Pillar of Yita

Fang Hong had a peculiar dream.

In the dream, he saw Dolifen again. The city was ablaze, roaring flames engulfing it, cries soaring into the sky. He dreamt of himself turning into a dragon, some faces floated in and out of his sight, some fading away gradually.

Dolifen, in a trance, transformed into another place. That place, too, turned into a wasteland amidst a sea of flames. He only remembered the reddish-brown spires of a Holy Sanctuary, collapsing in the fire.

He saw a silver desert—

But sometimes it was a cold forest, icy winds sweeping through the barren branches, leaving only a patch of black permafrost. An ancient Undead Hunter watched him from afar through a long horn.

Then it was a shimmering silver port again, countless white sails moving in and out. Fang Hong only remembered the dazzling light, rings of halos descending from the sky.

In the light, it seemed there was a man talking to him.

That man appeared in another scene, but Fang Hong strained his eyes, unable to see his features clearly—he spoke eloquently, his mouth opening and closing. Always, three shadows stood behind him.

One was aged, another was plump, and there was a woman.

Lastly, he saw another scene, a majestic city in the jungle, splendid pyramids one after the other, waterfalls like white silk cascading from suspended islands.

Countless Lizardmen crawled below, forming long queues that stretched to the far reaches of the forest. Within the queue, a lavishly dressed Ritualist was parting the crowd, walking step by step up the stairs.

It raised its head, asking in an ancient voice: ”Have you decided, my god?”

Then all the dreams shattered into fragments.

They all fell into a vast, pitch-black world below.

Fang Hong felt himself falling endlessly with those fragments, even thinking seemed to stretch out, floating in a state of ambiguity. He barely recalled some past events but was confused as to why he ended up in such a place.

Was he dead?

But after death, shouldn’t he go to Ameya’s Holy Sanctuary?

Recalling Lady Ameya’s name took him quite some time.

Then, he heard a distant, prolonged voice calling out someone’s name from the horizon.

”Brother Ade?”

”Brother Ade...”

It took Fang Hong about a quarter of an hour to remember that it was his name.

And he wasn’t a dragon. He was an Invoker, who smuggled from Earth to this world, and nearly a year had passed since then. He had even formed his own Adventure Group.

He indeed had been to Dolifen and experienced many events.

Remembering this, Fang Hong finally woke up completely—a narrow beam of light split the dark world, he trembled his eyelids, vaguely sensing light coming in from outside.

Like a newborn, the first thing Fang Hong naturally did was open his eyes to search for the source of the light.

The light pierced into his eyelids, causing him to close them again and then slowly open them. Then he saw clearly in front of him a faintly glowing Illumination Crystal—held in the hands of Miss Natural Historian.

Her eyes were red, as if she had just been crying recently, and she was looking at him with concern.

”Gita?”

When Fang Hong opened his mouth, he felt his throat dry as if it had cracked, his voice hoarse and rough.

His throat burned with pain, and he couldn’t help but swallow a mouthful of saliva. ”Is there any water?” he asked hoarsely, his mind still foggy, wondering where this place was.

Gita seemed a bit odd, looking uneasy and awkward, she shook her head with red eyes.

But Fang Hong hadn’t reacted yet, still wondering if this was Ameya’s Holy Sanctuary, or some other place? Was he dead? Was Gita indeed dead with him?

But then, he was stunned—

Because when Fang Hong turned his head, he saw the familiar surroundings. It was still the gloomy underground cave, black crystals scattered all around, and not far away, the altar was still in that place, even the skeleton on the altar hadn’t been moved.

Only the Dragon Slaying Sword was missing.

Was he not dead? What about the Black Knight?

As he pondered, a voice came from beside him: ”You are indeed not dead, what is this power, let me think—” The voice creaked, like two bones rubbing together.

Fang Hong had never heard such an unpleasant voice. He turned to see a hand from the front, grabbing his cheek and shaking it slightly. Only then did Fang Hong see that it was a bone hand.

And the owner of the bone hand—in fact, it was a Skeleton head—it wore a black velvet robe, hiding its scrawny body beneath the wide robe; its hood was pulled up, and beneath the hood was a clearly pale skeletal face.

Only a flickering red flame, like will-o’-the-wisp, danced in the hollow eye sockets of the Skeleton.

It scrutinized Fang Hong from top to bottom.

And Fang Hong also saw clearly. Kneeling beside him, behind Gita, the Black Knight stood solemnly, with its sword placed on the little girl’s neck, motionless.

The Skeleton head examined him for a while—a hint of curiosity flashing in the red flame within its eye sockets, it withdrew its hand, stepped back, and stood not far from Fang Hong. Although it might sound strange, Fang Hong indeed perceived a ’curiosity’ emanating from the Skeleton head.