Chapter 380 - 365: A Dreamlike Illusion

Chapter 380: Chapter 365: A Dreamlike Illusion

Endless darkness swept over Roland like a tide, yet his mind was exceptionally clear.

It was as if he were suspended in the center of the Void, yet he couldn’t feel his own body.

This darkness held a strange familiarity, as if a trace of it lingered in some forgotten corner of his memory.

Just as he was pondering his bizarre situation, a sound abruptly broke the silence.

At first, it was just a distant static, like countless people whispering at once, or the grating echo of metal on metal.

The sound drew nearer, growing clearer and more chaotic.

Murmurs of different pitches, speeds, and even different languages intertwined, converging into a dizzying vortex of noise.

Just as the cacophony was about to shatter his consciousness...

"Hey, buddy! Where’d you go for fun last night? Falling asleep in a place like this... you’re really something else!"

A teasing voice cut through the chaos like a sharp blade.

Roland jolted, as if he had been brutally dragged from a deep dream back to reality. He "opened" his eyes.

The endless darkness in his vision receded, replaced by a gloomy sky and a drizzling rain.

He looked toward the voice and saw a man standing nearby.

The man had slightly messy, long black hair. A few wet strands clung to his forehead and cheeks, but they couldn’t hide the handsome, sharply defined features beneath.

A playful smile touched his lips, and a mischievous glint shone in his eyes.

"Come on, get up!"

Before Roland could respond, the long-haired man turned and walked toward a relatively new-looking tombstone nearby, continuing casually.

"Didn’t you say you were getting a new Magic Staff for Ellis? I’ve already scouted it out. Not long ago, this place..."

As he walked away, his voice trailed off.

’Ellis? A Magic Staff?’

Roland wiped the rain from his face, his mind gradually clearing. Only then did he realize with a jolt that he wasn’t standing but lying on his back on the cold, damp ground.

A fine, cold drizzle fell on his face, the sensation sharp and distinct.

He pushed his slightly numb body into a sitting position, shook his head to clear it, and warily surveyed his surroundings.

There was no giant, scorched crater. No sign of Morne. None of the smoke and blood that had filled the battlefield of his memory.

He was in a dilapidated cemetery.

Crooked tombstones stood in disarray like broken teeth, the inscriptions on many weathered away by time.

Withered yellow vines snaked around stone crosses, casting twisted shadows under the gloomy sky.

In the drizzle, a damp mist crept along the ground, shrouding the entire cemetery in an eerie haze.

In the distance, the branches of several dead trees reached like skeletal fingers toward the low, overcast sky.

All was silent. Aside from the rain, there was no chirp of insect or call of bird.

Cold raindrops continued to land on his face, but Roland’s mind was a storm of confusion.

His memory was crystal clear.

The life-or-death struggle with Malcolm outside Golden Ears City...

The Dragon’s Breath that tore across the sky...

The massive, scorched crater...

And...

Morne’s exhausted face.

Every detail was vivid in his mind. It couldn’t possibly be a dream.

’So how could I be on a smoke-filled battlefield one second and lying in this rainy, godforsaken place the next?’

At this thought, Roland’s gaze involuntarily fell upon the long-haired man standing by the new tombstone.

The man was nonchalantly examining the tombstone’s inscription, as if his familiar greeting had been the most natural thing in the world.

But Roland was certain he had never seen this face before.

Yet the man’s attitude was so matter-of-fact, as if they were old friends who had known each other for years.

This contradiction set alarm bells ringing in Roland’s mind.

He slowly got to his feet. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair, and his soaked clothes clung to his skin, sending a chill through him.

’Where am I?’

’Who is that man?’

’Why does he know me?’

Seeing Roland still standing there, stunned and motionless, the long-haired man turned his head impatiently. Rainwater streamed down his chiseled cheeks.

"What are you standing around for?"

He lowered his voice, his tone urgent.

"That big oaf you recruited agreed to stand watch outside the cemetery, but he’s a Paladin. He’s never done this kind of work before, so he’s bound to be clumsy. We have to hurry!"

As he spoke, he flung his arm, and a mud-spattered shovel flew through the rain.

Roland caught it instinctively.

The cold, hard touch of the shovel’s wooden handle was incredibly real. The faint pain in his palm where the rough grain pressed into his skin told him clearly that this was no dream.

He shook his head, trying to sort through his chaotic thoughts. Just as he was about to ask about this baffling situation...

An extremely faint, yet piercingly sharp hum rang out without warning, deep inside his ear canal.

The sound wasn’t external. It was more like...

it was vibrating directly inside his head.

Roland squeezed his eyes shut instinctively.

Just as the shrill hum, like a thousand frenzied hornets, rampaged through the depths of his mind and threatened to tear his consciousness apart...

The cold raindrops, the damp, musty smell of the cemetery, the rough feel of the shovel in his hand—it all vanished in an instant, as if erased.

At the same time, the searing pain in his right arm—the backlash from using Dragon’s Breath, like the burn of a branding iron—surged back with unnerving clarity, even sharper and more vivid than he remembered.

A blast of hot, dry air, thick with the stench of blood and sulfur, rushed into his mouth and nose.

The ground beneath him was no longer soft earth but scorched, hard-packed, and scalding hot.

When he opened his eyes again, the cold rain and the cemetery’s gray sky were gone.

In their place was an ominous, dark-red dusk sky, as if it had been soaked in blood.

In the distance, the ruined silhouette of Golden Ears City looked especially desolate in the twilight.

"COUGH, COUGH, COUGH..."

Roland coughed violently a few times before pushing himself into a sitting position.

Before he could even collect himself, two familiar, anxious faces came into view.

"Roland! How are you feeling?"

Avril’s clear voice was filled with unconcealed worry, her short brown hair fluttering in the hot, spark-filled wind.

Teresa, crouching nearby, said nothing, but her silver eyes were locked on him, the concern in them equally apparent.

"I’m... fine."

Roland pushed himself up on his arms, trying to sit, and took careful stock of his condition.

Other than his right arm, which was severely burned from using Dragon’s Breath, and a powerful wave of exhaustion washing over him, he had no other new injuries.

"Just... exhausted..."

"That’s great!"

Just then, Galvis pushed his way over, his face alight with the hunger for a great story unique to a Minstrel.

"Roland! You’re finally awake! Quick, tell me, how did you take down that Demon? I need every detail! This will be an epic for the ages!"

"Get lost, Galvis!"

Avril gave the Minstrel an annoyed shove.

"Can’t you see Roland needs to rest? You can hear the story later!"

While Avril was shooing the clamoring Minstrel away, Roland’s gaze swept across his surroundings.

Not far off, Sean and Dalko were on one knee before Princess Gloria, reporting something with solemn expressions.

The Duke, like a loyal rock, stood guard by the Princess’s side, Giant Sword in hand.

Just then, a familiar, teasing voice called out.

"Well, well! Has our sleeping beauty finally decided to wake up?"

Morne strolled over. His face was still wounded, but his mischievous grin was the same as ever.

"You really were out cold. We couldn’t wake you. I almost thought you were planning to make this crater your bed."