Atlas was acutely aware he was dreaming again. He was surrounded with flames, he wasn't trapped in a ring. No, he was in a city; a city being ravaged by flames. He could hear screams, cries and pleas for help.

The sky was thick with some, but he could still see the night sky. A red moon blared its power, its crimson light spreading all over the place.

He could intuitively feel a river flowing down, death and darkness filled it. He could hear the cries for help. Hearing all of this, Atlas shivered he was not ready for this.

For the past week, Atlas kept coming here in his dream. The dream was vivid; he could remember every single detail once he woke up. Making him understand, this wasn't a simple dream

There was no one here …. No that wasn't right, Atlas turned around and saw a blurry figure not far from him.

When Atlas first dreamed this place, he had explored his surroundings. There was virtually no one here, but there were screams of people except him. Atlas first thought the screams were illusory. But, his thoughts deviated after experiencing this dream another time.

The screams he was hearing were from the river. Atlas tried to find the river but had still not succeeded. Even though he could intuitively feel it, it always eluded his grasp. The screams he heard when he came here were different from the second time.

He made a hypothesis from this; the river washed away the old screams and the new ones came flooding in.

Atlas then turned his gaze to the blurred figure; the figure was so indistinct that he could not make out its features. Only that he was in terrible pain and it was trying to tell him something.

The figure was always in an eternal scream, whenever Atlas heard it; he felt his body start collapsing, his brain was being turned to mush and he felt a madness surve from within.

Atlas once speculated whether the figure was able to communicate or not. But all communications failed. So, Atlas could only run away.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The figure ran faster than Atlas ever could, and easily caught up. Atlas grit his teeth in preparation for what about to come but he was suddenly able to hear it's message

“River Of Eternal Darkness ….. River Of Eternal Darkness”

The figure had been screaming ‘River If Eternal Darkness?’

A long-forgotten memory in Atlas’s mind was awakened. The “River of Eternal Darkness” was one of the “Sefirot”.

Atlas was astonished. Was this the “River of Eternal Darkness?”. But wasn't it sealed in the “Western Continent”

Atlas abruptly woke up from the dream. Outside a red moon hung upon the night sky. He could hear the rustling of winds and the screeching of the insects.

Panting heavily, Atlas felt he gained a few important memories. Surfing through it, Atlas was astonished.

then, which he now suspected was the River of Eternal Darkness.

This essence halted his corruption and restored his human form—but at a price. It had tied him to the dreams of that mysterious place.

'So, from what I can gather, he thought, after performing the ritual, ‘She’ descended upon me. My best guess is I’m part of her revival plan.

He considered the corruption. The River of Eternal Darkness is only suppressing it. He realized he would need to start ascending to combat it. I may even have to go into a deep slumber, like Klein, to resist ‘Her’ influence and corruption.'

Not ascending isn’t an option, he realized. If I don’t, I’ll be helpless against ‘Her.’ But if I ascend, there’s a chance to fight back'

Atlas laughed to himself. This journey was going to be interesting, to say the least. If he died or was replaced, so be it—at least he would live a life he could be proud of.

Currently, he was in the Kingdom of Loen, in the capital city of Backlund. He had a few Beyonder powers already, such as glimpsing imaginary beings and understanding aspects of the human body. Yet he had no memory of encountering a sealed artifact, much less consuming a potion.

This troubled him deeply. He couldn’t explain where his powers came from. Another mystery lay in his fragmented memory. He could recall everything up to a thousand chapters in Lord of the Mysteries, but the later chapters were hazy. He understood quickly that this memory loss was likely a form of protection.

The River of Eternal Darkness had probably wiped those parts of his memory to shield him, allowing them to return only once he climbed a high enough sequence.

Suddenly, a splitting headache clawed at him, as if his mind were being ripped from his body. His soul began to feel unstable. This wasn’t corruption; it was the aftermath of hearing that entity’s words.

Struggling to hold onto his sanity, Atlas grasped at one possible solution. Desperately, he focused and recited in Hermes,

“The Fool who does not belong to this era;

You are the mysterious ruler above the gray fog;

You are the King in Yellow and Black who wields good luck.

I pray for you to open the gates of your kingdom.”

This was his only hope. The current date was July 1349; he vaguely recalled that Klein had crossed over around this time.

Time was running out. He could feel himself on the edge of losing control.

With a last, desperate effort, Atlas repeated The Fool’s honorific name over and over. Just as he was about to fall into complete madness, he felt himself pulled into a layer of gray fog, transported to a grand hall.

The madness dissipated instantly, his mind settling into calm.

Looking around, Atlas saw he was seated at an ancient, mottled bronze table. At the far end sat a blurred figure. Atlas grinned at the sight.

Plans began forming in his mind, and he knew exactly what he would do next.