The Butcher of Sargon (Patreon)

Volume 2 Chapter 70: Who Wakes First from the Great Dream!

"The dreams will take you where you want to go."

Ho'olheyak's words echoed in Garde’s mind before his departure.

This was not difficult to understand.

Everything one sees in dreams stems from what one has witnessed in life; no one can fabricate what does not exist.

However, when everyone's dreams are connected—when one steps into the Empire of Consciousness—it also means stepping into others' dreams.

If one's will is not strong enough, they might be drawn into another’s consciousness and ultimately lose themselves in the dreamscape.

Only by following the traces of your own dream can you escape the entanglement of others' dreams and avoid losing yourself.

When Garde used his Ascension Power to imitate the Nightzmora Knights' Originium Arts and entered the dream, he opened his eyes to find nothingness around him, surrounded only by brilliant, multicolored hues.

In the midst of it all, it seemed as if a force was calling out to him, beckoning him forward.

But Garde didn't move.

The crocodile man stood still, and the colorful surroundings began to shift.

The dazzling colors were replaced by lush green grasslands.

The sky stretched vast and blue; the wild fields were endless, with the wind rustling the grass to reveal cattle and sheep.

The rulers who were secretly observing Garde were stunned; they hadn't expected that the crocodile man would immediately fall into the Nightzmora Knights’ dream world upon entering the Empire of Consciousness.

They found it rather boring.

"Is this the Nightzmora Knights' homeland?"

Garde stood still. Since his Ascension Power was mimicking the Nightzmora Knights' abilities, it was natural that he would be most easily drawn to their dream world.

However, it was different from what he had imagined.

Aside from the lush grass at his feet, the farther regions grew more withered and yellow.

The blue-white sky was veiled with a misty, gray fog.

"Is it because the Khagan of the Nightzmoras has died?"

This place had once been the most expansive territory within the Empire of Consciousness.

But after the death of the Nightzmora Khagan, it had gradually become an ownerless land.

If he wished, Garde could use his Ascension Power to claim it as his own.

Yet, after a moment's thought, he gave up the idea.

Because the world of the Nightzmoras had not completely fallen; as long as there were still Nightzmora Knights in existence, their world would persist.

Garde had no intention of taking what belonged to others.

Having broken through Nightzmora dreams more than once before, even now, deep within the dream world, the unclaimed consciousness domain of the Nightzmoras could not hinder his steps.

However, at the moment he turned around, he seemed to catch sight of a tall Nightzmora Knight nodding respectfully to him.

If Kal'tsit were here, she would have recognized this Nightzmora immediately.

Because this Nightzmora had once stood as the final line of defense for the Khagan during the assault on the ancient civilization’s sanctuary.

He was the youngest member of the Nightzmora Chochek, and until the end, had remained by the Khagan’s side.

When Garde stepped out of the Nightzmora world, a long street stretched before him, giving him the impression of an old Western medieval-style street.

The cobblestone road extended from beneath his feet all the way to a corner where the houses turned.

Shops, bookstores, restaurants, department stores… classical and elegant buildings stood neatly along both sides of the street.

Garde casually glanced around, unhurried and calm.

He noticed a room with its lights still on, where an elderly Feline woman sat reading a book.

Garde knocked on the door, and it opened at his knock.

"Grandmother, may I ask how I can leave this street?"

"You can leave anytime you want,"

The golden-haired old woman smiled warmly, holding a thick book in her hands, and asked,

"Would you like to hear a story?"

"No, maybe if I were younger."

Garde shrugged. Having lived two lifetimes, although he liked to claim he was only eighteen, if you added it all up, he was probably closer to thirty-eight.

The fairy tales he saw now were no longer truly fairy tales to him.

"What a pity," the old woman said regretfully, her withered fingers caressing the book in her hands. Then she reached out and pointed to a path.

"Just keep walking down this road. Once you leave the city, you'll reach the wilderness. Be careful not to get snatched away by the wolves out there. And don’t wander into those fancy, luxurious tents you might see."

"Thank you, Granny. Next time I see you, I’ll listen to your story," Garde said politely.

"Hehe, just don’t scare my little girls," the old woman chuckled, shaking her head as she pointed at Garde’s towering figure.

Garde stepped out the door. When he glanced back, the lights in the room had already gone out.

The old woman had vanished, as if she had never been there at all.

Walking along the street, Garde noticed all sorts of strange things popping out from the houses on either side.

Candy, toys, ice cream, cake…

These treats and toys would eventually float up into the air, drifting into the second layer of the consciousness world.

Garde could continue walking deeper and deeper into the heart of this dream world, but if he did, he would either get lost or wake up abruptly in reality.

So he needed to leave this place.

Following the path the old woman had pointed out, Garde eventually reached the end, as if leaping out of a colorful bubble.

When he turned around, the most beautiful side of the bubble revealed itself before him:

The first layer was a sleeping city, the second layer was an amusement park, the third layer was lush green fields, the fourth was a library filled with books,  tnd the fifth was a magnificent castle.

Countless children were playing within this world.

If he destroyed this world, those children would probably have nightmares, wouldn’t they?

After stepping out from the old city's street, Garde found himself on an empty plain.

The dust-covered ground stretched beneath a sky filled with thick, gray fog.

There were no forests, no noisy wasteland folk—nothing at all.

Having left the developed territories behind, the Empire of Consciousness began rejecting him, trying to push him out of its world.

But Garde had not yet found a place he truly wanted to settle.

Or rather, his journey through the Empire of Consciousness had only just begun.

He began resisting the world’s rejection, gradually calming his mind, slowly merging himself back into the dreamscape.

The barren world before him suddenly blossomed into color.

Garde saw a golden-haired Perro girl sleeping soundly against a towering three-headed dog.

As he shifted his gaze toward them, one of the three heads slowly opened its eyes and let out a threatening growl at him.

The other two heads twitched, their eyelids trembling as if they might awaken at any moment to join in the attack.

But then, a comical opera tune rang out across the wasteland.

A beautiful tent appeared in their vision, and the three-headed dog suddenly fell silent.

It lowered its heads and closed its eyes without a sound.

It was a traveling troupe.

From afar, Garde could see shadows flickering inside the tent, people seemingly rehearsing for an upcoming performance.

"Would you like to come in and watch our new members perform their play?"

A hopeful voice sounded right next to Garde's ear, as if a giant hand had suddenly seized his heart, causing his Ascension Power to instinctively surge outward.

In that instant, Garde felt a sense of threat.

"No, I have my own matters to attend to," Garde replied, his voice unconsciously turning firm.

His fingers trembled lightly, as if they were trying to grasp his weapon.

"Is that so? What a shame," the voice sighed, genuinely regretful, as if lamenting the loss of a good audience.

"If you have the time next time, our troupe would truly look forward to your visit," the voice added.

Garde ignored it and kept walking forward.

He felt a bit afraid, afraid that if he stayed any longer, he wouldn't be able to resist fighting back!

Is it a god? A Feranmut?

Garde wasn’t sure.

The last time he had felt such a mortal threat was when he first entered the Hotlands and faced Aletog.

And now… it excited him.

Garde didn’t know if he could defeat the owner of that voice.

Because the being behind the voice—it was complete.

A fully intact giant Feranmut!?

However, since it had shown no intention to attack, it would be incredibly rude of him to strike first.

Suppressing his urge to fight, Garde continued moving forward.

Truthfully, he felt a little disappointed.

When he fought against the Columbian warships before, he found them weaker than he had expected.

Their cannons couldn’t even break through his defenses.

He preferred fiercer battles—fights where his life was truly on the line.

After Garde left, the wasteland troupe returned to silence.

The three-headed dog cautiously opened one eye, noticed no one was paying attention to it, and then sighed in relief.

It gently licked the face of the sleeping Perro girl resting against it.

The little girl stirred slightly.

She rubbed her eyes with her hands, as if wanting to wake up.

But the three-headed dog’s soft, warm body felt just like a giant bed, making her tiny body sink in deeper, reluctant to get up.

Garde felt that he was getting close to the end of the Empire of Consciousness.

Along the way, he saw many strange and fantastical dream worlds, some ignored him, some avoided him on sight, and some tried to lure him in.

At last, Garde arrived before a range of endless mountains.

The peaks seemed to touch the sky; withered pines clung precariously to the cliffs.

Rushing waterfalls roared, rocks tumbled down the ravines, sounding like thunder.

Several lines of poetry suddenly surfaced in Garde’s mind:

"The peaks stretch so high they seem to brush the heavens, with pines hanging upside-down on sheer cliffs. The flying torrents roar and rush, stones smashing into the gorges with a thunderous din."

The scene before him wasn’t something he had imagined; it was the dream of a Feranmut.

"Light and ethereal, as if detached from the world, ascending like an immortal."

Climbing the stone steps, passing three mountains and eighteen ridges, Garde steadily made his way to the highest peak and entered a small pavilion at its summit.

There, leaning lazily against a column, was a woman with blue hair and white robes.

Her eyes were closed, a wine gourd swinging gently from her hand.

This mountain, this view, this person!

Garde immediately recognized who she was.

Ling.