WCBD CH146

Chapter 146: Blood-Red Dreams

Mr. Ghost pondered for a moment, then shared his thoughts with Chendo.

Chendo quickly grasped the crux of the issue: “So, all these matters are very likely connected to the ‘Shadow’?”

“That is my suspicion,” Mr. Ghost said. “However, we still need to find more clues and information.”

They were currently entangled in a spiderweb. Even though they knew these matters were interconnected, finding the thread was exceedingly difficult; moreover, breaking free from the web’s confines was harder still.

The metaphor of a spiderweb was surprisingly fitting here.

Pondering this, Mr. Ghost shook his head. “This is merely a hypothesis; there is no need to dwell on it now. We can move on to the next topic.”

“As you wish,” Chendo said. “Regarding Madame Heidi. Not long ago, I received a letter from her. Her tone was somewhat… panicked, as though she intends to come find us and speak in person about what actually happened.

“She is unharmed, but that star map handkerchief seems to have brought about some troubles. She didn’t elaborate on the specifics in her letter. In any case, she will likely arrive in Kansas around the same time as you, and we can meet with her then.

“Additionally, she mentioned that mysterious Mr. Dryson in the letter, but it was the same story. She said she wishes to speak with us about these things face-to-face.”

Mr. Ghost listened quietly. Once Chendo finished, he murmured in slight bewilderment, “What on earth happened?”

“Perhaps that star map caused another bloodbath?” Chendo guessed, then shrugged. “It is an out-of-control Time Trace; I think anything is possible.”

Mr. Ghost agreed with his reasoning. In any case, it was a good thing that Heidi had uncovered something, and Heidi herself seemed to have suffered no harm.

So he turned the subject: “And what of your findings, Chendo?”

Chendo laughed, immediately understanding Mr. Ghost’s meaning, and led him by the hand to the window. He said, “In the Tauohetia Cemetery, I encountered… something left behind by Ligadia.”

“What is it?” Mr. Ghost asked curiously.

Chendo replied, “A dugout canoe.”

Mr. Ghost froze for a moment.

A dugout canoe. The concept struck him as deeply subtle, feeling remarkably similar to the sensation he had when discovering that mysterious farm.

Furthermore…

He thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you remember the ‘Dark Sea’, Chendo?”

“‘Dark Sea’…” Chendo repeated the phrase softly. “Of course, I remember.”

A page of divine texts preserved in the Praia family collection mentioned that a believer of Ligadia had inadvertently strayed into the “Dark Sea” during a journey and was guided back to land by a light later named “Lighthouse of the Soul” by Ligadia.

Prior to this, Chendo had used the “Lighthouse of the Soul” to save him.

Mr. Ghost thought to himself that back then, he had hovered between life and death, able to endure within that dark room for a time only because of his high Will stat.

When he made a Constitution check seeking to leave that place, the dice had remarked: “‘Capsizing’ is not a word to be used lightly.”

It seemed the dice had been hinting at something back then, perhaps the “Dark Sea”?

And now, Chendo had discovered a dugout canoe in the Tauohetia Cemetery. This was clearly a clue left behind by Ligadia.

A very subtle detail lay in the fact that before Ligadia departed, He had instructed His believers to convey a message into the ocean. And now, the successor to His power was likewise to row a canoe toward the “ocean.”

“…What kind of place do you think that might be?” Chendo asked. “Somewhere entirely detached from reality?”

Mr. Ghost pondered for a moment before saying, “Perhaps it is an interlayer and crevice of the physical world.”

Chendo paused, not quite grasping the phrasing.

Mr. Ghost conveyed the metaphor previously provided by the dice to Chendo. Chendo tilted his head, asking with half-understanding, “A crevice… between objects?”

“Or perhaps a crevice between ‘concepts,'” Mr. Ghost said. “An interlayer between life and death.”

Chendo knitted his brows in vexation, thought for a while, and then admitted with good self-awareness, “I can’t quite wrap my head around it. In any case, it is enough that you understand.”

Mr. Ghost couldn’t help but chuckle. “When the time comes, you will be the one exploring the ‘Dark Sea’.”

“Exploration is one thing, but conceptual matters are beyond me,” Chendo said. “I rely on your wisdom.”

Mr. Ghost looked at him, thinking that as the time for their reunion drew nearer, Chendo grew increasingly affectionate.

Still, he could completely understand Chendo’s feelings.

So he asked, “So, Chendo, have you tried rowing that canoe out to sea?”

“Not yet,” Chendo answered honestly. “I couldn’t find an oar.”

An oar?

Mr. Ghost felt somewhat puzzled as well. Theoretically, since Ligadia had placed the clue before His Scion, He wouldn’t fail to provide an oar.

Or could it be that certain conditions had to be fulfilled before the oar would appear before Chendo?

…Much like that rose of Akamara?

He weighed his words and explained the analogy to Chendo. Chendo seemed to realize something and said, “In other words, some kind of concept used to channel a god’s power?”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Ghost replied. “There is no need to rush, though. Compared to me, your progress has already been remarkably swift.”

His own initial progress had been entirely accidental. Had Angus Keys not embarked on a quest for revenge because of his novel, he never would have made headway in the deep-sea dreams.

In comparison, Chendo quickly locating the dugout canoe was already solid progress.

Chendo muttered under his breath, “That was entirely thanks to you; it wasn’t my credit at all.”

Mr. Ghost smiled. At times, he felt Chendo cared about his reputation even more than he did himself.

“Take it slowly, Chendo,” Mr. Ghost said. “By the way, at ten in the morning the day after tomorrow, I will arrive at the Cronin City railway station in Kansas. That is where I will disembark.”

“Oh, I will come meet you. I can hardly wait,” Chendo murmured softly. “It is hard to believe you have been away from me for so long.”

These words made Mr. Ghost chuckle softly.

They shared a quiet embrace for a while.

Then Chendo asked, “No need to rush for this moment?”

“No need to rush for this moment,” Mr. Ghost said. “Though of course, Chendo, I know how impatient you already are.”

“…I think I could be even more impatient,” Chendo grumbled. “According to your words, we must wait until we return to Lamifa City, finish moving, settle everything, and only then can we… Actually, this ancient mansion of the Praia family has long been waiting empty for you.”

“And yet I insist?”

Chendo was rendered speechless, letting out a rueful sigh: “You just want me to admit that I am utterly helpless against you. Yes, yes, I am willing to keep waiting, so long as you don’t keep stringing me along; that feeling is simply excruciating…”

Mr. Ghost temporarily compensated his babbling lover with a kiss.

After a moment, Chendo said, “But I insist on something as well.”

Mr. Ghost blinked, asking, “On what?”

“I prepared two beds in my bedroom,” Chendo said. “I want to share a room with you.”

Only then did Mr. Ghost realize what he meant. He found it rather amusing, perhaps at Chendo’s childishness or perhaps at such an exaggerated measure. In any case, after considering it, he said, “Actually, sharing one bed wouldn’t be an issue, as long as…”

“As long as I can restrain myself,” Chendo said with complete candor. “Except I cannot.”

Mr. Ghost: “…”

His lover truly had little patience, yet he had indeed been waiting with great restraint.

So Mr. Ghost said, “April 1 at the latest. How about that? We won’t drag this into the month after.”

Chendo’s emerald eyes lit up almost instantly. He asked, “So, there’s only this final half a month left of waiting?”

Mr. Ghost laughed. “Yes, Chendo. Only this final half a month.”

Of course, in his home world of Earth, April 1 had a rather different connotation. Never mind, Chendo didn’t need to know that; after all, he was not joking.

Chendo grew visibly more energized, saying with high spirits, “Then I will be looking forward to the coming days with great eagerness.”

Mr. Ghost kissed his lips with a quiet smile.

Before leaving Chendo’s dream, Mr. Ghost made another attempt to search for the dreams of the deceased. He searched for the dream of Aldous Gershwin once again. However, although that dream bubble appeared less dusty and gray, the imagery inside remained obscure.

Chendo remarked, “Perhaps it will take me sailing out to sea to uncover something?”

Mr. Ghost considered it, then nodded. “That is quite possible. We do not know the intentions of Ligadia and Akamara, so we can only take things step by step.”

Yet this development sparked a sudden idea in his mind.

He tried searching within Chendo’s dream for Herman Grove and Professor Dunlop, receiving no response. Next, he searched for Alfonso Carte, with the same result. He did not know whether to feel relieved or even more concerned.

It appeared that neither the archaeological team nor Alfonso had succumbed to death; yet this made their current circumstances all the more concerning and puzzling.

Chendo understood his intention in searching for these three people, remarking, “At least it proves they are still among the living.”

Mr. Ghost nodded as well.

In any case, confirming that these three were still alive and had not perished in a foreign land was good news.

He soon bade Chendo farewell and departed his dream. He still had many things to attend to, so Chendo did not take up more of his time.

Returning to the deep-sea dreams, he noticed that Hal Goss was dreaming, so he proceeded to the young boy’s dream.

“Mr. Ghost! Good evening,” Hal greeted him with excitement.

Mr. Ghost smiled faintly and replied, “Good evening.”

“I told my friends about you,” Hal said. “They were all at Biedel Square earlier and saw your doll. That was truly amazing!

“They almost wanted to use that incident to exchange money with you. I told them the doll was your incarnation, but they were still half-skeptical because that sight was simply beyond anyone’s imagination.”

Mr. Ghost listened with a smile, thinking to himself that his previous assumption was indeed correct: young children would naturally feel curious and astonished by such a sight.

This brought his toy store to mind. Perhaps some of its products could be popularized in other cities as well?

He could perhaps collaborate with Lanmere on this. Speaking of which, he wondered how the Fate Cards were selling.

These thoughts flashed across his mind, and they soon got down to business.

“I gathered quite a few stories from some adults,” Hal said. “And others I heard from my friends.”

Mr. Ghost nodded, listening patiently as Hal recounted those intriguing tales.

Biedel City was located in the south-central to southeastern portion of the Ashless Lands. The common tongue here was Konstan, though a portion of people spoke the Kansas tongue or other languages.

On the whole, it exemplified the shared cultural characteristic of the Galsworthy region in the Withered Wasteland of the Ashless Lands: amalgamation.

This area brought together people from various nations. Some settled down here, others stayed briefly, and some merely passed through for a few days.

Their varied philosophies, customs, and backgrounds converged, lending Biedel City a distinct charm of its own.

Hal mentioned ancient stories of the desert, peculiar creatures, and legends of explorers. While these tales might offer little practical help to Mr. Ghost, he still listened attentively, as the lore itself was quite engaging.

In total, he shared seven stories.

The first three, Hal explained, were heard from adults, concerning explorers, hidden desert treasures, and rumors of desert oases.

Mr. Ghost made specific inquiries about the “oasis.” However, the story Hal had heard was rather vague; he merely said adults claimed an oasis existed deep within the desert, flourishing in stark contrast to the barren wasteland here.

A desert oasis. Mr. Ghost thought to himself: could that be a location connected to the Moshaque Hills?

Yet an oasis in the desert symbolized the hope of life. Could it perhaps be Personari’s paradise rather than Thaddeus’s?

Furthermore, he recalled the earlier story of Cynthia. Ambitious men set fire to the forests, turning what had once been lush green plains into a desert. Could this also be hinting at the historical shifts in this region?

He speculated silently, though he could reach no firm conclusion.

As for the remaining four stories, they were provided by Hal’s friends. They touched on unprecedented matters: a desert carnival, stories of people from the north, howling wolves in the night, and glittering objects dug up from sand pits.

Mr. Ghost was particularly intrigued by the second and fourth stories, asking Hal to elaborate.

Scratching his head, Hal said, “The people from the north… they seem to have come across the sea from the north. It happened a while ago, earlier this year. One of my friends’ families runs a tavern, and he noticed that group in the tavern.

“He said they spoke an unintelligible language and talked in booming voices. They all smelled like fish. They seemed to be excitedly discussing something, as though they had discovered something.

“…Uh, right, he also said that afterward, when he mentioned those people to his parents, they immediately warned him not to pry into the business of those northerners. They said those people carried the ‘North Wind’ with them.”

“‘North Wind’?” Mr. Ghost echoed in slight confusion. “Does that refer to something specific?”

Hal shook his head. “I don’t know either. Sir, if you’re interested, I can have them ask around.”

“Please trouble your friends for that,” Mr. Ghost said.

“No, not at all!” Hal even stammered slightly, gazing at Mr. Ghost. “You are truly such a good person.”

Mr. Ghost merely smiled faintly.

Hal then turned to the other story that piqued Mr. Ghost’s interest: the glittering objects unearthed from sand pits.

He said, “We dug those up outside Biedel City. We thought they were valuable and brought them home hoping our parents would sell them, but they said digging up things like that in the desert brings terrible bad luck.”

Mr. Ghost almost instinctively frowned, asking, “Did your parents say why?”

“No,” Hal shook his head. “A friend of mine pressed his father, but his dad only said that stuff brings a curse.”

…The Curse of Stardust? Mr. Ghost thought to himself.

That was not incomprehensible. Yet a more crucial question was: why would Stardust appear outside Biedel City? There seemed to be no legends of a fallen deity in this region.

…Could it be Atkinia’s Stardust? That deity’s Stardust had scattered all across the world, leaving people utterly bewildered as to how He had fallen in the first place.

So Mr. Ghost said, “Perhaps your parents are right. Regardless, whenever you find objects of unknown origin out there, you must remain vigilant.”

Hal nodded, tilting his head. “So, sir, just these three pieces of information?”

“There were seven in total…”

“No, sir,” Hal insisted. “You were only interested in three of the stories, so it’s just thirty Duke coins. We won’t take more of your money than that; that wouldn’t be right.”

Mr. Ghost paused briefly, then chuckled. After a moment’s consideration, he pivoted and said, “However, I would like to hire you to investigate a specific story.”

Hal was taken aback, asking, “What is it?”

“Cynthia,” Mr. Ghost said. “Any information regarding this mysterious Cynthia will do.”

Hal was rather surprised to hear this. Widening his eyes, he said, “Cynthia… Cynthia is just like a bedtime story to us. Do you really think Cynthia’s story is so important?”

His expression suggested he was questioning his entire life.

Mr. Ghost was mildly amused by his reaction, but he still nodded earnestly. “Yes. Perhaps bedtime stories are not quite as simple as they seem.”

Hal nodded, half in doubt.

Mr. Ghost then said, “Including the investigation into Cynthia, I will give you fifty Duke coins this time. If you can provide more information about Cynthia, I will give you an extra reward. The doll will wait for you at the fountain pool in Biedel.”

Hal nodded earnestly, then asked, “When, sir?”

“Right now is fine,” Mr. Ghost said with a chuckle. “If you wake up right now.”

Hal paused for a moment, then said with immediate delight, “Then I’ll go right now.”

The next second, Hal’s dream bubble burst, and Mr. Ghost returned to the deep-sea dreams as well.

He proceeded to the cottage on the farm and looked toward the miniature stage model. In reality, Doll No. 1 was inside his suitcase, so the miniature stage model was cloaked in pitch-black darkness as well.

From here, he manipulated the doll to open the suitcase, hop out, leap onto the cabinet, and carefully withdraw some money from his wallet. Truly, it felt rather odd, like stealing his own money, complete with a guilty conscience.

Soon, five ten-coin banknotes were clutched in the doll’s tiny hands.

He took a step forward and lifted the doll from the stage. The five ten-coin banknotes in the doll’s hands appeared within the dream as well. This transition between illusion and reality was truly astonishing, he thought.

Carrying the doll, he left the cottage and arrived beside the lake, directing the doll toward Hal Goss’s seedling. Then he returned to the cottage and saw, upon the stage model, the doll standing alone on a street in a city.

He manipulated the doll with his mind once again.

Doll No. 1 arrived at Biedel Square and sat on the ledge of the fountain platform, waiting quietly. Before long, Hal Goss appeared. Upon the stage, the boy’s phantom circled the doll, marveling and looking left and right before taking the reward from the doll’s hands.

He tried speaking to the doll, but seeing no response, Hal Goss hesitated briefly before politely saying goodbye.

Having settled this matter, the doll returned to the farm. The method was simply lifting the tiny doll from the miniature stage model once more, causing it to vanish from Biedel City and return to the cottage on the farm, while in reality the doll returned to his side.

He was actually quite curious about the true essence of this power.

Illusion?

While he manipulated Doll No. 1 to carry out these actions, the other five dolls watched from the side, clicking their tongues in wonder and praising his creativity and theatrical flair. They all voiced their hopes that he would soon master more of Akamara’s power.

Doll No. 1 was even more thrilled. It practically leapt from the stage, chattering incessantly about its thoughts on the performance and its immense honor as an actor in the play.

He listened to the dolls’ chirping voices, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

After a while, the dolls gradually quieted down, so he left the farm with Doll No. 1 and proceeded to Garrett Gielgud’s dream. Doll No. 1 grew excited once more, realizing that Garrett’s dream was practically its grand stage.

The setting of Garrett’s dream had shifted, turning into a sandy beach by the sea.

Sitting listlessly on the sand, Garrett said, “How strange. After you enter my dream, I can manipulate it freely. Too bad only a spooky fellow like you can get in.”

Mr. Ghost remained noncommittal.

The doll asked, “Are you done making life-or-death drama now?”

Garrett rolled his eyes. Then he grinned and said, “Didn’t you see it?”

“See what?”

“That young man,” Garrett replied. “The son of my enemy.”

Mr. Ghost narrowed his eyes.

The doll asked, “Why is he your enemy?”

“I told you before that after my father disappeared, many people involved in that affair came looking for trouble,” Garrett said. “Some just cursed at our doorstep, demanding debt repayment with twisted logic, holding us responsible for those people’s deaths…”

“…And yet?” the doll asked tentatively.

“And yet. Heh, and yet,” Garrett sneered coldly. “Why do you think my mother and I ended up in that run-down cottage in a fishing village in my dream? We originally lived in Kingsley, and Kingsley was never that dilapidated.

“It was because that man named Ronchi secretly had people drive us out. The Ronchi family… hah, a noble family indeed. That damned Frank Ronchi knew full well when setting sail that life and death were up to fate, yet his family didn’t see it that way.

“…No, rather, it was precisely because my father came back alive that they vented their fury on us. Perhaps after my father was taken to Bethune, they tortured him to death as well. That’s what I think.”

Mr. Ghost listened in silence. He felt a complicated sense of melancholy, though it was hard to say where it originated. It seemed no one in this world had an easy life.

He turned his thoughts to the underlying implications in Garrett’s words.

Frank Ronchi truly had been aboard that ship. This no longer surprised him.

However, Garrett’s words implicitly defined a premise: Garrett did not believe Frank Ronchi had sailed out with a specific ulterior motive. He believed Frank had still intended to return alive.

Consequently, when Frank did not return while an ordinary sailor in the Ronchi family’s eyes returned alive, members of the Ronchi family transferred their grief into rage, venting it upon Garrett, his father, and his mother.

Was Frank Ronchi’s voyage truly just to gather artistic inspiration?

Mr. Ghost maintained a subtle skepticism regarding this point.

The silence of Mr. Ghost and his doll made Garrett somewhat uncomfortable. Garrett changed the subject, “Anyway, that’s in the past. Thrashing that fellow today already made me feel much better.

“So, what did you come to find me for today?”

Mr. Ghost conveyed the arrangement regarding the ship to Garrett, telling him to go to the port and find a man named Kogsol.

Garrett listened in astonishment, glancing at Mr. Ghost before asking, “Who on earth are you? How do you know Kogsol?”

Mr. Ghost paused, thinking that Kogsol, or rather the Praia family, seemed to possess a formidable covert influence in Middleton as well.

The doll shook its head, offering no answer.

Garrett eyed Mr. Ghost with suspicious uncertainty. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes. “Have I seen you somewhere before? You look somewhat familiar.”

“Because we indeed have met,” the doll said. “Right here.”

The first sentence startled Garrett, while the second promptly deflated him.

“Whatever, you secretive fellow,” Garrett muttered, shaking his head. “No point dwelling on it. Whoever you are in reality has nothing to do with me. Anyway, I understand. But I must remind you, this task won’t show results in the short term.”

“I know,” the doll said. “I hope to see a preliminary draft before this summer.”

“That’s doable, certainly,” Garrett said. “Anything else?”

The doll shook its head.

Mr. Ghost and his doll politely took their leave and departed Garrett’s dream. Garrett did not seem fond of having his dreams intruded upon, so Mr. Ghost considerately respected his wishes, leaving promptly once business was settled.

He returned the doll to the farm and checked the lake nearby. Noticing that Jonathan Bryant’s vine had vanished from the planetary reflection, he narrowed his eyes slightly.

He realized this was a reliable method to confirm a person’s condition. However, one had to enter their dream first. The same applied to Chendo’s side.

Even when Chendo developed the ability to search for souls in the Tauohetia Cemetery, it could only be used to locate those who died in foreign lands.

Combining his power with Chendo’s allowed them to verify the safety of someone far from home, which was indeed advantageous, especially since people in the deep-sea dreams were not dreaming at all times.

Pondering potential applications of these abilities individually and in combination, he still felt the divine powers they commanded were not omnipotent, proving useful only under specific circumstances.

Furthermore, he noted that as he entered more dreams, the planet reflected in the lake grew increasingly distinct, presenting the layout of this world more clearly before him.

Overall, the Fisher World possessed more land and less ocean than Earth. Land and ocean were divided roughly half-and-half, at least across the regions revealed so far.

The Fuliou Sea was a northern ocean; while part of it remained quite obscure, the area already revealed was comparable in size to the entire Duchy of Konst.

He felt somewhat puzzled, wondering to what extent the blurred regions on the lake’s planetary reflection overlapped with the areas covered by mist in the physical world.

He had previously assumed the two were different, yet now there seemed to be a connection.

After all, if they were entirely unrelated, why would regions he had never visited be displayed now?

Take the Fuliou Sea, for instance: he had only traversed a single shipping route across it, never setting foot upon the broader open waters, yet those areas were now revealed as well.

Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Regions he had visited, or regions where dreams he had entered were located, would become visible; however, if mist covered the corresponding area of the Fisher World, that region remained blurred.

Additionally, this planetary reflection merely recorded the locations and dreams he had visited after discovering the lake.

He wondered if this reflection showed the real-time conditions of the Fisher World. Which regions harbored mist, and where the mist had dissipated, could be seen clearly upon the reflection.

From this perspective, the connection between the planetary reflection and the Fisher World seemed far too pronounced. Rather, the connection between these divine powers and the Fisher World was far too pronounced.

He sank into contemplation.

Not long ago, he had pondered the concept of “civilization.” He considered his home world of Earth his strongest backing; and now, he realized once again that in the phrase “gods of the Fisher World,” the key lay in that initial modifier.

These Old Gods were all intimately linked to the Fisher World to varying degrees.

He recalled the conversation between the wandering poet Aldous Gershwin and Graves Darrow Climo. Aldous had once remarked that “the world favors certain gods.”

In such a context, the “world” seemed to become an entity possessing subjective consciousness.

The world, and the gods.

Gazing deeply at the shadow of the planet reflected in the lake, he felt he had touched upon something essential, yet delving deeper made it seem like mere conjecture.

It lacked evidence, he thought.

Thus, he gently yet firmly suppressed those ideas in his mind. He could discuss the topic with the dice later, once a suitable opportunity arose.

At least a train bustling with passengers was hardly an appropriate place to converse with the dice.

Taking a deep breath, he left the farm. For some reason, returning to the pitch-black void of the deep-sea dreams brought him an unexpected sense of comfort.

Perhaps he was simply more accustomed to the deep-sea dream’s isolated island, dolls, and dark waters than the mysterious farm’s morning sun, lake, and cottage.

He reviewed his gains from this visit to the deep-sea dreams: Chendo, Hal, and Garrett. Each had provided useful information.

He looked forward to further developments from Hal Goss, though he remained uncertain how much young children could uncover.

After a moment’s thought, he prepared to leave the deep-sea dreams. Then he remembered he had not searched for the archaeological team’s dreams today.

Habitually, he searched for Herman Grove’s dream.

Expecting another fruitless attempt, he was surprised when a dream bubble popped up almost immediately, bathed in a crimson hue.

Without hesitation, he touched the dream bubble.

The moment he stepped inside, a bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. Frowning, he looked around.

Dense mist swirled everywhere.

The heavy fog carried a subtle bloody tint, and Mr. Ghost caught the strong stench of blood. The fog was impenetrable, leaving him with no idea what was happening in the dream.

He pondered briefly, then walked forward. Soon, his foot bumped against something. Standing upright revealed nothing through the gloom, so he crouched down.

A severed thigh lay before him, still dripping with blood, as though hacked off moments earlier and discarded carelessly.

Mr. Ghost’s pupils shrank. Suppressing his unease, he examined it closely. The cut along the severed limb was surprisingly clean and smooth.

It did not look like a limb severed in reality, but rather a product of Herman Grove’s nightmare.

Yet that thought offered little comfort.

Why was Herman having such a nightmare?

This young archaeology student had been lively and outgoing back at Lamifa University; yet after an archaeological expedition, his dream was filled with severed limbs?

This was no good omen.

Standing up, he walked on, repeatedly kicking scattered human limbs. The closer he got to the dream’s core, the deeper the crimson hue became. The ground resembled earth soaked through with blood, forming a layer of red mud.

The mist thickened, wrapping around him like heavy vapor. Mr. Ghost heard increasingly distinct screams of men and women, spanning every pitch and tone.

Some cursed, some shrieked, some wept, and some wailed. The cacophony poured straight into his ears, unsettling his thoughts.

Keeping as calm as possible, he pressed forward. Gradually, the object at the heart of the dream came into view. It was a…

A burial mound.

Mr. Ghost stopped in his tracks upon seeing the grave. Dizziness washed over him, and it was hard to tell whether it came from the gruesome elements of the nightmare or from the mound itself.

Who was buried there?

The moment the thought crossed his mind, darkness engulfed his vision. The next second, the dream bubble shattered, abruptly ejecting him.

Had Herman Grove awakened in fright? he wondered.

He looked toward the new plant on the island.

A low, inconspicuous bush. It should have borne lovely blossoms, but the flowers were currently withered. Fortunately, the surrounding foliage remained emerald green.

Still, he frowned.

Although he had not met Herman directly in the dream, the plant’s state suggested Herman might be injured or mentally destabilized. He did not know what the young student had suffered, but over the past few months, he had likely encountered dire circumstances.

Regardless, at least Herman and other members of the archaeological team were likely still alive.

With that thought, he sighed softly.

Living might be grueling, but hope existed only while one was alive.

He considered the implications of Herman’s dream. They were very likely trapped somewhere, perhaps within the mist, where slaughter and death had occurred.

Yet those screams…

He pondered for a moment, generating numerous suspicions and theories, but ultimately shook his head. He looked once more at Herman’s bush, hoping that on his next visit, he could enter this student’s dream again to investigate.

He then searched the dreams of others, including Alfonso Carte, but found nothing. Thus, he woke up.

The train was dead silent at 4:00 AM. Siles sat up and looked out the carriage window. In the dim dawn light, he saw thick patches of mist and the world beneath them.

Dawn broke earlier than he expected. He suddenly realized it was already March. Spring had quietly draped itself across the land.

He hoped this was not merely a change of seasons, but also a change of eras.

Two days later, on March 14, Siles arrived in Cronin City and reunited with Chendo.