The third day of drifting through Wildspace.
Whoosh.
Skyl woke from his sleep.
He could not feel his arms. It was as if they had been broken off.
Skyl barely managed to raise his hand. He saw the colorful burn marks on the skin of his fingers. His experiences in the dream world had carried over into reality. Did that prove the dream world was real as well?
The endless darkness around him remained cold and merciless as iron, without the slightest hope of survival.
Hunger and thirst left his body unable to recover effectively. His condition was even worse than before he had fallen asleep. His attention was scattered, he could not focus his thoughts, and his head hurt.
Skyl emptied his mind and recalled the scene from the dream.
By copying magical runes and creating the light within the skull, he had lit the second candle and taken another step closer to the tower.
Compared to drifting uselessly through this stretch of space, at least the road to the Tower of Tomes seemed more hopeful. He would probably finish the entire journey after lighting a few dozen candles.
However, he doubted whether he could last until then.
Skyl was already severely dehydrated, only one step away from dying of thirst. His mouth had stopped bleeding long ago, and there was not a single drop of urine in his bladder.
(Otherworldly Knowledge): Just like an ancient mummy. That is what you are. At least after you die, the English won't drag you off to burn in a train boiler.
The corners of Skyl's mouth twitched. He sighed. He was already dying, so what was the point of having such a rich imagination?
Ever since he had first seen it, this desolate deep space had threatened Skyl without the slightest disguise, telling him clearly that he would be buried here.
Powerless to struggle, Skyl decided to rest for a while. He stretched out comfortably, letting his hands and feet hang loose and lazy, while his gaze followed the countless enormous runes on the inner shell of the crystal sphere.
He stared at one rune, then closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep.
"High Tower King... we pray to you..."
Skyl returned to the dream. He did not waste any time. He immediately recalled the rune he had seen, then copied it down.
Hiss.
Another candleflame lit. Skyl quickly stepped out of the range of the firelight, and instantly woke.
The first thing he did after opening his eyes was continue observing the runes, then enter the dream, copy them, and light the light within the skull.
To be honest, he could not understand what these runes represented or what inner logic they followed at all. He knew nothing about the magical effects they could produce either. But for the current Skyl, all of that was secondary.
When facing the threat of death, everyone became a pragmatist.
A person about to die of thirst would drink a cup of water even if they knew it was poison, because the miracle of life might appear in the brief instant between dying of thirst and dying of poison.
As long as these runes could help him approach his destination, Skyl did not care about their inner logic.
Skyl repeated the process, falling asleep and waking again and again.
Each time, he could only copy one or two runes. Recalling those runes in the dream world also consumed mental strength.
After lighting six candles in a row, his head began to ache violently.
"Whew..." Skyl felt as if his skull had become a pressure cooker, the boiling pressure inside his brain bringing an unbearable wave of nausea.
Skyl's stomach convulsed violently, twisting together as if someone were wringing out a towel.
But he vomited nothing. There was not even a drop of gastric fluid.
The intense dry heaving made him pass out.
This time, he did not even manage to enter the dream world. Skyl had gone into shock.
...
Io said helplessly to Skyl at the table, "Your character is dying. Roll a twenty-sided die and make a death saving throw."
Skyl rolled the die three times in a row, and the numbers were all excellent. He successfully passed the death saving throws.
Troubled, he asked, "This starting point is terrible. I feel like I'm filming a survival show. Is there going to be any turning point after this?"
"Roll a hundred-sided die and see what random event you encounter."
"I've already rolled it three times."
Stan burst into laughter. "Three critical failures in a row. Your luck is really something."
"This time, there will definitely be a change."
Skyl threw out the hundred-sided die. The clatter as it rolled across the board was the rumble of fate itself.
"Sixteen."
Io wrote on the Tablets of Fate: "Encountered a migrating school of Wildspace fish."
...
Skyl's consciousness struggled free from the mire of death and returned to his body. He had survived an extremely dangerous bout of sudden shock.
Fate's favor had kept him alive for now. Skyl's chest was filled with immense joy and sorrow. He mocked himself, saying, "Looks like life still wants to keep torturing me..."
Then he muttered to himself, "Then come on. I'll seize you by the throat."
Skyl's bodily senses slowly returned.
Wind!
The first thing he felt was the cool, pleasant sensation of air brushing over his skin.
The wind had come!
Skyl's eyes snapped open.
The wind he had been waiting for had finally arrived. The refreshing breeze jolted his spirit awake.
Skyl untied his wind paddle. Now that the current was blowing, the pocket of his clothing had become a small sail.
He drifted with the wind, like a dandelion seed blown into the sky, light and effortless.
"Woohoo!" Skyl let out a hoarse cheer and laughed with open delight.
This was not yet escaping a hopeless situation. It was only the tiniest extra sliver of hope, but that alone was already enough to make a person rejoice.
Skyl's gaze roamed around, and then he suddenly spotted a glowing school of fish not far away.
He froze for a long time, almost unable to believe his own eyes.
A school of fish in space?
There was actually a food chain in this ocean of air. What did they eat to survive?
Whatever these fish had grown up eating, Skyl knew he was going to eat them.
His stiff arms trembled as he worked hard to adjust the angle of his sail, gradually approaching the school of fish in Wildspace.
They were a kind of silver flying fish. The large pectoral fins on their sides flowed with blue-green spiritual light, making them quite conspicuous even in Wildspace. They swam against the air current toward the edge of the crystal sphere, moving in schools, numbering in the hundreds of millions.
The enormous school of fish pressed close together, like an island.
Skyl slowly "landed." At this moment, his clothing became a fishing net again. Each adult flying fish was about the length of an arm, full of astonishing vitality, and even after drilling into the net, it still struggled fiercely. Skyl could barely fight it.
The flying fish's powerful muscles thrashed. Its tail struck Skyl in the chest, nearly making his ribs feel as if they were about to shatter.
He stretched out his stiff arm and viciously grabbed the fish by the gills. His fingers stabbed into its head and pierced its brain tissue.
The flying fish stopped moving. Skyl opened his mouth and gnawed at its soft belly, biting through the fish skin. Its organs and blood gushed out, and he sucked it down in great mouthfuls. The slightly fishy blood was warm and smooth. After draining the blood, he used his teeth to scrape away the scales, ignoring the way his mouth was scratched raw. Then he tore into the fish meat in huge bites. The fresh flesh was springy and delicious, the fish skin tough and chewy. His teeth ground back and forth with a clicking sound, crushing meat and skin into pulp before he swallowed it with savage satisfaction.
After eating one fish clean, Skyl pounced on the next. He felt his stomach warming, his heartbeat becoming clear and powerful, and new life flowing into his arms. It was as if his ancient primitive ancestor had awakened and was urging him to seize more food.
Eat! Eat! Eat!
Moisture, protein, trace elements, the energy and materials needed to sustain his body were all being replenished.
Skyl quickly learned how to catch fish with his bare hands. In adversity, every inch of his nerves was mobilized. His hands shot out like lightning, his fingers piercing through fish mouths and gills like iron hooks. One punch stunned them, then he crushed their brains.
A vast amount of food was right in front of him. At a time like this, even the faintest trace of pity or hesitation would have been shameful.
Skyl stuffed one flying fish after another into his bundle, laughing more and more freely.
With this food, he believed he could endure for several weeks. That much time would be enough for him to reach the tower in the dream world.
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