Chapter 227: Stirring Up Trouble, Stirring Up Trouble

Fragments of memories leaking from Gawain Cecil? Or was this the eighteenth attempt at decryption? And now they were even commandeering more computing power?

This sudden burst of information immediately caught Gawain’s attention. With a flicker of thought, the flood of data refreshing in his mind came to a halt, and he locked onto this message tightly.

It was clear that the Sleepless Ones had been shockingly careless with their data security. The unencrypted files and the lack of any alert system in their network structure struck Gawain as completely defenseless. Even though he was still relatively unfamiliar with this psychic network, he could, by leveraging the knowledge he had devoured and a bit of trial and error, quickly figure out how to manipulate the information within the network and track the flow of data.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely due to the Sleepless Ones’ poor security awareness. After careful analysis, Gawain realized their psychic network was actually quite secure in principle. First, to access it, one had to be a Sleepless One—only those whose minds had been reshaped by a specific “Fallen Divine Art” and who had passed the network’s “registration and authentication” could gain entry. Second, the network had basic identity verification and permission management: not only did you need a Sleepless One account to connect, but you also had to have the proper clearance to move around in the network’s various virtual zones. The barrier surrounding the city center was a direct manifestation of this permission system.

Given that human consciousness was normally impossible to replicate, this kind of “account management” was actually quite reliable.

But the network had a fatal flaw: once an individual met the connection and permission requirements, everything they did inside the network was completely unchecked. Even if someone like Gawain randomly rummaged through data, messed with nodes with all sorts of incorrect operations, or exhibited countless suspicious behaviors, the network wouldn’t raise a single alarm.

In short, the network was a fortress against external attacks but left itself wide open to internal threats.

The Sleepless Ones who created this network surely never imagined someone like Gawain—a wild card who could devour others’ minds and even fake psychic permissions like a “satellite spirit”—would come along.

Feigning deep thought, Gawain closed his eyes slightly but was already using the information he’d grabbed to search the network. He aimed to extract as much useful intel as possible before this connection ended.

The network’s vulnerabilities were enormous, but Gawain was convinced the otherworlders weren’t fools—and certainly not the Sleepless Ones. The flaws existed simply because the network was still a work in progress. Sooner or later, the Sleepless Ones would patch these holes.

God only knew how fast these cultists, who spent their idle time tinkering with dreams, would fix bugs…

After several attempts, Gawain finally mastered the technique to extract information from the psychic network. Using “Gawain Cecil’s memory fragments” as a search marker, he was surprised to find quite a bit of related data:

The Sleepless Ones had already tried to decrypt “Gawain Cecil’s memory fragments” seventeen times—and every single attempt had failed. The worst failure was the first: they had assembled a computing array of hundreds of powerful cult members to brute-force the memories, only to be wiped out in one fell swoop.

After that, they got smarter. Instead of brute force, they tried slicing and fuzzily interpreting the fragments. But even so, over three hundred elite members had died piecemeal in the process.

The source of these memory fragments was both unexpected and unsurprising: they were the very memories Gawain had devoured from a Sleepless One cultist last time. That cultist had “secretly uploaded” them through his psychic connection just before being consumed.

That poor soul, in his final moments, had desperately copied some of the memories he saw and sent them to his comrades. This caught Gawain off guard.

Maybe the cultist wanted to warn his fellows about the truth behind “Gawain Cecil,” or perhaps he simply hoped to pass along valuable intelligence. Or maybe he was already completely deranged and out of control. Whatever the case, those memory fragments had become prized “spoils” for the Sleepless Ones, who seemed determined to mine them for secrets.

Gawain carefully sifted through the records of the cultists’ attempts to analyze and decrypt the fragments. Thanks to the network’s near-absent defenses, he could see almost everything in their databases.

After some digging, he even located where the memory fragments were stored.

Confirming he hadn’t yet drawn any attention, he cautiously opened the data.

Sure enough, it was his own observation records from orbit—about seventy to eighty thousand years’ worth of high-definition video footage.

Though these were his memories, Gawain couldn’t help but yawn at the monotony. Honestly, these nearly unchanging scenes were dull as dirt. He felt a pang of sympathy for the cultists—they’d poured massive manpower and resources into this, and even if they managed to access this vast memory, all they got were meaningless surveillance videos. And Gawain was almost certain they didn’t dare fast-forward…

They were probably terrified that if they skipped ahead, they’d miss the entire world. Yeah, that was probably their mindset. He could imagine it.

After some thought, Gawain, feeling benevolent, decided to spice up these boring memory fragments a bit…

After an indeterminate amount of time, he finished modifying the fragments. Since these were his own memories, the process was smooth, but to avoid leaving any trace that might alert others, he spent a lot of time refining the “signature” of the fragments and erasing any signs of tampering. He doubted the Sleepless Ones, with their weak grasp of information security, would think of such precautions—but better safe than sorry. What if there was a neat freak among them?

Even after completing this task, Gawain still felt energized. He thought for a moment and chose not to sever the connection immediately. Instead, he continued searching the vast psychic network, hoping to uncover more secrets—especially technical data about the network’s underlying principles.

The Sleepless Ones’ method of building brain arrays was insane, but that didn’t mean all their tech was like that. There had to be gentler, less inhumane alternatives. Whether outsiders could master those or not, it was definitely worth sneaking a peek now.

But just as Gawain began searching for this information, a strange sound suddenly echoed from above.

Startled, he looked up—and saw the once-clear, bright sky split open by a massive rift. The ugly tear spread rapidly in all directions, like a wound ripping the world apart. The magnificent world shaped by the psychic network shattered swiftly: distant city towers crumbled, floating islands and palaces in the sky plummeted to the ground. It looked like the apocalypse.

Gawain’s first thought was that his reckless meddling had been detected, or that some misstep had broken this still-incomplete psychic network. But then a voice echoed in his mind, clarifying what was happening:

“The stars have left their places, the gods have yet to return. The eternal dream is temporarily closed. All return to the secondary consciousness network.”

The “residents” active in the city looked at each other in shock. Disappointment and anger spread through the streets, but the cultists didn’t hesitate. One by one, their figures began to fade—logging out of the network.

Gawain smiled, thinking of the little “gifts” he’d left behind in the network. Satisfied, he severed the psychic connection.

After a brief, indescribable daze, the illusory virtual world dissolved, replaced by the familiar terrace and starry sky coming back into focus.

Amber was there too, bouncing up and down, pressing her face close to scare him.

“Whoa!!” Gawain, still a bit dazed, jumped at the sudden movement. He instinctively reached out to grab Amber’s ear—but missed. In his haze, his aim was off, and the half-elf’s dodging skills seemed to have improved.

“What are you doing?!” Gawain glared at her. Though he’d missed, he clearly startled her with his intensity. “Jumping around trying to scare me?”

“I saw you zoning out with your eyes closed and thought something was wrong!” Amber put her hands on her hips, shouting with a mix of sternness and worry. “I was just checking on you, and you’re not happy about that?”

“Really?”

“Of course!” Amber rolled her eyes in annoyance. “And what were you doing just standing there like that? I was yelling in your ear for ages and you didn’t react!”

“You tried to wake me up?” Gawain frowned. “I didn’t hear a thing… Hmm, looks like next time I need to split some attention to keep an eye on the real world. Otherwise, it’s risky…”

“What are you talking about?” Amber blinked. “Are you really that out of it?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Gawain said, seeing that at least half of her fuss was genuine concern. He smiled and waved it off. “By the way, what did you want?”

Amber’s face lit up. She pulled out a deck of cards from her pocket. “Come play cards! I finally convinced Tyr to join, now we just need you!”

Gawain’s mouth twitched. “Tyr…”

Could that elf disgrace really communicate with that crazy sea witch? Doesn’t that mess with his sanity?!

Or maybe since they’re both “disgraces” of their races, it cancels out…

“Come on, come on, let’s play~~”

Amber bounced excitedly, while Gawain felt an unprecedented headache coming on. Suddenly, he thought dealing with those Sleepless Ones was easier…

(End of chapter)