Chapter 596 — Daniel's Self-Cultivation

In the depths of the deep underground palace in the eastern region of Ansu, Beila Augustus walked into a special room covered in all manner of runes and mysterious symbols.

Compared with the spaciousness of the rest of the underground palace, this room could almost be called narrow and cramped; within the little cell, no more than two or three meters across, there was no furniture of any kind, only a single magic-crystal lamp set quietly in the exact center of the ceiling. Under the radiance of the magic-crystal lamp, one could see runes covering the walls, the floor, and the ceiling—the runes of the Eversleepers.

Beila came to the center of the room and gave a casual wave of her hand; behind her came the soft click of the door locking shut, and an invisible magical barrier closed, sealing the entire room off completely from the outside.

Then she quietly swept her gaze over the mysterious, intricate, dazzling runes in the room, gently slowed her breathing, and released her own magic.

The runes in the room lit up one by one and began to flicker faintly in a regular rhythm; meanwhile, from beneath the hem of Beila's priestess robes—robes from which every sacred symbol had been erased—plant structures resembling vines and roots stretched out and spread, and with a rustling sound the vines slowly merged with a circle of runes on the floor...

Beila opened her eyes and saw a middle-aged man standing before her, clad in a black robe, tall and powerfully built, his face stern and composed.

That black robe was different from the pure black cowls the Myriad Gloom cultists commonly wore; its structure was more complex, its surface marked with runes and symbolic threads, more like a hybrid of a mage's robe and a cleric's vestment.

Beila knew that the man before her was not truly standing there; this was only a phantom projected into her senses, and that stern, composed middle-aged face was not necessarily his true appearance either—more likely it was simply a product of imagination. This was the Eversleepers' most practiced art, and she had long since grown used to it.

"I hope this communication won't be troubled by irrelevant interference again," Beila said evenly. "Regarding the situation we encountered last time—have you reached a conclusion in your investigation?"

In her sight, the middle-aged man—whose true body might be a thousand li away—nodded slightly. "We have. Your communication was neither contaminated nor invaded."

Beila's brows rose slightly. "That conclusion does not put my mind at ease."

"Don't be impatient—there is a detailed explanation as well," the stern-faced middle-aged man continued, his tone carrying the reliability of a professional. "Psychic projection is a very high-order secret art; its principles are extremely sound, but as a new technology it does have certain flaws. While a user receives the projection, their psychic impressions are amplified, and activity in the domain of consciousness produces unforeseen phenomena. A trained Eversleeper can offset this influence through spellcraft and willpower, but someone who has never studied the Eversleepers' secret arts may create sounds and images in a psychic projection that ought not to exist."

Beila frowned. "You mean to say that 'intruder' was merely something I imagined?"

"That is indeed the case—and we mean no offense; it is simply the case," the middle-aged man said calmly. "Lady Beila, please recall whether there exists in your heart any similar imagining or worry—even a worry that may exist only in your subconscious. During psychic projection, things buried deep in the heart will surface as well. Please recall carefully—was what you saw something you had once imagined?"

Beila's face was dark as still water.

She pictured the scene: Roland Augustus suddenly appearing before her, her once most intimate and revered elder brother angrily interrogating her, disappointed by the choice she had made—even raising his sword...

She did not believe that the woman she was now could still be troubled by such "shadows," did not believe that she ordinarily worried about such scenes appearing.

But... the subconscious? The deepest reaches of the subconscious? Even if she had complete control over her deeper thoughts, those individuals she had devoured over the past seven centuries... had their souls and memories ever accidentally mingled with her own, leaving behind the faintest hidden peril?

She began to analyze it coolly, and the more coolly she analyzed, the more she thought there was a certain probability.

Perhaps in some dream she had already deleted, in some nightmare, she really had dreamed of her elder brother being so enraged by her that he came back to life and then raised his sword to cut people down...

"Very well, I accept that explanation," she said at last, letting out a soft breath, and fixed her eyes on the middle-aged man before her. "Then I want confirmation—will this phenomenon appear again hereafter?"

The middle-aged man nodded meticulously. "I cannot guarantee it will never appear, a hundred percent. But if the user makes mental preparations in advance and gives themselves sufficient psychological suggestion, the probability of 'extra phantoms' appearing can be greatly reduced."

Seeing that a trace of doubt still seemed to linger on Beila Augustus's face, the middle-aged man straightened his back slightly and wore a proud, incontrovertible expression. "Lady Beila, you need not doubt it—the Eversleepers have always valued the interests of their allies. We analyzed the problem your side encountered with the utmost professional attitude, and what I have just said is the conclusion personally researched and reached by the Order's highest security director, master of the Mind Network, Bishop Daniel—any Eversleeper would prove to you that master's wisdom and thoroughness."

Beila folded her arms across her chest. "I have heard the name. I have no further questions."

"Then I wish you a pleasant day."

The image and voice projected into her consciousness vanished, and Beila at once shut down the magic array in the room.

"Only a fantasy of the subconscious..."

The priestess murmured to herself, and then a cold expression surfaced on her face.

What the Eversleeper said might be true; what she had seen that night was probably indeed only a phantom. But she still did not want to set her mind entirely at ease.

From now on, unless necessary, she decided she would no longer use the "psychic projection" device.

......

In Ordenan, the imperial capital of Typhon, within a certain private rest chamber of the Imperial Artificers' Association, Daniel, cloaked in black, woke from meditation and blinked slightly.

He had received a message from a lower-ranking priest of the Order and knew that the negotiation with "Beila Augustus" had concluded smoothly.

That cautious and cunning priestess might not believe it entirely, but she would believe most of it; at the very least, the effect his master required was certain to be achieved.

Rest time was more or less over; meditating too long during the day might draw unnecessary prying.

Daniel glanced at the mechanical clock hanging on the wall not far away, then rose to his feet.

The artificial nerve cord stirred slightly behind him, then settled very obediently into a position that would not cause discomfort; the old mage felt full of vigor, in an excellent state.

That maddening noise and stabbing pain had not appeared for a long time now; even though he had recently seldom looked upon those "pleasure patterns," there was no sign of headache or auditory hallucination recurring.

"Thanks be to my master's grace..."

Daniel murmured almost habitually under his breath, then left the rest chamber.

Along the way, mages of lower rank bowed their heads to him in salute, artisans of humble standing stepped aside of their own accord, scholars and assistants bowed and paid their respects.