Lord Of The Lost

Changhu Town Begins to Unravel

And then—

A chill ran down her spine.

The entire town flickered.

Like a dying signal, like white noise crackling through a failing reality.

All across Changhu Town—

Dwarves twitched in their sleep.

Those awake felt a strange weight pressing on them.

A distortion they couldn't describe.

Because the dream was shaking.

The dream was failing.

"Kill us! But you cannot disturb His sleep!"

The Playwright's voice was raw with fury.

William felt the turbulence now, clearer than Alice had.

And he finally understood.

This was why his Advent Body and Real Body had reversed.

This was why he had always felt trapped between dream and reality.

Because—

There was no difference.

"Dreams are reality, and reality is a dream."

"We are inside a massive dream."

William's Demon Wolf Premonition and his skill [Entering Dreams] allowed him to see it now.

This was the realm of the God of Dreams.

A world that only existed because the dream continued.

But what would happen—

If the dream collapsed?

What if this world popped like the bubbles spilling from the creature's mouth?

And what if—

They were inside one of those bubbles right now?

A Dream on the Edge of Oblivion

Like a dream, like dew, like lightning in the night—

When He wakes, everything ends.

Reality will shatter, and all things will cease to be.

The Playwright trembled, her entire body shaking with fury.

Her face twisted, contorted beyond recognition, but no words came—

She was too angry to speak.

It was as if someone had desecrated a holy statue, trampling the very foundation of her faith.

The Troupe Leader was not just a leader.

He was the incarnation of their god.

He was the soul of the Scarlet Troupe.

Every member of the troupe had been chosen by Him.

Dwarves.

Elves.

Humans.

All of them had endured despair, had reached the very brink of suicide—

Only to be found.

When their hope had turned to ash, when they had nothing left to lose,

He appeared.

And they followed.

Not out of obedience, but out of faith.

They swore to follow Him until death, to uphold the will of the God of Dreams and Prophecies.

They would even scheme against powerful legends, whispering in the dark, plotting and betraying, all to please their god.

Because even He could not always save them.

There were other gods in this world.

There were other powers.

But none of that mattered.

They belonged to the Dreamer.

And for Him, they would walk through fire and water without hesitation.

For their devotion, they were blessed.

The God of Dreams gave them treasures, relics of power that bound them closer to Him.

But then—

He fell asleep.

And no matter how they called, He did not answer.

The Playwright had long suspected the truth.

Maybe it had been days.

Maybe it had been centuries.

But in the end, the reality was the same—

He would never wake up again.

And yet, He had not abandoned them.

His presence still lingered, a quiet echo in their dreams.

They could still feel Him.

They could still perceive His warmth.

But He had become something else entirely.

He had become everything.

And He had become alone.

To look through His eyes was to see the entire world, to float beyond the sky, gazing down upon the land from an infinite distance.

And the troupe members—

They were His anchors.

The last strings holding Him in place.

Because without anchors, His gaze would become blurred—

Like the unfocused pupils of the dead.

Like a kite with a broken string, drifting farther and farther, rising higher and higher, until it disappeared forever.

But from the Scarlet Troupe's perspective, nothing had changed.

The sun still rose, life moved forward, and they continued their performances.

To mortals, reality was limited.

Even to extraordinary beings, there were things they could not perceive.

To them, Long Lake Town was real.

They had traveled the world, and this was just another stop along the way.

Their food, their homes, their stage performances—

Everything felt real.

Even if someone told them that this world was nothing but a dream, it wouldn't matter.

Because when a dream becomes real enough, the truth loses meaning.

People live and die inside illusions every day.

Drunken stupors.

Fantasies of power.

The endless cycle of mundane life.

What's the difference?

A dream that is real enough becomes reality.

And that is what the Scarlet Troupe was meant to be.

They were the final gaze of their god.

The last window through which He watched over this land.

And they enjoyed it.

They had already given everything to Him.

If the troupe was destroyed, then so be it.

Even if that meant their god would drift away forever.

Even if that meant Long Lake Town would vanish from His sight, forgotten and left to decay.

None of that mattered anymore.

Because even if He was no longer present, even if He was nothing but a fading echo,

His dream would continue.

Because His dream was the future of all living things.

He would capture a single moment in the infinite sea of possibilities—

And solidify it into His eternal stage.

The Stage That Was Never Real

Changhu Town had never been real—

Not in the way people believed.

It was just a stage, a fleeting illusion, the collapse of a fantasy bubble.

A dewdrop that vanished before it could glisten in the morning sun.

A flash of lightning, gone before it could illuminate the sky.

But that didn't mean the next dewdrop wouldn't form,

or the next bolt of lightning wouldn't strike.

---

The One Thing That Couldn't Happen

The only thing that could never be allowed—

The one true catastrophe—

Was waking Him up.

The Playwright trembled, her fear mounting.

If He stirred, if He truly awakened—

It would set off a chain reaction.

A single god rising meant that countless others might follow.

She was a servant of the divine; she knew what that meant.

It would be like a spark in dry reeds—

A small ember that could devour the entire future and past in one great firestorm.

A fire that nothing could stop.

This was unacceptable.

This was intolerable.

The feeling of unraveling deepened.

The world itself seemed to be collapsing inward.

The void trembled like a torn cloth, its very fabric fraying.

The Playwright's face drained of color.

She spat out a curse, voice raw with rage.

"You idiot! Do you even realize what you've done? You've committed a crime beyond redemption!"

"I should have cut off your hands and feet long ago!"

Then—

Hisss—

A sharp tearing sound.

Like fabric being ripped apart.

Above them, a crack split open in the sky.

---

A Waking That Shouldn't Be

William jerked awake—

But something was wrong.

If this were a true dream, then waking up should mean the world vanishing like melting snow.

But it didn't.

Instead, the space around him shook, unsteady as a ship in a storm, drifting through an endless void.

It felt like He was beginning to wake up—

But something was stopping it.

Something was holding Him back.

William's breath hitched.

"What happens when He wakes up?"

"Death?"

But—

How could a god fear death?

William looked up.

He saw it.

The crack in space yawned wider, revealing a darkness that was not just absence—

But something alive.

Not just a void—

But a presence.

A shape moved inside the blackness.

Then—

It reached through the crack.

A limb—

Or was it a tentacle?

Or something worse?

It slithered into reality, like a starfish dragging itself across land, like an octopus stretching toward prey.

A shudder of primal terror coursed through William's veins like a shockwave.

His body froze.

His pupils contracted sharply.

A memory resurfaced—

Of being hunted in Shadow Castle.

The Vampire Count's darkness, the living void he barely escaped.

But this?

This was worse.

The darkness here was deeper.

Heavier.

More hungry.

It was devouring the God of Dreams.

A thousand years ago, Changhu Town had been no different than the real world.

The stars still twinkled in the night.

The sun still rose in the morning.

The mountains stood tall in the distance.

But the players knew better.

Everything beyond Changhu Town was fake.

Like a painted backdrop, a world that existed only because it needed to.

If Changhu Town was a closed room,

Then what lay beyond its walls?

No one knew.

Because no one had ever seen outside.

---

A Battle Forgotten in the Face of Horror

Sophia and the troupe members had been locked in combat.

But now—

They had stopped.

Because every single one of them had turned to look.

To stare at the creeping, writhing darkness.

The troupe members' expressions twisted into rage and panic.

And Sophia?

Her eyes widened, her breath caught.

She whispered—

"Sister… what is that?"

A voice answered—

Low, urgent, trembling with a fear that even she had never shown before.

"A taboo… one that the witch clan has fought in the dark for generations."

"It is far more terrifying than the Black Forest."

"He is one of the sources of all curses."