Gilan's leather shoes crunched across the gravelly mudflat.
As he drew closer to the cabin on the lake, he noticed that the woods to his left concealed a charred clearing. It was littered with collapsed, thick logs burned down to charcoal, along with the remains of tents, tables, chairs, and metal cabinets.
Gilan guessed that the area was probably the ruins of the Expeditionary Exploration Team's prisoner-of-war camp.
He didn't go over. Instead, he decided to inspect the cabin on the lake first. He glanced up at the sky, remembering that he needed to return to the Black Lake Inn at noon to meet up with the others from the Assembly, and quickened his pace.
Before long, Gilan stepped onto the wooden boardwalk.
Perhaps because it had stood for so long, the little boardwalk had badly rotted. It swayed beneath his feet, and he heard it creak from time to time.
Gilan stayed calm, lowered his center of gravity, and walked forward at an unhurried pace.
He glanced at the lake on either side. Its surface reflected the outline of the cabin, still and unruffled, but the deeper waters below were pitch-black, making Gilan feel inexplicably oppressed... He didn't know what was down there, but he had a strong sense that it was dangerous.
The boardwalk was about twenty meters long. Fortunately, Gilan reached the cabin and pushed open the door without incident.
The interior was sparsely furnished: a bed, a desk and chair set against the wall, and a long chest in the corner. The open chest held clothes that had long since grown moldy, while black-green moss covered the wooden walls, floor, and ceiling. Spiderwebs hung everywhere, and the whole place was damp and slimy.
Gilan forced himself to endure the stench inside and began searching with his gun at the ready.
Seeing the moldy books, cup, ink bottle, quill, and other odds and ends arranged neatly on the desk, Gilan couldn't help wondering about the alchemist Rembrandt, who had secluded himself here. He hadn't seemed to leave in any haste... It was more as though something had happened to him and he'd suddenly disappeared.
Standing at the desk, Gilan used the little light filtering through the window to read a diary lying on it.
"Winter, 1883. December 25. Overcast... Today is Christmas. Though I am not a follower of the Dawn Era, I still praise Omer. He is the forerunner and guiding light of humankind, worthy of respect... Perhaps I should use my abilities to do something for the people of my hometown? Heal the sick, perhaps? Well, I'm not very good at that, but I can at least make some common miasma-preventing medicine or remedies for injuries and colds..."
"Winter, 1883. December 29. Rain... I returned to my hometown over a month ago, and I've grown ever fonder of this place. It's quiet, undisturbed, and perfect for meditation and research... I can't help wondering: after forty years of traveling, pursuing deeper knowledge and striving to ascend to a higher Origin Rank, how much have I lost? And when I look back, was it worth it?"
"Spring, 1884. March 1. Overcast... My research has hit a bottleneck lately. It always makes me imagine how wonderful it would be to have a Philosopher's Stone in my hands. Alas, it's merely the supreme alchemical object of legend, much like the Elixir of Immortality I'm always imagining exists somewhere in the world."
"Life Alchemy is forbidden in the mystic world, a hypothesis that defies the laws of truth. And yet I can't bear the thought that one day I'll grow old and die... Even as a Long-Lived One, with a natural lifespan of 150 years, I still yearn for eternal life. Only then will I have more time to seek the truth of this world."
"Spring, 1884. March 6. Overcast... Something is wrong here. How could I have been so slow to notice? What kind of force could influence a Long-Lived One without them even realizing it?"
"Spring, 1884. March 9. Rain... It's him! This dormant volcano! He once lingered here. That's the only explanation for the sulfurous stench that clings to the place, and for the most evil evil god of all time—Duke of Sulfur!!"
"Spring, 1884. March 10. Heavy rain... I can't bear to leave like this. I want to see what lies at the bottom of the lake. If I can find even the slightest trace of him, I might catch a glimpse of the ultimate destination of the Path of the Flaming Sword!"
"If someone finds my diary in the future, please remember this fool who gave his life for the truth. His name is Rembrandt Eddie, a fourth-tier Whisperer of the Furnace Star Coin pathway."
"May my hypnotic power never turn against me."
After reading the diary, Gilan felt dizzy.
It was full of technical terms, leaving him utterly bewildered.
He could only be sure of one thing: after entering the depths of the lake, the alchemist had never returned.
So the Elixir of Immortality really doesn't exist... The diary also mentioned the Path of the Flaming Sword. Was this alchemist named Rembrandt a Spirit Mystic too? But why did he call himself a Long-Lived One? And what were the Furnace Star Coin pathway and Whisperer?
Gilan's head was full of questions.
But then the hand touching the diary suddenly shone with a dazzling, iridescent light.
Gilan instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes, but the next second, his mind drifted.
In a daze, he saw flickering images...
A man in a gray robe, with short, curly brown hair and an indistinct face. Outside, rain poured down. Inside, he bent over his desk, writing in his diary with a quill.
When he stopped writing, he left the cabin, drank a strange potion in the rain, then plunged headfirst into the lake... Gilan noticed a detail: at that time, Black Lake was still clear, its waters a deep blue.
The gray-robed man sank beneath the surface and never came back up.
But soon, the water seemed to be stained with ink, gradually turning black-green.
Then spring gave way to winter, and another year passed.
An army escorted prisoners to the lakeshore and began a major construction project. Before long, a camp had sprung up.
The army was stationed on the shore of Black Lake, and all their drinking water came from the lake.
The bearded officer in command was obsessed with ancient creatures. Every night, he would stay up by lamplight, poring over illustrated books of long-extinct species. He was especially fascinated by mammoths, and even hung paintings of various mammoths in his tent to study them.
Soon, the officer issued an order. The prisoners in the camp became subjects of human experiments, and their screams rang out day and night without end.
But before long, the entire prison camp underwent a terrifying transformation.
The prisoners screamed as they turned into bulletproof monsters. Some grew wings, some could burrow into the ground, and some sprouted multiple legs... The soldiers changed too, though their bodies grew the fangs and claws of wild beasts. The bearded officer himself transformed into a gigantic mammoth.
A monstrous, misshapen mammoth!
On its chest was a twisted bearded face that had once belonged to him!
But its eyes had long since lost all humanity, leaving only pure malice!
"Ugh!" Gilan fell in the vision. As he reached out to steady himself on the desk, he accidentally knocked over some bottles and jars, which clattered to the floor.
He gasped for breath for a few moments before coming back to his senses.
In silence, Gilan raised his arm and stared at his hand.
The iridescent light on his five fingers writhed faintly, then disappeared.
It was the power of Iridescence... I didn't expect it to trigger an Apocalyptic Dream in the movie, too! No, it wasn't a dream. It was just a flashback vision. The diary served as a medium, letting me see some key moments from the past!
Gilan got back to his feet and thought of what he'd just seen, his heart pounding.
He seemed to understand everything now.