I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 152: The Guardian of Sleep

The tunnel narrowed, then opened into a vast, yawning chamber deep beneath the world's veins. Unlike the dream trap before, this place had no warmth. No comfort. Only silence that pressed down like a weight.

The stone walls pulsed faintly, as if responding to a heartbeat too slow to sustain life.

And in the center—resting atop a floating root throne wrapped in dream-vines—sat a figure.

It was humanoid, draped in layers of translucent silk and mist.

Its skin was pale like bone.

Its eyes were closed.

And yet it spoke, without moving its mouth:

"You have come far. But not far enough."

Isaac felt the air thicken. His limbs didn't weaken—but something inside him hesitated.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The figure's voice echoed through the chamber like a lullaby:

"I am the guardian of sacred rest. The threshold to the last silence. I was born when Belphegor slept for the first time. I have watched over his dream since before time counted."

Lira raised her sword. "We're not here to steal his nap blanket. We're here to stop his power from killing the World Tree."

The guardian tilted its head, eyes still closed.

"He dreams peace. You bring motion. Disturbance. Memory."

Sylvalen stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "This dream feeds on stagnation. It's devouring Terra's will to grow."

"Then Terra should stop growing," the guardian replied, calm and still.

It raised its hand, and the chamber shifted.

Reality thinned.

Isaac's status screen flickered. For a brief moment, all numbers became zero.

[System Override – Rank EX+]… suppressing dream-induced stat reset… SUCCESS.

WARNING: Memory drift resistance weakening. Anchor your intent.

"Brace yourselves!" Isaac called.

From the mists around the throne, five spectral figures emerged—projections of still warriors, dressed in faded armor, moving as if underwater.

Their attacks weren't fast—but they were precise. And they dragged the will from every motion.

Sylvalen cast a radiant ward that flickered like moonlight—but its glow dimmed with every second.

Lira dashed in, but her strikes slowed midair, as though her arms were growing heavy with sleep.

Isaac summoned [Phantom Legion].

A dozen blades formed—then hesitated, hovering awkwardly before responding.

"The very air resists action," he growled. "It's a field of suppression."

He activated [Aetherfield Sync – Rank S+].

The weapons snapped into form, slicing at the guardians. The clash rang out like a dying echo.

The Guardian opened its eyes—only slightly.

And it spoke, softly.

"Why struggle?"

Isaac flinched.

So did Lira.

Sylvalen staggered back, hand trembling.

"You've both found love. Purpose. Let it end. Here. Now."

"Let the dream keep you."

A wave of golden light swept over them—illusions of home, laughter, peace.

Isaac's vision blurred—he saw a version of Lira asleep beside him, Sylvalen smiling in a garden, a world that no longer needed saving.

"I could stop."

But then—

"I won't."

He roared and activated [Devourer Omega Matrix – Ω Rank].

A pulse of soul-light burst outward, erasing the illusion field.

The guardian winced.

"So awake… too awake…"

Lira surged forward, her blade crackling with raw will.

"I'll never stop moving again!"

She stabbed through a still-warrior projection and shattered it.

Sylvalen whispered a mantra and released a piercing spear of lunar fire through the guardian's mist robe.

Isaac launched his full [Phantom Legion], empowered by [Essence Efficiency – Rank EX].

Dozens of spectral weapons swirled in formation—motion incarnate—and rained down on the guardian.

It reached a pale hand upward.

"He… will not… wake…"

Isaac's eyes burned like stars.

"Then I'll make him dream of me."

He leapt, blade drawn—driven not by anger, but clarity.

One strike—piercing through the core of stagnation.

The guardian's body scattered like ash.

And the throne collapsed.

Silence returned.

But this time, it was honest silence—not enforced by magic.

A soft wind stirred.

Sylvalen staggered, breathless. "It's… clearing."

Lira lowered her sword. "We made it."

Isaac turned to the final path, a root tunnel glowing with quiet silver light.

"Belphegor waits."

But he didn't know whether the demon would wake…

Or if he ever had the strength to face his dream at all.