Chapter 5: The Withering of the Bloodstained Rose

Li Nanke’s face was dark as he picked up his only remaining weapon—a savage, coarse saw blade wrapped with bloodstained bandages.

This saw blade resembled an ordinary broad, thick-backed chopping knife, except that along its edge were cast a series of large, razor-sharp teeth. Though primitive and crude in appearance, it was formidable in its ability to sever flesh and bone—one of the standard-issue weapons for apprentice cultivators.

With the saw blade pressed to his neck, a slight exertion would be enough to cut through the windpipe and sever the carotid artery.

If voluntary severance failed, forced severance could still be executed—meaning death in the dream.

The most terrifying thing in a dream was not death, but the inability to wake, to be lost forever in the dream. In reality, this meant becoming a mindless husk, a vegetable stripped of all consciousness.

Under such a high synchronization rate, the death of the imagined body in the dream—even without the agony of torture or dismemberment—would inflict real trauma on both mind and flesh.

Yet, cutting one’s losses now was the most rational, most correct decision.

But as the saw blade pressed against his neck, its serrated teeth piercing the skin, what surged forth was not only excruciating pain but an overwhelming, unprecedented terror of death!

His heart pounded violently, like a drum threatening to burst from his chest. Goosebumps rose across his skin, every hair standing on end. Primitive instinct bellowed in his mind: This is not an imagined body—this is your body! Do not commit suicide, you must not, you will die, truly die!

Li Nanke’s lips were parched, his throat tight. He gripped the saw blade against his neck, unable to force his hand to finish the cut.

Was this truly just a dream?

After a long standoff, his hand fell, powerless.

And just then, the synchronization program sounded—a bloody script appearing once more!

[One apprentice cultivator has died. Remaining dreamers: 4/5]

[Key Node One: Seek refuge in the church of Abess Town.]

[Guiding Maxim from “The Far Shore”: Dreamers, all who foolishly attempt to exit by suicide will soon regret their acts… No, the eliminated may already have lost the right to regret, forever.]

[You know exactly what you must do, don’t you?]

Li Nanke’s pupils contracted sharply.

Dreamer, key node, the Far Shore…

So he was not the only participant in this black nightmare?

As the guiding maxim suggested, he understood clearly his next step.

Disregarding death in the dream, only one, the last and only way to end the dream remained.

He must deeply experience this bizarre, abnormal black nightmare, following the key nodes, one by one, until reaching the final node that marked the dream’s end—if such an end existed at all…

“Seek refuge in Abess Town church, is it?”

Suddenly, a woman’s shrill scream pierced the air from outside.

Li Nanke glanced at the door, barricaded by heavy objects, then moved to the window. Pulling back a corner of the curtain, he peered out—

The sky was choked with heavy clouds, the drizzle a ceaseless, whispering veil. The buildings lining the street were old and mottled, built mostly of gray-black stone, with arched supports and spindle-shaped railings.

Spired towers and chimneys crowned the architecture, all bearing the distinct marks of the Victorian era—like an English town from the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.

In the town’s central square rose a tall sculpture, its shape reminiscent of a candlestick bearing seven candles, or a seven-pronged trident, the candles and prongs uneven in length, shortening from the sides toward the center.

A naked, red-haired woman was bound to the long “shaft” of the sculpture—the source of the earlier scream.

Her figure was voluptuous, with a proud bust, a slender waist, rounded hips, and long legs, but her body was slashed with savage wounds. The worst was a gaping laceration across her flat belly, intestines and organs grotesquely exposed.

Madam Liliana was renowned among the armed cultivators for her beauty, but everyone knew her strength was not owed to her looks. Her reputation was forged in blood, built atop the howls and carnage of countless heretics.

Thus she was feared as the “Blood Rose,” the “Bloody Nun.”

And yet, even this formidable woman was now encircled by a crowd, her body impaled again and again by tridents, spears, and scythes.

A can of kerosene was poured from head to toe; flames roared to life. In Liliana’s despairing screams, the blaze illuminated discarded firearms and weapons around the sculpture—and the grim faces of the mob.

The town’s native residents watched with numb, indifferent eyes—yet there flickered a trace of bestial madness in their expressions. There was not a shred of pity for the burning woman.

When the flames died and the woman was reduced to a charred corpse, the townsfolk finally retreated, their figures melting away into the labyrinth of dark alleys…

Li Nanke watched it all impassively, then drew a deep breath. His gaze lingered on the guns and weapons scattered beside the statue.

The standard weapons of the armed cultivators—each a byword for violence, terror, and destruction.

There was a double-barreled thermite rifle—one barrel large, one small—loaded with cartridges packed with thermite in steel shot. When fired, the bullets burst into clouds of glowing metal shards. The smaller barrel then spat an igniting round, turning the shimmering cloud into a deadly rain of molten metal—an inferno no living thing could survive.

Besides the thermite rifle, a concussion rifle and two handguns lay by the statue, along with a brutal close-combat weapon—the chainsaw sword.

This weapon’s rotating teeth could inflict horrifying wounds at close quarters, but without a power source, only a true armed cultivator could wield it.

If he could seize the thermite and concussion rifles, his combat capability and odds of survival in this black nightmare would soar.

For now, Li Nanke was no true apprentice cultivator; the body he controlled was his own—a frail, numb figure with failing limbs and infected lungs.

He had experienced countless dreams, and high synchronization had taught him much about brawling and weapon combat. Yet only firearms could allow him to fully realize his strength.

Li Nanke desired those weapons, but he knew with certainty: the arms scattered by the statue were absolutely not to be touched.

Suddenly, a strange feeling crept over him, and he peered through the gap in the curtain toward a corner of the street.

A long-abandoned house quietly opened its door; out crept a hunched, cautious figure.

Step by step, the figure crept toward the statue in the town square…

Li Nanke studied the person, his gaze turning frigid.

“Idiot!”