The Truth

Her lips, sometimes subtly serene, sometimes passionately fiery, were framed by waterfall-like silver hair symbolizing nobility and sanctity.

She had a slender waist and bountiful mounds, like ripe fruits hanging from a branch, brewing intoxicating wine.

She also had long, fair legs and powerful hips, tightly wrapped in soft silver armor that outlined graceful lines filled with both strength and beauty.

And these legs, pure yet wild, were currently straddling my waist.

Her face was unclear beneath the thin veil, but I imagined it to be exquisitely beautiful. A blush would color her cheeks, and she would lower her head for a passionate kiss, quietly revealing the maidenly charm hidden beneath the Saintess's proud exterior...

"Wait a moment, what was her name again?"

"I think it was Oliya... Oliya Eldridge."

The surname "Eldridge" originated from an ancient tongue, meaning "ancient ruler."

"It quite suits her identity as a Saintess."

A soft mumble echoed in the dim, quiet room.

With no lights on, the living room was swallowed by the night, both inside and out. The only light source was the laptop's display screen.

Sean sat on the sofa, a thin duvet cover draped over his head like a cloak. Because he was so close, the screen's light shone directly on his face, making his skin appear ghostly white.

His eye sockets were somewhat dark, and his messy hair was evident even beneath the cover. Yet, his eyes were bright, like those of a spirited patient.

Beside the laptop sat a glass of milk. Sean, recalling the recent joyful dream, tapped away at the keyboard, transcribing the images in his mind into lines of text—this was his manuscript for the following week.

Sean was a novelist.

He had no side hustle.

He often had all sorts of bizarre and fantastical dreams, and he would record any particularly memorable content. Over time, Sean discovered that these dreams seemed to be connected, like scattered puzzle pieces. When aligned by their granularity, they gradually formed a complete, albeit strange and magical world, entirely different from modern society, yet intimately related to it.

Perhaps due to "personal experience," coupled with two and a half years of writing practice, the stories he presented in his novels were incredibly detailed. The world-building, grounded in reality, also provided readers with a stronger sense of immersion, drawing them in. Especially whenever he encountered scenes like the one above, many like-minded friends would urge him to write more, even tens of thousands of more words.

At such times, Sean would solemnly refuse.

Because that would be a different price.

In short, thanks to these dreams, Sean had become a moderately famous fantasy author, and he had a book signing event next month.

In this era where information networks and industrial technology were just beginning to connect and had not yet become widespread, printed books remained the primary source of income for written works.

"Powerful, beautiful, pure yet seductive, with a contrasting personality... a Saintess like this, those guys... oh no, my dear esteemed readers, they will definitely love it."

"The name of this chapter shall be Transcendent Ascension..."

Next, he needed to think carefully about what happened after the maiden leaned in. Details were important, and they needed to be properly polished to create that hazy, heart-tingling atmosphere. Finally, he would switch to a third-person perspective with some omniscient narration, enhancing the reading experience and making it easier for him to create ensemble casts.

Sean recalled the scene from his dream—Oliya's silver hair had cascaded down with her movements, curling onto his chest. The maiden gazed at him intently, pressing his arms with her hands as if afraid he would run away. He struggled a few times symbolically, to no avail, and had no choice but to give up resisting, closing his eyes as if resigned, ready to endure anything.

Just as the maiden's tender, fiery red lips were about to seal his mouth, a rapid knocking sound suddenly erupted from the darkness, startling him out of his creative thoughts.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

"Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!"

"Sean, open the door quickly!"

Sean frowned deeply.

Damn it, who was disturbing his research?

Didn't they know writing novels required inspiration and a quiet environment?

He had specifically adjusted his work hours to late at night precisely to avoid being disturbed by enthusiastic female neighbors. He glanced at the time; it was already 2:45 AM. At this hour, someone was knocking on his door??

"Who is it? Not sleeping in the middle of the night?"

Sean yelled irritably.

Many writers became furious when their train of thought was interrupted, similar to waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Sean was no exception.

The person outside responded: "It's me, Chris!"

Chris?

The familiar voice and name made Sean pause. He suspiciously threw off the duvet cover, shuffled in his slippers to the door, and peeked through the peephole. The dim hallway light illuminated a stubbled face.

Is that really Chris?

Didn't this guy go missing?

Sean's displeasure instantly turned to surprise, and he quickly opened the door.

Chris was one of his few friends, an avid outdoor adventurer. He had disappeared after one expedition and had been unheard of ever since. He never expected him to be alive. The joy of reuniting with an old friend immediately turned into the most sincere greeting that blurted out:

"You rascal, where have you been for the past two years? Your phone was unreachable, and you never replied to messages. I thought you were dead."

"Come in, come in, have a seat... Wait, your legs??"

As Sean pulled Chris inside, he noticed that his friend's thick, sturdy legs were clad in a pair of stockings.

Black stockings, no less.

"They increase movement speed."

Sean: "?"

"I'm being watched, Sean." Chris said with a serious expression.

Sean: "..."

No, man.

It's weird if you're NOT being watched dressed like that, okay?

"You... sigh, forget it, I'll get you a glass of water." Sean started to speak but stopped. He didn't know what Chris had been through, and ultimately chose to respect his friend's decision.

Just as he was about to go to the kitchen to get a cup, Chris grabbed his wrist and lowered his voice, "No need, we need to hurry. Before they find me, there's something very important I have to tell you."

"I've discovered the secret of this world," Chris said.

Sean was confused, "Secret?"

"Yes," Chris said earnestly, "The world we live in isn't round, it's flat."

Sean: "Huh?"

Fearing Sean wouldn't understand, Chris made two more intuitive gestures with his hands.

One looked like a "0", the other like a "1".

Sean: "..."

He looked at Chris's unusually solemn expression, then at Chris's legs clad in black stockings. He subtly broke free from Chris's grasp and silently took half a step back.

Seeing Sean's disbelief, Chris said urgently, "Really, Sean, I'm not lying to you, you have to believe me."

"These stockings aren't ordinary. I found them in a mysterious little forest."

"Their effect isn't to boost others' attack speed, it's to boost my own."

Sean: "..."

A little forest?

Boosting his own attack speed?

Even weirder, my friend.

"Listen to me, Sean," Chris continued. "In our established understanding, people die when they are killed. Crow feathers are black. Coffee makes livestock more efficient. Milk can also be used as a lubricant... right?"

"But!"

"The truth of this world is that people can revive when killed. Crow feathers are colorful. Coffee can put people into eternal sleep. Milk can be as hard as iron..."

"Don't these things sound familiar to you?"

Of course they sound familiar.

Aren't these the settings from my novel?

Chris actually knows them so well...

Setting aside certain kinks I don't understand or approve of, Sean suddenly felt a little touched.

"So you've been secretly reading my books all along."

"How is it, not bad, right?" Sean asked, blinking.

This guy never had the patience to read before. When he first decided to write, he only casually mentioned it to Chris. He never expected Chris to take it to heart.

"Sean! Don't you understand yet? This isn't about whether I read your books or not, it's that I've encountered things from your book!"

Sean said slightly, "The sense of immersion is that strong?"

Chris: "?"

He raised his voice, "I'm not joking with you!"

"Oh really?" Sean tilted his head. "Then tell me, why haven't I encountered them?"

"Because they are covering it all up, fighting over it! So much blood is flowing wantonly in the dark corners where we ignorant masses can't see, like cheap prostitutes in heat!" As Chris spoke, he suddenly changed his tune, "No, that's wrong! You have encountered them, you already have... your dreams, everything in your dreams is real, you know it... you know everything!"

He stood up and forcefully grabbed Sean's shoulders, shaking him back and forth. He spoke more and more excitedly, "Stop your story, Sean! Leave here, leave this city, they will find you!"

"Wait... go easy." Sean was dizzy from the shaking. "Find me for what?"

"For being a Wizard!"

Sean: "..."

No, I'm just a damn novelist, how did I become a Wizard?

Besides, if that were true, wouldn't it be a good thing?

Who doesn't long for supernatural powers?

"You'll die!"

"Sean, history is always a circle. The Witch Hunt from six hundred years ago has reopened!" Chris's eyes were bloodshot from excessive exertion, his mental state bordering on madness, with an undisguised trace of fear in his voice.

"Witch Hunt?"

"That's right!"

History records the Witch Hunt as a dark and cruel period born from the collapse of the medieval feudal system and manorial economy. During that time, people widely lacked a sense of security and distrusted each other, believing that social chaos was related to devils and witches. Thus, whenever disaster or misfortune struck, they would accuse others of being witches on baseless charges and send them to the stake.

And this was merely the surface.

The essence of the Witch Hunt was to hunt down the true witches hiding among ordinary people and forcibly change everyone's beliefs!

Chris's tone didn't sound like he was joking at all. Sean had known him for many years and had never seen him so anxious and uneasy before. He gazed into Chris's eyes, infected by the intense panic within, and his heart also grew uneasy.

Could what Chris was saying be true?

"But I'm not a witch either?"

Chris gave a tragic smile. "It's useless, my friend. As long as they say you are, you are too, even if you aren't."

Sean was confused. "Who are 'they'?"

"Bang bang bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

The apartment door was suddenly knocked on again, this time with more force, as if someone was punching it.

Chris's face immediately turned pale. "It's over, there's no time..."

Sean also tensed up. "They're looking for you?"

"Bang bang bang bang bang!"

The banging on the door grew louder.

"Remember what I said, don't write any more!" Chris gave Sean one last reminder.

As soon as he finished speaking, the door was kicked open with a "bang." Sean looked in astonishment at the two police officers who burst in. He had expected some menacing men in black suits wearing sunglasses, but it turned out to be police officers?

The two officers also seemed surprised that there was someone else in the apartment besides Chris. The shorter officer quickly pulled out his badge and apologized to Sean. "Sorry, sir, we didn't know this apartment was normally occupied. We're here to apprehend a patient who escaped from the psychiatric hospital yesterday afternoon."

Sean: "?"

What did he mean, a psychiatric patient?

Chris??

"Bah! You sons of bitches, you won't catch me!" Chris cursed loudly, then recited a string of rolling, sibilant syllables, like some kind of incantation, and shouted, "Phase Through Wall!"

He grabbed the seat cushion from the sofa, covered his head, and charged headfirst towards the wall.

"Thud!"

His movement was so fast that Sean didn't even have time to react. He only heard a dull thud, and then saw Chris's eyes roll back as he knocked himself unconscious, letting out unintelligible whimpers from his throat and slumping against the wall with his tongue hanging out.

The air instantly fell silent.

The two police officers: "..."

Sean: "..."

He didn't even have time to be surprised.

So, his old friend had been lying low recently because he'd been in a psychiatric hospital?

...Damn it, he almost believed Chris's words just now.

"We're truly sorry, sir." The shorter officer gestured for his partner to help Chris up and apologized to Sean again. "This was our mistake. We'll pay for the door and compensate you for the disturbance. When would be a convenient time for us to arrange for someone to replace the door?"

Sean's gaze was still fixed on Chris. While he was inwardly complaining, he also felt a pang of sympathy for his old friend's situation.

"Can you tell me which hospital he's in?" he asked.

"Floris Hospital," the shorter officer replied. "Is he your friend?"

Sean nodded. "When he wakes up, please tell him I'll visit him in a couple of days and to take care of himself."

"We can fix the door this morning."

"Alright." The shorter officer put his badge away. "Then we won't disturb your rest, sir."

The two officers carried Chris away.

Sean looked at the drafty door, and the image of Chris two years ago, full of energy as he told Sean he was going on an outdoor adventure with his backpack, flashed through his mind. He sighed softly.

"Such a good person, how did he end up like this?"

Such a pleasant voice, clearly quite ill.

Sean thought again about what Chris had said earlier and felt a bit guilty. Perhaps Chris's condition was caused by reading his novels.

Chris had even mispronounced the incantation. That string of rolling syllables in the old language was also a setting from his book, but its effect wasn't Phase Through Wall—quite the opposite. The meaning of that prefix was "to make something" become hard. So, even if Chris were a genuine witch, he wouldn't be able to pass through it.

"Poor guy, sigh."

With the commotion in the middle of the night, Sean couldn't continue working. He tidied up the messy living room and sat back on the sofa. He picked up the cup next to his laptop, intending to drink some warm milk to calm his nerves.

But as he brought the cup to his lips and tilted it to pour the milk into his mouth, things once again exceeded his expectations.

He clearly saw that the milk, which should have been liquid, seemed to have solidified, stuck in the cup. Even as he slowly tilted the cup to almost ninety degrees, the milk didn't budge, not a single drop sliding out.

Sean's eyes gradually widened, and his heart skipped a beat for no reason.

"No way..."

BANG!

Without warning, a crow suddenly smashed through the living room window and flew in. Its feathers were a blazing fiery red, like a burning flame, flying past Sean's eyes before smashing through the glass on the other side and flying out.

Sean's hand trembled in shock, and the cup fell directly to the floor.

CRASH!

The glass cup shattered, fragments scattering across the floor.

The milk, however, remained in its contained shape, as if it were a solid piece of iron.