Chapter 27

At night, the family took their rest. Muren had a strange dream then.

He was in the middle of the otherworld among the chrysanthemum flower beds, sipping Big Dipper. However, he had no control over himself in that place at that time for he was inside a dream – an uncontrollable phenomena even for the great Muren.

He could not move his own limbs according to his will as the fluid flowed surreptitiously down his stomach like an acid.

It felt a bit painful.

He figured that it must be a poison, but not as lethal as cyanides or aconites. After drinking, he saw Toren in front of him, wide awake and steadily standing among the rose flowerbed.

Soon, Toren began plucking out the red roses, then scattered them around which looked like bloods splashing across the metaphysically alive winds. The petals had flown away, floating with the air's blow and slowly forming a circular shape around them.

The flowers visibly flew around, brewing a crimson tornado.

The speed gradually accelerated until the whirlwind surrounded them so strongly that all the beautiful sceneries were slashed to dissolution. All that was left were brewing danger and harmful devilry.

Toren stared at his father blankly as if he was absolutely possessed by a destructive demon.

The tornado swirled and swirled heavenwards, destroying even the fascinating skies. At the blink of an eye, everything around got utterly destroyed.

The world was in complete mesh of tatters.

Pounded with a bloody tornado that seemed to be manipulated by the child in front of him, the dreams he had built and the world he had harbored in during the reality's smashes, all went down the drain.

Muren felt helpless more than when he got trapped in the West, unable to return and serve the government.

He felt a tad more desperate than when he was struggling over the years to even build the organization's stronghold.

It all seemed pointless and beyond repair.

He crumbled down to his knees, even crushing the stems and leaves of the flowers beneath him.

It was as if some kind of dark fingers squeezed hopelessness onto his brain. He would normally fight back. He would normally stick hard to his principles, staying calm and collected, and finally conquering with a solution.

But during that time, he could not get ahold of anything at all.

His hands were feeble, his vision was twirling with the bloody wind around, and his flesh was throbbing weakly. He tried scratching for an ounce of strength – an inch of step to even move forward and shout that he was always ready for a war even against nature.

However, he ended up getting swallowed down the pits of an inescapable abyss.

It was right at that moment when he had woken up from the nightmare.

He had never felt tormented before because of a dream until then.

He sat right up, supplying his lungs with air quickly, and breaking out in cold sweat. A slight creak had caused his awakening, which made his heart stop a little.

He glanced outside and breathed a sigh of relief when the rounding guards happened to be somewhere else.

He had seen a soldier's silhouette looming in, so he slowly lay down back to his bed.

Muren gazed at his sons and for some reason, he felt a bit irked looking at Toren.

He had always been used to staring at his children with love and affection, molded by their mother's sweet features, but he could not possibly do it that night.