Chapter 114.2: Dreamchaser
Amid the intense soul-wrenching pain, Yang Qiu began to hallucinate.
In the foul-smelling fishing port of a poor seaside town, a man standing by a rundown wooden boat looked at Yang Qiu in surprise.
The man smiled at him ingratiatingly. After exchanging a few pleasantries between strangers, he made an excuse and left, running into town without looking back.
He had discovered a wanted criminal worth 90,000 gold coins and was rushing back to inform the sheriff.
When Yang Qiu left the town, the fisherman, who had toiled for his family for more than a decade, was hanged on a rack drying fishnets with his arms and legs broken.
He hadn't really done anything wrong; he just wanted to get rich. So, Yang Qiu didn't make things difficult for him but he did cause the sheriff to hang out in the cold wind all night, and the sheriff certainly wouldn't let the poor fisherman off for that.
The man in the hallucination stared at Yang Qiu while taking his last breath. There was no hatred in his eyes, only pleading.
Yang Qiu remembered this pleading gaze for many years.
The vision of the poor fisherman dissipated, and what appeared in front of Yang Qiu was a large group of people.
A large group of people, skin and bones, dressed only in tattered rags. Their faces were blurry.
Yang Qiu stared at this group of people for a long time and slowly recalled, Ah, it's you people.
Refugees.
Natural disasters were frequent in the Navalon continent, but there were no aid groups in this world.
Refugees who could not survive and had no choice but to flee were regarded by municipalities as troublesome hot potatoes.
Yang Qiu did not know where this group of people came from. He only remembered that he had come across this group of people when he was fleeing from the holy land of the Radiant Sun Church.
With pursuers hot on his heels, Yang Qiu couldn't stay.
Even though he knew that this group of refugees, struggling to survive the harsh winter, had no chance of being accepted by the Holy Land. They would be driven away, pushed into the desolate wilderness, and quietly die in a place where no one could see he didn't do anything but glance at this group of refugees before hastily leaving.
I haven't forgotten you all How could I? Not far from these refugees, a magic steam train roared past.
The phantoms of the refugees disappeared like popping bubbles, replaced by the images of another group of people.
Yang Qiu looked at these phantoms that lingered deep in his soul, his inner turmoil gradually calming.
He knew very well that these images were his inner demons, manifestations of his own powerlessness, of the guilt and regret etched into his soul.
He had never wanted to forget these things. When he saw them again, he didn't feel embarrassed; he just understood himself on a deeper level.
Over the course of three hundred years, he had come to terms with his own powerlessness many times. It was an objective fact, and there was no need to disguise or romanticize it.
After a long time, Yang Qiu revealed a faint smile. "I see you I remember you.
"Forever."
The magic swirling around Yang Qiu suddenly surged upward.
This active, boiling magical power instantly attracted the dormant magical power within a kilometer radius. From inside and outside the forest, countless magical powers flowed toward him, coalescing and converging to gradually form a magical vortex.
Even the Holy Land's prophets, who held sealing artifacts, avoided this contaminated magical power, which swirled, boiled, intermingled, and solidified over the course of about ten minutes, becoming a visible irregular crystal.
Yang Qiu looked up at the massive translucent magical crystal, and with a push from the ground, he stood up.
The gigantic irregular crystal floated in midair, rotating slowly, enveloping Yang Qiu in a radiant glow.
Several kilometers away, in the Sorenson Mountains, mercenaries guarding a caravan from the southern continent passing through a "safe passage" watched in amazement. They saw a dazzling light emanating from the mountaintop, and their eyes widened in shock.
"That Is that a Gate of Ascension?"
"Could someone have come all the way to the Sorenson Mountains to advance?"
"Oh gods, with such a massive Gate of Ascension, could it be that someone is ascending to the fabled level?!"
The mercenaries marveled at the sight but soon realized the potential danger. The captain quickly urged them, "Don't just stand there! Let's hurry! A Gate of Ascension at such a level is not something to be taken lightly. If the person who triggered it loses control, it will be a big problem!" Upon hearing the captain's words, the mercenaries picked up their pace, leaving behind the spectacular Gate of Ascension.
The "Gate of Ascension" was not a literal gate but a beam of light. Those enveloped by the light would prefer to call it a "Gate."
For those who sought to transcend their current state, whether they were spellcasters or professional individuals, crossing the "Gate of Ascension" was a necessary step.
The "Gate of Ascension" was not a door to another place but a path to transcendence.
The moment Yang Qiu entered the "Gate," he found himself in a vast, white, ethereal world.
Behind the "Gate" was something like a void, yet not quite a void.
The void was the end of nothingness, the location of all fears, and the ultimate destination of all annihilation.
Beyond the "Gate" lay order, rules, and the scrutiny and trials of dimensional laws.
As Yang Qiu emerged from the disorientation of entering the "Gate," he felt the familiar, suffocating pressure as if he had been submerged in a deep sea.
This feeling was dreadful; the air seemed thick like a liquid, making it difficult to breathe. It wasn't just a physical burden; mentally and spiritually, it felt as though invisible hands were pressing down on him, as if they intended to push him into the ground, crushing his spirit and will entirely.
This wasn't some deity's sadistic whim; it was simply the pressure exerted by the dimensional laws beyond the "Gate," an unconscious imposition of its authority.
Yang Qiu, who had been here twice, naturally wasn't too fazed by this level of pressure. After adapting to the environment beyond the "Gate," Yang Qiu raised his head and looked at the sky.
Above him was a massive, cold, and pale pupil.
"Eye of Truth," Yang Qiu called out its real name.
The pale and colorless pupil turned to Yang Qiu.
Dimensional laws were not sentient beings; they lacked consciousness and emotions. When a living being invoked its true name lightly through the "Gate," it would grant them a completely impartial baptism.
A surging energy descended from the pale pupil and gushed toward Yang Qiu.
Yang Qiu spread his arms and calmly accepted the impact.
The power bestowed by the Eye of Truth during this baptism depended on the scale of the "Gate" crossed by the living being.
This could be considered the fairest treatment for the living beings in this magical realm, apart from death. It was also the only ladder to heaven that those born in unfavorable circumstances could rely on.
However, the power in this world was toxic. Even the Eye of Truth, representing the dimensional laws, bestowed a poisonous baptism despite its impartiality.
The moment he was struck by the power, Yang Qiu's entire body trembled violently, and even his consciousness started to blur.
An indescribable flow of information surged through every inch of his nerves, and each second felt excruciatingly long, driving him to the brink of madness.
While struggling against the torrential baptism of power, the hallucinations that had disappeared not long ago resurfaced.
Moreover, they were stronger and clearer than when Yang Qiu had used the special environment of the Sorenson Mountains to pre-enact the baptism.
Yang Qiu convulsed, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, his vision spinning.
The images of the refugees he had once abandoned to their fate almost solidified on his retinas. He vividly saw the lifeless gaze of those frail faces, how they had become numb.
As he enforced his idea of justice in a crude and brutal manner, the very people he wanted to helpthose refugeesfeared and loathed him more than the individuals he was targeting.
He began to tremble, his body and soul shaken to the core.
His mind descended into chaos.
Regretful tears mingled with the taste of blood in his mouth.
In his daze, a melody suddenly echoed in his mind.
In moments of confusion and exhaustion, this melody had pulled him out of desolation countless times, urging him to keep moving forward.
"Run forward, facing cold stares and mockery
"The vastness of life cannot be felt without enduring hardships
"Fate cannot make us kneel, even if our arms are covered in blood"
Yang Qiu opened his bloodshot eyes, gasping for breath as he spat out the blood in his mouth.
His nerves, soul, and body felt like they were being ruthlessly washed away by a turbulent, razor-sharp torrent. The pain was almost unbearable.
But his mind was clear now.
The melody he was so familiar with, the one he had loved even before his journey through time, carried all his longing for his homeland throughout the three hundred long years. It had already seeped into his very bones.
Now, it was instinctively awakened from within his bones, surging out and nourishing his will and spirit.
"The brilliance of life cannot be seen without persisting to the end
"Instead of lingering and gasping for breath, embrace it with all your heart. For the sake of the beauty in your heart, never compromise until you grow old
"I, an old man, will never compromise!"
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