Chapter 527 - 485: Fingertips, Weaving Threads, and Divine Attribute

Chapter 527: Chapter 485: Fingertips, Weaving Threads, and Divine Attribute

"I’m merely curious, Mr. Roland."

Yemiga’s voice reverted to its calm, rational tone.

"Why do you insist on resisting? For you, isn’t this ’loop’ a form of... sanctuary?"

As he spoke, his form began to slowly drift upward, defying gravity. His toes lifted several inches from the floor, leaving him suspended in midair.

But this simple action was a silent signal, triggering a much deeper change.

HUMMMMM!

A hum, so deep it was almost beyond the range of hearing, rang out, vibrating directly through their souls.

Immediately after, the pressure of a Divine Attribute erupted from Yemiga. It was far more immense, more ’orderly,’ and more ’frigid’ than that of the Pseudo-God Corellon Roland had encountered in the Eternal Song Forest. Like a glacier, dormant for ages, suddenly collapsing, it swept outward from him as an invisible tsunami.

It was not a roar of Chaos, but a ’declaration of existence’ filled with precise, crushing pressure.

The light in the Morning Star Archive’s main hall didn’t dim. Instead, it grew unnaturally ’clear’ and ’sharp.’ Every speck of dust became visible in the suddenly frozen air, each one reflecting a cold gleam.

The air itself seemed to have been stripped of all warmth and emotion, leaving behind only a pure, suffocating ’density.’

This divine pressure was no simple Spiritual Shock. It was more akin to the ’natural radiation’ a higher-dimensional existence exerts upon a lower-dimensional world.

The expressions on the faces of Avril, Galvis, Bronson, and even Duraga, who was still struggling fiercely, instantly froze. Their looks were immediately replaced by blankness and a dazed stupor.

Their eyes lost focus. They hadn’t fallen unconscious; rather, the boundaries of their very selves were blurring under the tide of this pure, immense Divine Attribute. It was as if at any moment they could be assimilated into the eternally still tapestry governed by Yemiga’s will.

Even the Energy circulating within them—be it Natural Magic Power, Poetry Resonance, or a scholar’s Rational Radiance—became like water exposed to absolute zero, swiftly growing sluggish and rigid.

Only Roland, by virtue of his nature as a Time Traveler and the peculiar resilience he had newly forged by resonating with the suffering of the Son of Divine Remains, could maintain a clear sense of self amidst this overwhelming divine might.

But even he felt as though he were shouldering a mountain. Every breath, every heartbeat, was an act of resistance against an omnipresent, all-pervasive power of ’definition’.

Yemiga floated at the center of the halo of his Divine Attribute. His dark yellow, vertical pupils gazed down, and his voice, as if from the heavens, carried a pitying, indisputable certainty.

"If you would only cease your resistance and submit to this predetermined melody... even with your unique Constitution, your rough edges will eventually be smoothed away by time over countless gentle ’relivings of yesterday.’ You will be tenderly enveloped by memory."

"The memories I have woven for you—for all of you—may be ’false,’ but are the peace, joy, and tranquility they contain not real feelings?"

"Stay here. Remain within this Space-Time vortex that I so carefully maintain. You and your companions will be far from all the conflict, calamity, and suffering of the outside world. You will attain, in a sense... eternal safety and tranquility."

"Why refuse this gift and insist on facing the ’reality’ outside—a reality full of uncertainty and pain?"

Faced with this temptation, delivered like an inquiry from the Gods themselves, and this crushing divine might, Roland slowly raised his head.

Fine beads of sweat dotted his temples, but his eyes were like the edge of a Quenched blade—sharp and unyielding.

Meeting Yemiga’s gaze, he spoke clearly, word by word.

"Sorry..."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile that was almost defiant, utterly out of place.

"I don’t like my life being placed in a fixed script by someone else... even one of the Gods... to be read over and over again."

The words had barely left his lips...

CLICK.

An incredibly faint, sharp sound, yet one that seemed to shift the very cornerstone of the world, emanated from Roland’s long-paralyzed fingertip.

After a difficult process of adaptation and analysis, the glimmer of the Time Trace Weaver’s Engraving Blade—a wisp of pale gold and dark red—finally latched on to its target. It detected the minuscule ’redundant vibrations’ and ’phase redundancies’ within Yemiga’s absolute control, an inevitable byproduct of maintaining such a vast loop.

It no longer attempted to fight against the entirety of the frozen space. Instead, like the most delicate of probes, it followed a single, discordant trace in the pulse of the Space-Time Weaving Thread and pierced through with perfect precision.

His paralyzed fingertip moved.

At first, the movement was as slow as a snail’s crawl. But with every millimeter it advanced, its analysis and ’misdirection’ of the surrounding abnormal space accelerated.

It moved faster and faster, finally becoming a determined streak of light.

TSST!

The wisp of light at his fingertip finally made contact. Within Roland’s vision, it struck the most critical thread of all: the thick, silver-white ’thread’ connecting the Morning Star Archive—the node serving as the ’beginning/end’—to the entire cyclical network.

There was no world-shaking explosion.

Instead, a web of fine, pitch-black ’cracks’ instantly spread out from the point of contact, spiderwebbing crazily across the ’thread’.

Immediately after, like a chain reaction, the space around them—which had been solidified and defined by Yemiga’s will, as viscous as amber—let out the crisp sound of shattering glass, as if it could no longer bear the strain.

CRACK! SHATTER!

The invisible spatial shackles shattered!

The immense pressure vanished, and the air began to move once more. Avril and the others jolted awake from their stupor, gasping for breath as they staggered and regained control of their bodies.

Duraga let out a furious roar; the moment the pressure on him lifted, he nearly sprang to his feet.

Yemiga’s floating form swayed almost imperceptibly.

And for the first time, a faint trace of something clearly flickered through his dark yellow, vertical pupils...

Interest.