Chapter 764: A Dream Transformed
The Upper Narrator.
When Gawain first heard this awkwardly combined phrase, he was briefly puzzled—less than a second—but from its meaning, a faint guess began to form in his mind.
Instantly, his expression turned serious, his demeanor solemn.
Inside Sandbox One… something had indeed happened that no one had anticipated. And this so-called “Divine Corruption”… was likely far more complex than anyone had imagined!
What Gawain could think of, of course, the “Archbishops” like Selina could as well. The phrase “Upper Narrator” itself carried a wealth of information that could be directly understood. Yuri, the refined man with a monocle, quickly furrowed his brow and looked toward the elderly priest currently under Selina’s hypnosis.
“What exactly does ‘Upper Narrator’ mean?”
The gray-robed old man’s face broke into a serene, peaceful smile, his voice carrying the joy of a preacher as he spoke slowly, “He is the creator of the world, and also its destroyer; the watcher of the world, and its guide… To us, He is an omniscient, omnipotent sovereign whom no one can defy.”
Listening to this standard sermon-like explanation, Selina’s brow twitched ever so slightly as she interrupted, “How was the world born?”
The high-ranking priests of the Dark Cult were experts in religious studies. They knew well how to quickly gather intelligence and grasp the essence when encountering an unfamiliar belief system for the first time. Generally, all mature faiths inevitably attempt to explain the origin of the world. Their interpretation of the world’s birth reveals their worldview, thought patterns, main doctrines, and core mythologies.
The gray-robed elder hesitated briefly, then, guided by hypnosis, recited what he had memorized:
“The world… was woven by the Upper Narrator. From the void, He first created the chaotic sky and the gray-white earth, then bestowed color and form upon all things… Next, the Upper Narrator set the laws by which all things operate and wrote the first history. Thus, the world began to turn, endlessly alive under the power of these laws…”
“That matches the startup process of Sandbox One,” Selina whispered to Yuri and Daniel. “The Upper Narrator… refers to us.”
“A religion worshipping the ‘Upper Narrator’ has emerged inside the sandbox?” Yuri’s face showed disbelief, his voice low as if speaking to himself. “Is this the ‘divine trace’ we observed? A cult born within a dream… could it really possess ‘divine power’?”
“I don’t know,” Selina’s voice suddenly grew faint, trembling slightly, “but if this cult born in the dream is truly the ‘divine corruption’ we’ve detected… then… we may have unconsciously touched upon the ultimate secret of this world, the most forbidden taboo!”
Beside her, Gawain’s mind raced through countless speculations and hypotheses. Suddenly, he asked Daniel, “Did this cult worshipping the Upper Narrator only appear after Sandbox One went out of control? Was it not detected by the monitoring staff before the sandbox lost control?”
Daniel immediately turned to Selina and repeated Gawain’s question verbatim.
Selina nodded without hesitation. “Before the sandbox went out of control, the monitoring personnel did not detect such a cult inside. But due to limitations in surveillance, external staff cannot grasp every detail of the sandbox world; they can only control the overall situation and ‘historical trajectory.’ So, it’s possible that religious sprouts appeared in some remote corners of the sandbox… But overall, even if some faith seedlings emerged, before losing control, Sandbox One definitely did not have a mature cult capable of building churches and possessing a complete creation myth. Such a large-scale anomaly would have been noticed.”
Gawain stroked his chin, muttering to himself, “So this cult worshipping the Upper Narrator was born after the sandbox went out of control. Before that, at most, there were some unobservable ideological trends or nascent beliefs… Daniel, one more question: the ‘divine corruption’ observed by the Sleeper—does that refer to the appearance of churches and rituals? Has any ‘divine magic’ or similar power that can affect reality been observed?”
Daniel faithfully relayed Gawain’s question. This time, it was Archbishop Yuri who answered.
“What we observed as ‘divine corruption’ were fragmented, chaotic silhouettes of churches and vague images of ritual activities. Considering the sandbox world is a completely ‘godless domain,’ the mere presence of such distinct fragments already means it has been tainted by divinity. As for ‘divine magic’ capable of influencing reality… that has not been observed.”
The archbishop paused, then added, “If divine magic capable of affecting reality were to leak from the dream-based sandbox world, the situation would be far more serious. It would no longer be mere divine corruption but the arrival of true divine power, beginning to warp the real world! At that point, no matter the cost, we would shut down the entire Mind Network.”
Gawain exhaled thoughtfully. “No further questions for now.”
Daniel then informed the other two archbishops that he had no more doubts. Selina began questioning the gray-robed elder about other matters to better understand the changes inside Sandbox One.
“You mentioned the day the bell rings—what does that signify?”
“The day the bell rings is the ‘Day of Shelter’ proclaimed by the Upper Narrator. It occurs once a week. On that day, at dusk, the bell tolls during the last minute before sunset. People must return home or to other shelters, light lamps, and spend time with family under the protection of the light. They must not leave their homes to wander the streets… You came to the church on the day the bell rang because you were too far from home to return in time?”
“Something like that,” Selina replied casually, then asked, “What happens if someone remains on the street after the bell tolls?”
“They will be punished by the Upper Narrator, subjected to a holy and irresistible ‘deletion,’ vanishing from this world…”
Selina frowned again.
“How many people in the world worship the Upper Narrator?” she asked.
“How could I possibly count?” the gray-robed elder shook his head. “Everyone in the world believes in Him. The number of believers equals the number of people in the world—everyone worships the great Upper Narrator…”
“It seems Sandbox One has been thoroughly corrupted,” Archbishop Yuri sighed softly, turning to Daniel. “A church has even been born inside it… This is something no one expected.”
“Just the birth of a church isn’t the worst part,” Daniel said, shaking his head mid-sentence. “From a security standpoint, my recommendation is to immediately shut down Sandbox One, no matter what secrets remain inside. The strangeness of the situation has already spiraled beyond control. Now is not the time for further research.”
Daniel’s suggestion was the most reasonable choice under the circumstances, but he knew the other archbishops were well aware of it too. They had tried to stop Sandbox One before—the problem was, this runaway dream simply could not be stopped.
Moreover, for some reason, these cultists—who should have been cold and ruthless—resisted the idea of “physically severing” Sandbox One by killing all the brain servants. Even though they realized the situation was out of control, they had never seriously considered this seemingly most effective method.
This baffled both Gawain and Daniel.
Still, Daniel had to voice his recommendation—that was his duty as the security chief.
Hearing Daniel’s words, Selina remained silent for a moment, her deep, calm eyes unreadable. Beside her, Archbishop Yuri sighed.
“We understand perfectly. In fact, no one now expects Sandbox One to be repaired or return to normal. The unanimous decision of the High Archbishop Council is to shut it down, but…”
“Stopping Sandbox One is not so simple,” Selina said calmly. “We have tried many methods, but Sandbox One refuses to execute any commands. All our attempts have failed.”
Daniel hesitated, then, after catching Gawain’s expression out of the corner of his eye, spoke up.
“I heard there’s one method not yet tried… forcibly severing all the brain servants’ neural links.”
Selina looked quietly at Daniel, who stood before her in his refined middle-aged human form. After a long moment, she asked softly, “Do you support this method?”
“…I don’t,” Daniel shook his head. “The losses would be too great. And technically, I’m not sure if suddenly taking so many brain servants offline wouldn’t cause unpredictable damage to the Mind Network—such a violent information surge might even destroy the entire network.”
Daniel didn’t frame his answer in terms of “conscience” or “mercy.” Instead, he spoke from a technical perspective to avoid suspicion. After all, discussing conscience and mercy in a dark cult was odd, and he had once been a cold, ruthless man during his near-madness. The upper echelons of the cult knew this side of him, and he didn’t want to show such a drastic personality shift in front of a senior archbishop like Selina.
“Half of the archbishops oppose this method as well,” Selina said after hearing Daniel’s reply. “That includes me, His Holiness the Pope, and Archbishop Yuri.”
“I know… so I’m curious, Archbishop Selina,” Daniel nodded, choosing his words carefully, “if we set aside technical concerns and accept a high cost, destroying the ‘material basis’ of Sandbox One in the real world should be the most effective way. What are the reasons you and His Holiness oppose this…”
Daniel left the rest unsaid, but the meaning was clear.
Archbishop Yuri glanced at Selina, who held a lantern. She stood there calmly, her deep, tranquil gaze fixed on Daniel for a long moment.
That look didn’t seem to carry pressure, yet Daniel instantly felt as if all his secrets had been laid bare—if not for the pre-set security measures failing to trigger any warnings, he might have suspected she was reading his deepest memories.
After nearly ten seconds, Selina finally withdrew her gaze and spoke slowly.
“Some things are about to cease being secrets.
“There are many reasons we don’t take the ‘effective method’ you mentioned—technical, cost-related, or even… mercy. But none of these is the main reason.
“The main reason is that if Sandbox One remains as it is, then the ‘thing’ inside the sandbox… can at least be contained within the sandbox.”
A faint chill crept into Daniel’s heart.
“You mean…”
“Although we can’t yet be certain what exactly has been brewing inside Sandbox One, His Holiness has already sensed some clues… That thing has undergone a qualitative change. Along with it, Sandbox One itself has transformed. It is no longer simply a dream. The brain servants’ mental matrix, while the material foundation maintaining the sandbox’s operation, is also the last lock on this mutated dream… Breaking this lock might make the dream vanish, but it could also…”
Daniel murmured softly, finishing the sentence Selena hadn’t quite completed: “…or maybe waking up in the real world.”
Selena glanced at him and gave a slight nod. “As long as you understand.”
(End of chapter)