Wandering Knight-Chapter 392: The Tides Collapse
"If I shatter the tentacle this octopus has anchored between reality and the void, it'll plunge into the void's bottomless depths—and we'll be freed from this domain that exists only because of it. Isn't that so?"
Wang Yu turned to Noelle. He needed to be certain that what he was about to do would truly change their predicament. Of them all, the young red dragon who had conversed directly with the god of dreams would understand the situation best.
"Yes." Noelle nodded. "The god of dreams said that the Tidewall and the existence of this entire realm is solely due to that creature. It clings to the seam between the material world and the void, giving rise to the Tidewall. It is also what makes this place a prison, a trench into which one may enter but never leave. Drive it down into the depths of the void and this domain will collapse."
"I see... And what happened to the dream god? You haven't seen him after the Professor used his own body as a crucible to generate mana and force the two dimensions, have you?"
"In theory, the rift itself was the octopus's instinctive defense against that god. Now that the realms have fused, he ought to have reclaimed his body."
Satisfied, Wang Yu twirled the hammer in his grip, ready to act. But as he lifted his gaze toward the void, he was struck by doubt.
There, the god's body still floated in silence. The same mechanical lullaby spilled from his lips, yet his eyes were vacant. No will stirred within.
Noelle shook her head, troubled.
"Perhaps he no longer wishes to exist. He didn't give us his name so that faith tied to dream would not reach him. His followers have been trapped in a time loop. They may still be able to offer him faith, but given the nature of their existence..."
Wang Yu exhaled and let the matter rest. If the god had chosen not to remain, then they would take advantage of the husk he left behind.
"You two stay here," Wang Yu said firmly. "Nothing can breach the bounds of this door. I'll see to the octopus."
He drew upon the Chariot once more. The dream god's husk flew to his side, allowing him to channel more of the god's abandoned strength. Void energy surged, lifting him upward toward his quarry.
"My apologies," he murmured. "I'll cast this wretched beast into the abyss on your behalf."
The tentacle was close by. It was a colossal appendage lodged into empty space that spanned two planes. He hefted his hammer. A golden sheen washed across its unadorned head, filling it with naked menace.
Given his discussion with Noelle, he knew this blow would not awaken the beast.
It was like a program trapped in endless recursion—like a magician repeatedly casting sleep and hypnosis on himself. Once caught in that loop, he would never wake. This abyssal monster was the same.
A magician might falter as a result of death, exhaustion, or age. But a creature of this magnitude had no such limits.
The lullaby that had lasted for millennia, in truth, had had little effect.
"Farewell, you wretched beast."
He brought the hammer down. Golden metal struck the seam where the tentacle pierced the world. An invisible shockwave flared outward. For an instant, there was silence. Then fractures spread across the limb. The tentacle convulsed violently.
With just his own strength, Wang Yu could never have harmed such a being. But his new, golden power was something else entirely.
Wang Yu himself couldn't explain what it was, but he was aware of some of its effects. Nothing in the material world could affect this golden substance. Channeled through his hammer, it slid along the tentacle's flesh and severed its grasp.
"Woah, that's a big hole..."
A groan reverberated through the void. The tentacle tore loose. A vast pit yawned where the tentacle had been, with cracks spiderwebbing outward.
For a heartbeat, it seemed a void rift would open. Instead, shards erupted from the cracks and sealed the hole almost as swiftly as it had appeared.
The sound of cracking filled the silence. It was a chain reaction: things shattered, slid, and collapsed.
The abyssal creature was far too heavy. With one of its tentacles torn free, the rest of its bulk had been destabilized.
The boundary gave way. Slowly, irresistibly, the leviathan began to fall.
Its body, larger than mountains and vaster than the horizon, slid downwards as if the backdrop of the void itself had been pulled away. Tentacles tore free as its colossal form receded. Before their eyes, the abyssal horror sank into the endless night.
The sight transcended description. It was as though the very sky had been frozen in place before being dragged away, leaving only a black, vacant void behind.
And even the void itself had changed. It had initially been tinted by the creature's eerie green form. Except for the domain around Wang Yu's door, which remained clear and transparent, the rest of the void began to return to its usual appearance.
"What lies beneath the void? Will it continue falling forever? Where's this monstrous octopus ultimately going to end up...?"
Wang Yu gazed down into the fathomless darkness as the vast creature vanished into the abyss. A sigh escaped him. Even now, he did not truly understand the nature of the void.
His curiosity lingered, then slowly faded. If generations of scholars had failed to unravel its essence, how could a fleeting thought of his manage to come up with the answer?
Instead, his attention shifted to the change before his eyes. The void was once more that splendid violet he was used to—as resplendent as a field of stars, yet with unfathomable peril and stillness. This was the color of the void as mortals knew it.
"It's returned..."
Meanwhile, beyond the Endless Sea, there was upheaval.
A great fleet of alchemical vessels cut across the waves, bound for the breach in the Tidewall. Their number was vast, yet even more astonishing was what loomed above them: a fortress suspended in the skies, shadowing the fleet's course.
This was Skyborne City, sanctum of scholars, a cathedral of knowledge. Many had long forgotten its original purpose. It was, and had always been, a relic of war, a fortress forged in ages past. Countless upgrades and breakthroughs in alchemical innovation had only made its destructive prowess more dreadful than before.
"Approaching the Tidewall. The merfolk have arrived to meet us. Signal the fleet to make contact. Keep engines and weapons primed—be ready for abyssal spawn at any moment."
Astartes' order swept through every chamber of the airborne city. At that moment, Skyborne City looked nearly deserted. Only a handful of transcendents remained active, all armed and clad in gear befitting grand knights and beyond. The vast host of scholars and ordinary citizens had long since evacuated.
Skyborne City was a war machine. In times of war, all else would be set aside.
Some had chosen to depart entirely. Others withdrew into the "Sanctuary," an auxiliary shelter prepared in earlier times as a haven.
Still others returned to their homelands to wait and watch, skeptical whether the rumors of abyssal beasts were true—and grateful for a chance to see home after long years.
Some mercenaries remained. Hired blades and adventurers were stationed within the fortress to man weapons, guard against infiltration, and lend steel to its defense. Whether or not battle came, they would receive rewards richer than most could dream of.
"Contact established. The fleet has linked with the merfolk. Once we go beyond the Tidewall, we will be able to confirm—wait. No... no, impossible. Am I... hallucinating? It cannot be. The Tidewall is collapsing!"
A member of the Council of the Arcane served as commander of the fleet and was relaying reports via the Church of Nightfall's channels. His steady briefing had trailed off into disbelief, then horrified mutters.
Before their eyes, the miracle—and the bulwark—of countless ages began to fall.
The Tidewall, that towering rampart of the Endless Sea, reached ten thousand meters into the heavens. Its crest was located within the dissociation layer itself. It was majestic, immovable, eternal—or so they had believed.
Now, it was fracturing. Its form dissolved into rushing water that cascaded earthward. In moments, the entire wall was collapsing, and faster and faster at that.
Give its immense size, the collapse of the Tidewall was a cataclysm that hammered every eardrum, pierced every heart, and spread disbelief into the minds of all who saw and heard it unfold.
Compared to that immensity, they were but dust. The Tidewall, that colossus that had encircled the continent since time immemorial, was collapsing.
What they perceived through their sight and hearing was something they could not process. Their minds seemed almost to stall.
"Retreat!"
As someone finally gave an order, the fleet moved as one. The situation was utterly terrifying: if a ten-thousand-meter wall of water were to collapse into the sea, the waves it raised would dwarf mountains, crushing all before them.
Ships and men alike would be destroyed as if they were nothing more than paper. No magic, no alchemy, could shield against the weight of the sea unleashed.
Alchemical vessels wheeled about, their sails and engines straining in desperation, though all knew it was futile. It was impossible to escape such a flood, but instinct nevertheless drove them to run.
Seconds passed. Dozens more. Yet still the calamity they anticipated did not come to pass. The seas remained strangely calm.
Someone dared to glance back, then gasped in shock. The water hadn't struck the surface of the sea. Rather, it was vanishing downward. A colossal chasm had opened up beneath the Endless Sea, swallowing the falling flood into its depths.
The fleet slowed, then stilled. The waters lay glass-smooth, too calm, too silent. Sailors gaped at the sea from their vessels, hearts unquiet, unable to accept what they had seen. The Tidewall had collapsed. Beyond its ruin lay a sight unseen for uncounted generations: the outer expanse of the sea, hidden for time immemorial.
That day, all across the continent, people looked toward the horizon where the eternal wall had always stood—only to see it gone. The world trembled in that aftermath.
