I Ascend to the Divine Throne through Arcane Means

Lis pondered for a moment and asked.

In fact, the secrets Osiris had revealed before him were far too many.

Lis could even be sure that many of them were Hidden that ordinary Divine beings could never touch.

Without a doubt, Osiris’s Strength was very strong, and he seemed to have gone through an extremely long span of years.

Could he really be a Time Dragon?

Lis wasn’t quite sure.

The secrets he had learned from Osiris were simply too many, and for a moment Lis himself didn’t know what would be best to ask.

So he simply threw out this question.

"You’re trying to ask whether I’m a Time Dragon?"

Osiris’s lips curled slightly, as if he were in a rather good mood.

"Yes and no."

"All right, it looks like you still have a lot to prepare for. Go on."

"I hope that the next time I see you, you’ve already achieved the supreme."

With that, Osiris’s figure vanished directly before Lis.

Lis’s expression was a little helpless.

Is this what big shots are like?

Always fond of speaking in riddles?

However, for some reason, Lis felt that Osiris really didn’t seem to be a Time Dragon, but some even more special sort of existence.

But what existence could be more special than a Time Dragon, and fit Osiris’s situation better?

Lis thought for a moment, then simply stopped speculating.

...

Dream World,

Faint ripples spread out as Lis’s figure slowly stepped forth from a field of illusory light and shadow, completely separating from the Dream Space behind him.

Behind him, the shattered misty light slowly drew back, cutting off that endlessly cycling narrow Space.

The Dream Realm Lis had just left was a Dream Space Osiris had manifested.

Lis discovered that this Dream Space should belong to an ordinary Mage; within it there were no dangerous anomalies, no Hidden secrets, from beginning to end it only repeated dull and tedious Magic experiments.

A pristine lab bench, Magic Reagents flickering with faint light, and obscure Spell verses muttered over and over—these formed the entire content of the Dream Realm.

Suspended within this Dream Realm, Lis quietly observed for a long time.

But aside from the unchanging cycle over and over again, there wasn’t the slightest abnormal fluctuation here.

There were neither lurking curses nor Hidden Memory Fragments.

After confirming there were no potential threats, he didn’t linger unnecessarily, and cleanly withdrew.

And after crossing a thin, icy membrane of Space, Lis formally stepped into the Dream World Osiris had mentioned.

Yet in the very instant he landed, a violent and chaotic Spiritual Shock surged like a raging tidal wave, sweeping harshly across his body.

Invisible Spiritual Power packed densely, sharp and brutal, like countless fine ice needles, madly probing at his Spirit Barrier.

Lis instinctively knit his brows, a glint of edge flashing through his pitch-black eyes.

The scene before his eyes was completely different from the Dream World he had seen in the past!

A normal Dream World is a weave of reality and illusion, tranquil and hazy, holding the stray thoughts and dreams of countless living beings—gentle yet chaotic.

But this heaven and earth at this moment was nothing but ruin and desolation everywhere, as if it had just suffered some catastrophic Destruction and been thoroughly reduced to a wasteland.

Ink-black gales rampaged wantonly through the Void, their howls carrying shattered fragments of Spirit, rampaging back and forth in this Dream World.

Wherever the gales swept, the Dream World twisted and trembled, splitting open one dark fissure after another of varying depth.

Countless broken and collapsing Dream Spaces drifted loosely in the gray Void, all different in size and shape.

Some still retained half a complete outline, some had only a single dim shard of Spirit Light left, while others had already turned into fine motes of light Dust, slowly dispersing within the black wind...

Looking out across the distance, among the innumerable ruined fragments of Dream Realm, only that Mage’s Dream Realm from which Lis had just stepped remained completely intact.

Like the only Solid lonely island in an Ocean of ruinous waves, utterly out of place, starkly conspicuous.

This should be Osiris’s handiwork.

Throughout this Dream Realm, a restless, twisted, frenzied surge of Spiritual Power seethes, so dense it is almost made manifest.

Lis pondered for a moment, focused his mind, and clearly perceived the source of these surges.

Countless chaotic, disordered thoughts intertwined and overlapped, converging into a vast torrent of malice.

It was choked with the heart‑rending curses and abuse of mages from myriad nations, every word and phrase steeped in bone‑gnawing hatred and boundless wrath.

Resentment, unwillingness, despair, madness!

Layer upon layer of negative emotion kept piling up, ceaselessly eroding this shattered Dream Realm, driving the surrounding Spiritual Power ever more violent and deranged.

And the name of the Magic Net Goddess Mistra was woven through the endless storm of curses, surfacing again and again, distinct beyond doubt.

"Damn Mistra!"

"How dare you!"

"Shameful Divine, despicable Divine!"

...

A quiet conjecture arose in Lis’s heart.

Could this scarred and ravaged wasteland be that special Dream World born at the collapse of the Magic Net, where the obsessions, grudges, and shattered dreams of countless injured mages fused together?

The ultimate pain and despair brought by the Magic Net’s fall had bred such insane resentment; innumerable grudges congealed and interwove, and in the end gave birth to this ruin‑ridden Dream Realm of Destruction.

The noisy, ear‑splitting psychic howls kept battering the surrounding Void; a Spiritual Shock fierce enough to tear apart the mental sea of an ordinary High-level spellcaster, yet crashing against Lis without stirring even the faintest ripple.

His Spirit Barrier was Solid and compact, like a Copper Wall Iron Wall; no matter how the tidal rage of resentment outside raged and lashed, it remained level and still, utterly unmoved.

Lis lifted his gaze toward the darkened World ahead; his eyes pierced the sky‑filling black winds and the Dream Space Fragments, and locked unerringly onto the core source of that torrent of resentment.

There, the Spiritual Power was at its most violent, the curses at their most shrill; it was also the knot where this ruinous Dream Realm was bound.

He weighed it only briefly, then, with no excess hesitation, walked steadily against the raging black gale toward the origin of the Spiritual Shock.

As Lis advanced in steady strides, the illusory lights and shadows around him twisted and flowed without cease.

And as he pressed further in, the Dream Worlds that surfaced along his path grew ever more numerous.

The borders of these Dream Spaces kept expanding, and the formed domains grew ever vaster.

Within this unreal Dream World, the size of a Dream Space was the most direct measure of its source owner’s Strength.

The Dream Worlds appearing in succession before his eyes—some had already reached Legendary Level.

One could say that each fragment of Space here had once borne the will and past of a mighty one.

Yet the stronger the Dream Space, the more horrific the marks of its breaking.

These Dream Worlds had collapsed layer upon layer; their ethereal shards rose and sank slowly in the currents, the dissipating Spirit Light like ashes burned to their end.

Though their forms differed and their degrees of ruin were not the same, all the lingering dreams were haunted by a single emotion.

A fury so dense, so extreme, it was on the verge of overflowing from the illusion itself!

It was the resentment precipitated after living beings were crushed and erased; every flame of anger pointed toward the same name,

Mistra!

No wonder Mistra’s death was no injustice at all!

She dragged so many spellcasters into the grave with her!

Lis’s expression remained calm, his pace never faltering; he deliberately steered clear of every Dream Space along his way.

These dreams were already maimed and unstable, their spatial structures fragile and chaotic.

The inner Dream Realm was tangled in disordered overlaps; to step into them rashly was to abandon all ability to foresee where one might end up.

Even Lis had little certainty under such conditions.

He kept cutting through the hazy mists and drifting Dream Fragments, skirting every swaying, shuddering broken illusion along the way.

He did not know how long he had walked when, ahead, the chaotic Darkness was suddenly torn apart by a colossal outline, and a brand‑new, majestic vista erupted into his sight.

It was a vast Floating City, hanging in the dim Void!

Even scarred by Destruction, the grand framework of the Floating City still revealed faint traces of its former supreme might.

This Floating City had clearly endured an unprecedented, utterly savage final war; the marks of battle covered every inch of Earth.

Nearly half its expanse had simply dissolved into nothingness; the torn edges were rough and uneven, still wreathed in lingering spatial embers, as though some terrifying Strength had ripped it apart by brute force.

The surviving walls were mottled and cracked, the lofty towers broken and toppled, shattered ramparts standing in mute stillness in the Void. Amid the wreckage of ruined structures, faint ripples of Spirit Light remained, wordlessly recounting the glory of bygone days—and the cataclysmic Destruction that had swept it all away.