The "canteen" of Selast Academy did not serve any traditional food as Silas understood it.
Instead, it resembled a vast alchemical workshop filled with steam and the scent of metal.
In the air floated translucent spheres, glowing like fireflies—these were the "Divine Embers."
Students, holding specialized straws or metallic utensils, extracted pure energy from these spheres to sustain their lives and magical power.
"Here, hunger is not merely physical—it is also spiritual," Isha said, guiding Silas toward a counter labeled "Low-Level Awakeners."
Behind the counter stood a mechanical being with four arms, swiftly spreading a gray paste onto black bread.
"Two portions of Ash Bread, plus one serving of Concentrated Thunder Elixir," Isha said, handing over several fragmented divine crystals.
The mechanical being's electronic eyes flickered. "Isha, due to the fortress damage from your last mission, your credit rating has dropped. This amount... only covers one portion."
Silas stared at the gray bread emitting a faint blue glow, his stomach growling inappropriately.
"Give it to her," Silas pushed Isha aside and turned to the mechanical being. "Hey, four-armed buddy, is there any way to get one for free? Maybe... I could fix that worn-out third bearing on your left side?"
The mechanical being paused, turning to stare at Silas. "An Ordinary Weaver (Level 1), you are not only poor but also arrogant. Selast does not accept labor in place of payment, unless you can defeat the 'Surplus Ones' in the arena."
"Well, well, look who it is—a trash-level anomaly who slipped in through the back door?"
A magnetic yet oppressive voice came from behind.
Silas turned. A man nearly two meters tall, covered in dark red scales, stood there. His eyes were pure golden slits, and two curved horns protruded from his head.
A Dragonborn, and of the purest crimson lineage.
He was accompanied by several followers, all ranked above Divine Covenant. Their gazes scraped over Silas's ragged clothes like knives, filled with blatant disdain.
"Kaelen," Isha's face darkened as she stepped forward, shielding Silas. "Stay away from him. He is a specially approved student."
"Specially approved? Because he has a mouth that tells jokes, or because his core loom is about to collapse?" Kaelen approached Silas, towering over him. A scent of sulfur and heat radiated from him—the nascent form of the "Red Dragon Domain."
Kaelen extended a finger, its tip .tangle with a flowing red divine thread, like molten lava, and lightly tapped Silas's chest.
"Boy, in Selast, the only measure is the strength of your threads. Your soul is as light as paper. If you know what's good for you, hand over that 'specially approved reward'—the 'Primordial Thread Extract.' I might let you survive your first week here."
Silas looked down at the burning red thread. His skin began to blacken, pain pricking his brain like needles.
[Detected High-Level Skill: Crimson Dragon Breath (Thread Form).]
[Copy?]
[Warning: Your physical strength cannot sustain such violent energy.]
"Isha, how valuable is that extract?" Silas asked, turning to her.
"It's a divine artifact that guarantees you can weave your second main thread and ascend to Divine Covenant," Isha gritted her teeth. "Only three are available for the entire freshman period."
Silas turned back to Kaelen, a familiar, gray smile spreading across his face.
"That sounds valuable. Since it's so precious, I can't just give it away. How about a bet?"
Kaelen paused, then burst into laughter. "A bet? What do you want to wager?"
"Wagering lives is boring. Let's wager 'memories,'" Silas leaned in, his voice laced with temptation, like a devil peddling poison. "If you win, the extract is yours. If I win... I take the 'weaving path' of your strongest divine thread."
The canteen fell silent. Everyone stared at Silas as if he were already dead.
Stealing a Dragonborn's weaving path? That was tantamount to taking his life.
"You're seeking death," Kaelen's golden slits narrowed, and crimson flames erupted beneath his feet.
Just as the conflict was about to erupt, the golden mask fragment in Silas's chest began to tremble violently.
"Silas... don't use those low-grade scraps... strip it... use the 'Thread-Stripping Technique'... I'll teach you..."
The wet voice was no longer a whisper but projected a complex, forbidden.Graticule directly into Silas's mind.
It was the absolute forbidden art of the Pantheon—the "Life-Stripping Technique."
It could forcibly tear the target's cultivation threads from their soul, like peeling skin, and claim them for oneself.
[Cost: You will lose all memories of your "mother's voice."]
Silas froze.
Mother's voice? The last warm fragment of his world.
Kaelen's molten fist was already inches from his face, the heat singeing Silas's eyelashes.
"Silas... in this world... warmth cannot kill... only threads can," the golden mask's voice carried deadly allure.
Silas's expression shifted from struggle to utter deadness. He made his choice.
"Deal."
In that instant, a segment of his mind—a frequency of lullabies and gentle.Evoke—was erased.
His hands turned pale, and the divine threads at his fingertips shimmered with an eerie, translucent red.
Silas did not dodge. He charged straight into Kaelen's fist, his hands phasing through the dragon's breath field like ghosts.
"What?!" Kaelen cried out, feeling an incomprehensible force grip his soul's core.
"This thread... is quite beautiful," Silas's voice whispered in Kaelen's ear, devoid of emotion.
He yanked.
Rip!
A piercing, inhuman scream echoed through the canteen.
Before the horrified onlookers, Silas tore a nearly meter-long, writhing dark-red dragon breath thread from Kaelen's chest.
Kaelen's massive body collapsed, his once-powerful aura shrinking, blood gushing from his mouth—a backlash from his soul being forcibly torn.
Silas stood still, playing with the pulsating red thread. His face showed no joy of victory, only a vacant confusion as he turned to Isha.
"Isha... I think I just forgot something important again."
Isha looked at the boy before her.
The calmest madman she had ever seen. The loneliest monster.
"What... what did you just do?" Her voice trembled.
"I made a deal," Silas said, looking at the dragon breath thread, then pressing it toward his heart. "Now, I'm hungry. Can I have that Ash Bread?"
The air in the canteen felt like solid lead, the only sound Kaelen's rasping breaths echoing in the vast hall.
The dark-red dragon breath thread pulsed violently in Silas's chest, resisting, but was subdued by the golden radiance of the "Dream-Weaving Divine Core," finally merging like a docile serpent into Silas's rudimentary "core loom."
[Weaving Successful: First Heterogeneous Main Thread—"Burning Dragon Breath."]
[Realm Progress: Ordinary Weaver (Level 3)]
[Warning: The forbidden stripping technique has left a 'crack' in your soul.]
Silas shook his head, the "emptiness" making him unsteady. He tried to recall the gentle singing voice from his childhood illness. He remembered a figure, the motion, but the once-familiar frequency was now silent static.
This feeling was madder than pain.
"Let him go! Everyone step back!"
A squad of black-and-gold armored guards descended from above, their backs adorned with floating discs powered by divine crystals—"Law-Weavers" of the academy.
The leader removed his helmet, revealing a face as cold and hard as stone. Gray light flickered in his eyes—the threads of "Order."
"Ordinary Weaver Silas, you have openly performed a forbidden stripping technique within the academy, severely violating Article 17 of the 'Pantheon Interim Code.'" The man declared coldly. "By order of the Selast High Council, you are under arrest."
Isha instinctively reached for her sword, but Silas stopped her.
"Don't fight, Isha," Silas's voice was soft but firm. "I've already forgotten my mother's voice. I don't want to lose yours too."
Isha bit her lip, her lavender eyes filled with struggle, but she slowly lowered her hand.
...
Silas was brought to the "Tower of Judgment" at the fortress's peak.
There were no torture devices, only a massive circular table suspended in void. Around it sat three indistinct figures, their oppressive aura making Silas feel like a fragile sheet of paper in a storm.
The central figure spoke, its voice carrying a vast resonance.
"Silas. I am Vane, Dean of Selast. The technique you used is the 'Reaper's Forbidden Art,' lost for three hundred years. Tell us—who taught you?"
Silas sat on the cold stone chair, staring at his palms, still warm from the stripped thread.
"If I told you it was a fragment of a golden mask speaking to me, would you call me mad... or a conspirator of the 'Reaper'?" Silas lifted his gaze, meeting the Law-Weaving Saint-level figure without fear.
The air in the judgment chamber dropped several degrees.
"The Golden Mask..." Vane paused. The old woman on the left suddenly spoke. "It seems the rumors are true—'Sullivan' did not die in that experiment but became a puppet of the void."
"Sullivan?" Silas caught the name, his heart skipping a beat.
"He was the academy's most brilliant 'Life-Weaving Artificer,'" Vane's voice deepened. "He sought to repair broken divine threads but vanished after contacting the 'Thread-Annihilator's' ruins. If you saw him at the Iron-Weaving Outpost, he has become a Pantheon Executioner."
Just then, the door of the judgment chamber burst open.
A scout-like Awakener rushed in, pale with terror, holding a blood-tinged divine decree.
"R-Report! Survivors from the outpost brought critical intelligence! The Red-Robed Reaper has not left the Ordinary Weaver Layer. He is leading the 'Godfall Cult's' army, surrounding the academy's trajectory!"
"What is his objective?" Vane stood abruptly.
"He... he left a message," the scout trembled, glancing at Silas. "He said he will reclaim the 'Dream-Weaving Divine Core' stolen by the 'imposter.' If the academy does not hand over the culprit, he will sever Selast's six mechanical legs, turning this floating fortress into wasteland ruins."
The judgment chamber fell into utter silence.
Silas almost laughed. The plot was unfolding just as his luck would have it.
"So, I've become the most expensive 'Divine Ember,'" Silas stood, brushing off the dust. "Dean, since you fear him, why not hand me over? But before that, I have a proposal."
Vane stared at him. "What is it?"
"Since that forbidden technique was left by your academy's former genius, you must have a 'leak-proof patch,' right?" Silas pointed to his heart, where the stripped dragon breath thread was burning his meridians. "Help me fully integrate this dragon breath thread, let me ascend to Divine Covenant. In return..."
He paused, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes.
"I will cut that 'uncle's' throat for you."
The three figures on the judgment bench exchanged glances. In this broken Pantheon era, such a gamble was reckless yet tempting.
"You have 48 hours," Vane waved, and a vial of silver liquid descended before Silas. "This is the extract you want. But when you ascend, your 'Dual Marking' will erupt for the first time. If you cannot endure it, you will forget who you are, becoming a shell that knows only slaughter."
Silas grasped the cold vial. The wet voice in his mind rose again, filled with chilling delight.
"Silas... this is right... forget everything... embrace power..."
Silas ignored the voice and turned, walking out of the judgment chamber.
At the door, Isha waited, leaning against the wall. Seeing him, her tense body relaxed slightly.
"They didn't hurt you, did they?"
"They gave me a 'regret potion,'" Silas shook the silver vial. "Isha, if I don't remember you after 48 hours, carve a mark on my back with your feather."
"What mark?"
Silas hesitated. Though the warm frequency was gone, the longing for "home" still drove his instinct.
"Carve 'Xixi,'" he said. "Though I won't remember what she looks like, I think that's the only thing that can make this 'shell' beat again."