Chapter 405: Battle of Dreams

Chapter 405 – The Dream War

Intrigued by the wisdom of a middle-aged woman who had taken on the body of a young woman, Keishiru pressed her lips to her mouth, muttering, “You’ve arranged the current lineage records by the four-character epithet ‘Xingbao’ in a clever order. Those who entered the Hall of the Ancestral Shrine in the year of the Rat entered the lineage of the Xingbao. If you follow this logic, you’ve correctly identified my late-generation relative. But…”

Keishiru’s tone shifted sharply, anger flashing in her eyes. “I don’t like these two words.”

“Well, if you don’t like what I’m saying, then I’m not calling yourself what I am.”

Rozi raised her hands, feigning innocence, “Master Keishiru, you can now tell me why you’re so obsessed with chasing after these endless records. Why don’t you just ignore me and contact me directly?”

“Because I want to trade stories with you about the Hall of the Ancestral Shrine.”

Immediately after, Keishiru’s voice crackled with a cold, unyielding light. The glow pierced her eyes like a blade, sending ripples across her face.

And just then, a streak of starlight burst from her sleeve, hovering between the brow of Rozi.

“Recorded!” the talisman hummed, inscribing the words *Dream Vision* in elegant script.

“Whoever first senses this dream will know my name,” Rozi whispered, her voice echoing with an otherworldly authority.

A moment later, the air crackled with the sound of shattering wind. The vision before Rozi dissolved into a blur, replaced by a world unlike anything she had known.

The only difference was the figure seated at the second chair—now a towering, monstrous figure, his presence as imposing as a storm.

“Brave soul!” he roared, his voice like thunder. “This is the world of reality, isn’t it? Or just another layer of dreams?”

Rozi’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the weight of his gaze, the promise of power in his eyes.

And then, with a swift motion, he lunged forward, his fist clashing against the blade of Keishiru’s dream-sword. The clash echoed like a scream, sending shockwaves through the air.

“Hmph!” Keishiru retorted, her voice steady, her resolve unshaken. “You’re just a foolish man chasing ghosts.”

But Rozi’s fist met the blade with a force that sent it spiraling into a puddle of crimson blood. The sword shattered, its fragments scattering like dust.

“You’re not strong enough,” Rozi muttered, her mind racing. “But I’ll show you what true strength looks like.”

With a sudden burst of speed, Rozi leapt into the air, the dream-sword piercing the sky. The blade struck the air with a deafening crack, and Rozi vanished in a flash, reappearing behind him with a swift strike.

The battle raged on, each blow echoing with the weight of destiny. Rozi’s determination burned brighter with every passing moment, her spirit unbroken.

And then, in the silence that followed, a single, piercing sound echoed through the chamber—a sharp, metallic *click*.

Rozi froze, her breath catching in her throat. The cold, metallic lines of the talisman glowed faintly, revealing intricate black patterns.

“Master…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’ve revealed the secret of the dream.”

Rozi’s heart pounded as she realized the truth: she had become the very thing she had fought against.

The scene shifted once more, this time revealing the figure seated at the end of the hall—a man clad in a robe, his expression unreadable, his hands gripping the edge of the second chair.

“You’ve changed,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “But dreams are never truly real.”

With a final, decisive movement, the man lunged forward, his fist colliding with Rozi’s dream-sword. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, and the blade shattered, its pieces dissolving into the air like fallen leaves.

“You’re not the one who controls this world,” Rozi said, her voice firm. “You’re just a pawn in someone else’s game.”

As the dust settled, Rozi stood tall, the weight of the moment settling upon her. The dream had changed her—and now, she would decide what came next.

The chapter closed with a lingering sense of tension, the line between reality and illusion blurring once more.

Ro Cheng, his speed surging, showed no sign of retreat; he bent low, sidestepping the whip‑like leg of Hangsili, closing in with an arrow step, his empty right hand grasping loosely, and thrust a fierce jab toward Hangsili's waist.

From the corner of his eye, Hangsili caught sight of the opponent's odd maneuver, his expression dripping with contempt; he paid no guard, merely twisting his body and sweeping the opponent's shoulder with the back of his fist.

"Pierce the Star!"

Ro Cheng shouted fiercely in succession, and a flash of violet flame suddenly erupted within his loosely clenched right hand.

The flying sword, having pierced the star, looped back and voluntarily entered Ro Cheng's palm.

With blade in hand, the wind seals that adorned his entire body erupted with full might at that moment, as if a tangible torrent circled Ro Cheng; an unbearable mechanical stutter reverberated through his bones.

Ro Cheng clenched his teeth; the sword, less than two feet long, thrusted like a drawn arrow, viciously piercing Hangsili's abdomen until it lost its handle!

Puk!