Chapter 1887 - 1019: Hold the Line for Over Ten Million Years (Part 2)

Chapter 1887: Chapter 1019: Hold the Line for Over Ten Million Years (Part 2)

The mist in the forest is light and gentle, casting a faint shimmering white glow that doesn’t possess the slightest eerie chill, instead adding a touch of soft poetic charm to the surrounding scenery.

Between the trees, soft grass carpets the ground, silent and serene underfoot, warm and solid.

And in the clearing at the heart of the forest, quietly stands an old, simple log cabin.

This cabin is constructed from raw logs, the clear grain on the wooden walls carrying the warm texture of age.

There are no intricate carvings, no luxurious magical gilding, austere to the point of being ordinary, perfectly blending with this tranquil forest.

The wooden windows of the cabin are wide open, with warm yellow light pouring gently through, penetrating the thin forest mist, casting soft halos on the grass outside.

This light dispels the coolness in the forest, creating an atmosphere of extreme warmth and tranquility.

Surrounding the cabin is a small exquisite garden, lacking meticulous sculpted order, yet everywhere brimming with natural vitality.

Wildflowers of various unnamed kinds bloom recklessly, vibrant colors spreading, clusters upon clusters adorning branches and grass.

Tiny petals sway gently in the wind, with a light, distant floral fragrance lingering in the air, mixed with the fresh scent of vegetation, refreshing and serene, calming the mind.

Amid the flower clusters, there are no thorns or poisonous plants, no magical traps, only pure vitality and tenderness.

This place hardly seems to be the residence of a Great Arcanist, but rather a forest hunter’s cabin.

At that moment, the solid wooden door of the cabin quietly opened without wind, the hinges emitting a very light creak.

Without any probing, the open doorway seemed to carry silent goodwill and invitation, quietly waiting for visitors to step inside.

Lis pondered slightly, his heart devoid of doubt.

This dreamscape is pure and peaceful, the host’s invitation is frank and composed, without need for extra guard.

He nodded slightly, steadily passing through the vibrant garden, stepping over the soft flower shadows, and entered the cabin.

Upon entering, a wave of warm, dry atmosphere swept over, completely dispelling the lingering coolness in the forest.

The interior of the cabin is surprisingly simple, plain and clean, offering a clear view with no hint of opulent grandeur or mysteriousness of an Arcane Strongman.

The small space inside is meticulously tidy, imbued with a tranquil leisurely vibe.

Embedded in one side of the stone wall is a blue stone fireplace, where orange-red flames leap quietly, dry wood burning slowly with soft, faint crackling sounds.

The warm flickering firelight bathes the entire cabin in a warm glow.

The interior furnishings are extremely simple, with a rustic single wooden bed covered with clean, soft plain bedding.

A simple wooden desk and chair set stands against the wall, the desk devoid of piled arcane books or magic scrolls, no arcane tools embedded with gemstones, nor any array, magic wand, or demon crystal linked to magic and arcane.

Looking around, there’s no trace of top-tier arcane power at all, neither overwhelming force nor deep obscure knowledge accumulation.

This place seems nothing like the dwelling of a Great Arcanist who has wielded supreme arcane authority and witnessed the rise and fall of All Gods.

Facing the fireplace are two old cane reclining chairs, their surfaces polished to a warm smoothness, appearing exceedingly relaxed and comfortable.

Between the two reclining chairs stands a small wooden low table, upon which rests a simple tea set, hot black tea gently steaming.

The rich tea aroma slowly disperses, blending with the cozy warmth inside.

Beside the tea are placed delicate crisp cookies and abundant nuts, simply and casually arranged, full of homely charm.

Such a warm, serene scene lacks the solemnity and grandeur of a meeting with a high figure, nor the tense detachment of strategic probing, resembling instead a reunion of old friends after a long separation, finding a secluded spot to sit and catch up.

Lis quietly stands in the center of the cabin, a subtle melancholy stirring within.

As his emotions quietly shift, the light flowingly shifts, and on the vacant reclining chair by the fireplace, an outline quietly materializes.

An elderly man, with hair and beard both white, quietly leans in the chair, dressed in simple, humble plain cloth, entirely unstained by dust.

His white hair fell loosely over his shoulders, his long white beard hanging to his chest, his aged face gentle and calm, his expression carrying a faint warm smile, silently observing Lis as he stepped into the cabin.

The elder’s demeanor is serene and composed, his gaze pure and gentle, devoid of any arrogant aloofness or probing detachment, only carrying the peace and magnanimity forged by enduring the vicissitudes of time.

But Lis’s gaze is sharp, his senses keenly perceptive.

In the instant he meets the elder, he clearly captures the extreme exhaustion hidden beneath the gentle exterior.

This exhaustion isn’t the ordinary fatigue of labor or the weakness from spellcasting, but a deep-seated, soul-permeating weariness.

The elder is exceedingly thin, his slender shoulders slightly hunched, his emaciated figure resembling a spent candle against the wind, fragile as if a mere breeze could topple him.

His slack, sallow skin clinging to his bones, his brows and eyes holding a fatigue that cannot be dispelled, and even the depths of his eyes that ought to carry endless magic wisdom are settled with deep-seated weariness.

It is as though he has long borne the winds and frost of millennia, carrying untold burdens and wear.

He clearly remains steady here, showing no sign of decline, yet Lis can distinctly sense that this elder at the pinnacle of arcane mastery has already exhausted much of his spirit and strength.

Like the last remaining flame of a candle, he quietly persists through sheer willpower.

He appears to be fine, but in truth, he is already body and soul weary, teetering on the brink.

The warm yellow firelight falls upon the elder’s aged face, the flickering light weaving between shadows casts an image of extreme exhaustion intertwined with gentle composure, sculpting a unique texture of loneliness and peace.

The entire warm wooden cabin quietly takes on a subtle layer of desolate melancholy.

Lis sits opposite the elder, pauses for a moment, then speaks:

"Are you Holmes, sir?"

"Oh~"

The elder smiles slightly, slowly replying:

"Did you learn my name through others?"

"Yes."

"My name is Lis Kain."

Lis nodded and said.

Previously, Lis had obtained information about sealing Mistra from Revis and others.

Without exception, they all mentioned the name Holmes.

Regarding this figure, Lis is also familiar with records in the Neserel Magic Empire.

This Great Arcanist is quite mysterious, seemingly rarely directly confronting others.

Yet, among all the Great Arcanists, Holmes ranks prominently.

Without a doubt, he is amongst the most special and formidable presences in the Neserel Magic Empire.

It can even be said that in the fall of Mistra, the Magic Net Goddess, and the sealing of the Divine Position of Magic, Holmes played a pivotal role.

In previous dream spaces, Lis had not seen Holmes, nor battled him.

If so, then this final dream realm is most likely Holmes’.

As the core sealing of Orophin Floating City, his dream realm being the final one is perfectly normal.

"Seeing you, I understand why you could pass through those previous dream realms so easily."

"Those fellows... Haha, seeing you they probably breathed a sigh of relief?"

Holmes chuckled lightly, the warmth of the firelight from the fireplace reflecting on his face.

"But even I am the same."

"To see you after so many years is truly wonderful."

Hmm?

Lis paused slightly at these words.

It seems Holmes is remarkably aware of how many years have passed since sealing Mistra.

Whereas other Great Arcanists are oblivious to this.

Even if their reason remains, they mostly pass through in slumber.

Which means, all these years, Holmes has remained conscious, sustaining the seal on Mistra?

Ha, truly remarkable!

It’s a steadfastness that has lasted millennia!