Shattered Dream

As the temple grew quiet once more, Fang Yuan turned toward the statue of the goddess. Her stone face remained impassive, but he could sense something off.

He had passed the trial.

"But something is very wrong, here!"

"Now, haven't you realised it, yet?"

The sword whispered.

Fang Yuan stood in the eerie silence of the temple, his breath steady, the echoes of the battle fading around him. His fingers clenched the ancient sword, its cold hilt grounding him in the moment. He had triumphed. The war wraiths had fallen, each defeated with calculated precision. But instead of victory's familiar satisfaction, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him.

The air felt wrong—too still, too silent. Fang Yuan narrowed his eyes and glanced around the temple, his sharp gaze lingering on the statue of the dead war goddess. The lifeless eyes of the stone effigy stared back at him, unmoving, unfeeling. Yet, the faintest whisper tickled the edge of his awareness, like a voice carried on the wind.

"Haven't you realised it, yet?"

Fang Yuan's grip tightened on the sword. It was the blade itself speaking to him, trying to warn him of some unseen danger. The runes along the length of the sword began to flicker, their glow dimming. He frowned, his senses alert. The sword—once a weapon of power and purpose—now felt fragile, as if it were on the verge of breaking.

Then, with a sudden crack, the blade splintered.

Fang Yuan barely had time to react as the ancient weapon in his hand shattered, the pieces falling to the stone floor with a dull clatter. He stared at the fragments in realization. The sword, his companion through the trial, was destroyed. The oppressive silence of the temple seemed to close in around him.

The voice came again, this time clearer, more urgent.

"Break it."

A chill swept through Fang Yuan's body. His mind sharpened as the full weight of the words sank in. Not real. The battlefield, the temple, the war goddess—it had all felt real. But now, the cracks in the illusion were beginning to show. The sword's destruction was a signal. This was not the end of his trial—it was only the beginning.

He was trapped in a dream.

Fang Yuan's thoughts raced. His years of experience with illusions, manipulation, and mind games gave him an advantage. He had seen through countless deceptions before. But this dream was different. It held him tight, like an invisible web, binding him in a reality that was quickly unraveling.

He had to break it.

Fang Yuan closed his eyes and focused, summoning his will power. He pushed against the boundaries of the dream, attempting to force it to collapse. The ground beneath his feet trembled as his mind strained, bending the fabric of the illusion. But the temple held firm, the walls refusing to dissolve.

Frustration flickered in his heart, but he buried it beneath layers of cold logic. If he couldn't shatter the dream by force, he would have to approach it differently. He began to walk toward the temple's exit, his mind running through possibilities. The dream was built on the themes of war, struggle, and life then—perhaps death was the key.

Stepping outside, Fang Yuan surveyed the battlefield. Corpses littered the ground, and the sky above was a heavy, bruised gray. The air reeked of decay, and the silence stretched on, unbroken by the sounds of life or movement. The carrion eaters that had once prowled the dead were gone, leaving nothing but stillness.

It was an empty world.

His breath misted in the cold air as he began to walk across the battlefield. Each step felt deliberate, his mind constantly probing the edges of the dream. He could feel the threads of the illusion tugging at him, but they were strong, too strong for simple methods to break.

The thought struck him suddenly, and it was as ruthless as it was effective.

If the dream wouldn't break under force, perhaps it could break under death.

Fang Yuan's eyes darkened. He had faced death countless times, had even chosen to walk that path when it suited him. Death was not an enemy; it was a tool. A method of control. If this dream was built to trap him, he would force its hand by ending himself. He had no fear of dying in this illusion—his mind was far too resilient for something so trivial.

With that cold resolve, Fang Yuan knelt beside one of the fallen warriors. His hand found a discarded blade, its edge still sharp enough for the task at hand. Without hesitation, he lifted it to his throat. His mind was clear, his heart calm. There was no fear, no hesitation. He had walked through death before.

With a swift motion, he drew the blade across his throat.

The pain was sharp, immediate, but Fang Yuan did not flinch. His blood spilled onto the ground, pooling beneath him as his vision blurred. The battlefield began to dissolve, the edges of the dream warping and fracturing. His heartbeat slowed, each breath weaker than the last.

As darkness swallowed him, Fang Yuan's final thought was of victory. The dream would break, and he would be free.

---

He awoke with a sharp inhale, his body jerking as he gasped for air. Cold stone pressed against his back, and the heavy, oppressive air of a cavern filled his lungs. The scent of damp earth and rot clung to the air. Fang Yuan's senses returned in a rush, his mind already assessing his surroundings.

He was no longer on the battlefield. The dream had broken, but the reality he found himself in was far from comforting.

The cavern was vast, its stone walls lined with torches that flickered weakly in the gloom. The light barely reached the ceiling, leaving most of the space above shrouded in darkness. But it wasn't the size of the cavern that drew Fang Yuan's attention—it was the people.

Hundreds of humans stood around him, their eyes closed, their faces blank and emotionless. They were utterly still, like statues, their bodies seemingly untouched by time. Each one had a thin, translucent tube connected to them, running from their necks or wrists, pulsing with a sickly green glow.

Fang Yuan's eyes narrowed as he rose to his feet. His sharp gaze followed the tubes, tracing them through the crowd. Each one was connected to a central point in the cavern—something large, hulking, and obscured by shadows. The figure sat in the heart of the room, a grotesque, looming presence that radiated malevolence.

The tubes pulsed in rhythm, like veins carrying the lifeblood or something close to it, of the slumbering humans to the creature in the center. Whatever this monstrosity was, it was feeding on them, trapping them in dreams and drawing power from their endless slumber.

Fang Yuan moved with silent purpose, his keen eyes taking in every detail. The humans were alive, but their minds were clearly elsewhere, locked in the same kind of dream that had ensnared him. The translucent tubes pulsed with a hypnotic light, linking them all to the monstrous figure.

He walked closer to one of the slumbering figures, observing the man's face. There was no sign of awareness, no flicker of recognition. The man was trapped, his mind completely bound by the dream. Fang Yuan's fingers brushed over the tube, feeling the faint energy that pulsed through it. It was a conduit of some kind, feeding their consciousness into the hulking being at the center of the cavern.

Fang Yuan's expression remained cold and analytical. This was no ordinary trap. It was a feeding ground, and he was standing at its heart.

His gaze shifted back to the central figure. It remained motionless, shrouded in darkness, but its presence was undeniable. The air around it pulsed with an oppressive energy, as if the creature was absorbing the very essence of the people trapped in their dreams.

Whatever this thing was, it had been here a long time. The tubes connecting the humans to it looked ancient, as if they had been feeding the creature for centuries. Fang Yuan's eyes gleamed with calculation. The creature was powerful, no doubt, but it was also vulnerable.

The nightmare had been real enough to feel like death, but it had shattered. Now, he was free—at least, for the moment. His instincts told him that this cavern was another layer of the trial, and the hulking figure was the next obstacle in his path.

But he wasn't concerned. Fang Yuan had faced worse.

His thoughts sharpened, strategies forming in his mind as he planned his next move. Whatever this creature was, it had made a mistake by allowing him to escape the dream. Now, it would face the full force of Fang Yuan's ruthless determination.

Without a word, he moved through the rows of humans, his gaze never leaving the hulking figure in the distance.

The real battle was about to begin.