Dream (3) & Dream (4)

"…Definitely. This was a family feud that crossed the line."

Before Alan could say a word, the tent burst into flames. Fleeing the spreading fire and smoke, he stepped outside to find pandemonium in every direction.

Fitting for mages, the living embodiments of raw firepower, each attack unleashed a spectacular firework display. Even with Evie's assistance, they were generating mana structures directly inside their own bodies, and the resulting power was staggering.

At times they linked their thoughts through their Brain Expansion Devices, pooling their mental resources to the limit and casting combined spells in unison. A colossal bird born of flame swooped down upon the enemy line.

The sheer magnitude of power packed into that bird was such that the shockwave of the collision alone set Alan's Power Suit rattling. Burning flames reflected across his visor.

"What in the world is—"

"Move."

Taylor grabbed his arm and hauled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him to one side. Alan didn't particularly resist, so he simply followed the direction the man led him.

"See that? The entrance to the ruins the mages were guarding."

To be precise, it was a black passage connecting the ruins to the Labyrinth. That spot alone pulsed with an ominous haze of black mist.

"Let's get out of here, fast."

"But—"

"Worried about Lorenzo's people? Look again."

When Alan turned his head, the tide of battle had completely flipped. It had been evenly matched just moments ago, but now Damas's forces were overwhelmingly dominant.

They were slaughtering Lorenzo's mage subordinates. Since the fight had already broken out anyway, they had thrown off the restraints they'd been pretending to wear, in full.

"There's nothing we can do. Move. Now."

"Just a moment."

"Brother Alan, we must escape at once."

As Alan stood frozen, Shiva joined in, pushing at his back. The pressure from the two of them grew steadily stronger.

His mind accelerated. Within the slowed current of time, only Alan's thoughts raced ahead.

'Just like that?'

Alan felt a jarring sense of wrongness. He could understand Taylor's behavior—Alan's safety was always the man's first priority.

'But Shiva?'

The usual Shiva would have tried to mediate the fight somehow. Even amid all that chaos, he had more than enough strength to still make his voice heard.

'Come to think of it, the Cube—'

Every time he'd tried to take out the Cube, the Labyrinth Tinnitus had flared. Earlier, when he'd ignored it and reached into his chest, the collision had occurred.

Alan possessed an extraordinarily acute sensitivity to mana, yet he'd noticed nothing until the mages destroyed something. Even with magic so saturated with firepower, he should have sensed the warning signs.

Alan rewound his memories. Like a video played in reverse, they flickered past in rapid succession. Shiva in prayer. Taylor brimming with erudition. Box and Leopard getting along amiably. And the dream.

That was what the figure presumed to be a dragon had said, when Alan unraveled the chain of magic.

'What if that itself was the deception?'

Alan began operating his mana roughly, heedless of the strain on his body. The light at his glabella blazed so fiercely it punched through the visor. And he reached into his chest.

'Gone.'

The Cube he had stored in the inner compartment was not in his hand. Still in that pose, Alan looked around.

Taylor gripping his arm. Shiva pushing his back. Both of them looked like black shadows.

< Dream (3) — End >

< Dream (4) >

Alan stared at the pair who had become shadows—or who had perhaps been shadows all along. They did nothing hostile; they simply kept trying to haul him out of the ruins.

He checked the storage compartment inside the Power Suit again. Even after searching it thoroughly, the Cube he'd stowed there was nowhere to be found.

Only Alan himself could open the Power Suit, and anyone who tried to force it open would have to pay a steep price for the attempt.

He wore it at all times except when washing, and even then he simply stood it upright beside him while he cleaned it. So rather than assuming someone had stolen it—

'Am I still dreaming? Since when? When I first arrived at the ruins? When I first got the Cube? When I first met the dragon?'

It was clear he'd been caught in some kind of spell through the dream. The reason he hadn't noticed was either that the caster was a mage of unfathomably lofty attainment, or that it had been worked on him while he slept.

'If a powerful mage wanted the Cube, they could simply have taken it by force. The dream is the problem.'

When Alan stood still, the shadows mimicking Taylor and Shiva tugged at him impatiently.

"Let's get out of here already."

"Brother, there is no time."

Taylor, first of all. He was far too knowledgeable—and that wasn't a dismissal. Taylor simply had no interest in magitech engineering itself. It meant the domains of their acquired knowledge simply didn't overlap.

And Shiva. He'd delivered a perfectly measured, deliberate prayer without so much as a knock on the head. Unless the man came down with cirrhosis and was forced off his holy water, that would never happen.

'Why are they trying to send me out of the ruins? And why did the incident occur precisely when I tried to check on the Cube?'

The moment Alan made up his mind, the Power Suit that had been dragging along behind them stopped dead, as if a nail had been hammered through the ground.

His first conclusion: whatever happened, he must not step outside the ruins—into that place where the black haze rippled.

As he slowly turned his head, the mages too looked like shadows. The spells they cast had lost their original colors and turned pitch black. Part of the ruins had supposedly been destroyed by magic, yet now he saw only black fog clinging to the wound.

He looked at Taylor again, and suddenly understood why the man was so knowledgeable.

This place was his dream—a place woven from the knowledge he had acquired. So of course the contents of academic papers would flow effortlessly from Taylor's mouth.

'Though right now, the dream itself has been contaminated by the dragon—or the ruins—'

He needed to find a way to shatter the dream. He couldn't keep playing along with these hostile machinations forever.

'The best way to wake from sleep—'

Stimulate the brain with intense shock and agitation, like suicide or combat. Or recall something unknown—an area the mind has no data for—which naturally cracks the dream open on its own.

Suicide was, of course, out of the question. This was a dream augmented by the Labyrinth's mysteries; if he died here, there was a real risk his mind in reality would vanish along with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it.

'Think of it as a kind of curse.'

He needed to establish a baseline for when the dream had begun. The most suspicious moment was when he'd met the dragon that had taken human form within the dream.

In that case, Damas's forces invading the ruins was most likely a fabrication too.

'Well, come to think of it—a hostile horde barging in unannounced? Even on a Tower Lord's orders, mages would never quietly step aside.'

Mages were creatures starved for knowledge. The moment they believed someone was obstructing them, their irritation spiked, and the instant new information appeared, they briefly forgot the word compromise entirely.

As Alan continued standing motionless, Taylor—no, every single one of the shadows—fixed its gaze on him. Only Alan bore any distinct color in this place.

Where the shadows' eyes and mouths should have been was far, far blacker, and staring into those voids gave the sensation of being pulled in. When the region presumed to be a mouth rippled, an eerie voice sounded.

"That technique of yours includes a component that clouds the target's mind, doesn't it? That's why I failed to notice even when the old man behaved so out of character. Still, the dissonance was far too severe. You used a method that lets the target's own memories fill in the gaps automatically, so I suppose that outcome was inevitable."

"…"

To Alan's long, stinging addendum, the shadow gave a nod.

The world began to blur. It seemed like an attempt to rewind the dream and trap Alan inside it once more.

But Alan had already recognized that he was trapped within a dream. The unknown breeds fear—yet once you know the cause, you can devise countermeasures to drive that fear out.

In a world where everything was false, the only thing left to trust was himself.

'Make myself the anchor.'

His Mana Overload body was cursed, but his magic resistance was a birthright. And with the Taylor Cultivation Method reinforcing his brain as well, his mental fortitude had grown alongside it. In the terms of the Eastern Continent, his upper dantian had expanded.

The world shuddered and objects grew hazy, sometimes crumbling into dust that whipped about wildly.

Alan's mind wavered precariously atop a raging sea. If he failed to hold out and sank, the odds were high that he would forget this was all a dream and be swept along at whatever's whim.

Now even the ground was growling. Cracks that had begun in the buildings branched out in every direction until they reached Alan's feet.

The fissure gaped wide and swallowed him. He fell and fell, endlessly, without respite.

The longer the fall dragged on, the more the Power Suit protecting his body peeled away piece by piece. The outer armor vanished, the artificial muscles tore, and even the reinforced skeleton crumbled.

At last, his bare body was exposed. With his trusty Power Suit gone, his flesh was in danger too—yet miraculously, it remained unharmed.

The cause was the light surging from his glabella. It beat back every reaching tendril of the fissure.

Alan envisioned a massive anchor. The instant the vivid image formed, he dropped it beneath the storm that was trying to swallow him whole.

'Success.'

At the same moment, the world was swept away.

"Alan, time to get up."

Taylor shook his shoulder from the head of the field cot.

"Still half asleep, are you? I told you—study in moderation and get to bed early. Stay up late and you're groggy all day. I'll wait, so come on out."

Alan perched on the edge of the cot. He had lowered the anchor of his mind safely through the storm, and thanks to that, he retained the memory that this place was a dream.

The Taylor he had just seen was exactly like the real one.

'Is this the dream, or reality?'

He had succeeded in protecting his memory, so from this point on, he intended to find out.

He rose as usual and headed for the ruins, but Damas's forces were nowhere to be seen. It was as if they had never arrived at all.

Thanks to that, Lorenzo's subordinates bustled about the ruins with peaceful expressions. To a mage, this place was paradise itself.

The same was true for Alan, but with tasks to handle, he couldn't quite bask in paradise. First, he moved exactly as he had on that first day.

"Old man, can you read those letters?"

"What letters?"

"It says Commander's Office."

Entering the commander's office, Alan cast a sidelong glance at the mural that greeted him, then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rifled through the desk and bookshelves.

"Nothing here."

"The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mages must have already cleaned it out."

He observed the mural again. Searching it inch by inch, like a spot-the-difference game.

'This is my dream. The core of the curse must be hidden somewhere in it.'

Just as on the first day, he gathered light at his glabella and shone it on the mural, but the Cube did not pop out. Naturally, the Glasses Mage never came to propose her little trade either.

While Taylor and Shiva were looking elsewhere, Alan decided to leave a small mark. He gathered mana into his fingertip and formed a blade—and the very moment he moved to scratch it into the underside of the desk—

"Alan, time to get up."

Taylor shook his shoulder from the head of the field cot.

"I'll wait, so come on out."

Taylor stepped back out of the tent, and Alan perched on the edge of the cot. Maintaining a blank expression, he played the part of a man who had just woken.

'How did it know?'

He'd been fortunate to lower the anchor of his mind in time; otherwise he would have been swept away. The curse had grown stronger too, resetting the dream without leaving a single crack.

Alan behaved identically. He headed for the commander's office, then used the excuse of a trip to the latrine to slip away from the group for a moment. And when he tried to leave a mark again this time—

"Alan, time to get up."

Taylor shook his shoulder from the head of the field cot.

"I'll wait, so come on out."

The dream had rewound to its beginning once more. Alan sat up on the edge of the bed again.

'Planning to grind my spirit down, are you? How delightful.'

He made for the commander's office again. Taylor, Shiva, and Box and Leopard. He had to suspect and watch them all. This time as well, he bided his moment—and caught the optimal window to leave his mark.

"Alan, time to get up."

Taylor shook his shoulder from the head of the field cot.

"I'll wait, so come on out."

Perched on the edge of the bed, Alan laughed inwardly. Like a rider on a carousel, the same scene spun round and round in endless repetition. Since preserving his memory, he'd been reset three times already.

'Is the entire dream watching me?'

If so, there would have been no need to bother with the rewinds at all. Complete dominion over the dream would mean the power to imprison his mind outright.

Alan became certain that a watcher existed. Even with no one around, the watcher noticed his little schemes and rewound the dream each time.

'A position that makes surveillance easy. And it would have to follow me everywhere.'

Alan's eyes flitted from place to place before dropping, quite naturally, downward. The shadow at his feet sat in the shape of its master.

Tiger.