Zeke had expected the dream to end once the devourer was subdued, but he was wrong.
Instead, he became a witness to the emperor's continued corruption of the creature. In excruciating detail, he experienced the process of his mind being laid bare, his memories unraveled and examined piece by piece.
Of course, they weren't truly his memories—they belonged to the devourer. But in this moment, trapped within the experience, the distinction hardly seemed to matter.
The process was... disconcerting, to say the least.
For hours, Zeke remained locked in place as the emperor sifted through their mind like a scholar browsing a vast library. The man was in no rush, carefully examining each memory he extracted, lingering on details with deliberate patience.
In a way, it was fascinating—almost breathtaking—to witness Augustus Geistreich navigate another's mind with such ease. If not for the sheer, absurdly intrusive nature of it, Zeke might have even admired the skill. More than once, he imagined himself as the actual victim of such an ordeal. The thought alone was enough to send a chill down his spine.
It didn't take long for his mind to drift to his mentor, who had also fallen into this man's hands. As gruesome as it was, Zeke found himself almost relieved that Maximilian had died rather than enduring this inhuman violation.
Worse still was the realization of what could have happened if the emperor had gained access to Maximilian's memories. Every one of Zeke's secrets would have been laid bare before him. The very idea was too terrifying to dwell on.
Especially now that Zeke understood the emperor's deep fascination with the mysteries of the Soul—going so far as to capture and interrogate creatures like the Devourer. There was no telling what the man would do if he discovered that Zeke had inherited a Soul Mage's legacy from the Giger ruins.
Then again, he supposed it wasn't that hard to imagine. He would likely be treated no differently than the devourer was at this very moment. Whatever happened, he had to make sure never to be captured like the poor creature was, or his fate would be the same.
However, as horrifying as the ordeal was, Zeke wasn't merely enduring it. From the moment the mental intrusion began, he had been carefully observing the emperor's techniques. No matter how much he despised the man, there was no denying Augustus's mastery.
Wouldn't it be a waste not to learn from such an exceptional display?
Zeke doubted the emperor would ever allow anyone to observe his methods this closely if he intended for them to live. Yet, at this moment, Augustus wasn't making the slightest effort to conceal his techniques. That could only mean one thing—he had already decided the devourer wouldn't leave this place alive.
It was like witnessing a robbery where the bandits didn't bother to wear masks—the fate of everyone involved was no longer a mystery.
Unfortunately for the emperor, the dwarves, in their relentless pursuit of unconventional alchemy, had discovered a way to extract the devourer's memories even after its death.
One man's loss was truly another's gain.
With the devourer in a subdued, almost trance-like state, Zeke felt little discomfort during the procedure. This allowed him to focus entirely on the emperor's use of mana.
It was nothing like the methods he had been taught in school.
These methods were likely unknown outside the emperor's closest circle—if even that. Given what Zeke knew about the man, it was entirely possible he had never shared his techniques with anyone.
Of course, Zeke was nowhere near skilled enough as a Mind Mage to fully grasp the emperor's level of mastery. But even the fragments he managed to glean were expanding his understanding of the mind by leaps and bounds.
Augustus didn't handle memories as a simple sequence of images. Instead, he wove them together in a far more complete way—integrating emotions, impressions, and even fleeting thoughts to reconstruct the experience exactly as the devourer had lived it. In a way, the result felt closer to Soul Magic than traditional Mind Magic.
The resulting construct was a seamless web of sensations, thoughts, emotions, traumas, and countless other fragments—woven together into something far greater than the sum of its parts. It was like watching a painter at work, turning mere strokes of color into a masterpiece.
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There was no denying it—Augustus Geistreich was an absolute master of the mind. The process didn't seem to strain him in the slightest. He read through the devourer's memories as effortlessly as a man flipping through a picture book. It was almost as if the most complex puzzle in existence was unraveling itself willingly out of sheer respect for his skill.
Zeke was in absolute awe of the possibilities this ability unlocked. Even if Augustus had no offensive means—which Zeke highly doubted—the sheer power of gathering information in such a manner was as formidable as any attack spells.
One thing was certain: Augustus had no trouble expanding his Soul. In essence, he was achieving the same effect as the Dreamwalker brew, but without the need to kill the creature beforehand.
It was highly likely that the emperor could grow his Soul by seamlessly integrating his artificially created Soul fragments. After all, they were nearly indistinguishable from real experiences.
What troubled Zeke even more was the possibility that the man could use this ability on others—allowing them to experience a lifetime of memories in moments. No, there was no doubt he could. The only question was whether he had chosen to wield his power in that way.
If he had, then mass-producing Archmages would have been entirely within his grasp.
Zeke found it hard to believe that a man like Augustus wouldn't have realized the greatest obstacle to reaching that level was the size of one's Soul. That meant while Zeke had discovered a shortcut for Core development through the Mana Purifying device, the emperor had found a way to bypass the natural limitations of Soul growth altogether.
Together, they possessed the pieces of a puzzle that could enable any faction to mass-produce an army of high-level mages within mere years.
A terrifying realization—and yet another reason why Zeke could never allow himself to fall into the emperor's hands. This was a secret he would have to guard at all costs.
He inwardly cringed at his recent decision to reveal his early advancement. While he doubted that a mere Grandmage's achievements would normally catch the emperor's attention, things might change if the man suspected a hidden method behind it—a secret that could propel his machinations to even greater heights.
Of course, for now, this was all just speculation. It was entirely possible that the emperor had already discovered his own method—or perhaps he simply didn't consider it a crucial piece of the puzzle.
Even so, Zeke resolved to be even more cautious in the future. Nothing good could come from attracting too much of the emperor's attention at this stage.
The mere thought of this force of nature, standing just a step away, shifting his full focus onto him sent a shiver down Zeke's spine.
Though Augustus didn't appear intimidating at first glance, there was something about him that had unsettled Zeke from the moment he entered the room. And it wasn't just his power. No, what truly made Zeke's skin crawl was the man's clinical, methodical approach to deceiving the devourer.
Every action had seemed so natural, so inoffensive and gentle, that it was almost inconceivable that such devious intent lurked behind even the smallest gesture.
Augustus Geistreich was a master manipulator—charismatic, calculated, and utterly ruthless. His gentle smile and refined features masked a mind that was more machine than man, as cold and unyielding as the chains now binding the devourer's very will.
A born Mind Mage.
In that regard, Zeke felt utterly outmatched. He would never reach the heights of mastery Augustus had attained. Even given a million years, he doubted he could rival this man. He simply lacked the aptitude, the will, and the stomach to wield such power with the same effortless precision.
And yet, for once, that realization didn't trouble him. There wasn't a shred of envy in him for the emperor's mastery. While undeniably great, it was painfully clear what price the man had paid to reach such heights.
His humanity.
Zeke had long learned to resist the ruthless clarity his Mind affinity offered, a restraint made easier by the dominance of his Blood affinity. In a way, these opposing forces kept each other in balance. But Augustus Geistreich, the pinnacle of Mind Magic, had surrendered himself entirely to his power—consumed by it, shaped by it, until little remained of the man he might have once been.
It wouldn't have surprised Zeke if the emperor was incapable of feeling human emotions anymore. In a sense, he had transformed himself into a being of pure intellect, much like the devourer he was now tormenting. The more Zeke thought about it, the more the parallels between them became apparent—even their insatiable hunger for knowledge seemed eerily alike.
"Interesting," the emperor muttered, lifting his hands from the devourer for the first time.
Zeke's ears perked up. He was eager to learn what the emperor had been searching for—what secret he had finally uncovered. But whatever knowledge the man had extracted remained beyond Zeke's perception.
The emperor stood motionless, seemingly lost in thought. Yet, there was something deeply unsettling about him. He looked less like a living being and more like an eerily lifelike statue. His stillness was absolute—Zeke couldn't even sense the rise and fall of his breath. It was an unnatural, almost inhuman sight.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the emperor moved. He turned on his heels and strode toward the exit, abandoning the devourer without a second glance. He offered no explanation, no remark on what he had found so interesting. The gentle facade he had worn before was gone, discarded now that no one remained to witness it.
As the door clicked shut behind the emperor, Zeke felt it—the dream was ending.
For the first time, he resisted the pull dragging him toward wakefulness. He wanted—no, he needed—to know what the emperor had discovered.
This was the first real clue he had ever uncovered about what drove the man, and it was both enlightening and deeply unsettling. But Zeke was certain there was more to learn, more to uncover if only he could stay a little longer.
Yet, his struggle was meaningless. Just as he had been a prisoner within the devourer's body, unable to influence its actions, Zeke found himself powerless to control the end of the dream. The brew had simply run out, and there was nothing more to see. Like a book that refused to reveal more words after turning the last page, the dream could not be extended by one's will alone.
And so, despite his struggles, Zeke was unwillingly dragged back to reality.