Chapter 944: The Rift in Time and Space

Those “verses” were neither sounds nor written words; they appeared suddenly, like thoughts directly implanted into his mind. It was a direct infusion of information—an experience beyond the reach of human senses, a kind of “hyper-experience.” And for such “hyper-experiences,” Gawain was no stranger.

In fact, he was quite familiar with the verses themselves.

He had encountered relics of the Voyagers more than once. The first two times, they were Eternal Tablets. The first time, he had learned the battle reports of the ancient godslaying war from the information carried by the tablets. The second time, the cryptic, obscure, and ambiguous “verses” he had just received came from those Eternal Tablets!

In an instant, his gaze locked onto the glowing area at the base of the Eternal Storm. He sensed something related to the Voyager legacy was trying to establish contact with him there—something that had likely slumbered at the storm’s core for countless years. He focused all his attention, trying to stabilize that faint connection. But just as he was about to make progress, a sudden cry from Melita broke through from ahead:

“Ah—what’s happening…?”

With that sharp exclamation, the great dragon, which had been attempting to skim the storm’s center at a tilted angle, abruptly began to descend. It was as if some overwhelming force had seized Melita, pulling her downwards at a terrifying angle, plunging headlong into the storm’s most violent, chaotic, and dangerous heart!

“Whoa!!” Amber shouted in alarm, leaping over a meter into the air. “What’s going on? What’s going on? Hey, don’t fall down!!”

“I don’t know! I can’t control it!” Melita yelled ahead, struggling with all her might to maintain her flight posture. Yet some invisible force relentlessly dragged her downward—this mighty dragon was helpless before it, like a small bird caught in a gale. In the blink of an eye, she had dropped to a perilous altitude. “I can’t hold the balance anymore… Everyone, brace yourselves! We’re heading straight for the sea!”

“You didn’t say that when we took off!” Amber shouted, stomping her feet. She immediately rushed to the nearest Arcane Network terminal, prying open its cover with incredible speed and extracting the data crystal embedded in its base. Muttering curses, she clutched the crystal tightly and turned, running toward Gawain while shouting, “Help! Help! Help!”

Gawain reached out, trying to catch Amber as she leapt toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Veronica spread her arms wide, summoning a powerful holy light shield to brace for impact. The dragon’s wings beat backward against the storm’s fury, buffeted by chaotic winds and relentless lightning that illuminated the dark outlines of the clouds. Strange, eerie scenes flickered in the storm’s eye—

And then, everything he saw abruptly shattered.

A chaotic flood of fractured light and shadow slammed into his vision like broken shards of glass. His sight and mental perception were severely disrupted; he couldn’t make out any changes in his surroundings. It felt as if he had crossed a boundary—a kind of watery veil, cold and piercing to the soul. Beyond that boundary, the entire world fell silent.

The sensation of plummeting vanished. The howling storm, the thunder, Melita’s and Amber’s screams—all faded away. Gawain found himself enveloped in profound stillness, as if space itself had frozen. His disturbed vision gradually cleared, and the scattered light and shadow began to coalesce into a distinct image.

Before him lay a dim, murky sea, at its center a colossal whirlpool. Rising from the vortex was a strange, spire-like steel structure. Around it, countless massive, bizarre shapes emerged from the water and air, seemingly besieging the “spire” that jutted above the sea. Near the steel spire, numerous dragons circled in defense, locked in a desperate battle against the ferocious attackers.

And yet, everything was frozen.

The entire sea, the strange “spire,” the attacking behemoths, the guarding dragons—even every wave on the surface and every droplet suspended in the air—were motionless before Gawain. A dark blue, almost color-drained hue coated everything, lending the scene an eerie, oppressive atmosphere.

After a stunned two seconds, Gawain snapped back to reality. He quickly shifted his gaze to those around and beneath him.

Melita was frozen too, suspended midair like an element of this vast static tableau, her scales dulled by the same muted color. Veronica stood still as well, arms outstretched in the holy light summoning pose—but no light flowed from her hands. Amber was motionless, still caught mid-leap toward him.

Gawain instinctively turned his neck.

He realized he was not frozen. In fact, he might be the only one here still able to move.

A strange, unsettling sensation washed over him from all directions. He took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to calm.

Looking up, he saw the entire sky enclosed by a hemispherical “shell” hanging overhead like a shattered mirror. Outside the shell, the massive cyclone was frozen in place, a storm and inverted sea locked in suspension. Farther out, lightning bolts were embedded like jewels in the cloud walls—also frozen in time.

This was the eye of the Eternal Storm, the storm’s deepest core—a place even dragons like Melita knew nothing about.

This was the eye of a time-frozen storm.

Standing on Melita’s motionless back, Gawain frowned, pondering for a long while. Realizing this bizarre state was unlikely to resolve itself naturally, he decided he had to act.

Staying put wouldn’t change his predicament. Though rash action was dangerous, there was no hope of rescue in this remote, storm-ravaged sea. And since even dragons couldn’t approach the storm’s eye, taking the initiative was his only option.

First, he checked on Amber and Veronica, confirming they were merely frozen, unharmed. Then he drew his Pioneer’s longsword, preparing to leave a message for them—just in case they suddenly regained mobility like he had, so they’d understand the situation.

He hesitated over where to carve the message, but finally, with a hint of apology, he etched it onto a dragon scale right in front of Amber. Melita surely wouldn’t mind this small “emergency exception,” and she had even said before that she didn’t mind “passengers” leaving minor “scratches” on her scales. After some thought, Gawain figured a few words on her vast back would be a mere “scratch” to a dragon of her size.

With that done, he exhaled and moved to the edge of Melita’s giant wing. After gauging the height to the sea below, he summoned his inner strength and leapt.

As a legendary warrior, even without being a mage or knowing flight spells, he could manage brief hovering and slow descent. Between Melita and the sea were strange floating debris—remnants of wreckage—that he could use as stepping stones. Using them to control his fall, he swiftly made his way down to the sea surface.

The moment his foot touched the frozen ocean, a strange sensation rippled through him. The water, solid as it seemed, wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined, nor was it liquid like normal sea water. It had a peculiar elasticity. His foot sank slightly, but when he pressed down firmly, the sinking stopped.

He felt as steady as if standing on solid ground.

“Strange…” Gawain murmured to himself. “There was definitely a moment of sinking and bounce just now…”

No one answered.

He shook his head, took another deep breath, and looked out toward the distance.

At the center of the swirling sea stood the towering steel structure, like a bizarre mountain. Its surface was seamless armor, covered with countless mysterious protrusions. From the air, Gawain hadn’t grasped its scale, but now from the sea level, he realized how immense it truly was—larger than any ship built by the Cecile Empire, taller than any tower humanity had ever constructed. Only part of it rose above the water, yet even that was awe-inspiring.

His gaze shifted to the massive shapes floating near the sea and in the air—the attackers surrounding the vortex.

Their forms were wildly varied, some resembling monstrous sea creatures with seven or eight heads, others like giant beasts forged from rock and ice, some appeared as blazing fireballs or indescribable gaseous masses. Farther from the “battlefield,” Gawain even glimpsed a vague humanoid silhouette—a giant wielding a long sword, clad in a battle robe woven from starlight and flowing flames. The giant strode over the waves, its sword burning with blood-red fire…

Gawain set off, striding swiftly across the frozen sea toward the heart of the vortex’s “battlefield ruins.” The legendary knight’s charge neared supersonic speed; he darted like a phantom among the colossal figures and floating debris, all the while scrutinizing every detail of this eerie “battlefield.”

Though the attackers’ appearances were bizarre, they all shared one trait: immense size. In Gawain’s memory, only the great stag Amorn or the Overnarrator Narithil Duvalet had forms comparable to these. Once that thought surfaced, his mind couldn’t help but delve deeper—

Who were these massive “attackers”? Why had they gathered here? Were they assaulting that steel construct at the center of the vortex? This place looked like a battlefield, but when had the battle taken place? Everything here was frozen in time… How long had it been still, and who—or what—had stopped it?

Gawain moved closer to the heart of the vortex. The sea surface was sharply tilted, littered with twisted, solidified wreckage and flames frozen in mid-roar. He had to slow down, carefully searching for a path forward. As he eased his pace, he glanced upward—toward the sky above the vortex, where countless winged shadows blotted out the sun.

There was no mistaking it: dragons. Hundreds, maybe thousands of colossal dragons.

They circled the steel construct at the vortex’s core, unleashing powerful breath attacks and a variety of spells and weapons to fend off the enormous creatures pressing in from all sides. Yet the dragons held no clear advantage. The enemy had already broken through their defenses. The steel construct, fiercely guarded by the dragons, was badly damaged. This was a battle doomed to fail—though frozen in time, Gawain could see only a single moment of the stalemate, but from what he observed, he could already foresee the inevitable outcome.

…But the crucial question was: had the battle truly ended? Had a victor been decided?

Gawain stopped moving. The path ahead was blocked by massive obstacles and frozen flames, making progress nearly impossible. He ceased rushing and instead surveyed the frozen battlefield, pondering.

If some force were to break this stasis, would the battle instantly resume? Would this war—whose time and place were lost to history—continue until a victor emerged? Or would everything here simply dissolve into nothingness, becoming a forgotten wisp of history?

Gawain wasn’t even sure if what he saw was “real.” He suspected this might be a kind of frozen echo left behind by a suspended moment in time—a snapshot preserved by the strange temporal structure here. The war itself might have long since ended, but this scene remained, a ghostly imprint in the fabric of time.

So… which was the truth?

(The End of This Chapter)