Chapter 355: Night Flight

Dominic felt he had fallen into a dream; the process of entering it was abrupt, like the sensation of standing up to answer a complex question during a drowsy theology lecture, only to find the chair pulled out as you sat down, your consciousness plunging straight downward.

He could not recall what he had been doing before or where he was, only an endless sense of weightlessness. Surrounding things seemed to be rapidly receding, or shattering into particles and reassembling. Shadows, like ink seeping into sand, dyed everything in a dark, somber tone.

He seemed to be at a subtle threshold between dream and wakefulness, able to think about his situation but unable to wake up on his own.

Noises, indistinct in distance, drifted in: people conversing, horses neighing, heavy axles rolling with their hubs through the mud.

【So it's raining.】

This seemed to explain the dimness of the environment, yet it spawned more unexplainable questions.

Rather than lying there and guessing blindly, he decided to go out and ask, after all, this looked like a proper place. Although it looked as old and backward as if it had lagged behind the times by at least a decade, with simple windows that flipped up and needed wooden sticks to prop them open, there was actually a holy symbol woven from twigs on the wall.

Nothing made him feel more reassured than this symbol.

His first attempt to rise failed; his hands and feet were somewhat uncooperative, the sense of restraint severe.

Reflexively, he shifted into a posture suitable for exertion and tried to pull his hands free from the bindings. It was difficult at first, but as he increased the force, after a dull, crisp sound, his range of motion improved considerably.

One hand successfully gained freedom, followed by the other; a few fingers remained somewhat numb and unresponsive, creating a significant obstacle when untying the straps around his ankles.

Pushing open the door toward the sound, the three-story vertical space of the corridor outside made him realize he was in a church; the newly built walls had not yet been whitewashed with chalk, and the hall lacked the seating arranged for the faithful.

The main door stood open, the gloomy air surging like turbid water, obscuring the view of the outdoors. Instinctively, he abandoned the idea of walking out and decided to wait in the main hall.

The sounds did not grow closer as he left the room; instead, they lost their sense of direction.

Sometimes it was conversations drifting past his ears, footsteps coming and going; sometimes it was the noise of heavy objects being loaded or unloaded outside the door. The tones were severely distorted as if through a layer of water, carrying a gurgling murmur like bubbles popping.

Even when he tried to distinguish them carefully, the sounds remained unclear, shrouded in an indescribable haze, unable to be restored to their original form.

He wandered in confusion, following intuition rather than sensory localization to seek the shifting source of the sounds, reaching out to sweep through the cold airflow condensed from moisture; a few seconds ago, it seemed two people had been arguing heatedly there, one full of questions, the other resolute in attitude.

After repeated futile attempts, he finally confirmed that it was not sound, or at least not something that could be touched and perceived.

Yet he could not find a word to describe that which relied on material existence but was not matter itself.

It should have rested peacefully within matter, like mineral deposits buried deep underground, or the essence of wisdom hidden within the text of scriptures, waiting for human consciousness to discover and understand it.

But the reality was exactly the opposite; it came to him.

Mud-stained footprints, drag marks from crates and baskets, all actively confessed; every instant of what he saw transformed into buzzing sentences, unceasing and endless.

It was as if standing in a river unconstrained by the concept of continuous space-time; information from the past and distant places, as long as it lay within the river's basin, was carried here.

When he leaned close to the surface, trying to understand, it leaped from the river, crashing into his mind, becoming the final piece of the puzzle he had searched for in vain.

Everything instantly became whole; understanding arose spontaneously, and the perspective changed accordingly.

Those misty, clouded whispers finally clarified, becoming coherent information, link by link, pointing clearly. It was like suddenly learning a new language, so that meaningless symbols became miracles capable of representing all things.

This transformation was no less than an animal on land acquiring the abilities of a fish.

His consciousness clearly recognized that he was in the river of information, personally feeling the flow. The rushing current pushed his body to take step after step; every seemingly autonomous or accidental decision was an inevitability within the confluence.

He felt his train of thought connected, yet as if he truly understood nothing, because part of the entire train of thought was composed of it; once that part was removed, the rest would crumble into irreparable fragments.

But this was enough; he already knew where he should go. No reason was needed, just as fish migrating only need to follow the established rules set by the Heavenly Father for all things.

The river had already given the direction:

【... The road to the north...】

A hint, seemingly from a very close place, spoken in a voice he had heard before.

Following the flow, he took a step and walked toward the stable.

Field, dozing lightly with his head down, was awakened by the fading sound of horse hooves; he rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked beside him.

On the bed lay only a bundle of blankets and crumpled sheets; the person who should have been there was nowhere to be found.

The inexplicable situation actually made him want to laugh, thinking he was trapped in some absurd dream within a dream. The belts restraining the patient's limbs had been personally verified by him for reliability; unless two or three finger bones were broken, escape was absolutely impossible.

Moreover, how could a person with a disordered mind leave a room silently without waking anyone else?

This sense of absurdity lasted only until he saw the two empty straps.

"Someone! Come quickly!" This was the second time he had shouted that today.

The entire church was awakened by the horrified cries; the priest, wearing only a single layer of clothes and shivering, rushed over and found Field standing dazed before the stable.

Even with just a single candle flame, it was enough to see the situation inside; the worst speculation made both men break out in a thin layer of sweat in the cold night.

Of the two war horses that should have been resting here, only one remained, chewing fodder, curiously staring at the panicked humans.

"Where did he go?"

The answer to the question was already imprinted on the wet mud after the rain: a series of hoofprints leading into the endless night beyond the candlelight.

They followed for a dozen or so steps; the tracks left the church, moved away from the village, and vanished toward the road leading away from the village.

"Where is that?"

"North."

Before the priest could answer, he had already anticipated the response.

"Why? What is that thing?!"

The vague unease finally swelled to its limit in his chest, pressing Field until he could barely breathe.

The candle flame in his hand and the church behind him could no longer protect him; lurking in the dark mountains was a threat ready to devour its prey, invisible and omnipresent.

Fear without a source made him instinctively widen his eyes until the whites seemed about to split, trying to find that invisible, inaudible paradox.

Terrified by Field's almost grotesque expression, the priest stepped back several paces, clutching his holy symbol.

"I am very sorry, but I must trouble you one last time." Field turned around, his expression a mix of fear and determination. "Please prepare some things; I must bring him back."

?? Very sorry, the author has finally finished the major thesis and can update now.

? (End of this chapter)