Chapter 355: Night Flight

Dominic felt he had dreamed, the descent into sleep abrupt—the kind of sensation one gets when, half-asleep in a theology lecture, you stand to answer a complex question, then sit down to find your chair pulled away, consciousness plunging straight down.

He could not recall what he had been doing or where he had been, only an endless sensation of weightlessness. The surroundings receded rapidly, or shattered into particles and reassembled. Shadows seeped like ink into sand, staining everything a dark hue.

He seemed poised at a delicate threshold between dream and wakefulness, able to contemplate his situation, yet unable to awaken voluntarily.

Distant and near, clamor reached him: voices speaking, horses neighing, heavy axles with wheels rolling through mud.

【So it’s raining】

This seemed to explain the dimness, yet it raised even more unanswerable questions.

Rather than lie there imagining, he decided to go out and ask—after all, this place looked legitimate. Though it appeared ancient, as if left behind by at least a decade, with crude windows that opened upward and required wooden props to hold them, there was, on the wall, a holy symbol woven from slender branches.

Nothing was more comforting than that symbol.

His first attempt to rise failed; his limbs were unresponsive, tightly bound.

He reflexively shifted into a more forceful posture, trying to pull his hands free. At first it was difficult, but as he strained harder, a dull, crisp crack echoed—and his range of motion improved significantly.

One hand freed itself, then the other; still, several fingers remained numb and stiff, creating major obstacles when he tried to unfasten the ankle straps.

Following the sound, he pushed open the door. The three-story vertical space beyond made him realize he was inside a church; the newly built walls had yet to be whitewashed, and no seats had been arranged for worshippers.

The main door stood open; gloomy air churned like murky water, obscuring the outside view. He instinctively abandoned the idea of stepping out and decided to wait inside the nave.

The sounds did not grow closer upon leaving the room; instead, they lost all direction.

Sometimes, conversations and footsteps brushed past his ears; other times, the clatter of heavy loads being loaded or unloaded came from outside. The tones were severely distorted, as if heard through water, gurgling like bubbles.

When he strained to discern them, the sounds remained unclear, shrouded in an indescribable haze, impossible to restore to their original form.

He wandered aimlessly, following intuition rather than sensation to locate the shifting source of sound, his hand brushing through the cold, damp air—where, seconds earlier, two people had clearly been arguing fiercely, one full of doubt, the other resolute.

After repeated failures, he finally realized it was not sound—at least not anything tangible or perceptible.

Yet he could not find a word to describe it: a thing rooted in material existence, yet not material itself.

It ought to rest quietly within matter—like ore buried deep underground, or the essence of wisdom hidden within sacred texts—waiting for human consciousness to discover and comprehend it.

But the opposite was true: it had come to him.

Mud-stained footprints, drag marks from crates—all actively spoke. Every sight in each instant transformed into buzzing, endless sentences.

It was as if he stood within a river unconstrained by continuous time or space, where information from the past and distant places, so long as within its flow, was drawn here.

When he leaned close, attempting to understand, it leapt from the river, crashing into his mind—the final, elusive puzzle piece he had searched for without success.

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

The hazy murmurs finally cleared, becoming a coherent chain of information, each link pointing clearly forward. Like suddenly learning a new language, meaningless symbols became a miracle capable of representing all things.

This transformation was no less profound than a land animal gaining the abilities of a fish.

His consciousness clearly perceived: he was within a river of information, feeling its current. The swift flow propelled his body step by step; every decision that seemed autonomous or accidental was inevitable within the convergence.

He felt his thoughts flowing seamlessly, yet felt he understood nothing truly—because part of the entire thought process was composed of it; remove that part, and the rest would collapse into irreparable fragments.

But it was enough. He already knew where he must go. No reason was needed—just as fish migrate, obeying only the predetermined rules set by Heaven for all things.

The river had shown him the direction:

【...the northern road...】

A hint, seemingly from nearby, spoken in a voice he had heard before.

Following the current, he took a step, heading toward the stable.

…

…

Field, dozing lightly, jolted awake at the fading sound of hoofbeats, rubbing his bleary eyes and glancing beside him.

The bed held only a tangled blanket and crumpled sheets—the person who should have been there was gone.

The absurdity made him almost laugh, as if he were trapped in some ludicrous dream within a dream. He had personally verified the reliability of the restraints securing the patient’s limbs; unless two or three fingers were broken, escape was impossible.

And how could a mentally disoriented person leave the room silently, without waking anyone?

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

“Someone! Come quickly!” It was the second time he had shouted that today.

The entire church awoke to his terrified cry. The priest, clad only in his nightgown and shivering, arrived to find Field standing frozen before the stable.

Though only a single candle burned, it was enough to see clearly inside—the worst possibility made both men break into a cold sweat despite the winter night.

Of the two warhorses meant to rest here, only one remained, chewing hay, curiously staring at the panicked humans.

“Where did he go?”

The answer was already stamped onto the damp, rain-soaked mud: a trail of hoofprints racing toward the endless night beyond the candlelight.

They followed for a dozen steps; the tracks left the church, moved away from the village, and vanished down the road leading farther from it.

“Where is that?”

“North.”

Before the priest answered, he had already anticipated the answer.

“Why? What is it?!”

The faint unease finally swelled to its limit within his chest, suffocating Field.

The candle in his hand, the church behind him—no longer protected him. Within the dark mountains lurked a threat, invisible, omnipresent, ready to devour whoever crossed its path.

The nameless fear made him instinctively widen his eyes, veins bulging, desperately searching for that elusive, imperceptible paradox.

The priest, terrified by his almost monstrous expression, stepped back several paces, clutching the holy symbol.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I must trouble you one last time,” Field turned to him, his expression a mixture of fear and resolve. “Prepare some things. I must bring him back.”

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

?(End of Chapter)