Some moments later, Lian lay on the infirmary bed, his body heavily bandaged from the injuries he had sustained during the brutal encounter with Alaric. His arm and fingers, shattered from the battle, were bound tightly, while his torso was similarly wrapped to heal the deep bruises and internal injuries.

It had already been a week since he had been admitted, and thanks to the meticulous care of the medical attendants, his condition had significantly improved. His bones had begun to heal, though the internal damage would take a few more weeks to fully recover.

Despite his peaceful appearance, Lian was not in a coma. Instead, for the first time in his life, he was truly dreaming. For sixteen years, he had never experienced a dream in the conventional sense. His nights were spent in a strange, chaotic dream space where he encountered the three mysterious figures: the giant eye, the massive heart, and the white sun. He had once believed this was normal, but as he grew older and learned from others, he realized his experience was unique—and unsettling.

This time, however, Lian found himself in a completely different realm. The dream unfolded before him like an ancient battlefield, chaotic and endless, stretching far beyond the horizon. The air was thick with tension and violence as countless figures clashed in a ferocious struggle. Blood-curdling screams echoed through the skies, and the ground was soaked with blood as combatants fell by the thousands. The battlefield seemed eternal, with no signs of either side gaining an upper hand.

Strange beings filled the battlefield—some humanoid, others monstrous and grotesque. Their strength and appearance were horrifying, enough to fill even the bravest of hearts with despair. Among the human forces, there were also powerful warriors, figures who fought these monsters as if they were mere insects.

Yet, despite the relentless slaughter, the battle showed no signs of ending. Lian couldn't help but wonder how such a war could persist without ever depleting the numbers on either side. It was as if the dead were returning to life, their numbers regenerating as quickly as they fell.

As he watched in growing disbelief, Lian's attention was drawn to a group of powerful figures who seemed to control the tides of battle. They did not fight directly but commanded the legions from afar. These beings radiated an aura of glory and power so immense that Lian instinctively knew they were not human. If they existed in the real world, he was certain they would be revered as gods.

These figures wielded powers beyond comprehension—collapsing space, distorting time, and summoning grand, impossible forces with the mere wave of a hand. Some were surrounded by halos of light, and their auras shimmered like heavenly beings. Among them, one figure in particular caught Lian's attention. A deathly and dark crimson aura surrounded him, radiating an oppressive energy that made the entire battlefield tremble.

This figure was unlike any other. His aura was thick with the scent of death, and wherever he moved, absolute destruction followed. His power was overwhelming, effortlessly slaughtering the god-like figures around him.

Yet, no matter how many enemies fell, they continued to charge at him, their efforts futile against his might. What struck Lian most, however, was the strange familiarity he felt emanating from this being. It was as though he had encountered this aura before.

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The figure smiled wickedly as he fought, his grin horrendous and chilling. Then, as if sensing Lian's gaze, the figure turned his attention directly toward him. Their eyes met—or rather, Lian felt the gaze of the figure upon him, though he couldn't truly comprehend what he was seeing. The figure's eyes were present, but Lian could not interpret them. It was as if his mind wasn't capable of understanding the gaze of this being, and a deep, primal fear overtook him.

The weight of the figure's attention was too much for Lian to bear. Fear surged through him, and the dream began to unravel. The battlefield faded as Lian's consciousness slipped away, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Lian shot up in bed, gasping for air. His chest heaved as cold sweat dripped from his skin, soaking his clothes and banfages. The infirmary was quiet, but inside, Lian's heart raced as he struggled to make sense of the terrifying vision he had just witnessed. For the first time, he had truly dreamed—yet it felt more like a nightmare.

Lian lay back on the infirmary bed, his thoughts still reeling from the bizarre dream and the events leading up to it. As he gasped for breath, his mind raced through the scenes of the chaotic battlefield and the horrifying figure who had locked eyes with him, smiling with a grin that felt as though it pierced through his very soul. What kind of dream was that? He wondered, his head aching from the mental strain of trying to understand.

For so long, Lian had wished to experience a normal dream, like everyone else. He had researched, hoped, and even longed for the simplicity of a dream that didn't involve the chaotic world he visited every time he slept. But now, having finally dreamt something different, he felt shaken and disturbed. Is this what dreams are like? He had expected peace, maybe clarity, but what he experienced felt like a nightmare far worse than his usual encounters in the dream space.

He sighed, massaging his throbbing head. Maybe even my dreams are strange, he thought bitterly. He glanced around the room, taking in the sight of his bandaged body and the faint ache in his bones. Memories of the fight with Alaric flooded back—how the young lord had humiliated him in front of everyone, how he had almost killed him. Lian gritted his teeth, rage bubbling up inside him as the image of Alaric's smug, arrogant smile flashed through his mind.

"Just you wait,"

Lian muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with hatred. He could still feel the humiliation, the sheer anger at being helpless in front of someone like Alaric. How satisfying would it be to gouge out those smug eyes from his face? He pictured it, wondering if Alaric would still be smiling after that.

But as those vengeful words escaped his lips, reality struck him hard. How could he ever hope to get revenge on someone like Alaric? He was the son of the Duke, the ruler of Ardenthall, and not only did he hold royal and political power, but he had also been blessed by a god, wielding divine abilities that Lian could only dream of. Even if Lian managed to sense spiritual energy, he would be leagues away from ever matching someone like Alaric who had also condensed his aura.

Bitterness surged through him once more as he thought about how impossible it all seemed. But then, his thoughts shifted to the old man who had intervened during the battle. The mysterious figure had appeared out of nowhere, easily avoiding Alaric's knights and stopping Alaric from finishing him off. The way Alaric had hesitated, the look of surprise in his eyes—it was clear that even someone as arrogant as Alaric was wary of this old man.

Who was he? Lian thought, still confused. The old man had saved him, but why? What connection did he have to Lian, if any? Was he just some passerby who felt pity for him, or was there something more? Despite not knowing the old man's intentions, Lian felt a surge of gratitude for the intervention. Without him, Lian knew he would have been dead.

As his mind shifted from the old man back to the events in the arena, he remembered the strange projection he had seen. It was like a window—an invisible screen that appeared before his eyes, which only he could see. That was why he had cackled with excitement in the heat of battle, thinking he had finally gained the divine power he longed for. But when the crowd looked at him with confusion and bewilderment, he realized no one else could see it.

Was it real? At the time, he had thought it was just the Heaven Devourer playing tricks on him again. The disappointment he felt still lingered, but then, the memory of that screen flashed vividly in his mind. There had been something written on it which stated it was Activating, as if it was something important.

Suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts, the screen reappeared before his eyes, glowing faintly in the air. Lian's heart jumped in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. His eyes scanned the screen, and he noticed that the content had changed from what he saw earlier. No longer did it say Activating. Instead, new words had appeared, clear and unmistakable:

[Almighty System activated successfully. Would you like to begin the system's journey?]

Below the message were two options: Accept or Decline.