Chapter 41: A Dream Woven of Dark Arts

In this Western fantasy world, Heaven and Hell are ethereal yet indisputably real planes.

To say they do not exist would be inaccurate, since both divine magic and dark arts undeniably function. Senior believers can indeed perform specific rituals to petition holy spirits or devils, receiving corresponding supernatural feedback in return.

Yet to say they truly exist is equally dubious, as no one has ever actually witnessed a holy spirit or a devil manifesting before their eyes.

Of course, setting aside those metaphysical concepts, the Empire essentially treats the Church of the Holy Spirits as a tool—visiting it when needed, and casting it aside when not.

As for the heretics who worship devils, they are treated as key performance indicators. Whenever evaluations by superiors are due, a batch of them is rounded up and executed, converting cold human lives into warm political achievements.

Consequently, Ryan currently faces a slightly troublesome problem.

He knows that the military judge is afflicted with a heretical dark art, but he cannot state the truth.

For only those who understand dark arts can distinguish what constitutes a dark art.

Conversely, if you are bold enough to be certain it is a dark art, you must have researched similar fields. Yet the Empire's definition of heretics is so broad, depending entirely on practical political needs... In short, he must not leave behind any handles to be used against him.

"It should be a dream curse," Ryan said as he stood up.

"The mages before you said the same thing," the legion commander said in a hoarse voice. "But identification is one thing, and lifting it is quite another."

Betharia and Ellyrina had also recognized the traces of infernal dark arts from the military judge's symptoms.

"I can resolve it," Ryan stated bluntly, "but the intensity of the curse is directly proportional to the number of people it has infected. Therefore, I need to know how many people inside and outside the castle of your legion's garrison have fallen into this abnormal state."

The legion commander and the tribune fell silent simultaneously.

"Cannot speak of it?" Ryan turned, preparing to leave. "Then I cannot help you. Farewell."

"Wait a moment." The legion commander hurriedly reached out to stop him. "I can tell you, but once you know, you cannot leave this place until the curse is lifted."

"So the news cannot be allowed to leak out, is that it?" Ryan sneered lightly. "Very well, speak."

"Including those here and those who went out to report, a total of over fifty people," the legion commander paused for a moment before continuing, "are the only ones among us who can still maintain consciousness."

"The number used to be greater," the tribune interjected. "But we discovered that the moment anyone succumbs to drowsiness and falls asleep, they immediately become unable to wake up, falling into a prolonged coma just like the others."

"So you have stubbornly endured two days and a night without sleeping?" Betharia asked with a smile, a gloating expression on her face.

The others glared at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Counting the legion as twenty thousand men, there are probably about..." Ryan began to calculate.

"Over six thousand people," the tribune reminded him.

"Twenty-six thousand people—this falls into the category of a large-scale curse," Ryan said calmly. "Generally speaking, a large-scale curse requires locating and destroying the corresponding ritual site to completely halt the curse itself."

"However," the legion tribune said, "we have never discovered any suspicious locations resembling a ritual site."

"Because such locations tend to be quite covert," Ryan replied. "They require massive manpower and time to conduct carpet-style searches, and you clearly lack that capability."

"The alternative is to send me into their dreams and dismantle this curse from the inside."

Before his voice had even faded, everyone present immediately looked at him with profound respect.

Because "sending me into the dreams" was tantamount to "letting me taste this curse as well," and the risks inherent in that went without saying.

"Lord Ryan!" the knight leader Messer hurriedly cried out. "You cannot..."

"It is fine," Ryan signaled him to stop trying to persuade him. "The risk is controllable."

"Absolutely not!" Messer pressed his hand against his weapon, appearing intent on staging a direct act of insubordination.

The soldiers of the Night Wraith Legion exchanged glances for a moment, then suddenly drew their longswords in unison, attempting to force the family knights out of the castle hall.

Their bare steel blades pointed at one another, bringing a battle and bloodshed to the verge of eruption. Yet Ryan, situated at the exact center of the conflict, simultaneously ignored both tense factions, simply instructing Ellyrina and Betharia:

"When I enter the dream, protect me well. Do not let anyone threaten my safety."

This statement was not only instruction but also an inescapable command issued to them through the Caged Bird.

Following that, Ryan lay down upon the cold stone bricks, closed his eyes, and gently pressed his index finger against the center of his brow.

Coma curse.

His arm instantly went limp, and his head slumped crookedly to the side.

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Dreams are a collection of emotions and consciousness.

Mages who study soul-type magic have long pointed out that dreams are divided into shallow and deep layers. The shallow layer is constructed from the dreamer's own conscious fragments, while the deep layer is the endless ocean of the collective unconscious.

This is not a void hypothesis, but is supported by actual evidence: many people dream of bizarre and fantastical imagery, and many things even feature sights they have never witnessed in reality.

Much like a deep well—if a river several miles away floods, the water level in the well correspondingly rises, demonstrating that the underground water veins deep at the bottom of the well are actually connected to the distant river.

Ryan walked within the dream.

As a necromancer capable of dragging wandering souls back from the River Styx, his research achievements in the realm of the soul were by no means comparable to ordinary mages.

Even without the support of a physical body, he could effortlessly cast spells relying solely on spiritual consciousness.
Calm.
Aura of Wisdom.
Dream Travel.

Innumerable magical buffs were stacked upon his body, making his conscious form as multicolored as a Skittle, radiating an exceedingly formidable luminescence.

Just like a brightly colored mushroom, one could tell at a glance that its toxicity was absurdly high.

Demonic entities capable of operating within the ocean of the subconscious—such as dream banshees and nightmares—upon seeing this colorful human figure drifting past, knew all too well that a powerful grand mage had likely entered. Subconsciously, they would immediately widen the distance to avoid being captured, refined, and forcibly bound by a slave contract.

Ryan located the large-scale dream constructed by the dark arts, an entity resembling an island in the ocean whose faint silhouette could be discerned from afar.

Enter the dream.

The dream was purely black and white, devoid of any color, utilizing only deep and light grays to distinguish blocks of shade. Yet Ryan recognized at a glance that this was Highrock City, ruled by the Malone family.

Highrock City, as the name implied, was a "lofty, piled-stone city." It was built upon a natural stone mountain on the south bank of the Long River. The mountain itself stood perpendicular to the river's surface, with city walls, arrow towers, and watchtowers constructed atop it; its overall height was nearly enough to drive any besieging force to absolute despair.

During the founding period of the Second Human Empire, the defining battle that brought fame to the Eighth "Night Wraith" Legion involved crossing the Long River from the downstream reaches under cover of night, executing a forced march of over seventy li before dawn, bypassing the entire naval defense line of Riverbend Province, and capturing Highrock City from the southeast by sheer force—for which the Emperor subsequently bestowed upon them the Night Wraith battle flag and an honorary title.

Now, the large-scale dream here was unmistakably replicating the historic Battle of Highrock from years past.

Ryan watched with an expressionless face as the Night Wraith Legion felled timber on the spot, constructing battering rams and siege towers before pushing them to assault the gates of Highrock City from the eastern side.

Unfortunately, from the legion's encampment to the location of the city gate lay a steep uphill slope with a vertical drop of nearly six meters...

Whether it was the siege towers or the battering rams, they were swiftly smashed to pieces by rolling logs and falling stones propelled by gravity.

To the southeast of Highrock City, hidden within the mountain forests, was the Riverbend Mountain Legion. Utilizing the woods to conceal their traces, they lingered like poisonous snakes hiding among leaves, poised to launch a sudden, fatal ambush against the engineering camp the moment the Night Wraith Legion let down their guard.

The Night Wraith Legion suffered heavy casualties.

The corpses of the fallen tumbled beneath the veil of night, only to vanish shortly thereafter.

After a brief interval, reinforcements arrived from the rear, as though those legion soldiers who had perished in battle were returning to the battlefield once more in the guise of fresh recruits.

Ryan cast a spell of Spiritual Vision upon himself and began observing the flow of magical power within the dream.

The anger, terror, and despair harbored by the fallen soldiers of the Night Wraith Legion at the moment of their tragic deaths—all these negative emotions were collected by invisible circuits within the dream, flowing toward the dream-manifested Highrock City.

Emotion is magic.

If emotions are extracted excessively, the soul begins to wither. Dying too many times does not particularly matter, but if emotional fluctuations become too violent, the soul will be thoroughly captured by the dark arts dwelling here.

Ryan pondered for a moment, then suddenly stepped out of the woods and appeared before the Night Wraith Legion.

The soldiers instantly treated him as a formidable enemy, aiming their shields, swords, and bows in his direction.

"Soldiers of the Night Wraith Legion! Cease your actions!" Ryan cast a Volume Enhancement spell upon himself. "You cannot conquer Highrock City like this!"

The legion soldiers looked at one another in bewilderment. After a brief moment, they pushed one person forward, who stepped out of the ranks and demanded:

"What is your purpose, mage?"

Ryan looked closely, and as fortune would have it, it was precisely that military judge who lay comatose in the outside world.