043 Another Wave Rises (7)

A dream that should never have existed—within it, he seemed to glimpse the shadow of the Dream Deity, and the dream so vividly crafted by that god. Was this mere coincidence, or was there a deeper mystery at play?

He gazed at the phantom image of Nuoluo within the illusion, then turned to look at the wraith beside him—a Devouring Wraith desperately trying to shrink its presence.

The unfortunate wraith huddled in the most hidden corner, maintaining the same posture since it was brought out of the illusion. Even now, it felt as if a cold hand still gripped its throat, threatening to shatter its very soul.

He dared not look at the figure before him, yet was compelled to pay attention to every word and movement. Within the illusion, escape from that terrifying world had been his sole thought, but now, the reality felt even more dreadful than the illusion itself.

All around the wraith, countless other Devouring Wraiths waited for a single command—a command that would erase him in an instant.

Feeding on souls, thriving on slaughter—such was his existence. Until one day, he himself became prey for other wraiths. Now, he saw the same hungry, venomous gazes fixed on him—the gazes of his own companions. He too had once looked at his victims this way, awaiting that fateful order.

Time erases the years, hides away memories. Yet some memories, indelible, never fade.

From the first time he met Nuoluo, from the moment he caught those familiar scents, perhaps everything had already been set in motion. In despair, the wraith looked at the master of the illusion, hopelessly awaiting his ultimate fate.

He too saw Nuoluo within the illusion, and suddenly a realization struck him. He gasped inwardly, “She is…”

Nuoluo, within the illusion, was oblivious to what transpired outside. She simply waited, calmly, for the situation to shift. The formless killing intent had encircled her, but why had no one acted? What was he waiting for?

The wait stretched on interminably, as though an entire cycle of reincarnation passed. Yet, during this endless wait, Nuoluo finally accomplished something—she carried out the unraveling method to its absolute thoroughness.

Now it was the illusion’s master who could not believe what was happening; events had spun entirely out of his control.

The illusion’s appearance had been utterly transformed. Once filled with murderous energy and the breath of death, it had become an entirely different world.

A deep blue sky, so pure there was not a trace of other color, stretched overhead, with a few drifting clouds in the most leisurely of poses.

Endless mountain ranges extended into the unseen distance, guarding the very edge of this world. Upon the peaks, near the sky, lay pristine white snow.

Rivers tumbled down from the high mountains, their surging waves lashing the banks. Forests blanketed the vast land, radiating vibrant life.

What the master of the illusion found most intolerable was the emergence of signs of life throughout the illusion. Unlike the living things he had conjured, this world had become an earthly paradise, a land of life shaped by the Earth Goddess herself.

Within the illusion, Nuoluo continuously conjured myriad forms of life. Though their appearances were but illusionary, each was a true reflection of the deepest corners of her memory. Against the deepest marks of death, the only way to resist was with the ever-renewing breath of life.

The master of the illusion looked at the burgeoning life Nuoluo created, unable to believe his eyes—his illusion was slipping beyond his control.

In his corner, the wraith watched him in terror once more, the chilling aura slowly enveloping him, while the other wraiths, not yet stripped of freedom, cautiously avoided the overwhelming killing intent, lest they be torn to shreds. The intense aura of slaughter began to seep into the fabric of the illusion.

Within the illusion, Nuoluo sensed the deadly killing intent growing around her, now blanketing the entire realm.

Slaughter began anew.

One side ceaselessly wrought death, the other endlessly created life. In this illusory world, it was a direct contest of spiritual power—a battle of life and death, of blood and tears.

Lives that fell were swiftly replaced by new ones. Nuoluo watched these vanished lives—illusory though they were—each fallen figure reminding her of the calamity ravaging the human world.

Each lost life conjured up faces contorted in desperate cries—struggling in wind and snow, resisting merciless disaster, longing for hope and for a strong hand to lift them from their suffering. All this shook Nuoluo to her core.

Every inch of the human world’s land was forged from millennia of the Earth God’s devotion; every human life the fruit of her countless sacrifices.

Every hardship she now faced reminded her of those still teetering on the brink of death, of the countless hopeful eyes longing for her return. At this thought, her blood surged—she could not fall here.

The lives she conjured responded to her heart’s call, fighting bravely on. The invisible killing intent was gradually erased, vanishing without a trace. The breath of life slowly suffused the realm.

Outside the illusion, the figure watching Nuoluo could only concede—his illusion had been broken. Now, it was useless.

He gave a cold laugh. This was only the beginning; it was not over yet. Though she could escape the illusion, obtaining what she truly desired was still far away.

Though the illusion had lost its intended purpose, he was not averse to imposing another test.

Nuoluo could already sense the shattering of the illusion when suddenly darkness swept forth. A shroud of blackness instantly enveloped everything. Not a glimmer of light remained; the land lost all vitality, people collapsed directionless in droves, plants perished in an instant without sunlight.

Once more, the breath of death hovered above her. She felt the illusion fracturing, yet the situation had again shifted.

Though blind, she could feel that the lives she had conjured were now denied the right to breathe.

Without the support of life’s power, she could not ultimately break the illusion; all her previous efforts would be in vain.

Nuoluo took a deep breath and urged herself to remain calm. Since the illusion was breaking, there had to be a way through.

If death’s opposite is life, then darkness’s opposite is light. She needed the power of light—there remained one way, to burn the power of life itself. Within the illusion, she could conjure the force of light, though it would drain her spirit greatly.

She acted on her thought.

At the very moment the sun rose in the east and sunlight returned, the illusion underwent a tremendous transformation. Dead lives were revived—an immense power only the Earth God’s lineage could wield. This was something only Nuoluo could do: conjuring light through the fire of life.

Though she lacked the Sun God’s overwhelming power of light, Nuoluo possessed a different force—while bringing vitality to the earth, the fire of life in her bloodline gathered within her.

At the instant light appeared within the illusion, its master gave up completely on the world he had maintained for countless cycles.

Darkness was gradually dispelled by the power of light. In the final moment, Nuoluo reversed the course of defeat.

Now, she needed do nothing more. The lives she conjured were enough to withstand all lingering dangers. She could sense the illusion fading away.

She began to restore her depleted spiritual power, preparing to confront the illusion’s master once it vanished. Within the illusion, some powers had not been fully revealed, some abilities still veiled in mist. Nuoluo harbored a persistent feeling that the illusion’s master was holding something back—a strange sense that at the very end, it was unclear whether she had defeated the illusion, or whether he had simply abandoned it.

If he had relinquished the illusion, then certainly greater dangers awaited. Either way, she had taken another step forward.

Within the illusion, the lives conjured by Nuoluo eliminated the last vestiges of danger. Smiles blossomed on their faces—smiles of surviving disaster, of triumph over fate, of music composed in victory over calamity.

Their eyes turned to Nuoluo—a silent support, an unconditional trust.

Though these lives were her own creations, destined to vanish with the illusion’s end, as she gazed upon their smiling faces, saw those familiar countenances, those treasured memories from the depths of her soul, she felt their silent encouragement, drawing hope from their strength.

Nuoluo sensed she was not alone—not fighting by herself. Behind her stood countless figures supporting her. Voices from the depths of the earth called her name, yearning for her return.

With a smile, she bid farewell to these lives. This time, they smiled as well—ephemeral beings conjured for the goddess’s need. Their appearance was brief, but their task complete. They had successfully aided their goddess out of peril.

Their figures faded slowly, like snow under a blazing sun—disappearing, yet once present. The melting snow seeped into the earth, still exerting its quiet influence. Their disappearance marked the end of the illusion. All the pressure that had weighed above Nuoluo vanished; the invisible killing intent dissipated. In an instant, she felt her body falling, a familiar sensation sweeping over her once more.

With a heavy thud, Nuoluo landed hard on the ground. At last, she lay upon real earth. “Huh?” What a strange sensation—the earth beneath her feet felt oddly familiar. Looking down, she saw the vanished steps—she had finally returned to that staircase that had once disappeared.

At last, she had stepped out of the illusion—a moment of pure joy. The steps beneath her were narrow, but undeniably real.

She looked at the path ahead, and set out once more on her journey.

—Author’s Note—

Sorry for the late update today. Thank you all for your support! Tomorrow marks the official release. Thank you for accompanying me every day!