Chapter 816: The Line of Reality

Spiritual contamination is a two-way street.

At least, that’s how Gawain saw it.

Based on the experimental data provided by the Sleepless and the technical documents left behind by the Defiers, Gawain was now almost certain that the birth of gods was tied to mortal belief—or more precisely, to the collective consciousness of mortals projected into some deep dimension of this world, giving rise to deities. If this model held true, then interacting face-to-face with a god was essentially a process of mutual sanity loss—a reciprocal contamination.

A god’s knowledge would flood and corrupt any mind it connected with, unchecked and unstoppable (at least, Gawain hadn’t yet figured out how to block this link). Conversely, the minds that connected with gods would inevitably exert a reverse influence. But one thing was clear: ordinary human minds were no match for divine intellect. So this process of mutual sanity loss became a one-sided erosion.

But what if there was a mind immune to the god’s knowledge, yet equipped with a vast memory repository, interfacing directly with the deity?

The Overarching Narrator—the towering, mountain-like entity—began to crack, its fragmented torso slowly collapsing. Its remaining strength struggled to hold itself together, but as the divine patterns dimmed, that residual power quickly faded. Gawain stood quietly, watching it all unfold, while continuously suppressing and dissipating the corruption invading his own mind.

The erosion he suffered was severe—far worse than it appeared on the surface. This time, he wasn’t facing a god’s flesh sealed inside a crystal cube, nor a pseudo-god stitched together with biotech. The Overarching Narrator was a true, complete, living god. Even if it was weak, it possessed a unique divine persona. To confront such spiritual contamination head-on was a risky gamble.

But it was the only option Gawain could think of.

No sword or blade could kill an Overarching Narrator. No matter how skilled in combat, one could not fight a nightmare itself. To destroy an intangible, immaterial god, one had to wield the same kind of intangible, immaterial force. In previous battles, his swordplay against Duvalet had been nothing more than a facade—both sides masking their spiritual contamination.

Gawain glanced down at his hands and noticed his arms were gradually regaining their human form. Only then did he allow himself a small sigh of relief.

The Overarching Narrator was a young, inexperienced god—that was Gawain’s only advantage. If it had been one of the ancient gods who had existed for countless ages in the real world… well, it was better not to take such reckless risks.

In the depths of darkness, beside the spiderweb, the mysterious birdcage silently disintegrated. Selina felt the invisible force suppressing her power begin to dissipate. Without checking her own condition, she hurried over to Gawain’s side. Watching him slowly return to human form, she finally breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Is it over?” she asked, glancing between Gawain and the fallen Overarching Narrator, disbelief in her voice.

Gawain didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on the massive spider crawling at the center of the web. He asked himself: Is it really over? Just like this?

A flicker of doubt and alertness surfaced in his mind. His expression suddenly turned serious. “Wait—maybe not yet!”

He stared intently at the seemingly lifeless spider god, speaking rapidly: “Duvalet said he was the ‘humanity’ of the Overarching Narrator… so where is the corresponding ‘divinity’? And what about those ‘cocoons’ the Narrator was protecting earlier—where are they?!”

Selina’s mind snapped into focus as well, as if a previously blocked part of her consciousness suddenly reactivated, making her realize a crucial detail she had overlooked. “That girl… Narithil?!”

…

Deep within the Sleepless’s underground palace, the voice of Archbishop Semler echoed down the long corridor leading to the central chamber:

“Shortly after the operation began, things went wrong. The containment zones were contaminated first, then other areas. Many priests who were perfectly normal suddenly became followers of the Overarching Narrator—we had to treat everyone with the utmost suspicion…”

“I understand,” Magnus said gruffly. “That Overarching Narrator… it’s truly sinister. I only caught a glimpse of it in the sandbox, and I nearly didn’t make it back! But luckily, I found a way to quickly identify those who are contaminated…”

“Don’t mention your ‘method’ again,” Yuri interrupted with a look of utter disdain. “In all my decades, I’ve never heard such crude language. I’m starting to suspect you didn’t leave the War God’s Church because you were secretly studying heretical texts, but because your manners were so foul they kicked you out!”

Magnus glared. “Well, that was one of the charges they pinned on me—so what?”

Semler’s face darkened even further, more somber than usual. Ignoring the conversation behind him, he kept his expression tight and pressed forward.

Yuri sighed and fell silent.

Magnus, noticing no one was responding, shrugged indifferently and strode forward, walking in the middle of the group.

The deep, endless corridor stretched toward the heart of the underground palace. The glow from the magic crystal lamps reflected off the helmets of the spirit knights, casting a bright sheen.

Suddenly, a faint, translucent shadow flickered at the corner of Magnus’s eye, causing him to stop instinctively.

It looked like part of a massive arthropod limb, nearly invisible and transparent. It passed through the nearby walls and ceiling, flashing at the edge of Magnus’s vision before quickly retreating back into the wall.

“Archbishop Magnus?” Yuri noticed Magnus’s sudden halt and serious expression, and immediately stopped as well. “What’s wrong?”

“Yuri, I think I just saw something flash by,” Magnus said gravely. “Like some kind of limb… a spider’s.”

Semler immediately frowned and scanned the surroundings, then shook his head after reviewing his memory. “I saw nothing.”

Everyone else shook their heads too. It seemed only Magnus had seen the fleeting apparition.

An illusion? A misperception? A hallucination caused by stress and exhaustion?

Several such thoughts briefly crossed the minds of the priests but were dismissed almost instantly. Yuri raised his hand, summoning invisible magic that manifested as a ripple of runes spreading through the corridor—“Mind Scan!”

Other priests and spirit knights took action as well. Some activated protective spells, others scanned for unknown spiritual imprints nearby, while some raised weapons and formed defensive formations to protect the more vulnerable priests in the center.

The Sleepless never dismissed “seeing things” lightly, nor did they trust so-called “stress hallucinations.”

They were experts in the realm of dreams and explorers of the spiritual world, walking a dangerous path of confrontation with gods. Their vigilance bordered on paranoia. If anyone in the group reported an abnormal sight, whether real or not, they’d throw out twenty mind scans just to be safe.

Yet, even after all the detection spells were activated, no one found any trace of what Magnus described. No abnormal spiritual imprints were sensed in the corridor’s space.

“Nothing found…” Archbishop Semler said in a low voice.

“Whether or not we find anything, maintain the highest alert,” Yuri warned. “Detection spells aren’t foolproof—there are too many things in this world invisible to mortals.” Then he looked at Magnus. “Keep your eyes open. Some things… maybe only you can see.”

Magnus blinked, meeting Yuri’s solemn gaze, and understood what he meant.

He had once accidentally looked directly at the Overarching Narrator without protection.

Perhaps some irreversible damage had already been etched deep into his soul.

The entire team remained on high alert as they continued toward the underground palace’s core.

Behind them, far down the long corridor, the faint, nearly transparent shadow flickered again.

It was a spider’s limb segment, passing through walls and ceiling, moving swiftly—as if an enormous, invisible spider was crawling through the stone and soil beneath the earth, weaving an unseen web.

Magnus and Yuri followed Semler’s lead until they finally reached the palace’s central chamber—the control hub and largest computational center of Sandbox One.

This was the most critical, core area of the entire Sleepless headquarters, a place to be guarded at all costs, never to be breached.

Relying on its sturdy walls and relatively spacious interior, Archbishop Semler had established multiple defensive lines and hastily formed a “Bishops’ Battle Group” composed of remaining bishops and archbishops to guard it. All priests confirmed safe and uncontaminated had been gathered here, while several squads of spirit knights and battle priests patrolled other areas of the palace, suppressing those tainted by the Overarching Narrator and searching for any remaining clear-minded comrades.

The vast, fortified hall was tense and battle-ready.

Fully armed spirit knights guarded every entrance, with obstacles set up in the outer corridors and connecting rooms. Battle priests clad in combat robes and light metal armor stood behind barricades, monitoring the mental states of their comrades.

Inside the hall, around massive stone pillars in the center, technical priests responsible for controlling the sandbox system and the psychic network sat neatly at their consoles, neural cables connected to the backs of their heads, maintaining system operations.

Before connecting, they had given themselves strong psychological suggestions: even if the hall was breached and blades pressed to their throats, these tech priests would keep the system running until the very last moment.

Yuri noticed signs of recent fighting in the outer corridors, and some unconscious tech priests lying in a corner inside the hall.

He and Magnus had spent a full day and night inside the sandbox world, but only about two hours had passed outside. Yet, in those brief two hours, so much had happened in the real world.

The contamination and chaos inside the underground palace were likely even more dangerous than Semler had described.

Before entering the hall, Magnus carefully inspected the barricades and troop placements in the corridors, then checked the weapons and reserves along the walls inside the hall. Only then did he nod to Semler. “Not bad.”

As a former War God priest, he could tell the emergency defenses had been professionally advised.

“A few of the priests were once soldiers. I temporarily promoted them to command roles. Without them, things would be much worse,” Semler said gravely. “Just before I left to check on you, we faced a counterattack. Contaminated spirit knights nearly broke through the hall’s defenses… Raising weapons against our own is never easy.”

“Leave the professional work to the professionals. Your decision was right. As for raising weapons against our own…” Magnus shook his head. “This mess—we’ll settle it once we all survive.”

“Archbishop Yuri, Archbishop Magnus, it’s good to see you both safe.”

A gentle, magnetic voice echoed through the hall as a woman in a flowing white gown emerged from the depths of the chamber. Her demeanor was calm and graceful—a priestess of serene presence.

“Archbishop Wendy,” Yuri was the first to notice her, eyes widening in shock. “I heard it was you… Is that blood?!”

He stared at the leader of the psychic choir before him. The pristine white fabric of her dress was now stained with dark, glaring crimson. The blood had soaked through the material, forming intricate, twisting runes across the bodice and hem—strange and mysterious symbols that seemed almost otherworldly.

But as Yuri’s gaze lingered on the runes, the tension in his chest eased considerably. He recognized what they were—gifts from the Outer Wanderers, the “Deep Sea’s Blessing,” a rare ward against divine spiritual corruption.

Wendy smiled faintly, her complexion a little pale. “I came out to deliver the message,” she explained, “but I feared that if I left the room and stepped away from the runes, the corruption inside me would flare up again. So I had to ‘carry’ the runes with me. The blood… it was the only magical conduit I could find down there.”

She raised her wrist, revealing a healing wound on her arm. Though the flesh was mostly mended by restorative spells, the dried blood still clung stubbornly, untouched.

Using her own blood to inscribe the runes was a desperate measure. The containment zone was filled with corrupted followers of the higher narrators, but Wendy worried that their tainted blood might be unsafe. So she had no choice but to use her own.

Watching Wendy—the “Spirit Song” priestess—emerge, stained in blood to deliver her report; seeing the battle scars along the corridor outside the hall; noting the barricades set up deep within the catacombs, guarded by priests and knights behind them, Yuri let out a soft sigh.

But after that breath, he lifted his head again—because the danger was far from over.

(End of chapter)