Chapter 54: Dreamweaver - Oneiromancy Hypnosis!

Four o'clock in the afternoon, the time of Asr prayer.

"Clang... Clang..."

The faint sound of the prayer bell from the clock tower of the distant Holy Sun Church drifted over.

The broken bell that had been gnawed and damaged by the rats a few days ago had already been replaced with a new one yesterday.

Deep within the shadows of the alleyways cast across Belan Long Street, Zeon stood quietly.

He chewed on a piece of cheap baguette while watching the long queue forming across the street for the distribution of food.

Not everyone waiting in line for relief food was a homeless vagrant.

Many struggling families would send their idle children or elderly members out to collect a portion of sustenance.

"This taste... truly hasn't changed at all!"

Stuffing the last piece of bread into his mouth, Zeon muttered indistinctly.

The baguettes in the city of Ogran were wonderfully fragrant and sweet when freshly baked.

Yet, if left exposed to the open air for just a single night, it would transform into a formidable and sturdy weapon.

Quite a few abstract-genre players frequently used baguettes to brawl with the mafia on the streets, sometimes even shattering the skulls of stubborn mafia members with them.

Later on, the "Baguette Mafia" established by the players briefly became the nightmare of many residents in Ogran City!

Dusting the breadcrumbs from his palms, Zeon took a deep breath and completely retracted the power of his supernatural sequence.

Even a supernatural being skilled in spiritual perception and insight would perceive Zeon as nothing more than an ordinary human upon seeing him.

Pulling the brim of his hat down lower, the lazy young man assumed a silent and introverted demeanor as he walked toward the "Beverlyn Relief Station" across the street.

Ever since parting ways with the artisan young lady, Zeon had begun investigating the coordinate locations she provided one by one.

As an evil deity organization, they obviously wouldn't tattoo "I am a member of an evil deity cult" across their foreheads.

They were typically exceptionally covert and adept at disguising themselves.

Even the ordinary people working within their establishments often remained entirely unaware that they were laboring for an evil deity cult.

Zeon, however, adopted the method of "paving the way with gold pounds" to gain access to figures at the level of the charity's directors.

From these directors, one could always catch faint traces of a special aura and scent.

And if luck favored him, he might even encounter the supernatural members of the evil deity organization.

The first two relief stations had been entirely ordinary and legitimate ones.

After completing his probes, Zeon had casually donated twenty gold pounds to each—though not a massive sum, it could still offer some genuine assistance.

This third relief station before him, however, appeared somewhat more substantial.

"Sir, if you require food, you need to join the queue over there."

Just as he approached the gates of the Beverlyn Relief Station, a staff member blocked Zeon's path and explained patiently.

"I didn't come here today to collect food."

A look of gratitude surfaced on Zeon's face as he began his performance.

"Back when I was in dire straits, I received a great deal of food right here."

"If not for those provisions, I doubt I would have survived that winter."

"Even now, whenever I recall that bitter winter, my right knee still aches faintly, and the whistling of the piercing cold wind seems to linger in my ears."

"Oh... that truly was a grueling period; every day felt like a struggle against the Grim Reaper!"

"Thanks be to the great Holy Sun, and thanks to the Beverlyn Relief Station—I made it through."

"This spring, I finally found employment and came into a modest fortune."

"Father Karlov of the great Holy Sun Church taught us that we must learn to be grateful."

"I have come today to make a donation to the Beverlyn Relief Station."

Zeon's narration and performance were thoroughly competent and spot-on.

The staff member naturally believed him without a second thought.

Naturally, the main reason was that people genuinely did come here from time to time to give back and express their gratitude.

In this world possessed of deities and genuine faith, there was no shortage of devout converts.

"Please come with me. Director Boyd is in charge here today."

Following the staff member, Zeon stepped inside the Beverlyn Relief Station.

The moment he entered, Zeon faintly caught a whiff of a peculiar scent—an eccentric odor akin to a mixture of sewage and taboo blood.

"It seems... I've come to the right place."

Zeon was led up to an office door on the second floor.

The staff member knocked gently on the door and announced, "Director Boyd, a devout follower of the great Holy Sun wishes to make a donation."

"Come in!"

A voice carrying a hint of pleasant surprise echoed from within.

Pushing the door open, Zeon stepped into the room.

Bathed in the bright, expansive light streaming through the glass window, Director Boyd sat poised behind a long desk.

In his early thirties, his hair was meticulously combed backward, with the sole minor flaw being a somewhat receding hairline.

He wore an exquisite brown jacket, possessed a clean-shaven face, and his brown pupils scrutinized the incoming Zeon with a look of apparent anticipation.

Most eye-catching of all was the golden pocket watch he held in his hand.

"Tick... Tock..."

The faint, rhythmic ticking of the pocket watch precisely measured the passage of time.

*A peak tier-one [Dreamweaver], extremely close to tier-two, possessing hypnotic supernatural abilities.*

A single glance at the early-thirties Boyd provided Zeon with a wealth of information.

"Oger Joffrey. Just call me Oger."

Zeon removed his woven cap, offered a polite gesture of greeting, and introduced himself.

"Oger Joffrey" was the pseudonym Zeon frequently used for disguises.

"Please sit, Mr. Oger."

Boyd wore a warm, welcoming smile.

As Zeon took his seat, he happened to catch the Dreamweaver opening his pocket watch and placing it on the desk before him.

"Tick... Tock..."

"Tick... Tock..."

The highly rhythmic sound echoed deep within Zeon's consciousness.

The hypnosis had begun.

*To think he actually regards me as an ordinary person.*

He was far too familiar with the hypnotic techniques of a Dreamweaver.

Sitting in the chair, Zeon couldn't help but let out a massive yawn, feeling his mind grow hazy before drifting into a heavy slumber.

*An exceptionally fine hypnosis.*

*Pity that a tier-two Evil Sorcerer boss is completely immune to spiritual control from any lower-tier.*

*To meet directly at the core of the dreamscape through the essence of spirituality... oh, how I adore this!*

*Mr. Dreamweaver, are you prepared to face an Evil Spirit Sorcerer directly?*

Amidst a blur of consciousness, Zeon "awoke."

It was still the sunlit office at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"Boyd" still sat behind the broad, bright glass window and the long desk.

And he himself remained seated in the chair.

Everything around him felt utterly real.

Yet Zeon knew well that he had already "fallen" into the dreamscape woven for him by the Dreamweaver.

After all, he had jumped into it of his own accord.

Otherwise, this tier-one [Dreamweaver] Mr. Boyd wouldn't have been able to drag him into a woven dreamscape, even if he exhausted every ounce of his dream-realm spiritual energy.

"Oh! My sincere apologies, Mr. Boyd, where were we in our conversation just now?"

Zeon straightened his posture slightly and silently began to deploy his authority, reshaping the spirituality and willpower of the Dreamweaver.

A tier-two [Evil Spirit Sorcerer] could quite effortlessly reshape the spiritual willpower of a tier-one supernatural being, reducing them to a thoroughly devoted follower.

And doing so within a dreamscape, where their spiritualities connected directly, produced results that were nothing short of exquisite.

"We were discussing your intention to donate all your gold pounds to the Beverlyn Relief Station."

Boyd narrowed his eyes, studying the slightly introverted man before him, and spoke in a slow, measured tone.

His original plan was to fleece the man of all his wealth.

Doing so openly, however, might prompt the fellow to report a theft upon realizing his money was gone.

Dragging him into a dreamscape and guiding him to weave a genuine dream of donating all his funds would leave the man firmly convinced that he had willingly given away every single gold pound.

He had executed this exact method several times before, and every single instance had yielded a bountiful harvest.

"Ah, yes! I am willing to donate my entire net worth of five gold pounds!"

A smile curved the corners of Zeon's lips as he spoke those words.

The smile on the face of Boyd, seated in the high-backed chair, instantly stiffened.

"Five gold pounds?"

*This damned pauper—he dares to talk about a donation with a mere five gold pounds?*

Amidst a surge of annoyance and bewilderment, Boyd felt the dreamscape before him blur violently.

He felt the scattered fragments of memory buried deep within his soul begin to surface continuously.

"I..."

He groped, he searched, he recalled his true self.

At last, the root of his deepest spirituality completed its connection with that obscure and magnificent existence.

His sequence spirituality quivered in response, and his soul's willpower completed its sublimation and transformation in that very instant.

He achieved enlightenment.

"I... am a fragment of the Holy Sorcerer Sovereign, a devotee of the great Sovereign."

When he looked back at the man before him once more.

His body trembled slightly, and then he humbly arched his spine and lowered his head.

"Greetings to the great Holy Sorcerer Envoy!"

Within the depths of the dreamscape, Boyd spoke with a trembling, devout voice.