AWB Chapter 38 A Dream That Cannot Be Awakened
Chapter 38 A Dream That Cannot Be Awakened
Arthur looked up, his dragon eyes stretching northward.
In the direction of Hadrian's Wall, at the limit of his vision, grayish-white mist rose from the ground like countless thin columns of smoke, appearing and disappearing in the twilight.
At the base of each plume of smoke was a stone like this.
They are arranged along the Great Wall, stretching from the eastern coast to the western mountains swallowed by twilight.
Like a dotted line.
A dotted line running through Britain.
The chill within Arthur subsided.
It no longer trembled, no longer spread, but simply remained quietly deep within the Longli River channel, like a pebble embedded in the riverbed.
It was confirmed.
It has been confirmed that these stones and the stone originated from the same source.
Arthur turned around.
"Back to camp."
The campfire died down in the dead of night.
Arthur sat beside the embers, keeping the Dragon Force River at a minimum deployment, sensing all movement around the camp.
Kay was on his first night watch, Gawain lay on his cloak breathing evenly, Tristan was dozing against his luggage while holding his harp, and Lancelot had his eyes closed but his fingers were always on his sword hilt.
Arthur placed his hand on his chest.
The four beats of the Dragon's Furnace Heart remained steady as always, and each rise and fall of the heart pumped dragon power into more than forty rivers.
The chill that seeped into the riverbed did not spread, nor was it diluted by the dragon's power; it remained there, neither increasing nor decreasing, like a piece of ice at the bottom of the river that would never melt.
No, this is not an intrusion.
That piece of ice didn't "seep in".
It's always been there.
It was there before the Dragonheart Awakened, before he acquired the Dragonforce River, before he pulled the Sword in the Stone.
The awakening of the Dragon Heart merely granted him the ability to "perceive it," just as the Dragon Eyes allowed him to see the gray mist inside the stone.
That was not an external intrusion.
That was a part of him.
Arthur opened his eyes.
The embers of the campfire flickered in the night wind, casting a dark red glow on his face.
He felt no fear.
That piece of ice is his, no matter where it came from or what it represents; it is his now.
Just like the Dragon Power River, just like the Star Trail, just like everything he chose to bear.
He will figure out what it is.
but not now.
Now his knights are sleeping; tomorrow they will reach Hadrian's Wall.
Arthur closed his eyes again, allowing the Dragon Force River to withdraw its perception range.
Around the camp, the northern wilderness in February was silent in the darkness, and in the distance, inside the gray-white stone, gray mist still slowly swirled.
The pure black core floated quietly in the center.
Like a half-open eye.
At noon on the third day, Hadrian's Wall appeared on the horizon.
The ancient stone wall that stretches across Britain takes on a desolate, grayish-yellow hue under the winter sun.
The wall is between three and four meters high, and some sections have collapsed, exposing the compacted rubble and soil inside.
Every mile or so, the ruins of a watchtower stand behind the wall, like silent sentinels.
The Northern Lords’ castle was built on a hill about half a day’s journey south of the Wall.
Arthur stopped at the foot of the hill and looked up.
The castle wasn't large; compared to Camelot, it was merely a fortress.
The banner of the Northern Lords hung on the dark gray stone wall; it was a deep blue banner with silver snow-capped mountains and rivers as its emblem.
The flags fluttered in the north wind, making a rustling sound as the fabric beat.
The city gate was open.
But there were no guards at the entrance.
Arthur dismounted and gestured for the four men to follow. The five of them passed through the city gate, their horses' hooves echoing crisply on the stone pavement.
The castle was eerily quiet; there were no patrolling footsteps, no clanging of weapons, not even the neighing of horses in the stables.
The air was filled with those grayish-white magical particles.
It is denser than in the wilderness.
"Search separately," Arthur said. "Bring anyone who is alive here."
The four dispersed.
Arthur walked alone toward the main castle.
The main gate of the castle was ajar, with a faint candlelight shining through the crack. He pushed the door open, and the Dragon Power River automatically unfolded, allowing him to sense the space behind the door.
The hall, the long table, the fireplace... the fire in the fireplace had gone out, leaving only grayish-white embers.
A person was sitting at the end of the long table.
Lord of the North.
He leaned back in his chair, his head slightly lowered, his hands resting flat on the table. The parchment in front of him was spread out, and the quill pen sat beside the ink bottle, the ink already dried.
Arthur approached.
The Northern Lord's eyes were open.
But he didn't look at Arthur.
He was looking at the parchment.
There was only one line of text on the paper, written hastily and in a hurried manner, as if it had been written in a very short time.
"There's more than one of these."
Arthur placed his hand on the shoulder of the lord of the North.
The body temperature is still present, breathing is still present, and the heartbeat is still present.
But his dragon eyes saw that deep within the Northern Lord's magical circuits, a very faint grayish-white mist was slowly drifting.
The mist's shape is exactly the same as the gray fog inside the stone: slow, swirling inwards, and never dissipating.
The gray mist did not disrupt his magic circuits, nor did it attack his consciousness.
It simply "exists" there, like water seeping into the cracks of a stone wall in winter, silently changing the temperature of the entire wall.
The Northern Lord's consciousness was enveloped by this layer of gray mist, just as the pure black core inside that stone was wrapped in layers of gray mist.
He was dreaming.
A dream from which I cannot wake.
Arthur withdrew his hand.
"king."
Gawain's voice came from the doorway. His expression was more solemn than usual, and the Sun Sword in his hand glowed faintly.
That was an automatic defense response, indicating that he had just sensed something that alerted him.
"There were forty-seven people in the castle, all alive, but all of them..."
"They're all dreaming," Arthur continued.
Gao Wen nodded.
"I've inspected the castle's perimeter." Tristan walked into the hall from behind Gawain, his harp slung over his back and his bow in his hand.
"Six stones in total, located at the foot of the city wall, beside the stable, and near the well, distributed as follows..."
He paused for a moment.
"The area of activity of the Pickett scouts, as reported by the Northern Lord, completely overlaps with that of the area they are looking for; these are the stones."
Lancelot was the last to enter the hall. He didn't speak, but simply sheathed his sword.
Then he walked to the long table and looked down at the messy handwriting in front of the Northern Lord.
"He probably wasn't fully immersed in the dream when he wrote that sentence," Lancelot said.
"He discovered something and wanted to write it down, but the gray fog seeped in faster than he could write."
Arthur's gaze fell on that line of text.
"There's more than one of these."
The lord of the North used the word "things," not "stones," not "enemies," and not "curses."
This means he didn't know what it was either, only that there was more than one piece.
Arthur knew more than he did.
These stones are nodes.
They converge westward along Hadrian's Wall, forming a dotted line that runs through Britain.
Inside each stone is a gray mist and a pure black core; each stone is a half-open door.
The gray fog was suppressing what was behind the door.
But he didn't know where the door led, what was behind it, or why the gray fog was suppressing it.
He only knows one thing.
The chill within Arthur's body trembled once more.
This time, the frequency of its trembling was exactly the same as the frequency of the swirling gray mist inside the stone.
"Kai".
Kai walked in from the doorway, his left arm covered in grayish-white stone powder from checking the stone at the base of the city wall.
"Take the lord of the North with you," Arthur said. "Everyone, retreat to Camelot."
Arthur stepped out of the main castle and stood in the courtyard, looking up to the north.
Hadrian's Wall stretches silently in the midday sun.
Beyond that wall lies Britain's oldest wilderness, the frozen ground where the Picts lived for generations, and the place where those "seeds" slumber.
And those seeds are awakening.
It wasn't awakened from the outside.
It's from the inside.
From that pure black core.
Arthur placed his hand on his chest, feeling the four beats of the Dragon's Heart.
"I will come back," he said.
He didn't know why he said "come back".
But he knew that when he figured out what those stones were, what was behind the door, and what that chill inside him was...
He will come back.
Let's return to this dotted line that runs through Britain.
Return to the slightly ajar door.