"The Cycle Gate?" Orson stepped up to the bronze door and examined it.
He was taken aback. This ancient bronze door seemed utterly indestructible. He doubted even a nuke would leave a scratch.
Wisps of bluish mist drifted from it, likely the barriers the military researchers had mentioned.
He looked at the slit in the lion's mouth, confirming it was a slot for some sort of key.
It seemed the only way to open this colossal door from the outside was with that key. Otherwise, it would have to be done from within.
"Who was it that let out the Ocular Demon?" The thought nagged at him again.
He held BlazeKing's Soul Seal, proof that BlazeKing had perished and fused into Infinite Dimensions' fundamental laws.
Was it possible it was one of the immortal generals Warchief Madhorse mentioned?
But how had they slipped past the gods' watch? Orson felt a spark of curiosity.
If their method worked, maybe he could do the same, hiding from the gods' gaze.
Otherwise, with him exposed and the enemy concealed, humanity's millennia-long struggle with the gods would leave him no chance.
"This is a lost world, buried with our ancient memories and battle spirit… Don't disgrace it."
Standing before the lion-faced door, Warchief Madhorse laid a hand on the weathered bronze. His usual rough smirk faded, replaced by a long, heavy sigh.
Then his aura abruptly changed. His wild hair whipped around him, and his eyes turned grave. He drew his bronze sword and gently pressed it into the slot.
A low rumble followed. The lion's eyes and nostrils began to glow with swirling jade light, like an immense gemstone lit from within.
A seam opened at the door's center, and Orson's scalp prickled.
An ancient, savage breath gushed from the crack. Orson felt like his very blood was catching fire, something inside him pulling him forward.
It was a tremor from the deepest layers of his genes, like a dormant soul brand awakening.
Madhorse's gaze softened, an elder's fondness for the young.
Orson started to turn back—then yelped when a boot slammed into his backside, sending him flying face-first through the door.
"You think I can't walk through on my own? Damn it!"
He cursed at the top of his lungs, flailing as he fell. Glancing back, he caught a glimpse of Madhorse's bearded face grinning and waving—then shoving Aeloria through too, before the great door slammed shut.
Man and dragon plunged into the abyss, like they were dropping down an endless well.
Orson's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He twisted around and shouted,
"Don't just stare—change forms and do something!"
Aeloria let out a roar. Her body twisted, claws snatching him from the air as she unfurled her wings and beat them furiously.
But it was like trying to fly underwater. No matter how hard she struggled, their plunge didn't slow.
"Under the laws of Vortigon, Lord of the Heavens, flight is forbidden here."
"Under the laws of Solarius, Lord of the Mortal Realm, area teleportation is forbidden here."
"Under the laws of Draconis, Lord of the Underworld, resurrection is forbidden here."
"In the Dragon Capital, all life is equal. You are but a speck in the sea."
A cascade of notifications bombarded him. Orson's eyes went wide.
"The Dragon Capital… the three Ancient Dragon Gods' laws at once?"
All the clever tactics he'd plotted before coming were worthless. The moment he was booted through, reality crushed every plan.
"No choice then… sorry in advance."
He scrambled up Aeloria's scales, summoned a Sun Shield, and used it like a stepping stone to reach her saddle. Then he muttered,
"Better you than me!"
Aeloria gave a pained moan. At her rider's urging, she twisted belly-up to take the brunt of the impact.
Dust exploded outward.
Damage taken: -50,000,000.
The massive number hovered for a second. Orson brushed the dirt off his robes with a pleased grin.
"See? Genius move. Otherwise I'd be jelly."
Aeloria shifted into human form, turning her face away in sulky silence.
"But you still like me, don't you?"
Orson laughed, patting her head. She huffed, flicked the dust away with a wave of her hand, and scanned the area.
He knew even if he hadn't forced her, she'd have shielded him anyway. But after Blank had so thoroughly dominated him that night, he'd learned an important lesson:
Always keep the initiative. It was just more satisfying that way.
"Pathetic little realm. Watch me carve a path to glory for my worthless master!"
Berenice's voice squeaked from his satchel. The little egg wiggled free, landed with a soft thump, and announced herself.
Then she tried to flap into the air—only to faceplant.
"Huh? Why can't I fly here?"
Orson rolled his eyes and picked up the egg.
A Holy Dragon of such pure lineage should have been able to ignore most spatial restrictions, but Berenice's powers ultimately traced back to Tulikiki, and even that dragon's source was the Ancient Dragon Gods.
With three divine laws pressing down, not even his trump card, the God-Emperor's keepsake, had any of its usual effects.
Then something cold scraped under his hand. He picked it up—and jumped.
A long, blackened arm bone, clutching a scrap of yellowed paper between two stiff fingers.
\\[Immortal Talisman]
\\[Grandmaster Spirit Rune: Primordial Thunder Burst]
\\[Effect: spiritual energy depleted]
Orson stared, stunned.
An artifact from the Era of Immortals. It worked much like a magic scroll—but instead of channeling magic, it relied on something called spiritual energy.
The two weren't so different, just a matter of how each game world's rules were set.
"So… an Era of Immortals adventurer must've dropped this. Does that mean…?"
As the dust cleared, he tilted his head up and saw it.
A sprawling battlefield stretched out in every direction, a vast sea of death.
Bones piled upon bones, some shattered to powder, others half-buried in drifts of sand. A gust of hot wind whipped past, stirring up glittering motes of bone dust under the harsh sun.
Shattered armor lay scattered everywhere, tangled among ribs and skulls. Once-polished plates were now mottled with rust, helmets tumbled aside with faded red plumes that looked almost blood-stained.
And at the very edge of his vision, rising like a cliff into the sky, stood a dead tree so massive its crown vanished into the clouds—easily ten kilometers across at the base.
Below it lay shattered ruins, thousands of craters swallowing what remained of old cities.
"Era of Immortals World Tree… just its corpse," Orson whispered. Goosebumps raced up his arms.
"Old man, you're playing a big game here."
Then a new notification popped up.
"Heavenly Spirit's Heart, Stage Two: Reach the ruined World Tree of the Dragon Capital and face your final trial."
"Note: You will be attacked by stranded Heaven Demons on your way."
"Note: There is no turning back."