Chapter 225: Slipping into Dreams with the Wind

Gawain could hardly recall how he managed to carry on the conversation with Tyr after that. All he knew was that, with great effort, he had dragged that deeply peculiar deep-sea harmony god through a series of experiments—mainly to test the various reactions of the sea demon and the divine flesh when they came into contact.

From the tests, he discovered that although Tyr, like himself, was unaffected by the influence of divine flesh, there were significant differences between them. When Gawain touched the divine flesh, it visibly recoiled and became inert, but when Tyr made contact, the flesh showed no such fear or withdrawal.

Another difference was that Gawain didn’t find that strange lump of living tissue appetizing at all, yet Tyr stared at the chunks of meat inside the crystal cube with such longing that he practically drooled onto his tail.

In terms of suppressing or intimidating that mass of flesh, Gawain was clearly stronger than Tyr. Still, whenever he faced Tyr, an overwhelming exhaustion welled up from deep within him—communicating with this kind of seafood was seriously draining.

After sending Tyr back to his room, utterly worn out in both body and mind, Gawain once again stepped out onto the terrace.

Heddy had already gone to rest, and Rebecca had retreated to her room clutching her precious new telescope. For a moment, Gawain was alone on the terrace.

He lifted his head, gazing up at the star-studded sky. On this moonless night, the constellation “Ao” shone with an unusually bright radiance, as if the legendary eye of the gods was watching over the world.

To this day, he had yet to spot any sign of the surveillance satellite among those stars.

Whether it was asking Heddy to cast Eagle Eye or using the newly crafted astronomical telescope, Gawain had found no trace of the satellite, nor any artificial object in space.

He knew full well how difficult it was to spot a satellite in orbit with such rudimentary equipment and limited magic. Even if he could see it, tracking it with current technology would be nearly impossible. Yet, he also sensed a mysterious “intuitive connection” between himself and the satellite—an instinctive awareness of its location whenever he looked up. And even with this aid, he still found nothing.

There were only two possible explanations.

Either the satellite was extremely small, and the magnification of current observation methods was far too weak to detect it, or it was concealed by some form of cloaking technology.

If it was the former, then with technological progress, spotting the ancient satellite from the surface would be only a matter of time. If the latter, Gawain would have to wait until he developed spaceflight technology himself and went up to investigate.

His thoughts churned, one after another, when suddenly he felt a brief mental haze.

This sensation was hard to describe—it was as if his consciousness, normally confined within his body, had suddenly extended outward for a moment. In that fleeting trance, his mind sharpened dramatically, his perception expanded, and his soul seemed to stretch beyond his physical form, connecting with countless distant souls.

He snapped back to full awareness, realizing this was no hallucination.

As he pondered what was happening, the haze returned. This time, he grasped the sensation’s rhythm—and in the next instant, knowledge naturally surfaced in his mind. Gawain realized he now knew how to control this strange state and use it to establish psychic connections. Almost immediately, he understood where this knowledge came from—the Sleeper he had devoured!

Instinctively, he gathered his mental focus. Guided by the knowledge and experience he had absorbed, he quickly stabilized his will. The moment he regained control, the scene before his eyes shifted dramatically.

He found himself standing in a city beyond words—one that embodied every human ideal of grandeur, elegance, and beauty. Countless gleaming white buildings towered around him, each spire and palace edge trimmed with pure gold. Magical crystals, brimming with endless power, floated above the city, their radiant energy weaving a dazzling aurora across the sky.

Between the shimmering curtains of light, floating islands, castles, and palaces hovered high above, like the legendary abodes of the gods.

Neither the Thousand-Tower City of the Violet Kingdom, nor the Elves’ Star Sanctuaries famed for their artistry, nor even the Gondor capital from seven centuries ago could compare to this place. It hardly seemed built for human habitation; it felt more like a grand expression of imagination, a living testament to mythic splendor.

Even Gawain, with his steady temperament, was stunned speechless at the sight.

What was this place? How had it appeared? Was this another trick of the Sleepers? A dreamscape they had conjured?

He thought hard. Only the true dream of a Sleeper could explain such an incredible vision. Yet this scene was far more complex and vast than any illusion he had seen before. The Sleeper who had invaded his mind last time was already a high-ranking cultist, and his illusions were top-tier among the Sleepers. But this…

This was on a whole different level.

Could there be an even more powerful Sleeper now, one who had come for him?

Frowning, Gawain hadn’t expected the Sleepers to forget their lesson so quickly and come after him again. As he mulled this over, he suddenly noticed faint shadows appearing along the empty city streets.

The shadows quickly solidified into vivid human forms, as if the city’s original inhabitants had suddenly materialized, walking and living among the streets. The scene reminded Gawain of a “loading” process in a virtual environment.

Wait—these weren’t just illusions. They were real!

Gawain immediately recognized that these figures were not mere phantasms. Each face shone with lifelike vitality, their words and actions indistinguishable from true sentient beings. More importantly, thanks to the knowledge and skills he had absorbed, he could discern which parts of the vision were fabricated and which reflected reality.

These newly appeared residents had “real-world counterparts”—they were living, breathing people.

His heart pounded as he vaguely grasped the nature of this place. But before he could study the city’s inhabitants further, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Suppressing the urge to lash out and reveal himself, Gawain calmly turned to see a strikingly handsome young man looking at him with curiosity.

Before Gawain could speak, the young man said, “I thought I was mistaken, but it really is the image of Gawain Cecil? You look just like the portrait!”

Hearing his full name made Gawain’s heart skip—he feared he’d been exposed. But then he realized, thanks to his past experience with games, what the young man meant by “image.”

The city’s residents were using the form he had set for himself in this world?

Looking around, Gawain was sure of it—there couldn’t be so many handsome men in reality, and certainly not thousands-of-years-extinct scorpion-tailed people.

What was this? A massive immersive VR game created by the Sleepers? These cultists had secretly built something this elaborate? The style… it was unlike anything he’d seen since arriving in this world!

All these thoughts flashed through his mind, but outwardly he smiled faintly. “Just trying something new for a change.”

“Not bad, not bad. Gawain Cecil’s image is truly heroic,” the handsome young man chuckled. “But you don’t need to keep that beard—it makes you look older. I think the portrait of Gawain Cecil at twenty-five was better than his posthumous image…”

Beard, you’ve got some nerve! And posthumous image? Gawain had been back from the dead for over half a year—how could that still be called a posthumous portrait?

Gawain’s eye twitched. He barely restrained the urge to beat this seemingly kind but who-knows-how-cruel cultist senseless. Smiling with forced politeness, he made a few vague replies and quickly walked away.

Lowering his head, he moved swiftly through the city’s magnificent, spacious streets until he found a quiet corner.

Once out of the cultists’ sight, his first priority was to hide his true face.

Although one cultist had seen his real appearance without suspicion, thinking it some kind of “personal preference,” Gawain dared not risk wandering this likely Sleeper-created brain-networked “virtual world” with his real visage. After all, having devoured a high-ranking Sleeper, his face was too likely to draw unwanted attention.

He wasn’t a Sleeper himself, but the knowledge he’d gained from the one he consumed was invaluable. He still remembered how, in the dream world, he could create objects out of thin air with his will—and here, he found it even easier.

Minutes later, a tall young man with short, pale blond hair stepped out from the alleyway.

(End of chapter)