Chapter 114 - Chapter 114: Dreamchaser

"Where on earth is the world full of flowers…"

Yang Qiu was on the back of an undead lizard, slowly making its way up a winding and steep path in the Sorensen Mountains.

Here… was where the miasma was the thickest in the Sorensen Mountains.

Even though Yang Qiu wore headphones and listened to "Chasing Dreams with a Childlike Heart" playing on his phone, the shrill buzzing noises that frayed one's nerves still penetrated his ears.

"I never choose to give up my dream even in my darkest days…"

Without showing any expression, Yang Qiu endured the formless pressure smothering him from all directions. Even when passing through the mountains and forests where the mist appeared like thin smoke, or other times, like rolling clouds distorting into various terrifying shapes, he didn't look back.

Sorensen, "The Tomb of the Fallen." Two months ago, the miasma here would affect Yang Qiu, but now… it really didn't seem to matter.

"Perhaps I don't have talent, but I have a pure dream that I will spend my life proving…"

The undead lizard climbed into the depths of the dense forest and stopped before a pool of water.

Yang Qiu turned off the phone's music player, removed his headphones, and got off the lizard's back. He stared at the pond surrounded by tangled bushes and scattered rocks, glanced around him, then waddled into the water.

The calm surface of the water swayed… and disappeared.

A hideous monster, lying silently in the scattered rocks, lunged at Yang Qiu with mouth wide open and swiftly bit toward Yang Qiu's legs.

Yang Qiu remained unflinching. He didn't even blink and just watched this ugly monster in silence.

The grotesque mouth of the monster, larger than its head and body combined, couldn't close. Before its teeth could touch Yang Qiu, its body, the size of a pony sprawled out flat on the ground, was deconstructed into black dust and dissipated with the wind.

When the souls collided or tried to devour each other, the essence of a soul was greater than the difference in combat strength between different species. These low-level monsters formed by a fallen soul with a mental power of at most six or seven hundred, attacking Yang Qiu, whose power outclassed it by more than tenfold, naturally met a disastrous end.

Spellcasters of this world weren't glass cannons.

Yang Qiu sat down where the hideous monster had lurked.

Souls that fell and turned into monsters would unconsciously gather in areas where they felt comfortable. After wandering for half a day in the miasma zone, Yang Qiu found this relatively powerful low-level monster. The place it lay seemed ordinary at first glance, but it wasn't—once Yang Qiu sat down, he felt a strong dizziness, and the buzzing lingering in his ears became increasingly piercing.

Yang Qiu was very satisfied, adjusted his breathing, and started meditating.

With his perception opened up, frenzied auras accumulated over the long years rushed toward Yang Qiu like a school of piranhas in a feeding frenzy.

If the external magical energy could be likened to nutrient-laden poisonous syrup that one could absorb, then the dense mist and miasma in the Sorensen Mountains, which had become so thick that one could visually perceive its form, was like a deadly poison.

Yang Qiu shut his eyes, keeping his senses wide open, and used his mental perspective to calmly observe these frenzied auras surging toward him.

What he "saw" wasn't toxicity or madness, but shattered and chaotic fragments of souls.

The Sorensen Mountains hadn't always been shrouded in miasma. Four hundred years ago, this mountain range was the largest trade route in the southern part of the Navalon continent.

When the shadow of the resurgence of elder gods loomed over the entire continent, when void demons began to emerge from unstable temporal rifts, the Sorensen Mountains, as if stricken by a curse, gradually turned into a forbidden zone of life.

Over two hundred years ago, when Yang Qiu was still enduring days in the old man's mage tower, the Sorensen Mountains gained another alias—"Tomb of the Fallen." No one knew exactly how many beings that lost control made this their burial ground.

What could be confirmed was that this vast "tomb" was far from a peaceful resting place. Yang Qiu "saw'' many fragments that could no longer be called souls, only remnants of instinct for devouring and killing.

He "heard" their voices, a chaotic and murky wail that cut through the nerves like steel blades.

Yang Qiu calmly "watched" them.

Just as he observed Camore, Weisshem, and the places he had traveled to where people suffered or were lost and numb.

These things were sentient too.

Yang Qiu's upbringing on Earth was far from ideal. His original family was a mess, with an irresponsible father who abandoned his wife and children, a mother who wasn't very wise when it came to important matters, and unreliable relatives…

Before Yang Qiu entered middle school, the most vivid memory he had was his mom dressing up in the most tattered clothes during festivals and taking him to the neighborhood committee to complain. All of this was just to get a bit more aid for their family, like securing an extra half-bucket of cooking oil and a few kilograms of rice.

Yes, due to his father's irresponsible actions of abandoning the family, part of their family's income came from welfare assistance before Yang Qiu and his sister, Yang Ying, came of age.

When his sister finished high school and chose to work instead of attending college, thus making their family income exceed the local welfare standards, Yang Qiu finally escaped the awkward situation of always having to pretend to be pitiful.

He never thought his life was particularly happy, and after entering high school, he often complained about the extravagance of his peers who seemed to have more money.

It wasn't until he inexplicably arrived in this world that he realized that… life could be much more bitter.

What his mother did for a bit of cooking oil and rice was nothing compared to the plight of others. Some people here, despite working hard and breaking a sweat, had to kneel down and lick the housekeeper's shoes just to get a few pieces of stale bread they rightfully deserved.

His envy and resentment toward affluent classmates seemed trivial when faced with those born into privilege, enjoying a life of luxury. Others were born with the label of inferiority, not knowing what it meant to change their lives, not understanding the concept of hope, with their biggest wish being to not starve to death.

Sayings in textbooks like "Behind the vermilion gates meat and wine go to waste, while out on the road lie the bones of the frozen" turned out to carry profound weight.

The Buddhist concept of "all living beings suffer" was not just a casual saying.

Yang Qiu was unwilling to accept a world that could send shivers down one's spine with just a casual glance. He struggled desperately to survive, to become powerful. He wanted to go home, or at least find a way to shake this messed-up world and not let himself suffer for no reason.

But the reality was bleak. The stronger Yang Qiu got, the more he realized there was very little he could actually achieve. A post-gun era could revolutionize, but in this world where gods walked among mortals while the extraordinary were treated worse than dogs, he couldn't see a glimmer of hope for success no matter how he calculated or strategized.

He couldn't even achieve a second-rate capitalist revolution, let alone lead the people to overthrow their oppressors.

This world had undergone an industrial revolution more than a century ago before Yang Qiu came. When he transmigrated, Yang Qiu could see airships flying across the sky in big cities. Giant ships weighing more than 100,000 tons crossed the outer sea, and magic steam train tracks paved the capital of a landlocked country like the Rhine Kingdom.

Along with the development of the magic industry, there were tens of millions of industrial workers across the continent. Factories bloomed everywhere, and a large number of capitalist elites emerged.

These new capitalist elites had indeed challenged the authority of the feudal nobles to a certain extent, but they were still quite a distance away from massive social change, like the American Civil War that unified America.

The reason was simple. The threat of elder gods loomed over everyone's heads, and the invasion of void demons stopped the swelling of capital power.

When the all-devouring nature of capital was curbed, people would turn to conservatism. Developed countries on Earth that had divided up the high-end manufacturing industry and sat down to enjoy their forebears' money for decades had already proven the inertia of capital in this aspect.

If the capital that was most likely to trigger social change was preserved, what could the people do?

And what could Yang Qiu do?

He couldn't do anything.

He could only let himself witness the suffering of all living beings and hear their cries of pain.

He was powerless against the current status quo, so, at the very least, he needed to know the pain of all living beings.

He opened his mind and accepted the poisonous magic mixed with countless painful, fragmented souls. Many voices wailed in his mental domain, and painful moans echoed throughout his soul.

His soul felt like it was being torn apart.

Yang Qiu was unmoved, allowing these chaotic and crazy consciousnesses to shuttle through his mind.

A crying voice lamented regret for its mother.

A voice expressed remorse for squandering its life.

Yet another voice vented dissatisfaction with someone.

A voice was subconsciously screaming.

A voice was complaining about the injustices of fate.

And one voice cursed all life in the world, wishing everyone would descend into damnation like itself…

Amid the intense soul-wrenching pain, Yang Qiu began to hallucinate.

In the foul-smelling fishing port of a poor seaside town, a man standing by a rundown wooden boat looked at Yang Qiu in surprise.

The man smiled at him ingratiatingly. After exchanging a few pleasantries between strangers, he made an excuse and left, running into town without looking back.

He had discovered a wanted criminal worth 90,000 gold coins and was rushing back to inform the sheriff.

When Yang Qiu left the town, the fisherman, who had toiled for his family for more than a decade, was hanged on a rack drying fishnets with his arms and legs broken.

He hadn't really done anything wrong; he just wanted to get rich. So, Yang Qiu didn't make things difficult for him… but he did cause the sheriff to hang out in the cold wind all night, and the sheriff certainly wouldn't let the poor fisherman off for that.

The man in the hallucination stared at Yang Qiu while taking his last breath. There was no hatred in his eyes, only pleading.

Yang Qiu remembered this pleading gaze for many years.

The vision of the poor fisherman dissipated, and what appeared in front of Yang Qiu was… a large group of people.

A large group of people, skin and bones, dressed only in tattered rags. Their faces were blurry.

Yang Qiu stared at this group of people for a long time and slowly recalled, Ah, it's you people.

Refugees.

Natural disasters were frequent in the Navalon continent, but there were no aid groups in this world.

Refugees who could not survive and had no choice but to flee were regarded by municipalities as troublesome hot potatoes.

Yang Qiu did not know where this group of people came from. He only remembered that he had come across this group of people when he was fleeing from the holy land of the Radiant Sun Church.

With pursuers hot on his heels, Yang Qiu couldn't stay.

Even though he knew that this group of refugees, struggling to survive the harsh winter, had no chance of being accepted by the Holy Land. They would be driven away, pushed into the desolate wilderness, and quietly die in a place where no one could see… he didn't do anything but glance at this group of refugees before hastily leaving.

I haven't forgotten you all… How could I? Not far from these refugees, a magic steam train roared past.

The phantoms of the refugees disappeared like popping bubbles, replaced by the images of another group of people.

Yang Qiu looked at these phantoms that lingered deep in his soul, his inner turmoil gradually calming.

He knew very well that these images were his inner demons, manifestations of his own powerlessness, of the guilt and regret etched into his soul.

He had never wanted to forget these things. When he saw them again, he didn't feel embarrassed; he just understood himself on a deeper level.

Over the course of three hundred years, he had come to terms with his own powerlessness many times. It was an objective fact, and there was no need to disguise or romanticize it.

After a long time, Yang Qiu revealed a faint smile. "I see you… I remember you.

"Forever."

The magic swirling around Yang Qiu suddenly surged upward.

This active, boiling magical power instantly attracted the dormant magical power within a kilometer radius. From inside and outside the forest, countless magical powers flowed toward him, coalescing and converging to gradually form a magical vortex.

Even the Holy Land's prophets, who held sealing artifacts, avoided this contaminated magical power, which swirled, boiled, intermingled, and solidified over the course of about ten minutes, becoming a visible irregular crystal.

Yang Qiu looked up at the massive translucent magical crystal, and with a push from the ground, he stood up.

The gigantic irregular crystal floated in midair, rotating slowly, enveloping Yang Qiu in a radiant glow.

Several kilometers away, in the Sorenson Mountains, mercenaries guarding a caravan from the southern continent passing through a "safe passage" watched in amazement. They saw a dazzling light emanating from the mountaintop, and their eyes widened in shock.

"That… Is that a Gate of Ascension?"

"Could someone have come all the way to the Sorenson Mountains to advance?"

"Oh gods, with such a massive Gate of Ascension, could it be that someone is ascending to the fabled level?!"

The mercenaries marveled at the sight but soon realized the potential danger. The captain quickly urged them, "Don't just stand there! Let's hurry! A Gate of Ascension at such a level is not something to be taken lightly. If the person who triggered it loses control, it will be a big problem!" Upon hearing the captain's words, the mercenaries picked up their pace, leaving behind the spectacular Gate of Ascension.

The "Gate of Ascension" was not a literal gate but a beam of light. Those enveloped by the light would prefer to call it a "Gate."

For those who sought to transcend their current state, whether they were spellcasters or professional individuals, crossing the "Gate of Ascension" was a necessary step.

The "Gate of Ascension" was not a door to another place but a path to transcendence.

The moment Yang Qiu entered the "Gate," he found himself in a vast, white, ethereal world.

Behind the "Gate" was something like a void, yet not quite a void.

The void was the end of nothingness, the location of all fears, and the ultimate destination of all annihilation.

Beyond the "Gate" lay order, rules, and the scrutiny and trials of dimensional laws.

As Yang Qiu emerged from the disorientation of entering the "Gate," he felt the familiar, suffocating pressure as if he had been submerged in a deep sea.

This feeling was dreadful; the air seemed thick like a liquid, making it difficult to breathe. It wasn't just a physical burden; mentally and spiritually, it felt as though invisible hands were pressing down on him, as if they intended to push him into the ground, crushing his spirit and will entirely.

This wasn't some deity's sadistic whim; it was simply the pressure exerted by the dimensional laws beyond the "Gate," an unconscious imposition of its authority.

Yang Qiu, who had been here twice, naturally wasn't too fazed by this level of pressure. After adapting to the environment beyond the "Gate," Yang Qiu raised his head and looked at the sky.

Above him was a massive, cold, and pale pupil.

"Eye of Truth," Yang Qiu called out its real name.

The pale and colorless pupil turned to Yang Qiu.

Dimensional laws were not sentient beings; they lacked consciousness and emotions. When a living being invoked its true name lightly through the "Gate," it would grant them a completely impartial baptism.

A surging energy descended from the pale pupil and gushed toward Yang Qiu.

Yang Qiu spread his arms and calmly accepted the impact.

The power bestowed by the Eye of Truth during this baptism depended on the scale of the "Gate" crossed by the living being.

This could be considered the fairest treatment for the living beings in this magical realm, apart from death. It was also the only ladder to heaven that those born in unfavorable circumstances could rely on.

However, the power in this world was toxic. Even the Eye of Truth, representing the dimensional laws, bestowed a poisonous baptism despite its impartiality.

The moment he was struck by the power, Yang Qiu's entire body trembled violently, and even his consciousness started to blur.

An indescribable flow of information surged through every inch of his nerves, and each second felt excruciatingly long, driving him to the brink of madness.

While struggling against the torrential baptism of power, the hallucinations that had disappeared not long ago resurfaced.

Moreover, they were stronger and clearer than when Yang Qiu had used the special environment of the Sorenson Mountains to pre-enact the baptism.

Yang Qiu convulsed, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, his vision spinning.

The images of the refugees he had once abandoned to their fate almost solidified on his retinas. He vividly saw the lifeless gaze of those frail faces, how they had become numb.

As he enforced his idea of justice in a crude and brutal manner, the very people he wanted to help—those refugees—feared and loathed him more than the individuals he was targeting.

He began to tremble, his body and soul shaken to the core.

His mind descended into chaos.

Regretful tears mingled with the taste of blood in his mouth.

In his daze, a melody suddenly echoed in his mind.

In moments of confusion and exhaustion, this melody had pulled him out of desolation countless times, urging him to keep moving forward.

"…Run forward, facing cold stares and mockery…

"The vastness of life cannot be felt without enduring hardships…

"Fate cannot make us kneel, even if our arms are covered in blood…"

Yang Qiu opened his bloodshot eyes, gasping for breath as he spat out the blood in his mouth.

His nerves, soul, and body felt like they were being ruthlessly washed away by a turbulent, razor-sharp torrent. The pain was almost unbearable.

But his mind was clear now.

The melody he was so familiar with, the one he had loved even before his journey through time, carried all his longing for his homeland throughout the three hundred long years. It had already seeped into his very bones.

Now, it was instinctively awakened from within his bones, surging out and nourishing his will and spirit.

"The brilliance of life cannot be seen without persisting to the end…

"Instead of lingering and gasping for breath, embrace it with all your heart. For the sake of the beauty in your heart, never compromise until you grow old…

"I, an old man, will never compromise!"