Daziel's broad palm gently stroked Firefly's silver-white hair, his fingertips feeling its softness and smoothness. He lowered his gaze to m
Daziel's broad palm gently stroked Firefly's silver-white hair, his fingertips feeling its softness and smoothness.
He lowered his gaze to meet Firefly's concerned eyes, his voice laced with an indescribable helplessness.
"This is something you can't help me with."
As soon as he spoke, the brief silence in the room was broken by the low sobs of Robin in his arms. The cold metal collar occasionally clinked, making a faint, piercing sound.
"Or rather, for now… I don't know where to start either."
Daziel's gaze was profound, piercing through the walls of the room to the false, brilliant dreamscape beyond.
It felt as though an invisible yet unyielding barrier lay there, blocking what he so desperately sought, making him feel like he was fumbling in the dark, unable to find the right path.
The preparation he spoke of was not a pre-battle plan in the conventional sense, such as gathering forces or arranging tactics. What he needed was a deeper, more fundamental "catalyst."
Daziel raised his arm and slowly removed the top hat that symbolized the Clockmaker's legacy.
It lay quietly in his palm, the heavy velvet carrying an ancient, settled weight.
In the original story, the blessing of the Aeon of Harmony's Emanators was crucial to defeating Sunday's twisted "Order."
Although Xipe, the Aeon of Harmony, did not descend directly, Their gaze had briefly "watched over" the protagonist, which amounted to a tacit approval of the Astral Express Crew's "Trailblazing" actions.
It was this formless acknowledgment that allowed Robin to sing a different song—a song of her own, of "life"—within the oppressive symphony of the Chorus of "Order," shattering the cocoon Sunday had constructed.
Yet at this moment, although Daziel had already obtained the Clockmaker's legacy, and the hat symbolizing the Trailblaze inheritance was right in his hand, he had not felt that "gaze" from the Aeon of Harmony.
Seeing Daziel remain silent for a long time, his brow furrowed with a worry that wouldn't dissipate, Firefly didn't immediately reply.
She hesitated for a moment, then gently fiddled with the hem of her clothes and spoke to Daziel carefully, her voice tinged with unease and gentleness.
"If you don't want to talk about it now, then that's fine… But, Daziel, you have to remember, if there's anything you need our help with, at any time, you must tell us."
A warm current flowed through Daziel's heart. He looked up at Firefly's clear and resolute eyes and nodded solemnly.
"I will, Firefly."
After giving Firefly his affirmation, Daziel pulled his thoughts back, continuing to search for the answer in his mind.
What is the reason I haven't received the gaze of Harmony? Is it really related to the changes in the worldline?
Could it be that I have to find Misha and completely restore Mikhail's sealed and forgotten memories?
But if I do that, wouldn't Misha dissipate in the dreamscape the moment the memories merge, just like in the original story?
Mikhail and Misha should really be two separate people. I don't want Misha to just disappear like that, even if it might be the "correct" choice.
Is there a way to have the best of both worlds?
To gain the approval of Harmony without leading Misha to that predetermined end?
Daziel's thoughts surged in his mind like a tide, filled with anxiety and uncertainty.
He couldn't help but pose his question in the depths of his mind to Xing, the entity in his consciousness pretending to be a system.
Soon, a familiar line of text materialized before Daziel, responding to his call with a girl's playful and spirited touch—
[This question, Master, the answer isn't so simple, you know.]
The text flickered, as if one could hear Xing's smiling voice.
[Gaining the power of Harmony isn't directly related to whether you help Misha find her memories.]
She continued to explain, her tone becoming slightly more serious.
[What the Aeons care more about is a person's state of mind and thoughts as they walk their Path. It's the kind of 'aura' that emanates from within.]
[If you deliberately try to trigger it with a utilitarian purpose, you might not get a good result.]
Xing's warning words made Daziel's heart sink.
Acting deliberately could backfire.
The will of the Aeons was indeed as difficult to fathom as the vast sea of stars. Their "gaze" could not be "farmed" through simple actions or quests.
Daziel's expression was grave, his brows knitted tightly, all his confusion locked between them.
He began to consider the worst-case scenario—if he couldn't obtain the blessing of Harmony, could he defeat Sunday relying solely on his current strength, on the power of the two Paths he held?
Could he destroy that "philosophical embryo," which was rapidly expanding on a spiritual level like a cancer cell?
Sunday's ideology was like a twisted, living egg, crazily absorbing nutrients on the spiritual plane, attempting to devour all conscious minds in the universe and pull all existence into the pathological "ecstasy" he had constructed.
That kind of power had perhaps already surpassed that of a mere Emanator of an Aeon.
[If it were the Sunday from the original story, the power of Phantylia might have been enough, Master.]
Xing's voice took on an unprecedented seriousness, causing Daziel's heart to involuntarily tighten.
[But, Master, you must understand. This memetic pollution isn't only effective on you. It's not just you who has grown. Your enemies… have also undergone some changes.]
[The core of Sunday, the Choirmaster of the Chorus, has certainly changed significantly.]
Xing's tone carried an unignorable warning, each word landing like a heavy blow on Daziel's heart.
[Whether Phantylia can defeat Sunday is still an unknown.]
This answer, like a cold rain, extinguished the last spark of hope in Daziel's heart, multiplying the pressure he felt.
Sunday was stronger than in the original story. His "philosophy," catalyzed by the twisting power of memetic pollution, had perhaps mutated into a more terrifying form that Daziel could not yet comprehend. This was no longer a simple confrontation of power, but a life-or-death struggle of ideology and will, a war on the spiritual plane.
Daziel took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the unease and heaviness churning within him. He needed to find a new breakthrough, a new catalyst. He could not be overwhelmed by Sunday's seemingly flawless "philosophy."
Just then, Xing's voice suddenly became light and cheerful, carrying a distinct hint of temptation and playfulness.
[By the way, Master, why don't you beg me?]
The text flickered, as if one could see Xing's winking eyes.
[Let me issue you a new quest. Sharpening your spear at the last minute, you know. Go and do it with each of these girls right now, max out their submission values.]
[Who knows, there might be a special reward that can boost your strength! For example… something that lets you temporarily gain Harmony's 'gaze,' or directly creates a discordant note in Sunday's performance, interrupting his chorus…]
Xing's suggestion was laced with obvious temptation, as if, in her view, the fastest way to solve the problem was to return to the "value farming" mode that Daziel was best at, and that the system was most pleased to see.
Hearing this, the corner of Daziel's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. A feeling of exasperation rose in his heart, but he quickly shook his head, refusing flatly in his mind.
"If there really was a quest reward or an Aeon-related blessing item that could directly solve the problem, you would have issued it long ago."
Daziel responded to Xing in his mind, his tone showing a clear understanding of the system's tricks.
He knew Xing's methods all too well.
Back when he still resisted these quests, they popped up frequently, as if to force him to accept.
But now that he had gradually adapted to this quest model, and had even started to take extreme measures and explore proactively in some aspects, these kinds of clearly directed quests were rarely issued anymore.
Xing's actions had always been more like "guidance" than a direct "gift."
[You've grown, after all. Hehe.]
Xing's text reappeared, her tone carrying a hint of resignation at being seen through, but more so an acknowledgment of Daziel's growth.
[But you're not wrong, I admit. I really don't have any quest rewards that can directly help you anymore.]
Xing's tone had a "can't help you" flavor, but it also hinted that this challenge had already exceeded the scope of what she, as a "system," could directly intervene in.
[This time, it's all up to you, Lord Savior!]
It was both a declaration and an encouragement.
Daziel didn't feel any resentment or disappointment. Instead, a strange sense of relief washed over him.
Perhaps this was the challenge he had to face alone, the hurdle he had to overcome as the "Savior."
No matter.
He responded to Xing calmly, his tone peaceful and firm, "You've already helped me more than enough."
Daziel gripped the Clockmaker's hat in his hand a little tighter, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.
Power did not only come in one form. The gaze of an Aeon was certainly powerful, but it was not the only way.
He still needed to think of other countermeasures, other possibilities.
[Good luck, Master!]
Xing's text, carrying a final encouragement, brushed past his heart like a soft feather, then gradually faded away, disappearing completely.
The room returned to complete silence, with only the occasional faint sobs from Robin in his arms, and the light clinking of the cold metal collar around her neck as her body trembled.
The sound was exceptionally clear in the empty room.
In the Penacony Grand Theater, the dome was like a giant inverted golden goblet, shimmering in the faint light of the dreamscape.
Sunday stood in the center of the empty stage, a deep red velvet carpet beneath his feet, and ornate but empty chandeliers hanging overhead. A flock of black crows circled at a low altitude before him, the sound of their flapping wings faint and rapid, like countless converging whispers.
The Dream Master spoke through the flock of crows, its hoarse voice echoing through the theater, carrying an elusive ancient quality.
"Are you the only one here, child? That Nameless Guest is quite capable. Our secrets are already spreading among the Families, and the Corporation's starships are gathering towards Asdana…"
The flock of crows converged into a blurry human silhouette, trembling in the air like a shadow.
"This is a critical moment. I ask you, where is the chosen one who harmonizes all voices?"
Sunday's expression was solemn, his eyes without a ripple of emotion.
"What kind of question is that, sir? Am I not standing right here before you?"
His voice was calm, yet it contained an unshakeable will, cold as glacial water.
The Dream Master let out a low laugh, the silhouette of the crows distorting.
"You know that in our plan, she is the star of the grand ceremony of Harmony."
Sunday tilted his chin up slightly, his gaze piercing through the flock of crows as if seeing into a more distant void.
"The plan has changed. My pitiful sister is, in the end, just an actress. She has succumbed to her private desires and become another's bitch. I am more than enough to sing the hymn of 'Order'."
His words were cold, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him. It was unclear if he was truly disgusted or trying to protect his sister.
The flock of crows trembled violently, letting out a piercing caw.
"Ah! You who have been wise beyond your years since childhood, surely you understand the price you must pay for your actions now."
"If you consider this a 'betrayal'…"
Sunday took a step forward. The stage light happened to fall on him, outlining his upright figure.
"Heaven cannot have two suns. If necessary, I will shoot the sun down." His tone carried a divine arrogance and resolve, as if he himself were the one and only source of light.
"The leader of some shithole planet, a great general with the surname Jin, once said something similar to you, but he became a joke. I hope you won't be a joke as well."
The Dream Master's voice was mocking.
"Where did you hear this uncouth history, Mr. Gefeimu? In the theater of drama, I have never played a comedic role. I will certainly not repeat the failures of 'Harmony'."
Sunday replied, his voice filled with disdain for such an outcome.
"Very well. Since you are willing to sacrifice yourself in her place, then I shall grant you your wish."
The Dream Master seemed unsurprised by this, even letting out a sigh that suggested it was expected.
A flicker of doubt, not easily perceived, passed through Sunday's eyes.
"You yielded more quickly than I expected. Why?"
"You two were born as the twins of 'Order.' Fate decreed that one of you would walk this path to its rightful end."
The Dream Master's words carried the weight of destiny, as if everything had long been predetermined.
"Was this also part of your design?"
Sunday asked, his voice softening slightly.
"Of course. You are as clever as you were as a child."
The Dream Master confirmed his suspicion.
"The time for the curtain to rise has come. Go, child. Steal the authority of 'Harmony' and reveal your retribution."
The Dream Master urged him on.
"Sir, I have one last question."
Sunday did not act immediately.
"Why did you choose for 'Order' to descend upon Penacony? An ascetic world would have been a better choice, yet you still chose this city of indulgence where people cast off their clothes. Why?"
Sunday asked his final question. This seemed to be the only part he could not fully comprehend.
"For the sake of the justice in my heart, child."
The Dream Master replied, its voice carrying a chilling calmness.
"So, the one manipulating the Stellaron in the dreamscape was truly not you, but—"
Sunday's voice became a little hurried.
"Enough. We have spoken our fill. Begin. The one hundred and seven thousand, three hundred and thirty-six souls of the Oak Family have dreamed of this moment too many times."
The Dream Master cut him off.
Like black raindrops, the crows instantly lost their lives as the Dream Master's words fell. They dropped silently to the ground, turning into pools of black stains, as if they had never existed.
There was no decay, no struggle, only absolute silence, extinguishing one hundred and seven thousand, three hundred and thirty-six living souls.
An invisible, cold power spread from the center of the stage, seeping into every corner of the Grand Theater.
This was a horror not shown in the original story, yet it was a fact that was truly happening.
Sunday stood in the center of those black stains, the compassion and resolve on his face intertwining, appearing exceptionally twisted.
"I shall ascend to the high heavens and become the sun."
He whispered, his voice echoing in the Grand Theater with a solemn and terrifying prophecy.
"All life will grow fervently in my light, and all evil will have nowhere to hide."
At this moment, it seemed General Sunday had truly become the sun!
__
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