I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

It was once proud of this.

But it wasn't until much later that it finally realized that this feeling of pride, which had grown out of nowhere, had actually caused it to lose its original perfection.

Was it due to the negligence of the original creator, or the wear and tear from maintaining this dream for so long, or... was it because in the process of constantly accepting and merging those souls who coveted life, it also caused some kind of impact on itself?

The once pristine wishing machine is now covered in filth.

"In that case——"

After ruling out several possible causes, it ultimately attributed its transformation to the increasingly weak and corrupt souls.

"—Error, needs to be corrected—"

Now that we know the cause, we naturally have a solution. All we need to do is cut away the filth that has been tainted, and expel the unbearable filth. In this way, we can return to our original state, a perfect wish-granting machine.

This is the creator's expectation of himself.

"Do you... understand what we're saying?"

I don't know how much time passed, perhaps ten times, perhaps many more "reboots," but those weaklings who resisted death yet began to rebel against survival itself finally found their true selves, found what they wanted them to find—

"In any case, it's no use guessing here. Finn has bought us some time, so there's no need to rush... Let's go back first to avoid arousing the Cauldron's suspicion."

——Sacrifice.

……

“Those souls got one thing wrong.”

The girl slowly opened her eyes.

An inorganic voice, a ceaseless torrent of souls, a colossal tree reaching for the sky, hidden in an impenetrable fog. A man, his body charred, hangs from a branch, looking over with his empty eye: "You're nothing special."

"You have not been integrated for a long time simply because I have never accepted you."

"In order for this 'paradise' to be maintained for a long time, those impurities that should not exist must be expelled. Soul from another world, you are the chosen sacrifice."

She twitched her fingertips and realized that the sword of light she had been gripping tightly was nowhere to be seen. Her fair hand was now covered with all sorts of strange, ugly, bright red lines, eerily glaring. These lines spread upwards like water flowing over her forearm.

"For this reason, I deliberately preserved the memories of those souls—it's an interesting plan. But now that you're here, it's time to end it."

The man's mouth opened and closed, his monotonous, machine-like voice echoing from all directions: "Next, your memories, the memories of the other souls, everything will be 'killed' and then reborn. They will receive assistance at the appropriate time to restart this plan. Weak soul, hopefully next time, your experience will be even more exciting."

The other eye, hidden beneath the brimless hat, slowly opened as the last sentence was uttered. Its crimson light, thick as a swamp, lunged at the girl the instant her gaze shifted.

It seemed like a moment.

The crimson light engulfed everything in its path. The scene was like a colossal wave crashing onto a small reef on the beach—but the next moment, as if a saint had swung his staff, the "Red Sea" suddenly parted, and the turbid current continued to rush forward, leaving behind only a gleaming sword.

A blonde, blue-eyed figure.

One man, one sword, just as Clausolas once heard in the raging flames: As long as the blade remains in one's heart, the one who wields the sword of light is destined to be invincible.

A sword rang out, seemingly carrying a hint of joy.

"Feel sorry……"

The sword tip pointed downwards, as if touching an invisible surface of water, ripples spreading outwards. Wherever it passed, cracks silently appeared in the air. These cracks expanded rapidly, and with a series of crisp cracking sounds, the pale world shattered like a mirror. In an instant, the surroundings flickered between light and darkness, and then everything returned to the vast, empty palace.

Guinevere tilted her head back.

The large cauldron still sat quietly in its original place, and the countless chaotic red lines that covered it seemed to have disappeared considerably, while the originally densely packed eyeballs had become much sparser.

She slightly raised her right hand, which was holding the sword.

Despite the lack of light, the red lines that had spread across the entire forearm and were still expanding were clearly visible. The lines hadn't yet formed any concrete pattern, but a strange, deathly aura already permeated the air.

In comparison, Guinevere already knew perfectly well what this change meant.

"Although you seem to have a well-thought-out plan..."

When the red lines finally took hold of her right arm, her right hand suddenly drooped, and she couldn't even feel half a finger, as if it had been cut off. The girl hooked her toes and caught the sword of light with her left hand. With a gentle swing, the light overflowing from the crack left some afterimages in the darkness, like fireflies dancing.

"But I never want to go through those miserable days again, when I was wrapped up tightly and had to cry out to eat, drink, and relieve myself!"

Before he finished speaking, he arched his body and shot like an arrow toward the large cauldron on the steps!

P.S.: Sorry for the three-day hiatus. Those who have been following the situation in Hong Kong should know what happened... Actually, thinking about it calmly, from all perspectives, it might not be a bad thing. Ultimately, you need to be strong yourself; worrying about things is pointless. Let's just wait and see how things develop, and focus on improving ourselves.

This chapter is nearly five thousand words long. Qingbai has put so much effort into it, how could you bear not to vote for it!

Chapter 302 The Dream Seen by a Young Girl (Seventeen)

Have you ever considered this possibility...?

The memory is too distant to discern who uttered those words, but I remember the speaker looking worried, their brows furrowed: "That soul is indeed somewhat special, but it is far too weak, far too fragile. Even Oscar, the youngest among us, and Fennaville, the most mediocre, are far superior to him... How can such a weak soul have managed to persist until now without being assimilated by the Cauldron? Don't you find that... strange?"

"You mean, something's fishy?"

"Or perhaps, this was all a trap set by the Great Cauldron."

Although he said it was just a guess, the man's tone was resolute, as if he was certain of the possibility. In the following period, he persuaded some of his companions to unite against the plan.

Some said more gently, "It's too risky. Let's think about it some more." But a few of the more straightforward and impulsive ones yelled at him right in front of him, "Do you have a brain?! You dare to step into such an obvious trap? Are you trying to send everyone to their deaths?!"

Later, his most trusted right-hand man quietly visited him, bringing fine wine.

“Finn, if you’re here as a lobbyist, just speak up… If even you object, I can stop this plan immediately.”

The other person didn't object, but silently drank glass after glass of fine wine. The wine in the dream was just as fragrant, and in terms of getting people drunk, it was no different from reality. When they were almost completely drunk, the person sitting in front of them put down their glass and chuckled, their breath reeking of alcohol.

"This trust is something I haven't felt in a long time."

"It has been a very, very long time since we sat down together and drank like this."

"Although I always drink it by myself."

“There’s nothing I can do.” He shrugged. “Alcohol can dull a person’s mind and give cowards unnecessary courage. Being stupid or cowardly doesn’t matter, but having both is a complete disaster. Besides, it doesn’t matter if a smart person or a genius is stupid, but if a mediocre person like me continues to become stupid, this country is really doomed.”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like the elders from back then.” Finn chuckled, his gaze shifting downwards, then turning to the ring on his hand.

The simple, pale gold color, without any superfluous patterns or carvings, is so plain that it would probably have been an ordinary object that I would never have given a second glance to in my lifetime.

"I believe you should understand that this is indeed a trap."

He nodded. Even if he was just a fake Magic King, the wisdom and insight he inherited from this ring were enough for him to see through the connection between the Great Cauldron and that strange soul.

That soul itself was not special; it was just that, for some unknown reason, it was chosen by the Great Cauldron from among the thousands of dream dwellers to bear and accept the various impurities that the Great Cauldron had accumulated over the long years—in a sense, it was like the dumping ground of this dream.

The reason they were able to find the soul's location might be due to Da Fu's deliberate guidance. Because the soul's endurance was almost at its limit, it might have seen through their plan and intended to go with the flow, banishing this "dumping ground" from the dream to end it all.

"But I also know what you're thinking."

Finn bit his thumb, finding the gesture rather childish. After having children, he rarely made this signature "thumb bite" in front of others. But it was as if in this dream, his appearance had become younger, and his mind had returned to the carefree and reckless days of his twenties, when he cared nothing for authority.

“Even if it’s a trap, the soul that absorbed the impurities discharged from the cauldron became connected to it. You and I possess great skills, yet we are like limbs unable to resist our bodies, unable to stand up against the cauldron. Talisin and other external allies are not subject to this restriction, but are limited by their strength. If we combine our strength, we do have a chance to create a sword that can and is sufficient to cleave the cauldron…” The man said, but paused for a moment at the end.

He understood Finn's implication that the hope was slim, and after a moment's thought, he simply shook his head: "No, you're wrong."

"What we need is not a sharp sword."

……

The incredibly wide stone steps, one after another, seemed like a bridge connecting heaven and earth. The girl running on the steps at this moment had the illusion of traveling through a tunnel, with everything around her stretching and narrowing.

The red markings were spreading rapidly. After losing sensation in her entire right arm, almost half of her body went numb. Perhaps it was a second, perhaps two seconds, perhaps longer or shorter, but her steps suddenly veered off course, and her whole body lunged forward, crashing into something. Amidst the intense pain, it seemed as if blood was flowing.

Jianfeng braced himself on the ground, stood up again, and continued climbing.

Numerous shadows appeared before and behind her, reaching out their hands: "Stop—don't continue—"

Those figures resembled his father in this life, his mother whom he had never met, his brother whom he had once been close to but had drifted apart, the knights and maids in the palace, the villagers he had met by chance… Their faces rippled like water, then transformed into his parents from his previous life, the two of them looking at him apologetically after an argument, his old classmates drinking and laughing together, and the only one who would look at him with longing… his sister…

"elder brother……"

The thin, small figure suddenly became clear, staggering closer, tears welling in its eyes, its face filled with bewilderment, its gaze empty. Reflected in the lenses of its glasses was a charred corpse… “—Brother!”

The father, whom I hadn't seen for years, sat hunched over by the door, looking haggard. My stepmother gently patted his shoulder. Soon after, a woman dressed in fine clothes rushed over, but twisted her ankle in front of the door... Under the clear sunlight, heart-wrenching or sorrowful cries rang out.

"I chose you because your soul is more fragile than others—"

With a thud, probably from her knees hitting the ground, she suddenly realized that she couldn't even feel pain anymore. She tightened her grip on the sword, trying to get up, but her body swayed and fell back down.

From beginning to end, she was just an ordinary mortal.

In the past twenty-odd years, I had almost no remarkable strengths and did nothing to make my parents and sister boast to outsiders. In this life, I thought things had finally changed, but after all the twists and turns, I still ended up in such a sorry state.

It was as if fire was burning all around.

...It was that nightmare that had haunted her for over a decade.

Countless nights I awoke from this sea of ​​fire, and what I felt afterward was a terror as if I were drowning in darkness.

"We chose you because your spirit is weaker than others—"

The voice of the inorganic matter in the cauldron echoed in her ears, booming like thunder. She smiled bitterly to herself. She was a mediocre person who was born in a peaceful era and whose greatest experience was her parents' divorce. Compared with those heroes who were born in chaotic times, it was only natural to be described as weak.

"—I choose you—"

Bang!

Crimson markings covered her entire body, and even the fingers resting on the sword hilt lost all feeling. She seemed to hear the distant sound of the sword of light falling to the ground. The girl struggled to open her eyes, but all she saw was a fiery red glow, like the last glimpse she had taken before dying, trapped in a sea of ​​fire. Past and present lives, drastically different circumstances, suddenly overlapped, and the aura of death drew ever closer.

"It's because you're more afraid of death than anyone else."

This is how Dae-kamura declared.

From the very beginning, the situation was under their control.

"You call yourself Guinevere and inherit the origin of Fennaville, which allows you to exist in reality as an independent individual. But the real Fennaville is dead, and once the dream disappears, this lie built upon the dream will also vanish."

"You, who have no origin, will not be able to return to the stream of souls once you die. At that time, you will also die, truly die."

This voice was the only thing the girl could hear, and whether out of pity or for some other reason, the originally cold, mechanical tone seemed to have gained a hint of kind advice: "Let go of your pointless obsessions, accept your weakness like everyone else, accept your fear of death. And then—"

"Accept the happiness I bestow upon you."

The words fell.

What slowly unfolds before him is a future he never imagined: he survived the fire, and the estrangement between him and his parents melted away because of it. Although he could not return to his childhood, the three of them would occasionally eat together, go shopping, and take his younger sister out to play. Over time, his mother and stepmother became best friends, much to his surprise.

Friends he hadn't contacted in a long time also came back. Over drinks, they met several times and rekindled their old friendship, where they would go to great lengths for each other. He had a sweet and lovely girlfriend, and everything went smoothly for him. They got married, had children, and his work was uneventful. He wasn't exactly a success, but at least he was financially secure. Decades passed in the blink of an eye, and his retirement life was equally peaceful and uneventful—if it weren't for that fire, this would have been the life he had been looking forward to the most.

Simple yet flavorful, the everyday necessities of life—the warmth and happiness of ordinary people.

The cauldron, perched high above, silently watches the girl lying in the middle of the steps with its central eye pattern, observing the red lines covering her body. Each red line signifies the long and continuous crying and sorrow of a soul.

These emotions once affected it, causing it to lose its originally proud composure and even begin to generate unnecessary and absurd feelings.

It even began to fear death.

Ever since it learned that several souls were plotting to ruin the dream, it has been constantly immersed in fear.

But this ridiculous influence ends here; once this soul is banished, everything will return to its original state. It only needs to focus on the mission given to it by the Creator and continue weaving this perfect "paradise" until everything is destroyed.

however……

The single eye stared at the girl's left hand, and unusually, it sensed a feeling beyond fear. After a moment, it found a definition from the vast amount of data it had retrieved that matched this strange emotion.

"...I actually..."

Anxiety and anger—these are emotions that should only arise in harsh reality, emotions born from a person's powerlessness in the face of their circumstances. Why then do they appear in this paradise, in the very creator and maintainer of this paradise?

While bewildered, it intuitively understood the source of this feeling.

Even now, that weak soul still hasn't put down the sword in its hand... the treasure from the same city-state as itself, Krausolas.

The invincible sword.

Its former master was a male known as the God of War, and the only one in the entire Danu tribe who did not accept it.

"desire?"

Nuada, at that time, should have cherished life and resisted death, just like his two wives, and immediately seized the lifeline it offered.

But he just pursed his lips and chuckled softly.

"My wish... Although I don't know who you are, could you please shut up? I still want to savor what it feels like to die, a death that only happens once in a lifetime."

Then the demonic eye shone down, and the figure vanished into thin air before its eyes.

It clearly sensed the fear and unease hidden in Nuada's heart at that time, but could not understand why the other party would so readily refuse its offering.

Just like right now.

"Why--"