Chapter 180: The Power of the Sleeper

Rain poured down in torrents, lightning flashed, and thunder roared. A biting cold wind from the northern tundra swept through, carrying icy rain that battered the castle’s spires. On this day, the most respected and eldest among the Kant domain’s nobles all shared the same dream. They dreamed that time had reversed thirty years, back to a night just as stormy—when their young, strong, and just lord was rushing home by carriage. Not far ahead lay the towering, imposing walls and turrets of the ancient Kant Castle, all shrouded in mist stirred by the rain and the darkness of night. The carriage sped endlessly along the road, as if trapped in a dream from which there was no waking.

Gawain walked through the deep, shadowy underground corridor leading to the castle’s North Tower. The soldiers who should have guarded this passage lay slumped at their posts, still breathing but their minds already severed from this world, trapped in a dream too deep to awaken from. Yet this dream had broken free from the bounds of illusion—it stretched its tendrils into reality, leaving behind a twisted reflection in the material world.

Moss clung to the mottled stone walls, peeling away in endless flakes to reveal decayed, warped surfaces beneath. The corridor’s very fabric of time and space seemed to unravel; scenes from the dream and the waking world flickered back and forth in the same place. The magic crystal lamps embedded in the walls flickered erratically, casting eerie, distorted shadows over ancient oil paintings that lined the passage—images both sinister and surreal.

Crash!

A thunderclap split the sky. The once-solid stone ceiling of the underground corridor, thick and sealed tight, was suddenly illuminated as if by daylight. Great cracks had appeared in the dark roof, revealing the stormy sky beyond. Rain poured down through the fissures.

Gawain looked up. Through the broken ceiling, the upper half of the North Tower floated fragmented in the sky, massive stones and shattered rooftops suspended as if gravity had abandoned them. They spun wildly in the howling wind, colliding and scattering debris in the rain.

He ignored it all and strode forward through the rain-filled corridor. The water was uncertain—sometimes soaking him through, sometimes vanishing without a trace. Each glance revealed a different reality.

At last, the heavy oak door appeared, exactly as he had seen it in the dream. Gawain reached out, but before his fingers touched the door, a shadow beside it stirred. Amber’s form coalesced from the darkness.

“Ah! Gawain, you’re here at last!” she exclaimed.

Gawain looked at her. “Did you find the lantern?”

“I got this far. I can feel strong magical energy here, but no matter what I try, I just can’t open this door!” Amber sounded frustrated. As a master thief, failing to open an old wooden door was a serious blow to her confidence.

“Can’t open the door?” Gawain frowned and glanced back down the corridor. The strange, shifting passage had stabilized. The broken walls and ceiling had sealed themselves again. The wind and rain no longer swept through. The moss and crumbling bricks were gone. The oak door now looked solid and intact—old, but firmly shut.

“Did you see the rain inside the corridor while you were here?” Gawain asked.

Amber blinked, confused. “Rain? How could it possibly rain inside a corridor?”

“You’re still dreaming,” Gawain realized. “The door in the dream is sealed tight. No matter what, you can’t open it there.”

He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the knowledge and power he had gleaned from the shattered mind fragments of the Sleeper cultists. “Only by pushing this door open in the real world will you see the castle as it truly is.”

He opened his eyes. The corridor howled with cold wind and rain. The dark stone ceiling was riddled with cracks. Moss covered every wall. The oak door looked old and weathered.

With a gentle push, the door swung open.

Amber’s eyes widened in shock. She finally saw what Gawain saw.

“W-what? How did it get so ruined inside?” the half-elf gasped.

Gawain shook his head. “Because it hasn’t been repaired in thirty years.”

He stepped inside, leading Amber into the place that sustained the entire illusion.

The cellar beyond the oak door was surprisingly well preserved. The upper tower shielded it from the storm, and the noisy rain faded away. The world seemed to fall silent.

In the dim gloom, the lantern’s warm light suddenly flared, dispelling the darkness. Within its glow, a woman in a white gown appeared.

Behind her stood the stone hall Gawain had seen in the dream, supported by countless stone pillars etched with countless glowing runes.

“Lady Lilith Kant,” Gawain said quietly, “it’s time to wake up.”

The woman’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “My lord duke, you shouldn’t have come here. If only you could pretend none of this ever happened.”

Gawain shook his head. “But it did happen. You’re drowning in this dream, only fooling yourself. The power the Sleeper gave you is no cure—you should know that. They only use you to siphon strength. What they gave you is an illusion.”

“I want to believe it’s real!” Lilith’s voice suddenly grew desperate. “I was so close… I already succeeded! As long as you don’t come, as long as I keep hypnotizing myself, I will… I will—”

Gawain cut her off sharply. “You will never succeed. The dream power the Sleeper gave you is flawed—the dreamer is always awake! Even the Sleepers themselves can’t fix this fatal flaw.”

Lilith’s face stiffened. “How… how do you know?”

“Because I devoured a Sleeper and gained his knowledge and memories.”

Her form trembled uncontrollably. “So… that’s why you see the truth here?”

“No,” Gawain shook his head. “Though I gained his knowledge, I was still deceived by this ‘real dream’ when I first arrived. But you left too many cracks, and bit by bit, I uncovered the truth.

“Victor Kant’s study holds many old books, the newest collected thirty years ago.

“Everyone in the domain and castle has fuzzy memories of the accident thirty years past. And regarding the ‘Viscountess,’ two groups hold completely different views.

“Viscount Kant seemed to run the castle, but whenever it came to you, he showed obvious confusion and dullness. You locked his mind tightly, fearing he’d realize he was living in a dream.

“But the biggest flaw isn’t that—it’s the lantern you hold. No one else knows its origin, but I do. I gave that lantern as a gift to a friend seven hundred years ago. Its purpose is to let the ‘Dreamweaver’ maintain self-awareness and find their way in a controlled dream world. In other words, the one holding the lantern truly controls the dream!”

Amber, who had been silent and confused, suddenly understood everything. She gasped and pointed at Lilith. “So… thirty years ago…”

“Yes. Thirty years ago, Viscount Kant and Master Belm really died—killed when their carriage plunged into the ravine. The Viscountess who went mad on the fourth day and drank poison was actually the one who survived. This dream wasn’t created by the Viscount to bring back his love. On the contrary, the Viscountess accepted the Sleeper’s power and reshaped her husband in the dream—making him the lord of this dream castle for thirty years, ruling the domain for three decades!”

“He governed the domain well! He managed the castle well! Even if this is a dream, why can’t it go on?” Lilith’s voice sharpened suddenly, her beautiful face twisting with hatred and madness. The lantern’s soft glow shifted to a faint purple shimmer like starlight—the Sleeper’s power had kept her youthful for thirty years, but now the price was due. One moment she controlled the lantern; the next, she was its slave.

“Why did you come to destroy it all? Why wake the sleepers? If you hadn’t come… if you hadn’t come… everything would have stayed perfect forever!”

Behind the Viscountess, a massive, twisted black shadow took shape, speckled with shimmering stars. From the shadow, a sharp claw materialized and lunged at Gawain’s chest, while a voice overlapped with Lilith’s:

“What good is destroying it all to you!?”

Gawain raised his hand. The Pathfinder’s longsword appeared, blocking the chaotic claw.

“You’ve sacrificed thousands of lives to keep this going, and now it threatens everyone on this land. Destroying it is the greatest favor to me!”

At that moment, in the ruins behind the castle’s main building, Sir Philip raised his sword high and brought it down with force.

Behind him, the castle groaned ominously. A deep rumble echoed from the North Tower. Though the main structure remained intact, the North Tower was crumbling, breaking apart and drifting in fragments through the dark night. Huge stones and roof pieces disintegrated and vanished into the storm.

But Sir Philip paid no mind to the destruction. Following Gawain’s orders, he used his evil-detecting ability to locate the source of the blasphemous aura, then began clearing the collapsed ruins. His knightly strength easily blew away the rotten stable debris and stone floor, revealing a hidden entrance.

(End of chapter)