Tonight, Alice joins the hunt.

Travel to the past, to the other side of time and space. Travel to the place where Dragon Break occurred, to the time when Dragon Break never arrived in Disbot—that should have happened decades ago in the world of Disbot, or perhaps thousands or tens of thousands of years ago in another world.

The sense of touch in her body had long since vanished along with her physical form, but the karmic connection represented by the Dragon's Scale remained. Neither her body nor her soul resided here, yet Alice could still sense that she was being drawn towards a certain direction.

Is it possible to get there? Is it possible to get there?

Alice didn't know, but she knew she had to do it. After all... Patchouli wanted her to go there.

[Ah...can you figure it out now? As expected, in this place that's neither the real universe nor the boundary of chaos, the so-called 'Saint Hunting Ritual' can't interfere here.]

If Alice had a mouth, she would surely be smiling now. If emotions could still function, her heart would be brimming with joy. But this is the Abyss of Death, a place devoid of anything. No time, no space, no emotions, no physical body. Only endless silence and nothingness exist, and unless one is exceptional, there is no thought to be found here.

The fairy queen who calls herself 'Arisa' is Patchouli. Perhaps she's Patchouli from the future, perhaps Patchouli whose timeline was distorted by the Dragon's Destruction, or even perhaps Patchouli who descended from something extraordinary called the Hunting Ritual, outside this world. The evidence is that some rule restricts her, preventing her from revealing her name or letting anyone else know it. But whatever her true identity, she is still herself, still the Patchouli that Alice loves, that Patchouli.

Patchouli wanted me to die, so of course I had to die.

Patchouli wants me to return to the era when the Dragon Break was initiated, so of course I have to find a way to go back in time.

The logic is simple and clear. Since there's a fact that he can return to the past in the 'future,' then even if he didn't do it himself, the so-called Dragon Break must be closely related to him. Since the medium is something related to dragons, the place he needs to go to is naturally the era of Ismir, the ruler of the dragon spirits and the North Wind Dragon. And since it's an otherworldly life form that descended because of the Dragon Break, the place it needs to arrive at must be the other world it inhabits.

There's a feeling of rising, but that might not be a 'feeling'. There are signs of movement, but that might not be 'movement' either.

In the Abyss of Death, time has no meaning, space has no meaning. There is no past or future, no front or back, no up or down.

Within the Abyss of Death, many mysteries exist eternally and remain utterly unsolvable. Emotions and desires cannot reside there. And it is for this reason that the dead fall into the Abyss, but because they lack emotions, desires, and self-awareness, they slumber there forever, never to rise again. And since even the desire to explore is absent, it is naturally impossible to unravel the secrets of the Abyss.

Alice, however, is different. Although her soul and body do not reside here, she possesses a clear sense of self. While she lacks the desire to explore and the urge to dominate, she does not allow her actions to stagnate simply by suppressing the urge to dominate, as she would on the outside.

What principle is this based on? She didn't know, and didn't want to know.

What does this mean? She doesn't understand, and she doesn't want to understand.

Because it would make her feel like a monster, that her new self is constantly killing her old self. Perhaps the so-called Alice had already fallen into eternal slumber the moment she first stepped into the Abyss of Death. And now, in place of that identity is some strange 'thing' that pretends to be Alice and believes itself to be her. Perhaps each of Alice's deaths was a complete annihilation, and what leaves this place is some 'object' that appears out of thin air, like the shell that appeared without any material support during her second resurrection. Or perhaps…

The meaningless, mechanical thinking ended there, for she saw something worth observing with her non-existent eyes. The upward 'feeling' grew clearer and more rapid. And this meant she was getting closer and closer to her destination.

She gradually began to see things that truly existed, things that were vague, incomprehensible, yet undeniably functioning. It seemed as if colossal forms were battling on the surface of a planet, or as if some mixture of matter and concepts were merging and clashing. It was as if someone was wielding a sword, seemingly a legendary hero. Or as if someone was riding a giant beast, leading a vast army towards some point in the void.

It was chaotic and disorderly, but it shouldn't be like this. Based on Alice's past experience, such a scene must indicate the outbreak of a war involving the temporal dimension.

[Someone...something is fighting on the timeline. Who could it be? Could it be the reason I must step into the abyss at this point in time?]

One side in the battle should be the North Wind Dragon, or a part of it, or something related to it. The other side should be the one who started this war… could it be an otherworldly invader like me? Only, unlike me who came from the Abyss of Death, did they take a different path?

Ah... in this way, they actually shielded me from harm. After all, the North Wind Dragon Ismir possesses at least mid-tier fourth-order... or even near-high-tier combat power. This is even considering that its enhancement level is below the Gene Lock level. Otherwise, its combat power would only be stronger, so strong that I would have no chance against it.

The sensation of rising became increasingly clear. She knew she couldn't descend in her true form—facing an adversary involved in the realm of spacetime, capable of fighting on the timeline. She had to adopt an existing identity, infiltrate an inconspicuous character, and proceed cautiously. To do this, she had to prevent the Abyss's mechanism for creating bodies out of thin air from operating this time.

There must be an Alice, and this Alice must be involved in a crucial turning point in this world.

I must possess the body of a 'dead' Alice, replacing her soul and will, so that I won't be discovered by the time travelers of this world.

Therefore, before regaining sufficient strength, a disguised, superficial personality is essential. Although I don't know who is fighting outside, since the battlefield involves timelines, the history of this world will inevitably be skewed. My goal is to infiltrate the body of an unknown nobody near the protagonist at a historical juncture and seize the protagonist's fate before the juncture opens.

In this way, before I awaken, the Time Travelers will only observe me, not target me. And after I awaken, I will gain the time, power, and opportunity to plan and strategize.

[Then, I can influence or affect the occurrence of "Dragon Break" from the 'past'. This completes the vicious cycle of time and space, past and future!]

The feeling of floating was amplified to its extreme in an instant, and then the next moment...

She felt herself burst out of the water!

..........................................

The spatial axis is anchored, and the specific coordinates are... the area surrounding Helgen Fortress on the northern side of the continent of Tamriel and the southern side of the province of Skyrim, in the world of Mondas.

The timeline is anchored at the following coordinates: Year 201, Last Month 17th, Morning.

As the Imperial Legion soldiers escorting the rebel leader approached Helgen Fortress, about to complete this crucial mission—enough to quell the rebellion in Skyrim and restore peace—these locally recruited elite soldiers couldn't help but become slightly lax, which manifested in their slightly faster pace. Consequently, the dozen or so wagons carrying the rebel leader and a group of criminals to be executed jolted a little.

This was a minor matter; no one would care. The rebel leader, Ulfric of the Stormcloak, was gagged and unable to utter a single meaningful syllable. Since even this VIP in the first-class seat was speechless, the other rabble naturally had no choice but to shut up as well.

This was normal; no one would care. And it was precisely for this reason that when another prison cart, positioned one seat away from the rebel leader's, jolted as it passed the city gates, and an imperial girl, who appeared to have been seriously ill since her capture, awoke from her unconsciousness, not a single soldier or prisoner paid her any extra attention.

Then, the girl raised her head, her eyes filled with the curiosity of a child, surveying everything around her. She looked at the massive, ancient imperial fortress, and at the guillotine drawing ever closer to her.

She had beautiful sky-blue eyes, and all she could remember was that her name was Alice.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Dragon Returns

A biting north wind swept through the streets of Morning Star Territory, and the chilling wind unique to Night Star and Moon made all the poor souls who had to go out on such a terrible day wrap themselves up tightly in their coats and shiver.

Yes, that's right, Night Star Moon. Night Star Moon, more than four months after the end of the last month.

This corresponds to the December months on Earth.

Morningstar Territory is actually a northern region of Skyrim province. Skyrim is the northernmost province on the continent of Tamriel. As a result, the weather in Morningstar Territory is much colder and more frigid than in other parts of the continent.

Even the native inhabitants of Skyrim, the Nords, known for their cold resistance, couldn't ignore the weather that could shatter windows. Those burly men who dared to hunt bears shirtless just a month ago were now all wearing heavy brown or black bearskin coats, and staying comfortably in steamy taverns or in front of their fireplaces in their homes until the sun was high in the sky.

The weather was bad, but the current situation was worse. Since four months ago, when the rebel leader, Ulfric of the Stormcloaks, escaped the execution grounds of Helgan Keep with the help of a sudden dragon calamity, the entire province of Skyrim had been shrouded in the shadow of war. Imperial soldiers and the Stormcloak rebel forces had torn Skyrim in two, each hostile to the other, locked in a deadly struggle.

While the two sides were locked in a fierce battle, the resurrected dragons and the treacherous vampires pushed the disaster to even greater depths.

War, war never ends. War, war never changes.

No one cared how much blood was left behind. No one cared how much more blood would fall on the snow. The rebellion in Skyrim was merely a microcosm. The essence was actually a conflict between the old elven empire and the new mortal era. The rise of the high elves and the decline of the human empire were the true triggers for this dire situation. And in the late Fourth Age, the shadow of war was already appearing in many provinces across the continent.

Skyrim wasn't the most hotly contested province—if a dragon hadn't suddenly appeared during the execution of the rebel leader and destroyed Helgen Fortress, the conflict there would have been completely quelled four months ago. And precisely because of this, the truly elite forces of the Mortal Empire were dispatched to other provinces to suppress wars that were genuinely in dire straits. The problems in Skyrim were essentially left to the Skyrim people to resolve themselves.

Rebellions among mortals are always better than tribal wars with other races, even though both involve bloodshed.

Fortunately, whether it was the Imperials, the Stormcloaks, or even the cold-blooded vampires, they all chose to remain humble in the face of Skyrim's harsh winter—the latter may be questionable, but it is an undeniable fact that vampire activity decreased during the night of the stars and moon—and with the dragons not turning their attention to the Whitelands, Morningstar Territory within the Whitelands naturally enjoyed a rare period of peace.

Here, Nords and Imperials of Cyrodiil can coexist peacefully in taverns. Dark elves and forest elves will not suffer unwarranted discrimination. Bretons with elven blood and Khajiit, who resemble large cats, can also find work in this land—except for the Argonians, who, by nature cold-blooded, are utterly defenseless against the harsh winters of the Whitelands.

War will come sooner or later, but at least not now.

And that is why, at least at this time, people can listen to the lute in the tavern and drink fine wine while engaging in lively conversation.

..............................

"Gra—" Two strangers hiding in cloaks pushed open the tavern door. The enthusiastic conversation inside was paused for a brief half-second, as if a pause button had been pressed. But when the strangers obediently closed the door and went to the bartender for food and water, the slight unpleasantness vanished in an instant.

This is not uncommon in these war-torn times. Every day, many weary travelers from afar flock to Morningstar Province. Their aim is to escape the war and seek refuge, and taverns and inns are the first choice for such people when they cannot find a place to stay.

The locals were already used to it; as long as they didn't cause trouble, no one paid much attention. The innkeepers of Morning Star were also happy about it, because in a place like Skyrim, there were plenty of people who would deal with any troublemakers who dared to cause trouble in Night Star Moon. And if these troublemakers chose to remain quiet, their arrival would be accompanied by a great deal of wealth.

The two strangers were quite ordinary. They simply bought two glasses of ale—three times the usual price—and some common meat dishes at the bar before quietly settling down in a secluded spot. Seeing how 'well-behaved' the two were, the burly bartender, Nord, nodded slightly towards a certain area in the hall, and the gazes that had been fixed on them since they entered quietly dispersed, no longer casting any extra attention on them.

The hall, which had been slightly quiet due to the cold air when the door opened, became lively again. The sounds of drinking contests, card games, loud conversations, and arm wrestling once more filled the warm hall. The fireplace roared, and some not-so-important news quietly drifted outwards from the conversations.

There are no fools here; truly valuable secrets aren't uttered carelessly under the influence of alcohol. And precisely because there are no fools here, even less important, already known information isn't deliberately concealed.

—Anyway, it's all drunken bragging, so it's always easier to believe if the bragging has some basis in reality than if it's completely baseless nonsense. And ale, mead, wine, and the slightly rarer Aldo wine are all catalysts for boasting and grandstanding, making one's blood boil as much as a blazing fireplace in this frigid winter.

Some claim to be survivors of Helgen, having witnessed the entire event from a tower when the black dragon descended from the clouds. Legend says that a torrent of meteors and fire rained down, and the Empire's most elite warriors and mages in Skyrim were no match for it.

No sooner had these words been spoken than another burly man, who appeared to be a retired veteran and was missing an arm, loudly retorted. He claimed that the real elite troops were only able to respond immediately because they needed to protect General Tullius, a key figure in the Empire's affairs in Skyrim, and thus could not act immediately.

The former immediately agreed and then turned to criticize the bureaucracy of the Imperial Legion. Two seconds later, the latter, wielding his one arm, delivered a heavy punch to the former—the altercation was quickly quelled by the others. Then, in a brief silence, the conversation shifted in another direction.

It is said that when Helgen was attacked by dragonfire, a small group of people attempted to escape through secret passages beneath the fortress. Many of these lucky individuals actually managed to escape. A relative living in Riverwood, not far from Helgen, claimed that his distant cousin, a blacksmith's apprentice, witnessed two men and a woman, covered in blood, entering the outer districts of Riverwood before sunrise. Furthermore, several chickens in the town mysteriously died that day.

According to the distant cousin, the poor chickens were killed by a handcart. With no witnesses and no evidence, the united residents of Riverwood searched for a long time with knives and axes, but ultimately had no choice but to disperse in frustration.

It has to be said that this kind of topic is very easy to spark discussion. So much so that for the next ten minutes, the tavern was filled with discussions about how to deal with chicken thieves and how to cook chicken to make it taste better. The two sides, charcoal-grilled chicken cutlets and spicy chicken wings, argued quite fiercely, to the point that a group of people had to go outside the tavern shirtless in the cold weather to settle the conflict with their fists—well, it was a convenient way to quickly calm both sides down.

While the gentlemen were passionately discussing cooking methods, another group shifted their topic from dealing with chicken thieves to the story of the annihilation of the bandits in the Coldfall Mountains. It is said that during the time when Helgen was burned by dragon fire, an unknown hermit single-handedly challenged the bandit gang of the Coldfall Mountains and slaughtered them all.

Because it was the last month of the year, on just three days, the villagers at the foot of Hanluo Mountain were driven by the howling of wolves at night to band together and go out to investigate. The weapon wounds remaining on the ravaged corpses were exposed to all the villagers. According to several old hunters, these bandits were all killed by a single blow from the same person, and among them were powerful figures, some even capable of wielding destructive magic!

She must have been a powerful hermit, but unfortunately, no one could find her trace. Her last trail led deep into the desolate wilderness. Then, a large landslide blocked the hunters' pursuit.

Legend has it that the ruins of the ancient Nords lie deep within the desolate landscape, and that must have been the hermit's destination. The final outcome remains unknown, but the villagers firmly believe that the hermit must have found another path and left on his own. After all, for a truly powerful individual, being crushed to death by a stone is absolutely impossible.

The conversation quickly became chaotic again. Meanwhile, those who had been arguing about how to cook the chicken returned to the tavern, all sporting red, swollen, and bruised frostbite and bruises—that's how Nords are; when they're drunk, they'll do anything. But if the other side of the conflict also has a good capacity for alcohol and a generous nature, then a handshake and reconciliation are often the final outcome of any verbal altercation.

Sure enough, the guys who were punching each other's noses earlier decided to settle their differences with drinks. And when the tavern owner brought over three and a half barrels of liquor, the outcome of the fight was already decided: a lose-lose situation, with the only winner being the tavern owner who provided the drinks.

Everyone knows it, but nobody cares.

So, amidst the lively drinking atmosphere, the bard holding his lute sang out loud, playing Skyrim's famous "Song of the Dragonborn."

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, swear by his glory,

banish evil forever!

Those brutal enemies will be shattered by the glorious roar.

Dragonborn, we pray for your blessings!

Those who were arguing about other topics stopped and started tapping their hands on the table. A boorish man who had been drinking heavily downed a basin-sized amount of liquor, then staggered and collapsed, belching. He successfully escaped the fray, only to be immediately replaced by someone else.

Listen, son of the Nords, in ancient times...

The great legend of him!

That hero with dragon blood,

It possesses power comparable to the sun!

A down-on-his-luck merchant from Whiterun covered his face and wept bitterly. It was said that after Helgen was destroyed by dragonfire, Whiterun was the second city to suffer a dragon's scourge. It was said that a hero, seemingly from ancient legend, defeated the golden-red dragon. But half of Whiterun was still engulfed in flames.

On the battlefield of glory, he roared and waved his arms.

When the continent of Tamriel was shattered by war!

The powerful dragon language pierced through the enemy like a sharp blade.

When the Dragonborn roars!

—A wounded mercenary beside the merchant sighed and lowered his head, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of wine. Following the dragon ravages of Whiterun, the Stormcloak rebels immediately seized the opportunity to launch a surprise attack on Whiterun. And the wrath of the third dragon descended upon another city in Whiterun, Loristard.

The scroll bar, once prophesied, for the black wings to appear in the dead of winter.

When brothers start killing each other!

Odoo, the bane of the kings, the liberated shadow of darkness.

And its delusional ambition to devour the world!

Whiterun held firm, the Stormcloak army retreating empty-handed beneath its walls. Ulfric's lieutenant, the renowned Stonefist Garmar, was killed and mortally wounded beneath the walls. Along with the Stormcloaks' defeat, the purple dragon of Loristed also succumbed to the valiant efforts of the nameless heroes. Some believed her to be the Dragonborn of this era, but no one knew her whereabouts or appearance.

But daylight will eventually come, and when the evil dragon falls...

It will remain silent forever!

The beautiful skies will be freed from the clutches of Alduin.