Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots Chapter 773 - 352: The Shelved Genius (2)

"Most timelines... eventually lead to destruction..."

Deep weariness fills the voice of the King of Illusions: "I have witnessed too many rises and falls... too many shattered hopes..."

"But you..." Suddenly, the view changes to Ron, his form glowing vividly amid endless shards of ruined worlds:

"There is something about you... a quality... a possibility to break the predetermined path..."

Disturbances in the surrounding images and visions grow more intense, while Ron senses his mind slipping back toward chaos.

This signals the dream's imminent conclusion...

Right then, the King of Illusions delivers one more vital revelation:

"In Wizard history... every change of eras... has been due to the birth of a King of Eras..."

Those words crash into Ron’s soul like a bolt of thunder.

King of Eras... what could that mean?

"Ancestors, Creator, Apocalypse, End of Death... they were all Kings of Eras in their respective epochs..."

Abruptly, the space around unveils a majestic yet horrifying vista:

Four colossal figures tower at the universe's distant edges, each exuding an unimaginable majesty.

These aren't mere sovereigns; they embody something far more fundamental.

"Ultimately becoming the cornerstone of maintaining the universe balance..."

Within the vision, those four forms merge slowly into the universe's core framework, transforming into personifications of ideas such as time, creation, life, death, and more.

This knowledge slams into Ron’s mind like a massive mallet.

King of Eras... Four Cornerstones... does that imply...

"Remember... truly wanting to transcend everything... cannot rely solely on plunder; more important are spreading, exchanging, and passing down..."

Following this weighty declaration, the dream starts to crumble.

The Floating Islands vanish like bursting bubbles, as the King of Illusions' figure fades into obscurity.

Still, his parting words pierce straight into Ron’s innermost awareness:

"When you’re ready to accept this burden... I will provide the necessary support for you..."

"But remember... becoming the King of Eras... means you will no longer belong to yourself..."

.........

Morning rays from the Abyssal Observation Station always lack any true warmth.

Filtered through the heavily fortified glass panes, the incoming light bears a strange red-violet hue, warped by the clash of abyssal energies against the air.

When this glow touches the flesh, it brings a faint prickling feeling, like myriads of minuscule threads lightly brushing the veins.

Ron stirs from his profound slumber to discover daylight already filling the space.

Beams pouring via the sturdy glass create patchy patterns across the lab's surface.

The sleep pod's climate regulators work diligently to fine-tune heat and moisture for optimal comfort.

Yet now, turmoil rages wildly within his chest.

King of Eras... transcending all... no longer belonging to oneself...

These ideas reverberate endlessly in his thoughts, each laden with deep significance.

"If this claim is true..."

Ron rises gradually, his gaze alight with intricate emotions:

"Then the path I’m on now ultimately leads not to personal strength, but to some heavier responsibility."

Memories flood back of the ruinous visions from the astrology rite, the Anomaly Catcher's icy adjustments, the hordes of collapsed societies.

Should a force exist to shatter this endless loop, it might just be the "King of Eras" spoken of by the King of Illusions.

Yet what price does it demand?

Forfeiting one's liberty, bearing the immense load of civilizations and cosmos alike?

Does every Savior demand total forfeiture?

Fine, let those who crave such a figure claim it...

"Let’s not consider such distant matters." Ron pulls his focus sharply to the present:

"The urgent task is to enhance strength, perfect research, and... conduct divination."

The King of Illusions' counsel lingers in his memory.

As an Astrologer, countless dilemmas plaguing him yield answers via divination.

Particularly for paths shaping his lineage's growth, such readings surpass any outsider's guidance in trustworthiness.

"Master... you’re finally awake."

From across the lab, Ailan's voice rings out, brimming with open relief.

Her vivid green limbs sway softly, leaves dotted with tiny dew beads.

That's her unique secretion triggered by anxiety.

"You’ve slept for ten hours and thirty-seven minutes."

With her trademark exactitude, the Tree Spirit relays the data, logging every minutiae:

"Your breathing rate was a bit unstable during mid-sleep, I’m worried it might be some pollution aftereffect..."

Undeniable worry threads through her tone.

Ron’s relentless experiments and erratic schedule stir profound concern in the Tree Spirit's core.

Close by, Dale catches the stir too, her silver locks drifting like underwater kelp.

Shifting to humanoid shape and emerging from the basin, water beads cling without falling, forming a sheer shield over her dermis.

Her amber eyes gleam with hope and wariness: "Did my lullaby have an effect?"

Post-chat with Ailan yesterday evening, she'd employed her innate Sea Siren timbre to croon a cradle song for Ron all night long.

Those tunes evoke the sea's profound peace, calming the wildest spirits.

Gazing upon his two fretting allies, a wave of fondness swells in Ron's heart.

His hand extends to tenderly caress Dale’s silver tresses, savoring their velvety glide:

"Indeed, I slept very deeply this time."