“How did you make it this far?”
“How do you think? Ugh, my legs.”
Zantman groaned, patting his thighs with his palm.
He raised his brows and glared at Ludger.
“You looked like you’d definitely try to enter the depths somehow, so I rushed after you.”
“I expected it would take you longer. You arrived sooner than I thought.”
“Normally, it would have taken a long time! But the situation being what it is, I pushed myself to hurry. I even brought this with me.”
With that, Zantman revealed the bundle he had carried along.
The moment Ludger saw the large package, he instinctively realized it was what Clara had said she would give him.
“That’s it.”
Ludger’s gaze shifted from the bundle to Zantman’s hands and legs.
Outside, Zantman had worn casual clothes, but here in Dreamland he was dressed fully in the uniform marked with the Dream School’s insignia.
Over it, he wore brass-colored gloves and greaves.
One glance at the barometer and clock embedded on the back of the gloves told him these were no ordinary items.
“It’s called a Siesta. When entering Dreamland, it adjusts the dream-pressure so you aren’t swept away by the dream currents, keeping time flow close to reality. An artifact essential for going deeper.”
Thus, another name for Siesta was “diving suit.”
Just as a diving suit protects the body from cold and pressure in the deep sea and provides air, so too does the Siesta protect its wearer when venturing deep into Dreamland.
“Normally you can move without much issue through the upper middle layer of Dreamland, but to reach the central part, Siesta is indispensable...”
Zantman stared hard at Ludger with disbelief.
“To pass the central layer so easily, reaching the threshold of the lower depths — and still looking unharmed. What kind of mind do you have?”
“I may look fine, but I struggled somewhat.”
“That’s a disappointing answer. From the way you say it, it sounds like you didn’t struggle enough. If you had, you wouldn’t talk so lightly.”
There were no kind words to be had from Zantman.
It was dangerous enough to remain still here, yet Ludger had charged recklessly into the danger zone without even wearing the proper gear.
Though Zantman understood the urgency of the situation, from an expert’s view Ludger’s behavior was sheer recklessness.
Had Clara not told him personally to protect this man, he would have dismissed it as natural death and left him.
But he could not, and so he had come alone this far into the middle layer, leaving the other Dream School mages behind, carrying the Siesta for Ludger.
Did this young man even realize what a once-in-a-lifetime chance he had seized?
Zantman almost said it aloud but held his tongue.
Not only because Ludger looked too intact, but also because three others were with him.
‘No, not entirely people.’
One was a dwarf girl.
Another had a faintly elven feel — likely a half-blood.
Even alone, surviving the middle region was hard enough; moving with others was even harder.
‘The white scenery of the central layer is a canvas that projects human desire and past. And here, not one brush, but four painted upon it. It must have been chaos.’
And yet, they all seemed safe.
Was it because they were all extraordinary in ability?
‘The only one whose strength I can roughly sense is that small half-blood child. The other two aren’t on that level.’
In Dreamland, Zantman could roughly gauge strength by the aura spilling out.
In his eyes, the only one among the four who could withstand Dreamland’s harshness was Ludger.
‘And yet all four remain intact...’
That could mean only one thing — that one person carried the rest.
‘Is such a thing possible?’
It was.
The proof stood before his eyes.
Zantman now understood why Master Clara had told him to watch Ludger closely.
“Well, now that I’m here, you can breathe easier.”
“This Siesta — should I put it on now?”
“No need yet. You’re fine. Using it too soon wastes its energy. Just prepare before we enter.”
At that, Hans finally spoke.
“And you are?”
“Oh. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Zantman, of the Dream School — one of the Dreamwalkers. And you are?”
“I’m Hans. This is Sedina Roschen, and this is Seridan Ironfeet.”
“Hm. I see. Wait... Sedina? Sedina Roschen?”
Zantman twitched at the familiar name.
Sedina looked puzzled, not understanding why he spoke her name.
“So you’re the one! The poor friend my junior couldn’t stop talking about before she died!”
“Wh-what?”
“Oh, look at you! So small. Do you even eat properly? Should this grandpa give you candy?”
“Um, excuse me...”
Had Julia been present, she would have shouted for him to stop at once.
Sedina, overwhelmed by his sudden attention, still had the word junior echoing in her ears.
“Th-that junior you mean...”
“Huh? Weren’t you friends?”
“Friends? Ah!”
Sedina finally realized whom Zantman meant.
She should have guessed when he said he was from the Dream School.
She had not, partly because Zantman was an old man, but mostly because he was so unlike her image.
“I always thought Dream School mages would be... mysterious, otherworldly people...”
“Eh? Who told you that?”
“Well...”
Sedina thought of Julia.
Her outstanding beauty. Her overwhelming talent. Her lofty, crane-like grace.
Julia was always alone, yet no one ever spoke ill of her.
None could compare to her. She was a lone flower blooming atop a sheer cliff.
That was the image Julia carried.
And that image was tied to the mystique of the Dream School.
But the man before her?
The word for him was... frivolous.
Not some mysterious sage from a legend, but more like an old man one might meet in any rural town.
Not that it was bad.
But compared to Julia, it clashed so harshly that Sedina could not make sense of it.
“Hahaha! That rascal must have caused all kinds of trouble outside. I’ll have a year’s worth of teasing material when I return.”
From Sedina’s reaction, Zantman instantly knew why she was disappointed.
It was hard not to.
Most who visited the Dream School had the same reaction.
Still, since she was Julia’s friend, he had thought she might know more — but clearly Julia had kept her seniors out of her stories.
Young people these days.
Clicking his tongue, Zantman returned to the matter at hand.
“Teacher. I came in a rush, but could you explain exactly what’s going on?”
The sudden plague of sleep.
The appearance of retainers never seen before.
He had come this far to handle the urgent matter, but the questions remained.
“It’s a long story.”
Ludger explained to Zantman how this incident began: Nirva, the old man, his retainers, and how he now waited in the depths of Dreamland for something to awaken.
Hearing it all, Zantman’s expression hardened.
“I thought it serious, but this is far worse. Now I see why Master gave such warnings.”
He sighed and stroked his beard.
“Teacher, you’re going on, aren’t you?”
“Having come this far, can I turn back?”
“Tch. Of course not. Running would be useless. But going ahead alone and taking the fall — I don’t like that either.”
“If you worry, you can wait here. I’ll go down first.”
“And leave? After coming this far? My whole School would laugh at me! I could never.”
He said so, but Zantman had intended to fight from the beginning.
And Ludger knew it.
“Take this, then. A special Siesta made just for you.”
Zantman opened the case he had brought, revealing sleek black gloves and greaves.
Unlike the brass color of the others, these were jet-black, slim and smooth in design.
“They look different.”
“Of course. Specially made. The craftsman said he couldn’t just copy — he had to make something that suited you. Honestly, it looks quite good.”
Ludger slid on the gloves.
The black metal adjusted automatically, fitting perfectly to his hands.
At once, he felt it.
The subtle pressure of Dreamland upon his mind vanished, as though blocked.
Like breathing freely through a tank after holding one’s breath deep underwater.
‘So this is why Dreamwalkers insist this is essential. It truly is remarkable.’
While Ludger marveled, Zantman offered advice.
“See the green gem on the back? Channel a bit of mana into it.”
Ludger did as told, and the gem glowed bluish-green.
A translucent field formed around him.
“Wh-what?”
“Haah.”
Hans, Sedina, and Seridan all exhaled in relief.
They, too, were freed from Dreamland’s oppressive weight.
“It’ll burden you somewhat to maintain, but it can safely carry up to ten companions.”
It wasn’t only for the user, but designed with comrades in mind.
“At this rate, it’s less a diving suit than a submarine.”
“Master’s order. It shows how vital your role is.”
“So, what’s this one called?”
“Called?”
“If it’s special, it deserves a special name.”
“I rushed here the moment it was done, no time to name it. Since it’s yours now, why don’t you?”
“You’re saying this isn’t on loan, but mine?”
“Of course. We aren’t merchants. Especially not in times like these, when profit means nothing.”
With steady eyes, Zantman declared. Ludger smirked faintly.
A man who moved for cause, not greed, even in crisis.
Now he understood why the Dream School gathered idealists.
If the head was like this, the rest surely followed.
If only such people were more common, the world might be better.
‘No. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. The world’s foundation itself is twisted. No number of °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° good people can fix that.’
Shaking off the thought, Ludger looked at the black gloves.
“A name, then.”
He remembered a tale.
A man who slept in dreams for so long that the world changed when he awoke.
There are many versions of the story, many sayings like “losing track of time while idling.”
He chose from there.
“[Rip Van Winkle]. That suits it.”
In the depths of Dreamland, time flowed differently than outside.
What name could be more apt?
And Ludger knew the end of that story.
Yet he chose it anyway.
To remind himself endlessly of the present situation.
That he — no, that they — would never meet that ending.
“Let’s go. That gate is the path to the depths.”
And so, with Zantman added to their party, they advanced toward the colossal gate.