orderly; the wall patterns and the glow from every magical crystal lamp were flawless. Considering the Sleeper’s mind he had devoured, Gawain suddenly suspected this scene was drawn from that cultist’s memories.
Had the cultist operated within Kant Castle?
After a brief hesitation, Gawain reached out and pushed open the oak door with force.
Behind it lay a cellar-like chamber—vast, deep, shrouded in dim light. As an underground part of the castle, this cellar was far larger than necessary, almost like a grand ballroom relocated beneath the earth. Within this unusually spacious room, Gawain saw rows of upright pillars connecting floor to stone ceiling. The pillars’ surfaces appeared inscribed with writing.
Drawing closer to one, he realized it wasn’t writing at all, but countless deep gouges scratched in with fingernails.
The moment he saw those marks, his vision blurred suddenly. Then, ripples like water spread through the dim space, and countless shadowy figures shed their subconscious disguises, appearing before him.
They were ghostly human shapes—translucent, grayish-white, with vague, numb expressions. They stood layered and overlapping, their hollow eyes staring blankly at the center of the cellar.
The sudden apparition startled Gawain, but he quickly realized these shadows were unaware of his presence—or perhaps lacked any capacity for thought.
Calming himself, he followed their gaze to the chamber’s center, where a stone platform had appeared. Atop it rested a massive, ornate coffin.
Frowning, Gawain pushed through the crowd of shadowy figures toward the coffin. Halfway there, a faint, indistinct voice whispered in his ear. It sounded like two people talking, fragmented and hard to discern. Gawain strained to catch clearer phrases:
“…I wish this were just a nightmare, to wake and find everything still beautiful…”
“…What’s the difference between dream and reality…”
“I… don’t know what to do, I’ve lost them…”
“The Sleepers will help you. Don’t be afraid, don’t believe the slander against us. Just as seven hundred years ago, we still strive to free all beings from suffering. Back then, we kept them from nightmares; today, we keep them from nightmare-like reality…
“You only need to place it here, nourish it well. Trust me, everything will get better.
“The lost will return—not just in dreams, but in reality as well…”
The voices were low, distorted, heavily warped—so much so that Gawain couldn’t tell their genders. But one thing was almost certain: one of the speakers was the Sleeper cultist whose mind he had consumed.
Upon waking, Gawain immediately summoned Hetty and Pittman.
“Ancestor, we’ve finished questioning the mercenary mage,” Hetty said, expecting Gawain had called her to discuss the interrogation. “They are indeed working for the Kant family, but they don’t know what their employer’s true purpose is in capturing the refugees. One thing’s clear—they’ve never seen any of the captured refugees reappear as slaves in Kant territory, nor have they seen slave traders take those people away. The refugees simply vanish from the land.”
Gawain frowned. “As I suspected…”
“As you suspected?” Hetty blinked, puzzled. “Do you know something?”
“I’ll have to go to Kant territory immediately,” Gawain said decisively. “The sooner, the better.”
Hetty was genuinely shocked. “To Kant territory? What for? To confront Viscount Kant about the refugees? That’s…”
“More serious than that,” Gawain said gravely. “When I fought that Sleeper cultist, I touched fragments of his consciousness. Just now, those fragments surfaced—I saw the cultist hand something to someone in Kant territory, most likely Viscount Viktor Kant himself. It’s a cursed artifact that’s been there for many years—decades even. It’s been feeding on living souls, growing stronger all this time.”
“An artifact that feeds on living souls?” Pittman gasped. “So those refugees captured in Kant territory…”
“Most likely fed to it,” Gawain said, frowning. “It’s reached a critical stage but hasn’t completed its final transformation. Once it does… I fear it will engulf all the surrounding regions—Tansang Town, New Cecil, even the northern Carol territory—in its power.”
Gawain wasn’t exaggerating. Near the dream’s end, he had clearly sensed the presence of this growing “thing” sustaining the dream world.
He could feel its spreading influence over a vast area’s human minds. Perhaps because he had consumed the original owner’s consciousness fragments, Gawain had formed a subtle connection with it. He was nearly certain: once it absorbed enough energy, the cursed object hidden in the Kant family’s ancient castle would unleash terrifying power, and ordinary people in New Cecil and Tansang Town would be caught in the storm.
With the threat looming over him, Gawain couldn’t stand by.
His serious tone affected Hetty, who grew tense and worried. “Ancestor, you’ve already risked yourself once in Tansang Town. This time…”
“No, this time it won’t be as dangerous,” Gawain shook his head. “As long as I find it in time, it poses no threat to me—I have a way to control it.”
His confidence reassured Hetty somewhat, but she still asked, “What if Viscount Viktor Kant has been completely corrupted and controlled by the cultists? Could he turn against you?”
“There’s only one person in this whole matter who could threaten me,” Gawain said, looking at Hetty with a faint smile. “But I’ve already destroyed that person in the realm of consciousness.”
(End of chapter)