A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

These buildings form a labyrinth outside the actual ruins, with a total of five entrances and five exits.

Whether by coincidence or some other reason, the symbol of the architectural complex where Bray is located is "the pioneer".

About half an hour later, Bray was standing at one end of the pattern, which was also the entrance.

"Do I need to decipher it?" Bray frowned as he looked at the massive stone door blocking his way.

Ancient patterns are carved on the stone gate; even without close inspection, it's clear that it's a fragmented image.

It seemed that Bray was to piece together the pattern using the table in front of him.

Bray took a few steps, looked down at the dusty stone platform, on which was a miniature version of the map.

Even if the images are scrambled, they can still be pieced together to form a different picture.

But Bray doesn't know what will happen if he misspells it.

To be honest, Bray would rather split the stone door open himself than manually operate the mechanism.

When in doubt, Bray's favorite thing to do is to strike with a sword.

So he didn't follow the normal procedure and directly raised his broadsword.

He concentrated his energy and then slashed out heavily.

But when the sword fell, there was no booming sound, and Bray didn't even feel the sensation of hitting something solid.

When the broadsword touched the stone gate, it seemed to sink into the lake, with half of it disappearing from Bray's sight.

As for the other part that disappeared, it mysteriously reappeared in the distance, far out of Bray's field of vision.

Bray sheathed his sword and subconsciously rubbed his chin.

The sword was intact, and this stone gate, like the distorted space that once protected the ruins, was inescapable.

Bray finds this kind of thing most troublesome because there's really no good way to solve it.

Because this is not a phenomenon caused by concepts or magic.

It is an anomaly of the world itself, and its nature is like that of various strange objects, exceeding the categories of "mental world", "concept", "magic", etc.

"..." After sheathing his sword, Bray obediently placed his hands on the stone platform.

"Even if you asked me to do a jigsaw puzzle, I wouldn't know what to put together," Bray sighed deeply.

It's too difficult for Bray to piece together the correct answer from a bunch of messy fragments.

But at that moment, he suddenly remembered a sentence.

"There will always be weak people who, out of ignorance, challenge the sublime."

The corresponding pattern should be an ordinary-looking person holding a sword and facing the sun, which is the pattern formed by the building complex where Bray is located.

So Bray licked his lips and began trying to piece together the image, hoping there wouldn't be any punishment for making mistakes. The seemingly random fragments were eventually pieced together by Bray into a meaningful picture.

The one who symbolizes the pioneers, wielding the only weapon, charges toward the sun, which symbolizes the gods.

Bray knew he was a pioneer, but he didn't think he wouldn't do such a thing.

To charge towards the sun with one's own sword would be suicidal.

Bray is not a reckless guy.

A muffled thud suddenly rang out, and the distorted space surrounding the gate vanished in an instant.

"Alright." Bray gave himself a thumbs up for his intelligence.

Finally, the gate opened completely, and after the pattern was pieced together, the pioneer was on the left door and the sun was on the right door, perfectly separated.

After the gate opened, a wide road appeared before Bray's eyes.

The walls standing on both sides of the road are nothing but traces of history.

There are no patterns, no decorations, and no mechanisms.

When Bray went inside, he felt like he was inside a box.

However, this feeling quickly disappeared, because after walking the initial stretch of road, Bray came to a fork in the road.

As he stood at the intersection, various sounds began to echo in Bray's ears.

It was a jumble of voices from different people, so chaotic that Bray found it annoying.

Because he couldn't make out any content in the voice; the words were too intertwined.

It seems to be both a resentment towards others and a warning to others.

Ignoring the distracting noise, Bray focused on the fork in the road in front of him.

He had once come to a fork in the road in the ruins, and back then he needed someone to guide him to find the way.

But now it's not necessary; Bray can find the way accurately on his own.

Although the fork in the road was different before, the destination is the same.

In many ways, Bray has grown a lot, but it's unclear whether he has grown enough.

Bray seemed to be spreading meaning in his own backyard, easily navigating one fork in the road after another.

As they went deeper, the background noise around Bray's ears began to decrease.

"You will change the future."

—"The prophet expects you to prove that His prophecy is wrong."

"You must ignite hope, you must save the world, you must banish the gods."

"You must light the lamp of hope."

They don't need to synchronize their voices and say the same thing.

Countless images came into Bray's view, all of which were scenes that could easily instill despair.

But what's the point of showing these things to yourself now, when the world is already like this?

The view above has long since become a reality, and even if the world becomes worse, it won't be much worse than it is now.

"You are a person who upholds the precepts, you are a pioneer, and the prophet has seen you pave the way."

"You too must pave the way."

—"Brekras!"

Eleven shadows stood before Bray, replacing the apocalyptic scenes.

Their faces appeared clearly before Bray's eyes, with the one in the very center being the prophet.

“I’ve seen another version of you,” Bray said to a group of phantoms like a madman.

The "you" in this context refers to the prophet.

“But that version of you wasn’t as insane as the current one,” he said calmly, then stepped aside and left the phantoms.

"Breaklas, the pioneer, do not shirk your responsibilities!"

Bray ignored the reprimand and walked straight ahead.

With each step Bray took, the lights on the wall would illuminate, and the patterns on them would distort.

The distorted pattern appeared incredibly ferocious, and the images of the gods were uglified, as if each god was venting their anger on Bray.

This might be an expression of anger from the eleven phantoms towards Bray's attitude.

These phantoms are clearly more paranoid than the prophets Bray saw when he traveled to the Second Age.

“These responsibilities are what you’re imposing on others; don’t make it sound so noble,” Bray said.

If the fate of a person who observes the precepts is fixed, then the act of rebelling against fate should also be attributed to that fixed fate.

Does Bray's deviation from the predetermined route essentially constitute a "predetermined route"?

He didn't understand the answers to these questions; he only deeply understood that the identity of a person who upholds the precepts is a curse.

Is it truly a living curse, or a curse bestowed by the will of the world?

Although he still doesn't know where his ring is, so be it.

He's already been presumed to be a person who observes the precepts, so he can't refute it even if he wants to.

"Someone has to fulfill their responsibilities, and you just happen to be that person."

"No matter how..." The phantom still wanted to say something, but Bray drew his sword without saying a word.

After the blade was swung out, it quietly returned to its sheath.

After the sword was slashed out, Bray's world suddenly became much quieter, because the eleven phantoms were dispersed by a simple sword strike.

Bray didn't like this kind of talk; perhaps it was a case of "honest advice is hard to swallow"? Of course, Bray didn't really think it could be called honest advice.

He will make his own choice; he doesn't need these ghosts to keep repeating the same things to him.

"Chirp!" After Bray had slain all the phantoms behind him, a bird flapped its wings and flew over.

Bray held out his hand and let the bird stand on it.

This bird has colorful, rather flashy and bizarre feathers; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to describe this strange bird as a Mary Sue character.

However, not everyone can see this strange bird. If there were other people around, they would think that Bray's actions just now were crazy.

Fortunately, Bray was alone, so no one would give him strange looks.

"Chirp chirp chirp~" The lark patted its chest and proudly raised its little head, as if it were saying something.

Unfortunately, Bray couldn't understand the bird next to Whiteface.

“The lark…” Bray looked at the strange bird and suddenly felt like laughing, but unfortunately he didn’t show that expression in the end.

Larks seem silly, but for a bird, this behavior is quite cute.

After Bray murmured, the lark flew up from Bray's hand and hovered in front of him, eager to lead the way.

It made all sorts of gestures and frantically tried to make Bray understand its meaning.

The lark was doing somersaults and pointing the way, just like a parrot performing acrobatics.

"Are you going to lead the way for me?" Bray tried to guess.

"Chirp~" the lark chirped happily as the other party guessed her thoughts.

"Let's go then." Actually, Bray didn't need Lark to lead the way at all; he could find Whiteface's location on his own.

But since the lark wants to lead the way, let it go. The familiar tomb chamber didn't contain the coffin.

There was nothing but endless treasure, enough to make anyone go crazy and fill this place with riches.

It wasn't just simple gold, silver, and gemstones; it included all sorts of things that could be considered rare and exotic.

There is a high platform in the tomb chamber, and stone steps connect to the platform.

These steps are perhaps the only place that is not filled with treasure.

A swordsman wearing worn white armor sat on the clean steps.

His head tilted slightly to one side, and he remained motionless.

Because he wore a sealed helmet, no one could see his expression.

His quiet demeanor made him look as if he were asleep, or as if he had died.

A simple sword lay quietly to the side, just like its owner.

Ray, who had been led all the way by Lark, looked at the white face on the steps without saying a word.

Seemingly sensing Bray's arrival, Whiteface moved.

He stretched his stiff body, which hadn't moved for who knows how long, and turned to face Bray.

Although he was completely blind and facing others was meaningless, speaking to others was the most basic etiquette.

Whiteface was sleeping for longer and longer periods of time, so much so that he didn't even notice when Bray arrived.

"Skylark, you've left again without permission." The sullen voice of the white-faced man finally came from under his helmet.

"Chirp!" the lark chirped in dissatisfaction, as if in protest.

Despite her objections, the lark eventually obediently flew back to the white-faced man's head.

“Those guys are noisy, aren’t they?” Whiteface said slowly, gripping the sword that was right beside him.