Chapter 365: Certainty and Uncertainty

As a comically shaped statue rotated open, Hoffa was dragged out of the secret passage by Miranda. Stumbling forward, he collapsed onto his knees. The ancient stone tiles beneath him were so familiar—so piercingly familiar—that he dared not look directly at them.

A sharp tug on his hair yanked his head up, forcing him to face the vast, empty castle hall. Countless staircases hovered in midair, eerily still. The numerous oil paintings lining the walls stared at him motionlessly.

Moonlight streamed through the castle's many Gothic-arched windows, illuminating four massive banners hanging from above. Each banner bore a vividly painted creature: a coiled serpent on a noble, chilling green flag; a powerful and majestic lion on a crimson banner of ancient splendor; a solemn badger gazing deeply from an earthy brown flag; and, on the far right, a proud white eagle, wings spread wide on a blue banner, exuding utter arrogance.

Everything was so vast, so silent—unchanged from the distant past, extending seamlessly into an unfathomable future. Yet, to Hoffa, this scene triggered a mental storm of cataclysmic intensity.

The pain he had endured all this time reached its peak.

A deafening buzz filled his mind.

Clutching his head, he let out an agonized scream.

"AHH!!"

"AHH!!"

"AHH!!"

His screams echoed through the empty castle, making the painted figures turn their gazes.

Miranda released his head, crouched beside him, and whispered in his ear, "Isn't this the place you've always wanted to come back to? I heard from the hospital staff that you smashed your head bloody at King's Cross Station trying to get in. Now that I've brought you here, why do you look like this?"

Hoffa stared at Miranda as if she were a ghost. His face was deathly pale, and he frantically kicked his legs, scrambling backward.

But Miranda remained at a fixed distance, neither too close nor too far, following him persistently. "Tell me, Hoffa Bach, what is this place?"

"AHH!!"

"AHH!!"

"AHH!!"

Hoffa could only scream, as if driven mad.

Miranda stepped closer, her tone turning severe. "Tell me—who am I? What am I to you?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as he hoarsely roared, "Get away from me!!"

He shoved Miranda aside, pointing at her in fury. "I told you—I don't remember! I don't remember! Why do you keep asking?!"

"Do you not remember, or do you not want to?" Miranda demanded.

Hoffa's pupils shrank to needlepoints. Without a word, he clutched his head and bolted through the empty castle, fleeing in desperation. The castle was devoid of people—only marble statues and iron suits of armor stood in silent witness.

In his panic, he crashed into one of the armored figures. The scattered metal limbs further shattered his psyche. Scrambling to his feet on all fours, he sprinted blindly down the corridor, trying to escape the terrifying woman behind him.

"Hoffa!"

Miranda called after him.

"Hoffa! You can choose to forget everything—but I can't! That world was my everything! No matter what—no matter what—you must go back!!"

Hoffa dared not respond. He just kept running.

Yet, even though he distanced himself from Miranda, the surroundings only amplified his torment.

Fragmented memories flashed chaotically through his mind—a boy wandering the castle with a blade on Christmas night; ghosts drifting endlessly through the air; staircases shifting unpredictably; young students laughing with books in hand; a strict mentor in flowing black robes.

He burst into the desolate courtyard. The trees were withered, the fountain long dry, even the massive willow in the distance stood eerily still.

But in his mind, another vision overlapped with reality—a courtyard blanketed in snow, a silver-haired girl dodging snowballs beneath a towering ice dragon, skipping joyfully toward him, wand in hand.

Hoffa could no longer endure it.

He collapsed to his knees.

"What have I done…?"

Staring at his trembling hands, he murmured, "What… have I done…?"

Miranda approached him unhurriedly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was gentle.

"Now… can you answer my question?"

Hoffa was vacant, his only response the sound of blood dripping from his chin onto the stone tiles.

Silence stretched on.

A flicker of despair crossed Miranda's face. She looked toward the courtyard and muttered, "Look, Hoffa… Look at what this place has become. Maybe you've woken from your dream… but for me, what even is reality? If I can't make you remember, then I'll have to bring someone else."

With that, she cupped his bloodied, expressionless face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

A drop of something warm fell onto his face.

Staring dazedly at the girl before him, Hoffa watched as she whispered:

"This is yours to take back."

Then, she softly said, "I'm sorry."

Miranda released him and turned away, walking down the corridor alone. Hoffa remained kneeling, staring at her retreating figure, his mind utterly blank. But before long, she returned—this time pushing a wheelchair.

Seated in the chair was a frail, bald woman, wrapped head to toe in a thick blanket, looking more like a corpse awaiting burial than a living person. The only thing that set her apart was her eyes—eyes filled with such searing desire and ambition that anyone who met her gaze would feel burned. She was smiling, and her smile was triumphant.

At the sight of this woman, Hoffa—whose mind had been blank moments ago—staggered to his feet and stumbled backward, pressing himself against a Roman pillar.

Instinctively, he did not want this person to see him in such a wretched state.

The wheelchair stopped ten meters away.

Miranda released the handles and stood beside the chair, her face expressionless, her lips pale.

"Well, little brother," the woman in the wheelchair sighed, "new era, new look."

Her eyes roved over him. "Your hair's black now. Your eyes too. Even your aura has turned green."

Hoffa remained silent. He didn't recognize this woman—not now. He only felt fear.

The woman chuckled. "I was right, wasn't I, Gosach? He's awakened from his dream, which means he's erased his memories. You alone could never have restored them."

"I don't care what you do," Miranda said coldly. "Just bring his memories back. Make him return."

The woman in the wheelchair smiled. "Of course, Miss Gosach. Of course. Your wish… will be granted."

The woman in the wheelchair spoke, "From any perspective, losing one's memory is an absolutely terrifying thing. Don't you think so, God of Nightmares? Can you believe it? He actually managed to escape his restraints this way."

A glass sphere rolled off her lap, and as it tumbled, the crystal ball gradually expanded. It transformed into the shape of a transparent embryo, growing larger and larger as it rolled. Eventually, it became a towering, nearly five-meter-tall transparent giant, who knelt before Hoffa.

Then, suddenly, it opened its mouth wide. Eight writhing, rotating tongues twisted together, forming a human face. That face stared at Hoffa. Everything happening in that moment was beyond his comprehension—he could only stand there, utterly stunned.

"Incredible, Hoffa. I thought leaving the Kingdom of Death was already an earth-shattering feat, but even I couldn't keep you imprisoned," the face spoke gently.

"Who… are you?"

"Who am I? How heartbreaking… Have you really forgotten? Luckily, I kept a backup. Let me help you remember—starting from the first day we met. From that ancient sealing long ago!"

All of a sudden, the transparent giant reached out and grabbed Hoffa, lifting him into the air. Its massive mouth loomed over his face, and the human face dissolved back into eight writhing tentacles, which wrapped completely around Hoffa's head.

In an instant, the world spun violently, and Hoffa was yanked into a formless, illusory realm.

Somewhere in the ancient river of time, at an unknown point in history…

An indescribable monster knelt before an old man lying on a stone, barely clinging to life, and asked, "Why, my lord?"

The old man on the stone replied, "The arrow of time can only move forward, in the direction of the clock. Otherwise, everything will return to chaos."

The monster said, "But my lord, you know—where there is light, there is shadow; where there is order, there is chaos. Even the dead can return to life. Nothing is absolute. If something were absolute, it would not be part of this world."

The old man sighed. "The world is not the world, and yet it is called the world. Of course, I understand… which is why, I must wrong you."

With that, he tossed a branch onto the monster's head.

The scene shifted.

Hoffa saw a ten-year-old boy, full of spirit, striding into a shop.

"The wand chooses the wizard," the shopkeeper said.

"You know, everyone who comes into this shop—some are born wicked, some are born kind, some are arrogant, some are vain, some are humble. From the age of ten, until the day they die, they remain the same. That's why they can only choose one fixed path.

But I prefer unpredictable souls—souls without a fixed shape. They reflect the essence of chaos, the essence of dreams. You, Hoffa, suit my taste very well."

A gentle voice whispered, "A natural-born shapeshifter, a man who constantly seeks change."

The scene shifted again.

A powerful hand snatched the wand away and stuffed it into a mouth.

"What about me?" another person asked. "Noble deity, can I be of use to you?"

"You are more certain than anyone I've ever met. I don't like such certainty. Sorry, but I prefer the uncertain. That weapon of Death suits you better—it is more stable than anything else."

"And what about you?" the man pressed. "A second-rate wizard is chosen by the wand, but I am a first-rate wizard—I choose the wand. You must help me."

"Is that so? Then figure out a way to unseal me."

"And after the seal is lifted, where will you go?"

"Who knows? You know I don't like definite answers."

The scene shifted once more.

In the vast ocean of dreams, a young boy pressed his palm against the deity's head—that was the first time he made contact with the wand's core.

"As I expected, this soul fascinates me the most," it marveled. "So uncertain, so dreamlike."

The visions continued to unfold.

"He has already been exiled by you. No one can escape the prison of time. What will you do next?"

"Will you help him or help me?"

"Who knows? You know I don't like definite answers."

"Hmph, how frustrating. This world's uncertainty constantly torments me. Unlike you, I despise uncertainty. Now that the greatest element of unpredictability is gone, I must seek a definitive answer."

"An answer?"

"That's right. It must be either one or zero. That is the mark of the ultimate."

"Can they not coexist?"

"Impossible."

"You remind me of that ancient figure—the one who sealed me inside the branch."

"Do you dislike him?"

"Who knows? I don't like definite answers."

The scene shifted yet again.

This time, Hoffa saw himself. He saw that silver-haired girl. He heard his own whispered words in her ear. He had been so focused on her that he failed to notice the discontented gaze within the glass sphere.

"I don't like things that are set in stone," the Nightmare God murmured softly.

"You make me uncomfortable. If you've already made up your mind, then where's the fun in that? Go on, journey through my divine realm. Let me see if your so-called certainty can withstand the test of the world."

And so, aboard the train, exhausted, Hoffa drifted into a deep sleep.

In his dreams, he once again saw an endless expanse of white light—Silby, striving to create a world where everyone possessed magic. Within the dream, he had succeeded.

But that was not the entirety of the dream.

He also saw himself submerged in seawater, Miranda pressing a deep kiss upon him. He saw himself holding Miranda's hand, smiling as they walked into the wedding hall. He heard the voices of others offering their blessings. He saw himself marrying Miranda and having three children together.

At this moment—

Dreams and reality intertwined.

Chaos, the unknown, uncertainty.

Hoffa screamed, struggling frantically.

"Hahahahahahaha!"

The Nightmare God laughed.

"Marvelous."

(End of Chapter)

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