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"Good one!"
Stelle couldn't help but feel invigorated, a surge of strength welling up inside her.
A first-phase ultimate was already this powerful—clearly far stronger than that giant robot back in Belobog.
Just how terrifying would the second-phase ultimate be? Once unleashed, Sunday would probably explode on the spot!
"Another Gundam?"
Welt Yang swallowed, staring at the even cooler giant mecha.
It was practically a treasure straight out of his dreams—those sharply defined component lines were simply perfect.
"He's actually an Emanator of Erudition?"
Aventurine sensed that extraordinary authority over Imaginary Energy and looked at Sol in surprise.
There was no mistake. Anyone capable of wielding such exaggerated Imaginary Energy had to be an Emanator. And that aura of the Path of Erudition was unprecedentedly dense.
It wouldn't be strange for Sol to be an Emanator, considering how he interacted with so many factions while occupying a central position.
But as an Emanator of Erudition? Aventurine didn't think Sol quite fit the image. He had assumed Sol was an Emanator of Elation, or perhaps Enigmata.
Every Emanator of Erudition should be a universe-renowned genius scientist, with a recorded seat in the Genius Society.
Yet he had only heard of Sol recently—there was no information about him prior to that. It seemed his final harvesting plan would require even greater caution.
Still, one Emanator wasn't a big problem.
"Now it's fine."
Sol nodded slightly, the energy around his body transforming into pure light.
He intended to use light as a conduit to connect with the people still sunken within the dream.
Earlier, when Tiga descended to quell the crisis, the power of light had scattered like a rain of luminescence, reaching every person within the dreamscape.
Now was the moment for that power of light to take effect.
...
All those lost within sweet dreams lived in happiness.
Everything unfolded in the direction they desired—not extreme indulgence, but stories filled with twists and turns.
An employee got along harmoniously with colleagues at work, forming good relationships with most people, with only a despicable, conniving superior constantly at odds with him.
So, he employed a small trick, exposing that vile superior's true colors and sending them straight into custody.
Meanwhile, he rose smoothly through the ranks. In business battles, sometimes he won by luck, sometimes by ability.
Thus, he became a CEO, married a beautiful and wealthy partner, and reached the pinnacle of life—full of ups and downs, yet ending in a beautiful conclusion that provided ample emotional satisfaction.
Just as this middle-aged cosmic tycoon prepared for his next business venture, a golden dialogue box appeared before his eyes.
[Do you wish to sink into the dream, or return to reality and continue striving? Yes / No]
The golden text gave him a familiar feeling—it was the power of the giant that had once mended dreams in Penacony.
So, this was still a dream?
The middle-aged CEO looked at his virtuous wife beside him, thought of his massive fortune worth tens of billions of credits, and glanced back at the business empire he had built in such a short time.
He wavered in doubt. Was this a dream?
If it was a dream, should he wake up?
Within every beautiful dream still in progress, each dreamer received the same prompt.
A girl who had risen to fame at a young age in her dream, dazzling the galaxy with her dance and becoming an idol, felt lost.
A fifty-year-old postmenopausal woman who, in her dream, had found perfect love and was surrounded by ten handsome twenty-something CEOs, dismissed the option outright.
A power lord who, in his dream, trampled the Interastral Peace Corporation and pummeled the Xianzhou Alliance stared at the choices, hesitating.
A disabled person whose broken body had been restored in the dream closed their eyes and began to struggle—should they return to that suffering past?
And when they opened their eyes again, the golden text before them had changed.
[May you live happily, and always hold hope in your heart.]
Countless beautiful dreams were thrown into massive turmoil by these two messages.
There were no extra explanations—only a declaration that the dream was not reality, and the presentation of a choice.
There was no forced awakening, no compulsory return to reality.
Everything depended on the choice of the dreamers themselves.
Only when they personally gave their answer could true hope be born.
And only when they chose for themselves could Sunday truly lose without resentment.
At the same time.
Sunday, who was engaged in fierce combat with the others, sensed the disturbance within the dream.
Every reaction of those who had entered the dream unfolded clearly before his eyes.
Sunday turned his gaze toward Sol, making no attempt to brainwash them or alter the memories of the dreamers.
If this was Sol's plan, he was willing to accept such a defeat.
To lose this way—he would concede wholeheartedly.
But the question remained: what choice would those people enjoying life within the dream ultimately make?
Within the dream, they possessed everything they had ever wanted. After trials and struggle, they gained the rewards they sought.
It was a perfect shelter. As long as they remained in the dream, they would have the perfect life they desired.
Septimus' head was struck by a punch from the Path-powered mecha formed by Sol.
Immediately after, Welt Yang seized the opportunity and hurled a synthetic black hole, while Firefly's mecha summoned crimson meteors that crashed down from above.
With Robin's Harmony buff layered on top, the power of these attacks increased by another thirty percent.
Boom!
Half of Septimus' head was blown apart, and his left shoulder was engulfed in flames.
He hadn't even put up much defense. The fluctuations from the dream had reduced his buffs significantly, leaving him momentarily unable to respond.
"Woohoo, we did it!"
Stelle raised her bat and puffed out her chest proudly.
Look at how amazing they were—even someone as powerful as Sunday had been knocked down by them.
Kafka wagged her finger, smiling as she spoke softly, "It's not that simple."
"That's right. He's still holding onto immense energy—this is nowhere near his limit."
Welt Yang adjusted his glasses, his expression grave as he looked at Septimus, whose head had been half-destroyed amid the ruined theater.
"Discordant noise!"
"By one hundred and three thousand seven hundred and thirty-six notes, I hereby proclaim—return to paradise!"
The shattered Septimus seemed to rewind time itself, drawing upon the order of countless beings within the memetic substance and restoring himself to a complete form.
He had grown stronger, surrounded by notes of Order.
His conductor's baton crossed and swung, each stroke bringing down overwhelming force.
The massive mecha shaped by Sol using the full authority of an Emanator of Erudition was forced to retreat repeatedly through the void, massive sparks erupting from multiple joint connections.
Sunday was no ordinary Emanator. Bearing the power of Order, he was the one who had walked farthest along the Path of Order, and could be regarded as a pseudo-incarnation of the Aeon of Order.
Even though this Path had already been subsumed by Xipe, Sunday still possessed a fundamental difference from ordinary Emanators.
His authority was not bestowed by an Aeon, but rather an inheritance left behind by one—much like Acheron's condition.
The Aeon of Nihility had no self-awareness, and Acheron was essentially wielding the inheritance of that Aeon. It was simply that this inheritance was far too vast—so vast that the entire universe could barely contain it—forcing Acheron to use only a small fraction.
And just as Septimus revealed even greater power, within the boundless sea of beautiful dreams, the first person who wished to leave appeared.
Why does life fall asleep?
Because it is destined to awaken from dreams.
Rest within dreams is meant to gather strength for tomorrow, so they may summon the courage to walk toward an unknown future.
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