Dominion Over the Dream
Serredi, drenched in cold sweat, resolved to abandon her interference and revert to her soul form to escape Theorad's dream.
Ugh...! But no matter how she thrashed to break free from Theorad's world or channeled her magical will to clarify her intent, she couldn't escape. Her mind went blank. Her body, heavy as iron rebar, refused to move as she willed. It felt as if invisible hands gripped her entire form, dragging her downward.
This can't be happening. Panicking at this unprecedented sensation in her lifetime, Serredi suddenly felt chills ripple across her skin as a thought struck her.
No way.
Was the elf before her not merely interfering with Theorad's dream, but dominating it? Serredi couldn't fathom the exquisite magical technique or the vast mana capacity required to objectify the abstract and erect barriers within another's dream.
"Still, this seems to be a dream, alright."
A faint voice drifted over languidly, as if the elf couldn't care less about Serredi's desperate struggles to flee. Propping her chin on the armrest of her chair, the elf continued.
"The flowers blanketing that hill back then were daisies. They wouldn't have bloomed in such a harmonious mix like this. The wreath Theorad made for me was daisies too. But in this dream, the wreath is marigolds."
What did that matter? As Serredi eyed her suspiciously, the elf murmured low.
"Do you know the meaning of marigolds?"
"Uh, no...?"
"Happiness that will surely come."
The elf smiled bitterly. You had no idea what I've been through all this time, yet you believed I'd find happiness someday. She knew it stemmed from young Theorad's pure kindness. But to her heart, scarred time and again, it was a cruelty too harsh to accept.
"The unconscious is a wondrous thing. Did Theorad that day want to tell me I'd be happy someday? Or is it just a mix-up in memory?"
Her voice sank, laced with melancholy. Watching her for a moment, Serredi mustered her courage and spoke up. She figured flattering the elf would boost her chances of survival.
"Um... It doesn't seem like a bad memory, so why erase it?"
"Because of a promise."
The elf rose without hesitation, her answer immediate. The chair dissolved into tiny particles, scattering like dandelion seeds.
"And it was Theorad who asked me to erase it. Said it was the righteous thing to do."
"...What kind of promise?"
"A boring one. But..."
Turning, the elf faced Serredi. Shadows crept across her expressionless face.
"You. Didn't I tell you to stay put?"
It had come at last. Serredi swallowed hard and forced an awkward laugh.
"Ahaha... I was just bored while sleeping and thought I'd explore someone else's dream. No other intentions, I swear!"
"I might believe your contract, but not your oaths. Especially after you ignored my warning twice. Time for punishment."
The elf snapped her fingers lightly.
KABOOM!
Behind Serredi, a Giant Worm burst through the ground, shattering the surface. Dust billowed as the massive beast thrashed, then gaped its maw wide. A sticky tongue of tentacles unfurled into hundreds of writhing strands.
Watching in horror, Serredi dropped to her knees.
"E-elf? Please, forgive me...!"
"No."
"Even if I'm a succubus, getting swallowed there would shatter my mind! I might go insane for real...! Please, just one more mercy...!"
"I've endured your rudeness twice already. Sparing your life is restraint enough."
So. With a graceful wave, the elf pointed at the Giant Worm.
"Have fun."
Serredi felt the world crumble.
*
Meanwhile, at the imperial palace's training grounds.
Under the watchful eyes of a few imperial knights (who'd tagged along under the guise of escort), Baynen trudged down the well-paved path, hating the silk clothes clinging to his body. A noble who'd introduced himself as the palace protocol officer had nagged him into them, and the unfamiliar softness felt burdensome rather than luxurious.
"Wakin' me up from sleep just to change clothes—what's the point...?"
Baynen grumbled irritably, and Roilen, leading the way ahead, gave an embarrassed chuckle.
"Sorry it's so late. Her Highness the Princess wanted to see your face."
"Nah, it's fine."
Baynen replied curtly, then looked up to survey the training grounds. First to catch his eye were the glowing orbs floating above, illuminating the field like daylight despite the late hour.
Magic tools, huh. Must guzzle magic stones. Even elite knight orders rarely used them due to cost, yet the palace treated them like common fixtures. Baynen marveled anew at the imperial might, then lowered his gaze.
In the open arena, two knights dueled the princess. Clad in light armor, she parried their strikes in sequence, holding her own.
Standing up to two knights? It defied common sense. Knights were weapons forged from childhood swordplay, endless physical drills, and lethal techniques in their orders. Veterans like these wielded mana adeptly through breathing exercises, rivaling mages in capacity. In essence, knights and mages just channeled mana differently—knights unleashed their inner reserves for feats of prowess.
And indeed, the two knights pressed her now with mana-infused blades, blue auras gleaming sharply on their real swords.
She's barely twenty, from what I hear. Was she just showboating against knights wary of her status? Or fighting in earnest? Baynen narrowed his eyes, observing the bout.
Clang!Clang! Sparks flew with each clash. Yet the princess's stance never wavered as she blocked, her stable mana countering their refined auras. Even under relentless assault, her expression remained unchanged—a testament to years of rigorous training, calm amid chaos.
Hoh.
Impressive. How did someone so young possess such skill?
They called her an unprecedented genius. Seemed no exaggeration.
Baynen smirked as he watched—then the princess stumbled back, foot slipping, her face visibly flustered.
Someone unflappable in battle suddenly errs big? A trap. Psychological bait to lure the foe. The knight, blind to her intent, seized the opening and raised his sword high.
In that instant, her blade flashed like lightning.
Thud! Her thrust shattered his barrier and slammed his armor, sending him tumbling like a ball with a scream.
One knight left. As the remaining one hesitated at his comrade's fall, she hurled her longsword without pause.
Thwack! In the same breath, she drew a dagger from her bosom and charged. The knight twisted to dodge the flying sword—then she kicked off the ground, lunging.
Crash! Tumbling with him, she sprang up, reversed her grip on the dagger, and aimed for the gap in his helmet. Gasping, the knight raised his hand in surrender.
Baynen was dumbfounded.
Well, damn...
Her combat sense and technique were beyond her twenty years. But it wasn't just skill—it jarred. Benelia was imperial blood, the empire's third princess and military minister, ruling vast lands. She should embody grace and nobility, yet she fought like a grizzled mercenary. Efficient, yes, but alienating.
"..."
Sweeping sweat-matted hair back, Benelia rose. Attendant eunuchs rushed in, retrieving her sword and unfastening her armor with practiced ease.
Baynen let out a low groan. Her revealed figure was alluring beyond expectation.
Fine, you're the real deal—an unprecedented genius.
As he inwardly admired, Benelia—now in a loose shirt—sheathed her sword and approached, golden eyes flickering with faint interest amid boredom.
"You? The fool who fled without finishing the final volume."
"Your Highness...!"
Roilen answered for him.
"His Majesty ordered seclusion—yet you're sparring here! Rumors will spread through the palace by tomorrow!"
"Roilen, no hysterics. Father permitted training grounds use."
"Ah... Then why not inform us in advance...?"
"Ridiculous. Must I report every move to you?"
"N-no!"
Roilen bowed hastily and retreated. Benelia shot him a displeased glance, then turned to Baynen.
"Roilen briefed me on you beforehand—vague idea of your sort. Famous mercenary once, weren't you? Why serve as retainer knight to House Deharm?"
"I owe a debt to the previous lord, Wellian. Beyond that, I like young master Theorad plenty. No reason not to stay."
"Loyal for an ex-merc. I respect it, but won't forgive your crime. I shan't feud with House Deharm, so a light punishment suffices. Satisfied?"
Baynen shook his head.
"No matter how I think, punishment for not finishing a book is unjust."
"Unjust?"
"Yes. But I'm not just claiming injustice to evade it. Grant me a chance to explain why I halted serialization!"
Bold. Like a general marching to doomed battle. But boldness alone wouldn't sway an imperial princess. Benelia eyed him coldly.
"You know I didn't summon you for excuses."
"I do! But you'll have no regrets hearing it!"
"No regrets? And if I do?"
"My wrist on the line."
Roilen flinched nearby. Benelia hid her surprise, but felt it too.
Madman? She'd offered leniency—now he wagered his wrist? Insane, clearly. Normally she'd agree, but as Deharm retainer, with ties to Theorad she valued, she hesitated.
Reading her pause as doubt, Baynen pressed earnestly.
"Professor Roilen says Your Highness devours all erotica, knowing every tale. But not the ones whispered among mercenaries."
"Mercenaries?"
"Yes. A famous one: a merc beds an orc chieftain and wins freedom from captivity."
Benelia's eyebrow twitched—curiosity stirred. Baynen caught it, smirking triumphantly.
"Grant my plea, and I'll share the tale of conquering that orc chieftain."
He emphasized experience. No one could resist now. He trusted even Benelia wouldn't.
Baynen read her next play like a gambler's life-or-death bet.
"You're one crazy bastard."
Failure? Tense, he watched—then Benelia smiled thinly, hand on her sword's pommel.
"Fine. Let's hear it."
Baynen inwardly cheered. The gamble paid off!