The wind of Wildspace was long, and its reach was vast. Some wind belts stretched across billions of miles, even extending from the edge of a crystal sphere to the orbits of the inner planets. Some scholars believed that the earliest Wildspace travelers had relied on these complex celestial atmospheric currents to achieve interstellar travel.
The ancestors of those intelligent lives dwelling on the surface had once carried wooden sailing ships and leapt out of the atmosphere from the backs of great rocs, then raised their sails in space and sailed onward. Many of them never returned home, choosing instead, with firm resolve, to journey into the depths of the sea of stars.
To them, going into space had been a choice about the meaning of life. To Skyl, drifting through space was something he had been forced into.
After surviving the difficult and terrifying first three days, his situation gradually began to improve.
After parting from the flying fish school, Skyl continued drifting along the wind belt.
Now that he had food, he could replenish his energy and water. With the wind pushing him forward, he could free up time to engrave the runes from the crystal sphere.
To a survivor, every part of a flying fish was treasure. Its flesh and blood could be eaten, its intestines could be used as thread, its bones could be used as needles, its skin and fins could be used as cloth, and its skeleton could be used as panels.
Skyl hung the bundle in front of his chest. In his arms, he carried thirteen flying fish and one fish skeleton. For the next stretch of the journey, he mainly did two things.
The first was entering the dream to light the candles and head toward the tower.
The second was using the fish materials to make a glider canopy.
(Otherworldly Knowledge): You have heard of many people who survived drifting at sea by relying on supplies salvaged from shipwrecks, but that is by no means easy. You are destined to face many challenges, but please do not lose heart.
Skyl worked with his back to the wind.
The bundle in front of his chest formed a tiny sheltered area, allowing him to perform some delicate work by the faint light.
He took a sharp fish bone and slowly cut through the fish skin. Then he followed the gap between skin and flesh, slicing little by little until he gradually removed a complete sheet of fish skin.
Next, he shaved off the fish meat. He did not choose to eat it, instead piling it into a corner of the bundle. Food was still precious, and he had not reached the point where he could feast freely. Besides, his stomach and intestines could not handle more food yet. They needed time to slowly recover.
While working, he held a fish eyeball in his mouth, slowly sucking out the juice inside to replenish the water he was losing. He hoped the nutrients in the fish eyes would help soothe his aching eyes.
Once every last scrap of fish flesh had been removed, what remained was a clean skeleton.
At that point, he decided to rest for a while. His fingers were about to cramp, and his eyes would not stop tearing up.
Skyl gazed at the grand runes on the inner lining of the crystal sphere, imagining where these wondrous symbols had come from, thinking about his past and the face of this world.
The scholars of Realmspace generally believed that the magical writing inscribed on the inner lining of the crystal sphere was a defensive line used by the gods to protect this world, and that interlopers who trespassed wantonly into this universe would be killed.
No two spells recorded by these runes were the same. Normally, they were blurry and indistinct, but they could be made clear and visible through the spell [Read Magic]. However, reading these magical runes would trigger their effects. Because the runes were enormous, the corresponding spell effects were greatly amplified as well, often bringing destruction upon the reader. No method could copy these runes onto paper.
Skyl did not know any of this. What he was doing had already shattered what many scholars considered common sense.
In the dream world, he could skillfully copy the runes without triggering any destructive magical effects.
This meant that as long as Skyl mastered the appropriate knowledge and skills, he could learn an endless number of spells from the inner lining of the crystal sphere.
For now, he was merely a printer of magical writing. He did not produce the light within the skull. He was just a porter for the crystal sphere.
Compared to the despair of drifting through the starry sky, this monotonous and tedious life was already ten thousand times better, and Skyl found joy in it.
Each time he copied six runes in a row, all of his mental strength would be exhausted, and only true sleep could restore him. Skyl tried his best not to fall into that state, so he copied no more than four in one session. After that, he spent his time processing the flying fish materials.
Time lost its meaning in Wildspace.
He pulled the fish intestines into thread, removed hard spines from the fish bones, drilled a hole in the tail end, and broke several spines before barely managing to pierce through one. Then he passed the fish-gut thread through the eye of the needle and tied a knot.
Skyl did not know what his past had been like, but he guessed that he might have been a tailor. Otherwise, why would he remember this craft?
He cut the fish skin in half along the center line and sewed it onto the fish spine, obtaining a fish-skin fan. Then he sewed the pair of long pectoral fins onto the back of the fan to increase its structural strength.
Skyl lifted the fan slightly above his head to test it and found that it caught the wind well. Its material was also fairly tough and could withstand bending.
That meant he had succeeded.
Skyl was in a good mood. He planned to turn the remaining twelve fish into similar bone fans, then sew them all together into a shuttle-shaped skin canopy. It would let him fly faster and allow him limited movement within the wind.
Labor and copying runes drained his body and mind. Skyl hugged his bundle and sank into deep sleep, hiding from the pain of his body and the fatigue of his spirit in dreams.
When Skyl woke again, he knew he had two choices. The first was to give up on survival in passive sorrow and bitterness. The second was to actively welcome another terrifying new day.
He chose to smile.
Skyl took a deep breath, felt the comfort of the wind blowing across his face, opened his eyes, and threw himself into work.
...
After fourteen days of drifting.
Every day, Skyl ate half a fish's worth of meat, two eyeballs, one fish brain, liver, gallbladder, and gills.
He had turned six flying fish into materials and made a skin canopy slightly wider and longer than his body. Due to the natural limits of the material's strength, continuing to enlarge the canopy would greatly increase the risk of it falling apart, so he stopped the leatherwork.
The current glider canopy could already provide decent thrust. He gripped both ends of the canopy and raised it. The wind blew the surface taut, nearly tearing it out of his hands.
The pair of handles he had made from fish fins came in handy, letting him firmly grip the canopy's edges.
By adjusting the area where the canopy met the airflow, he could accelerate and turn. When moving at full speed, he could approach thirty miles per hour.
(Otherworldly Knowledge): Speed is thirty miles per hour, mood is free and easy?
There were very few bacteria in Wildspace, so the fish bodies decayed slowly. They only dried out bit by bit in the wind. The dried flying fish gave off a special fragrance, with faint notes of pinewood and nuts, and the flavor became even better. Even so, Skyl still preferred them in their tender, juicy state.
Before falling asleep yesterday, Skyl had seen an abrupt flash of light in the distant direction of the celestial equatorial plane. It had lasted less than two breaths before going out. He planned to go over and take a look. Perhaps there would be some unexpected gain.
However, his main task today was copying runes.
Only nine candles remained before he reached the tower.
Whoosh.
He let out a long breath. Along with the murmured prayers from some nameless source, Skyl sank into the dream world.
The silver-snake road had reached its end. Skyl stood before the high tower. It pierced heaven and earth, and even up close, it was like a towering white wall.
Skyl sat cross-legged. His hair was disheveled, his face dirty, his clothes damp and wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot, yet his expression was calm and solemn.
The experience of drifting through Wildspace had been like a sandstorm over a desert sea, polishing his mortal heart and revealing the jade hidden beneath stubborn stone, allowing it to release a lasting radiance.
He could peacefully recall the magical runes and copy them into the sand without the slightest mistake.
The complex structure of a third-level spell, [Magic Circle], flowed from his fingertip.
A candleflame lit at his finger. Skyl rose, bent down, and lit the candle by the roadside.
He stepped out of the candlelight's range, woke, observed the runes, closed his eyes, and entered the dream.
He sat cross-legged.
The rune of a sixth-level spell, [Disintegrate], was pressed into the sand.
A candleflame lit.
After four consecutive engravings, Skyl let out a tired sigh.
The deep-blue doorway beneath the high tower was very close now.
Should he stop, or continue?
Skyl did not hesitate for long. He had no time to hesitate. Death followed him like a shadow through Wildspace, and every minute and every second he remained alive was a gamble. The only stake he had was his own life.
And so, the fifth candleflame lit.
Then the sixth.
Skyl felt as if his brain had become a second heart. It was beating, striking against his skull. Every blood vessel had been filled with blood beyond its carrying limit, and fire and lightning surged through his nervous system, burning and numbing him at once.
After so much training, he could copy more runes in one session. The result of challenging his limit was surpassing his past self, but it was also pushing himself toward an uncertain future.
Continue.
Fourth-level spell, [Banishment].
The seventh candleflame.
Seventh-level spell, [Prismatic Spray].
The eighth candleflame.
Skyl felt his cheeks grow wet. He raised his hand and touched them. Droplets of blood were flying out from his nose and the corners of his eyes, and he quickly opened his mouth to suck them in. At this moment, he no longer felt pain. Instead, he felt almost weightless with bliss, as if his body had become an aging machine whose reactions lagged far behind his thoughts.
The last rune.
Fifth-level spell, [Teleportation Circle].
The dream world.
Skyl lit the final candle and turned back to look. The silver-cast road he had come from was now filled with sparks like a sky of stars.
He dragged his feet to the tower's gate. There was only one simple thought in his mind. He hoped he could find something good inside this tower, preferably something that would help him survive in reality.
Then he reached out and touched the deep-blue door of the high tower.
The lights within the skull behind him suddenly blazed brighter. They broke free from the candles, flew into the sky, and gradually sank into Skyl's back.
The firelight flowed into his spine, spread through every bundle of nerves, pierced through every blood vessel, and seeped into every fiber of his flesh.
Skyl let out a soft, distant sigh.
He felt himself dissolve in the light, his body turning formless as he slowly sank into the blue doorway.
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