At the mention of a dream, Ludger fell into brief contemplation.
It was not merely a figurative expression meaning “as difficult as dreaming.”
It was literally a dream.
“The Dreamland, then.”
Dreamland.
A world formed from the unconscious, the spirit, and the dreams of all humans in existence.
At least, according to one mage’s theory.
In truth, its origin was so ancient it defied estimation, and thus could very well be different.
Only one thing mattered.
The path leading to Dreamland was difficult to access, even for Ludger himself.
“It seems you know a little about Dreamland.”
“If one is a mage, it is impossible not to have heard rumors about it.”
Dreams are linked to the unconscious, and attempts have indeed been made to amplify magic through that unconscious.
But all such attempts ended in failure.
For Dreamland was not a place an individual mage could dare to control.
Marias agreed.
“As you know, Dreamland is truly a place hard to enter. Falling asleep doesn’t mean you can reach it. And even if you do, the problems begin afterward. Because it is a world of the unconscious, you cannot know where to go, how to move, or even how to act within it.”
One experiences similar things while dreaming.
In a dream, ordinary movements sometimes do not work properly.
Conversely, one can perform impossible feats with ease.
There are no clear rules, no known methods.
The control of consciousness.
That was the most basic requirement to approach Dreamland.
“But there are those who can make it possible.”
“You mean the mages of the School of Reverie.”
The School of Reverie.
Among the many branches of magic, it was one not yet fully systematized, composed of mages who specialized in dream magic.
Considering how few mages belong to other unique branches, the School of Reverie was comparatively sizable.
Even among Ludger’s own students, one belonged to it.
“With a teacher of Ludger Cherish’s level, it’s not strange if you know at least one of them. But did you know? Even those mages of the School of Reverie have limits to how far they can move.”
Ludger nodded.
Being of the School of Reverie did not mean one could freely travel Dreamland.
Even among them, their level and rank as mages decided how far into Dreamland they could go.
“Even the most exceptional Reverie mage alive has never descended beneath the middle layer of Dreamland. Do you know why?”
“Because the unconscious power Dreamland holds is too much for even their minds to endure?”
“Correct. That is why most Reverie mages, even when they enter, skim only the surface world.”
Ludger recalled the First Orders’ meeting.
They too had gathered in Dreamland, but, perhaps due to its danger, they met secretly only on the surface layer.
In other words, even the Black Dawn Society did not dare to venture deeper.
“And I said before, didn’t I? That once you go, you can never return. In fact, that isn’t quite true. If it were, how could information about the scenery you mentioned have been passed down?”
“You mean someone went there, saw it, and returned.”
“Yes. Long ago, only once. A young mage of the School of Reverie attempted to reach Dreamland’s depths. Pure recklessness.”
“Knowing he could never return, and still he did it?”
“The mages of the School of Reverie are a little fanciful. They say dreams must be held grandly. Of course, that one was particularly eccentric.”
Even if he could not return, that was fine.
Even if all he did was behold the deep world of Dreamland unseen by others, that was enough.
He claimed as much, then fell into the dream’s abyss.
And he saw it.
All the world’s beauty, its sorrowful castoffs, its ruins and its wondrous forests. A sky split, mingled, and whirling in phantasmagoric swirls.
All of it engraved into his sight for a mere three seconds.
And at the center stood a massive structure of unknown origin.
And there...
“That is where his record ends.”
“So there was... something at that structure?”
“Judging from the context, yes. Or perhaps nothing at all. But that scenery was indeed a clue, and it is indeed the place you seek.”
“......”
Ludger sank into thought.
Marias spoke softly, gently offering advice.
“You proclaimed that you would never stop, but sometimes one must know when to stop. That is not cowardice. It is wisdom.”
“......”
“Please, do not forget that.”
* * *
Even on the train ride back from the Empire, Ludger could not easily break free of those thoughts.
“Dreamland, is it.”
Among all the fragments he had searched across the continent, only one place remained.
He had vowed to find it, no matter where it lay.
Yet fate mocked that resolve by raising an impossibly high wall before him.
Whether he could climb it, whether anything existed beyond it, even that was doubtful.
Facing such a wall, Ludger stood at what could rightly be called a crossroads of his life.
“Marias Selmore’s advice was not wrong. The depths of Dreamland are perilous. Once entered, escape is nearly impossible.”
He had heard a story on that matter as well.
A mage of the School of Reverie who lingered too long in Dreamland’s middle layer.
The deeper one goes in Dreamland, the more its sense of time diverges from reality.
A day in Dreamland might pass, yet upon waking only hours had gone by.
“One hour on the surface equals one hour in reality.”
But from the upper layer onward, one hour equaled ten minutes in reality.
One hour in the middle layer equaled a single minute.
And the disparity widened further the deeper one went.
From the middle layer downward, it was divided into upper, middle, and lower sub-levels, and with each descent, the time scale shifted drastically.
One mage seized on this idea.
“If research continues within a dream, time is no longer wasted—” and so he became obsessed with Dreamland.
He thought it harmless.
But the result proved otherwise.
In short, the Reverie mage who lingered too long in a dream went mad.
He had lived decades in the dream, only to wake and find the real world unchanged.
Imagine aging into an old man through relentless research in a dream, only to emerge outside and see nothing altered.
He himself had not experienced it, but—
Surely it felt as if the world outside had stopped altogether.
The years of his mind had long since passed, while his body’s time stood still.
The moment he realized that the outside world had not changed at all, as though fixed in the far distant past—
Reality and dream.
Mind and body.
Consciousness and unconscious.
All split apart, breeding a terrible end.
No matter how great their mental strength in Dreamland, even mages of the School of Reverie could not escape madness.
“Even those who walked Dreamland as though it were their home met such wretched fates. Can I truly go there?”
Reaching it—perhaps he could manage that much.
But the greater problem came after going.
The place where the Relic lay could only be the deepest depths of Dreamland.
The moment Ludger entered that place, what he would have to fight was not merely “the unconscious” or anything so simple.
The further downward he went, the more the endless expansion of the time disparity.
He would have to endure years approaching eternity.
Years no superhuman willpower could bear.
Even Grander, after all, had grown weary of the ages and sunk into boredom and ennui.
“Can I truly do it?”
He had thought he had finally reached his goal, but the place he sought remained impossibly far away.
What he believed visible was a mirage, and even that hazy shape was beyond his grasp.
Still.
Even so.
He could not stop.
“Dreamland, and Isla Machia as well. I’ll have much to do during the break.”
He was already planning to send a letter to Isla Machia as soon as he returned.
To ask after the one staying there, and to hear what had happened.
“Nicolai. Victor Dreadpool. And Verom. Just what are you planning?”
* * *
Squelch.
When a leg clad in black armor stepped down, the mud pooled on the ground splashed lightly.
One might have cared about the splatter marring the smooth, dark armor, yet the wearer walked on unconcerned.
Black armor covering the entire body. A sharp helmet that concealed even the face.
A great black-hooded cloak draped over all.
The alley the knight emerged from was strewn with corpses and blood.
“Bravo. As expected, your skill is tremendous.”
At the sudden voice, First Order Verom halted his steps and turned his gaze.
A man stood there.
A sly-looking man with thin features and hair grown long and stringy like seaweed.
He smiled with a seemingly benevolent face, but anyone who knew his true nature would never be fooled.
“You, who usually skulk like a coward weaving intrigues in the shadows, what business brings you down this alley?”
Verom spoke, inwardly cursing the damned speech pattern.
But there was no help for it.
That tone was a curse bound to the armor itself.
Even so, Nicolai’s expression did not change.
“Thanks to you, it’s become far easier to seize the underworld of Isla Machia. Enough that I think it’s about time I moved personally.”
“Truly a cunning one.”
“All thanks to you, isn’t it? Of course, there are still a few groups left.”
At Nicolai’s insinuation, a sharp killing aura burst from Verom.
“Greed beyond one’s station shortens one’s life.”
Even under that pressure, Nicolai’s face did not change.
Instead, others reacted to the killing aura.
Sssk.
A series of figures suddenly appeared, surrounding Verom.
Clad in black, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ rag-like hoods, their skin glimpsed beneath was unnaturally pale, like white powder.
Most striking were the red tattoos crossing their white flesh.
From the alley, to the iron balconies, the brass pipes, the shabby street lamps—
They occupied every perch, silently staring at Verom.
And Verom’s displeasure was plain.
“Defective experimental trash...”
He had just set a hand on the hilt of the greatsword on his back when—
“Enough.”
At Nicolai’s order, the figures melted away like mirages.
“My apologies. Those creatures are reckless when it comes to protecting me.”
“Their loyalty is not to your leadership, but to Victor’s drugs and brainwashing.”
Verom let go of the sword.
He turned his back, as though unwilling to consort with Nicolai any further.
“A warning. If you ever again dare to play your petty tricks on me, then my blade shall be aimed at your neck.”
“Oh dear. I thought this last job had brought us closer.”
“My involvement was nothing more than a strict transaction. With the battle just now, I have fulfilled my role.”
Verom’s part was to personally cut down the most troublesome figures of Isla Machia’s black mage society.
Now that task was complete, there was nothing left for him.
For Nicolai, losing such a powerful piece was a sore loss.
Thus he tried subtle persuasion, but Verom was merciless in such matters.
Even revealing the experimental subjects for intimidation made no difference.
“We are equals. There is no superior nor inferior between us. If you intend to provoke me half-heartedly, then one of us must end here and now.”
“Calm yourself. I had no such intent.”
“Words without sincerity are as light as feathers.”
Even at that cutting rebuke, Nicolai only smiled.
“Will you return to Victor then? Shall I tell him his creations served you well?”
“I will not join Victor either. He is far away from here.”
“Ah yes, so he is.”
Nicolai chuckled.
“In the lands of the southern beastkin tribes, was it? I can’t imagine what he’s doing there.”
“You feign ignorance though you know.”
Verom sneered.
The sly Nicolai always kept a keen eye on the other First Orders’ movements.
Naturally, he already knew exactly what Victor was doing in the beastkin lands.
And what purpose Victor Dreadpool pursued there.
He was surely watching Verom’s every move as well.
Just as Verom was turning to leave, Nicolai’s voice held him a moment longer.
“Verom.”
“What. Speak your business only.”
“Be cautious. It seems there’s been turmoil in the elves’ forest.”
“......”
Nicolai had not spoken out of pure goodwill.
For something to have happened in the elves’ forest meant that Ventmin herself had been touched.
In other words, another First Order might fall.
“Hmph.”
Verom snorted and vanished into the shadows.
Watching his retreating figure, Nicolai exhaled lightly and strolled away.
Not into the shadows, but into the lamp-lit street.
And behind him, the experimental subjects melted from the darkness, following like loyal guards.
Like rats chasing after the Pied Piper.