Zantman resealed the case with Ludger’s name written on it.
The item meant to be used by Ludger Cherish—delivering it personally was Zantman’s role.
Judging by the situation, it seemed Ludger had descended into the middle layer.
And Julia, the youngest, who had been swept up into this incident, would also be down there.
‘This is why I say cleaning up after youngsters is a pain.’
Zantman sighed inwardly, yet he didn’t stop giving orders.
“Everyone, get ready.”
His voice, usually cranky and mocking, carried unusual gravity and charisma.
Though his behavior was mischievous, he was the second oldest Dreamwalker in the Dream School after Clara Cowen.
Following Zantman’s instructions, the Dreamwalkers opened their cases and pulled out diving suits.
One might imagine bulky, heavy suits for deep-sea diving, but the Dream School’s gear was different.
Only gauntlets up to the forearm and greaves for the legs.
So minimal it hardly deserved to be called a diving suit.
Clack. Clack.
The Dreamwalkers fastened their gauntlets and greaves.
Then they twisted the watch-dials mounted on the backs of their gloved hands, tuning them.
Creaking sounds echoed as springs wound tight.
The needles on the attached gauges spun to their maximum.
“Siesta, ready.”
“Gauges normal.”
“Dials functioning properly.”
Protective ceremonial distortion armor, exclusive to Dreamland.
Commonly known as Siesta.
A magical tool of the Dream School, mandatory for Dreamwalkers descending into the middle layer.
Zantman issued his command.
“Those with Siesta on, you come down with the Master and me. The rest of you focus on protecting the survivors.”
“W-wait! Are you really leaving like this?”
Hugo hurriedly grabbed Zantman as he moved to depart.
“What are you doing? We don’t have time to waste—move aside.”
“W-what about the people here!”
“That’s why we divided the groups, isn’t it?”
“St-still......”
Hugo’s desperate gaze refused to leave Clara Cowen.
Clearly, he wanted the Master of the school to remain rather than any lesser Dreamwalker.
Zantman wasn’t stupid enough to miss that.
As he briefly pondered how to scold this greedy fool, Clara spoke.
“Zantman. Focus.”
Not the gentle, childlike tone she usually used, but a firm command.
At her words, Zantman didn’t ask why—he simply raised his guard to the maximum.
“Everyone, stay sharp!”
At his shout, the Dreamwalkers braced themselves.
Only Hugo and the survivors failed to understand why.
But they would soon find out.
Rumble...
Dreamland shook once more.
It felt like another tiresome earthquake, yet something was different.
The tremors were weak, the intervals unnaturally short.
Normally, such quakes would leave behind only a few sinkholes.
But this time, the result was completely different.
Bwoooom.
The ground swelled as if bubbling foam surged beneath it.
The bulging swell looked eerily like an egg about to hatch.
“What is that?”
Even the Dreamwalkers had never seen such a sight.
The swollen ground burst like a balloon, and from within something uncurled itself.
“A... a colossus?”
A monstrous stone statue, hideous in form, gazed down at them with golden light flowing from its eyes.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
The giant, over 30 meters tall, clenched its fist and raised it.
Then came the crushing blow.
The people watching couldn’t even think of dodging.
Even if they had sensed the danger beforehand, it wouldn’t have mattered.
The moment that massive fist came down, their bodies froze, unable to move.
“So, something strange has crawled out.”
Clara Cowen stepped forward.
Her frail, elderly body moved with an agility that didn’t suit her appearance.
She thrust her staff, and green currents burst forth, forming twin spirals.
The counter-rotating streams of green wind blocked the colossus’s punch.
It was Dream Wave, the magic of the Dream School’s Master, Clara Cowen.
[So, a mere human dares put up a fight...!!!]
A furious roar erupted from the colossus’s mouth.
Not only its appearance but also its ability to speak left the onlookers in awe.
Clara narrowed her eyes at it.
“You can even talk. Clearly, you’re no ordinary Dreamland creature.”
[Do not dare compare me to such lowly things. I am a servant of dreams, created by Lord Nirva! I am the herald who will plunge you into eternal slumber!!!]
The colossus clenched its fist again.
Clara calmly prepared another spell.
“Zantman. Move.”
Just before unleashing her Dream Wave, Clara gave her order.
Zantman shouted in response.
“Move out! Those with Siesta, head down immediately!”
“B-but Master—!”
“Idiots! We’ll only be in her way! The rest of you, take the survivors and retreat far! Stay here and you’ll be swept up!”
Before his words even faded, Clara Cowen and the colossus collided once more.
The dream-servant created by Nirva roared as it noticed the fleeing group.
[Do you think you can escape from within a dream?!]
“You’re noisy, child. My ears work just fine, so do quiet down.”
The tip of Clara’s staff shot out green currents, striking the colossus’s face.
Its hardened skin bore no mark, but its massive frame staggered.
[Owww, that hurts!!!]
The colossus.
The Apostle of dreams, embodying the Death Dream, could only focus on Clara Cowen.
Meanwhile, the Dreamwalkers wearing Siesta leapt into the sinkhole below.
Zantman, the last to remain, looked back at Clara.
“Master! If you get hurt, I won’t forgive you!”
With that shout, he followed his comrades down into the sinkhole.
Hearing it, Clara’s wrinkled face curved into a faint smile.
“Of course.”
* * *
“Where is this now?”
Alex whistled as he looked at the blue sky and the floating sky-islands below it.
“This is the middle layer of Dreamland. Near the top, but from here it gets dangerous—stay alert.”
The hooded man in black, Franz, answered.
Violetta asked him, “So, how far do we need to go?”
“If we keep descending through these islands, there’s an end. That’s where we must reach.”
“From this height?”
“Just step down the islands like stepping stones. There’s no concept of falling to death here, so no need to worry. The problem is, we don’t have much time.”
A distant roar punctuated his words.
The cry of the Island-Swallower.
The accompanying thunderous crashes came from it devouring the sky-islands.
“If we keep going down, we really will meet the Leader, won’t we?”
“If he kept descending, then yes, we’ll meet him.”
“Hmph. With his personality, sitting still is impossible. Heading down is the right choice.”
Muttering, Alex drew his sword.
At the same time, Phantos reacted as well.
The two struck out at the empty air with sword and fist.
A lightning-fast assault too swift for the eye to follow.
Violetta, Bellaruna, and Arfa gasped at their sudden action.
[Khhk. I hid myself well enough, yet to be found so quickly...]
A translucent barrier appeared, blocking Alex and Phantos’s attacks.
Retracting his sword, Alex twisted his lips at the recoil vibrating through the hilt.
“Hey, Black Hood. Don’t tell me this layer is crawling with these kinds of bastards?”
“......Impossible.”
Franz, too, was taken aback by the sudden intruder.
Space rippled briefly, then a man in crimson armor emerged.
His body was gaunt, yet his arms stretched unnaturally long.
From the armored hands extended long, beast-like claws.
He looked less like a man and more like a beast forced into armor.
A dark voice seeped out from the hollow eye-slits of his helmet.
[You shouldn’t have interfered. Had you stayed still, I would’ve sent you off without pain.]
“Your hiding was too sloppy. Hard not to notice.”
[Ki-hi-hi. To speak so rudely before a servant of dreams... How arrogant. But perhaps this will be amusing.]
The armored man straightened his hunched back and gave a mocking bow.
[I am one of Lord Nirva’s servants. They call me Syndrome of the Crushing Dream.]
Though his behavior was formal, his grotesque appearance and scraping metallic voice twisted the air with unease.
As the group grimaced at this uncanny mismatch, Franz glared at him.
“Nirva’s servant, you say?”
[Oh. So you know of Lord Nirva? Indeed, I sense Dreamland’s aura clinging strongly to you. Tell me, have you been here before?]
Violetta turned to Franz.
“You know this thing?”
“He’s one of the underlings of the one we’re targeting. The five riders of the dream.”
Unlike other Apostles, Nirva had servants.
A privilege belonging only to him.
Lucid Dream. Death Dream. Daydream. Crushing Dream. Prophetic Dream.
These five dreams were Nirva’s power, his sword, and the endless terror ruling Dreamland.
“So basically, a demon’s henchman?” Alex remarked.
A surge of killing intent burst from Syndrome.
[You flap that mouth well. Let’s see if you can still talk when it’s torn wide open.]
“Oh? Then go on, tear it wide open for me.”
Alex never stopped talking.
A blatant provocation, meant to unbalance the foe.
For a moment, Syndrome laughed, killing intent fading.
[Very well. Indulge yourself while you can. Now that we servants have moved, your fate is sealed—eternal sleep awaits you all.]
Though his face was hidden by the helmet, everyone there could sense it.
Syndrome was grinning from ear to ear.
[I came here ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) to eliminate the greatest human threats. And know this—similar scenes are unfolding elsewhere as we speak.]
* * *
Elisa Willow frowned at the sudden appearance of a small child before her.
[So sad...]
A boy, no older than ten, clad in pure white robes, eyes closed, endless tears streaming from them.
[I see it. Your future. You struggle in vain, but in the end you cannot escape fate’s crushing end.]
One of the dream’s servants.
The Prophetic Dream spoke to Elisa and the teachers under her command.
[So surrender. Spare yourselves further suffering. This is the mercy bestowed upon you by Lord Nirva and me.]
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about...”
Elisa Willow raised her presence.
“But a disobedient child deserves a spanking.”
* * *
[It’s a pleasure to meet you.]
Ludger turned to Hans as the woman before him gave a polite bow.
“You three, step back.”
“Brother...”
“Now.”
Reluctantly, Hans, Sedina, and Seridan withdrew, leaving Ludger to glare coldly at the enemy.
A woman with black hair so dark it seemed to swallow light, flowing down to her waist.
Her dress was black as well, and most striking was the crimson eyepatch covering one eye.
[I am one of Lord Nirva’s servants. I am Lucid of the Lucid Dream.]
She bowed politely to Ludger.
[Please, give up this meaningless struggle and surrender.]
“After all that, you appear only to suggest surrender?”
[Fighting gains neither of us anything. The others may enjoy battle, but I do not. Personally, I would rather resolve this without conflict.]
“Resolving it without fighting... A fair sentiment.”
[Indeed. So—]
“Then carry this message to Nirva. Return everyone to their world. Never show your face again. And sleep forever in that eternal slumber you so love. Do that, and I’ll agree to your terms.”
It was as good as a declaration of war.
A provocation, knowing full well it would never be accepted.
Lucid sighed softly.
[So be it. This is not what I wished.]
“Not what you wished? Don’t make me laugh.”
Ludger smirked at her.
She claimed she didn’t want to fight, yet—
“In truth, you look delighted by my answer.”
Ludger knew.
He hadn’t seen all the servants yet, but of them all, this one—Lucid—was the one who craved battle the most.
