"Thank Saint Heim... is she all right?"
Knight Bart's voice trembled slightly as he asked. For the past few days, he had barely slept a wink, staying by his daughter's side every waking moment, guarding her from any possible threat.
Whether it was the danger posed by his daughter's own strange condition, the suspicious intentions of the Sisters, or the unpredictable aid of the mysterious witch, all of it weighed heavily on this aging knight who had long since passed his prime.
Now, finally hearing a name that brought him peace Bart's tense body finally gave out. Before he could even hear the witcher's reply, his vision went dark and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Confirming that the knight had merely fainted from exhaustion, Aldric let out a relieved breath. He planned to recruit the runaway with emotional baggage and the female warrior who owed him a favor as temporary muscle for his next move.
But this mission—classified as extremely dangerous—was clearly not something that could be cleared as a party like the last one.
"I'm sorry, little hunter," the witch said apologetically. "But I'm afraid you'll have to handle what comes next alone. The girl's life signs are weakening—I doubt she'll make it through the night."
"She has a good father," the witch continued, her tone soft but solemn. "One who gave her enough love to forge a strong soul. Right now, she's like a lone flame burning in the darkness, surrounded by beasts waiting for it to die out."
With a gentle wave of her hand, the scattered furniture around the room floated back into place, and the blackened, scorched walls gradually returned to their original state.
"You must enter her dream immediately and bring her soul back. In that realm, my power can only protect one person—you."
The witch restored the shelves along the wall, though most of her collection had been destroyed in the earlier explosion. Aldric's abrupt entrance had clearly cost her dearly, but neither of them mentioned it—they understood each other too well to waste words on such things.
"Her dream? I thought I'd be venturing into the Chaos itself." The witcher apprentice pulled out a few items he had stored in Leomund's Secret Treasure Chamber, the spoils of his previous battles. "What do I need to do?"
"It may be called a dream," the witch explained, carefully assessing her losses, including the cat doll the female warrior had previously cherished, almost everything was gone. The witch couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. "-but in truth, it's an astral subspace linked to Chaos. It's not a simple dream, but neither is it a real world. The only thing in there that's truly real... is death. If you die inside it, there's nothing I can do to save you."
Aldric draped the [Silent Shadow] over his shoulders. The long black robe trailed to his boots, its surface smooth and reflective like a dark mirror. In the flickering candlelight, faint ripples shimmered across it, while a belt of bright silver cinched it at the waist—like a streak of the Milky Way cutting through the night sky.
He then drew his newly acquired weapon [Nahl's Flame Greatsword] and gave it a few testing swings. Despite the long robe, his movements remained unhindered. The blade's fiery edge left glowing trails in the air like shooting stars, their reflections dancing upon his cloak.
Whether he liked it or not, Aldric had to admit—this weapon was forged to draw attention. Dressed in black and wielding a blazing sword, he felt as though he were cosplaying a Sith Lord from some ancient film.
The witch, seeing his striking figure, felt her heart ache even more. Why does he look that good while I'm surrounded by ashes?
"I need you to enter a meditative state now," she instructed. "Don't resist my guidance. I'll lead your consciousness into the girl's dreamscape. Beyond your willpower, none of these external tools will help you there."
Aldric paused mid-motion, almost sighing. Then why did I bother dressing up? Just for the cosplay?
He took a deep breath and downed a vial of [Tranquil Thought Elixir]. If he was to use his strength, he'd better use it on the edge of the blade—higher perception meant a better chance of success. This was a rescue mission, after all.
Planting his sword into the ground, Aldric gripped its hilt with both hands and stood motionless, entering a meditative state while standing—a posture that had become second nature to him. In truth, he had discovered early on that he possessed an exceptional talent for meditation; he didn't need special potions or techniques. All he had to do was quiet his mind, and he could enter the trance at will.
The witch, though still nursing the pain of her many losses that day, kept her composure. She merely twitched the corner of her lips in mild irritation before beginning her guiding ritual.
Unnoticed by either of them, the crushed remains of the cat doll silently disintegrated into ash. The dust floated gently through the air and was drawn into the sleeping girl's body as the ritual began.
…
When Aldric opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a dimly lit room. The uneven floorboards beneath his feet told him he was aboard a ship, swaying slightly with the motion of the waves.
Looking down at himself, he was momentarily stunned. He was wearing a ridiculous blue-and-white striped jumpsuit—part sailor uniform on the top, part clown costume below. The puffy trousers looked absurdly oversized. Is this how that girl, Carla Rosetti, imagines a sailor? he thought helplessly.
Though he'd never read Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams, Aldric had his own understanding of how dreams worked.
In fact, his one and only "cheat" since transmigrating was related to this, dream control. Even now, he wasn't sure if it was a gift granted during his transmigration, or a side effect from the genetic enhancement procedures he underwent at the National Loyalty Academy.
When he was six years old, Aldric discovered he could control his dreams. Inside them, he could recreate anything he'd seen, a book, a document, an image and once he visualized it, it would forever be stored in the dream library he built within his subconscious, accessible anytime he wished.
Similarly, he could replay and analyze every martial technique and combat move he had ever learned—over and over again, refining them endlessly in his dreams. He could even manifest people he deeply understood and interact with them as if they were real.
For two years, seven hundred and twenty nights in a row he met his sword instructor in his dreams, challenging him again and again. Then one day, when he instinctively knocked the sword from his teacher's hand, the dream suddenly fell silent. Only then did Aldric realize that, that time, he wasn't dreaming.
But as virtual reality technology advanced, his ability lost much of its practical value. The world no longer needed dream training when science could do the same thing with machines.
Even so, Aldric remained himself, a man who shone with his own inner light amidst the masses. Talent was one thing, but his true strength came from his unwavering persistence, from training day after day without rest.
And now, once again, he found himself standing in a dream.
How many years has it been since I last dreamed?
He stepped out of the cramped room, climbed a winding staircase, and emerged onto the deck. The vast ship stretched endlessly beneath his feet, the stairs behind him vanishing as soon as he turned.
Beyond the ship lay an endless ocean. Towering bone-like stone pillars rose from the sea around the vessel, while crimson waves—tens of meters high crashed and roared against the jagged reefs.
Aldric's lips curved into a feral smile. How nostalgic.
How long had it taken him, back then, to tame his chaotic subconscious and forge it into order?
He spread his arms wide, letting the salty wind whip through his hair.
"I," he declared to the roaring sea, a spark of power flashing in his eyes—
"am the King of Dreams!"
(End of Chapter)