From Naruto onwards, I've become a dreamer.

Chapter 342 Want power? Then drink it!

"elder brother."

Someone was calling softly in the darkness.

It's so annoying. Do you know that he didn't fall asleep until the early hours of the morning? Can't he be a little quieter in the middle of the night?
The man in the dream frowned, silently grumbling to himself.

"elder brother."

The childish voice called out again.

Your brother isn't here, please stop calling out. Have some consideration for someone who has insomnia!

Seemingly having heard his inner thoughts, the child looked a little aggrieved and said softly, "Brother, I'm leaving now."

The sound faded into the distance, as if the person was truly leaving. The man, however, felt a pang of reluctance and reluctantly sat up, scratching his messy hair. "Alright, alright, what's your unreliable brother's name? Where does he live? I'll take you there!"

In reality, he did not wake up from his dream, but instead found himself in front of a house made of bronze, where birds sang and flowers bloomed.

“There are a lot of people outside, brother,” the boy said timidly. “They…have already found me.”

On the lawn, bathed in warm sunlight, he sat down, his white robes as pure as the moon. Looking at the white-clad child sitting opposite him, he said naturally, "Don't be afraid, Constantine."

“I’m not afraid. I won’t be afraid when I’m with my brother.” Constantine said earnestly, his big, dark eyes wide open. “But why…why don’t you eat me? If you eat me, my brother can break through any cage.”

The man in white paused for a moment, then said insincerely, "But that would be too lonely. For thousands of years, only you and I have been together."

“No, brother, I will become one with you, and then we will never be separated again,” the boy said with a smile.

"Let's wait a little longer."

The man in white lowered his head, a hint of sorrow in his eyes, as if to conceal it: "Before I can devour this world, it is better to sleep peacefully than to wander alone."

"Will my brother eat me then?" the boy asked.

"Will do."

The man in white nodded slightly, his voice carrying a cold, authoritative tone: "At that time, you will rule the world with me!"

"I'm leaving, brother." The boy stood up, looked outside, and said, "Soon, someone will come in. Brother, come back quickly. I'll wait for you here, wait for you to eat me, and then together we'll rule the world!"

"Constantine."

The man in white called out his name, but then flames appeared before his eyes.

Amidst the raging flames, the city wept, thick black smoke blotted out the sun, creating an apocalyptic scene. Countless charred people ran through the fire, thousands upon thousands of arrows rained down from the sky, and a huge burning plaque fell to the ground, engraved with two ancient characters: White Emperor!

In the very center of the city, a flagpole stands, and a child is hanging from the top with his eyes closed.

Blood flowed down the flagpole, igniting the streets like flames. The entire city was engulfed in flames, as if a grand funeral was being held for Him!
The man in white felt as if his heart was being torn apart. Gazing at the child being sacrificed, flames of rage burned within him, turning his pupils a fiery gold.

"Constantine".

He roared the name in a rage, then swung his ferocious and terrifying claws toward the sky and the burning city.

Suddenly, the man woke up from his dream, opened his eyes, breathing rapidly, his body drenched in cold sweat.

The noise of the train passing by outside the window seemed to pull him back to reality from his dream, reminding him that everything that had just happened was fake, and that he was just an ordinary person.

But that inexplicable voice lingered deep in my mind.

"Constantine."

The man with messy hair stared blankly, a sudden impulse rising within him: he had to go somewhere, to see that child. It was absurd; it was clearly a dream, everything should be unreal, yet the deep stirrings within him, and an inexplicable obsession, compelled him to go.

Pompeii has been alone in the luxurious presidential suite for five days now.

During this time, no one was allowed to enter, and a "Do Not Disturb" sign was hung on the door. If the hotel manager hadn't come up to check on the situation in the room several times, one might have thought that something had happened to the distinguished guest inside, or that he had died in the room.

The reason Pompeii was so captivated was the black-covered book left behind by a man named Zarathustra, who claimed to be the leader of the secret order: "The King in Yellow."

The yellow mark on the black cover, like three twisted tentacles, was deeply etched into his mind.

Moreover, ever since watching "King in Yellow," Pompeii felt as if he had been drawn into an ambiguous, dreamlike drama, listening to whispers from within a dream.

The experience of constantly sinking into dreams almost drove Pompeii mad.

Each time, he warned himself not to look at that eerie book again, but every night he couldn't help but want to immerse himself in the dreamlike world woven for him by "The King in Yellow," a dream filled with bizarre and fantastical scenes.

Beside the ruins of an ancient city, he gazed at the tranquil, deep lake, and then, under the illumination of the black star and moonlight, something indescribable rose from the lake.

Day after day, the dream repeats itself.

He tried to escape the dream, but each time, he unsurprisingly failed.

An indescribable being rose from the lake, its massive, mountain-like body moving, came before him and silently gazed at him with its scarlet pupils.

Pompeii seemed to be able to glimpse the secrets of the starry sky through those giant, scarlet eyes, but he would forget them completely every time he woke up.

It's like someone deeply addicted to drugs, who has experienced the ultimate pleasure, and when they wake up and return to reality, they can no longer bear this empty and boring world.

This feeling was enough to drive him crazy!

The lavish presidential suite was littered with signs of vandalism.

The walls were torn apart like the claws of a wild beast, expensive ornaments were smashed to pieces, and furniture was ripped apart—a scene of utter chaos.

In the past, Pompeii was a dashing and elegant young man, but now he looked like a homeless person on the street, with a decadent appearance, messy blond hair, sunken eyes, and bloodshot eyes in his sea-blue pupils, looking just like a crazed drug addict.

Just then, a figure draped in a yellow robe appeared as if by ghost.

"Is that you? Zarathustra!"

Pompeii's bloodshot eyes were fixed on the figure, and he roared with a ferocious expression, "What did you do to me? Why can't I escape that dream!"

“I think I’ve already said it, Mr. Pompeii, you are the ‘chosen one’.”

Zarathustra sat on the sofa, a deep smile playing on his bearded face: "That dream had no ill intentions. You should know very well what you saw, shouldn't you?"

“But… I remember nothing!” Pompeii’s expression was pained, his fingers digging deep into his hair, his eyes red. “Yes, I saw it, the scenes in my dreams, magnificent and strange, as if they contained all knowledge, but… every time I wake up, I remember nothing!”

“That’s because you haven’t received the ‘blessing’ yet, Mr. Pompeii.”

Zarathustra retrieved a crystal bottle from the tattered yellow robe, which contained a viscous liquid.

Under the light, the viscous liquid in the crystal bottle seemed to writhe like a living thing, flowing with a luster like stars, and rising and falling like a storm tsunami.

“This is…” Pompeii was deeply drawn to the bottle of strange liquid, his heart filled with longing and excitement.

“A blessing, or perhaps, a ‘magic potion’.”

Zarathustra shook the crystal bottle, handed it over, and chuckled, "Mr. Pompeii, do you want power? Power beyond Nidhogg, even beyond all life. If you want it, then drink this 'potion,' it will allow you to delve deeper into that dream."

(End of this chapter)