Chapter 160: I, Corleone, Have a Dream

The floor of the Dream Cave was covered in standing water, and in deeper areas, it even formed subterranean lakes. From time to time, water ghouls would leap out from the water, roaring and lunging with their scales and dorsal fins, only to be effortlessly eliminated by the four highly skilled warriors.

In addition, there was another terrifying entity in the environment known as the "Bog Witch." Battling her felt quite novel; Viktor had never seen this type of monster before, nor did he know which of the individuals present had provided the mental blueprint for her appearance.

She stood nearly six feet tall, her skin covered in wrinkles and warts, with a pinkish-green complexion that radiated the stench of mud and fish. Bone protrusions grew from her back, and her hair resembled a tangled clump of aquatic weeds. She had slender, sharp claws and would scoop up balls of mud to hurl at everyone's eyes.

Yet that was the extent of it. Viktor's reaction speed was now as fast as if he had chugged multiple bottles of Blizzard potion, and his striking power was as immense as if he had drained an entire vat of Thunder. He sidestepped and pivoted to evade the monster's sharp claws, raised his sword in an upward slash to cleanly sever her arm, and then delivered a fierce swing to perform a cesarean section on her distended, bulging belly.

It felt as though he were situated within the Matrix from the film *The Matrix*, and Viktor was cast in the role of Neo. The seemingly real yet false illusion held no secrets before him; he was practically omnipotent, capable of even conjuring an Iron Man suit if he so desired.

The teenage boy's effortless feat of cutting down the Bog Witch startled his companions from the Drummond clan, but upon reflection, they figured it was nothing out of the ordinary—after all, a Dragonborn ought to be this formidable!

Viktor smiled warmly and offered no explanation, leaving them to their misunderstanding.

Navigating twists and turns through the winding peaks, after ducking their heads to pass through a certain cavern, they suddenly stumbled into a spacious, brightly lit banquet. People bustled about in an environment the boy knew very well: the banquet hall of the Tretogor family.

Viktor raised an eyebrow and looked toward the throne, where King Bran sat perched with an imposing and majestic demeanor, though he appeared considerably younger than the version in his memory.

Moreover, aside from the king, the boy saw no other familiar faces in the banquet hall; neither Svanrige nor Birna was present.

Geloff stared wide-eyed at the figure upon the throne, "Th-that's a young King Bran! Impossible!"

Just then, King Bran rose from the throne and beckoned to the four of them, "It seems you are all somewhat exhausted. Come sit down, lads, have some mead, and tell me your tales of adventure."

His attitude was sincere, and his appearance lifelike.

Arall Lugos stepped forward, "Thank you, my king, we—"

"Old man, I won't drink with you, nor will I call you king! Before you get too old to walk, get off that throne right now!"

A booming voice from behind drowned out Lugos's speech. Arall turned his head in astonishment to look at Ufthak, who shook his head repeatedly in innocent dismay; he hadn't spoken, yet the voice kept emanating from him, leaving him paralyzed with terror.

King Bran's voice roared like thunder, echoing through the banquet hall, "Big-mouthed Ufthak, you have insulted me once again. The first time, I let you punish yourself to save you from humiliation, but this time... I will have you die a miserable death like a slave, and let the eels gnaw you until not a scrap remains!"

Accompanied by King Bran's finalized judgment, the people at the banquet simultaneously drew their weapons and charged from all directions to attack them, while King Bran on the throne vanished without a trace.

At this point, Viktor grasped the situation. This was Ufthak's nightmare—his deepest fear, the terror of offending King Bran once more.

Drawing his sword in self-defense, these elite members of the Tretogor family might possess extraordinary martial prowess, but it was entirely meaningless in the face of absolute power.

After swinging Prometheus in a continuous arc to slash through the throats of several guards, the boy deliberately reduced his strength and speed back to normal levels, attempting to engage and tussle with the phantoms.

He found this to be an excellent training opportunity because, in reality, he had never fought humans under the premise of ending their lives.

Since he was currently inside an illusion, he could acquire valuable practical combat experience here, such as how to deal with shield-bearing opponents or how to contend with heavy weapons.

Yet even with the boy holding back significantly, the battle did not last long. When the final phantom in the banquet hall was struck down, the entire structure began to shake and collapse, much like a falling movie backdrop, and a brand-new passage opened up.

The four of them exchanged glances. The process of fighting side by side was the most effective way to forge friendship, especially since the three members of the Drummond clan had all faced danger to varying degrees just moments ago, only to be promptly rescued by the Dovahkiin. Consequently, their gazes toward the Dragonborn were now filled with gratitude and trust.

The boy smiled and said, "It seems this is Ufthak's nightmare. Let's go! Let's see what the next challenge holds."

Through combat, Arall Lugos's initial leadership had imperceptibly shifted to being led by Viktor, yet the Skelliger warriors accepted this quite naturally; valuing strength above all else was their tradition.

The four-man team pressed forward, passing through the surreal spectacle of flying fish filling the sky and corals drifting gently, soon arriving at a reef-lined coast alongside a wrecked longship.

There were over a dozen mermaids—commonly known as sirens—sitting upon the reefs, tucking away their wings and combing their hair, shamelessly gazing at the sturdy men with beautiful eyes and even more alluring elders, smiling brightly.

Stopping fifteen feet—or five yards—away, Viktor took a deep breath, feeling that little Viktor was also standing at attention to salute his elders. Should this scene be considered a pleasant dream rather than a nightmare?!

Just as he hesitated over whether to draw his sword and initiate combat, the boy heard Geloff murmuring to himself beside him, "Oh no, I... I recognize that longship."

Then, the hoarse and seductive voices of the mermaids drifted through the air, "Of course hiss... of course you recognize it hiss... that is your father's ship, the very ship smashed to pieces by your own hand... battered beyond recognition amidst our songs."

Geloff raised his axe and roared, "Bullshit! I'm going to kill you, I'll slaughter every last one of you sirens!"

A mermaid chanted in a low voice, "Come ahead and hack away hiss, but no matter what you do, you can never bring him back to life."

Another mermaid amplified her volume, "You... it was you, you killed him, driving your own biological father to his death."

Her clear, wide eyes flickered with merciless cruelty.

The instant Geloff raised his axe and charged forward, the dozen or so sirens abruptly spread their wings and took flight into the air, preparing to swoop down and attack.

Catching the reckless warrior in the nick of time, Viktor exerted a burst of raw physical strength and hauled him behind his back.

Facing the swirling, screeching sirens overhead, without the aid of potions, he took a deep, fearless breath.

"Fus—Ro—Dah!!!"

A Dragon Shout that had once resounded along the Path of Heroes, created a sensation at Fistfull of Frags, and shaken Kaer Muire was amplified by the realization that imagination was superpower. This time, it undoubtedly possessed the power of an absolute, perfected apex.

A true upheaval of heaven and earth!

After a long while, the three members of the Drummond family, their limbs trembling, staggered to their feet from the ground. Wielding their weapons, they followed in the footsteps of the Dragonborn to execute the stunned sirens one by one.

Then, much like the Tretogor banquet hall earlier, the stranded longship disintegrated, and the scenery collapsed.

Seeing Geloff still hanging his head in dejection, Ufthak reached out a large hand to pat his shoulder.

Arall Lugos also calmly spoke up, "Don't let it affect you. It wasn't your fault, merely an accident. We all know the trial has cleared your name."

Geloff nodded, grateful for the support of his companions.

...

The group pressed onward. After cutting down a dozen more water ghouls and slaying two Bog Witches, Arall couldn't help teasing, "Vick, could this possibly be your nightmare? Why else would these ugly monsters keep showing up?"

Viktor replied, "No, this level of threat puts zero pressure on my mind."

Geloff burst into laughter, and Ufthak displayed an honest, good-natured smile.

Next, they walked into a wilderness filled with tree shade. To the right stood a giant tree, and looking up along its trunk, there was actually an entire sky dense with gathering dark clouds.

"How strange, there are no monsters, and it's so quiet," the boy said softly.

Arall struck his chest with his fist, "I know, this must be my dream, and I fear nothing."

No sooner had his voice fallen than a lightning bolt split down, shattering the beech tree to the right and igniting a celestial fire.

A deep, majestic voice echoed, "Are you truly afraid of nothing? Don't forget, a mere bolt of lightning striking a tree was enough to make you wet your pants!"

Then, when Viktor saw what appeared before them—evidently the embodiment of Arall's fear—he nearly burst out laughing.

It seemed Arall had very complicated feelings toward his father; his old man must have been a massive shadow in his heart. Standing before them was none other than Madman Lugos, and he was engulfed in roaring flames from head to toe, resembling the Marvel character Ghost Rider, with even the weapon strapped to his back blazing with fire.

Arall spread his arms and spoke boldly to the fiery Lugos, "I was only three years old back then, and I've proven my courage a hundred times since!"

The fear pharise brandished his arms, "You pissed your pants, and the whole village saw it—mind you, you are the son of a lord! You disgraceful, shameful wretch, I should have banished you long ago."

"You're just an illusion, not real."

"I am the incarnation of your old man; I am the person you fear most, because you know you can never be as great as him, and you'll only disappoint him."

Arall shook his head in denial, "No! I am far greater than him on the battlefield, he is no longer a match for me!"

"Don't just talk the talk, bring it on!" Fiery Lugos drew the weapon from his back—a two-handed hammer.

Viktor, Ufthak, and Geloff naturally stepped back two paces to clear a space for their single combat. This was a matter between father and son; if others interfered, Lugos certainly wouldn't be pleased.

...

Before long, they were back on the road, continuing forward.

"Ha, did you all see that just now? The look of utter disbelief on his face when my sword sank into his body!" Arall boasted triumphantly about his martial prowess. In Viktor's eyes, however, this was tangible proof that he had overcome his own fear.

"Will you tell your father what you saw when you go back?"

"Of course. I want him to know I'm not afraid of him, that I'll surpass him, and that I'm ready to lead the Drummond clan forward into the future!"

Viktor nodded in understanding.

"Now all that's left is the Dovahkiin's fear. How exciting!" Arall put his hands on his hips, full of confidence.

Yet, compared to the relaxed demeanor of the Drummond trio, Viktor's expression grew increasingly solemn. People often remained unaware of what they truly feared until that exact moment struck!

As they progressed through the Dream Cave and faced its challenges, he had recalled his past life and the terror Geralt had encountered during this trial—the King of the Wild Hunt.

The trouble was that, as a player, he wasn't afraid of the King of the Wild Hunt at all. Who did he think he was? Pathetically weak... at least within the game!

Lost in thought, he was caught completely off guard as the landscape abruptly inverted. The ground vanished beneath the feet of all four, and they plummeted downwards from a height of several hundred meters. The crisis arrived with such suddenness that if they actually hit the ground under the illusion of turning into a bloody pulp, they would genuinely die.

Without a moment's hesitation, Viktor channeled his psychic power, imagining the ground turning soft and possessing a cushioning effect. Then came a resounding thud as all three Drummond members crashed down and passed out cold.

Only Viktor remained uninjured. He gazed at the figure seated upon the throne with its back turned, letting out a resigned sigh of "just as expected," before that figure stood up proudly.

"You have come!"

"I have come!"

"We meet at last!"

"Yes, we meet once more!"

"I thought you were mad, utterly devoid of thought."

"Of course not. That fellow simply lacked the capacity to suppress my mind, which naturally drove him into madness."

What met Viktor's eyes left him somewhat speechless. The figure wore the Van Helsing outfit with two swords strapped to his back, long hair slicked back into a pompadour, and eyes featuring the nine-tomoe Sharingan.

The surrounding environment was a matching spacetime turbulence with countless floating rocks in the air, accompanied by thunder and lightning sound effects. It was the complete posture of a final boss making its entrance in a video game—a scene undeniably domineering, cool, and overwhelmingly triumphant.

"To be honest, expending psychic energy to pull off this scenario, you are truly chuunibyou to an absurd degree."

"You must understand; strictly speaking, I am only two years old."

Without a moment's hesitation, Viktor drew his steel sword, and his counterpart mirrored the movement with flawless synchronization: a forward-spinning side slash aimed squarely at decapitation!

"Clang!" Sword met sword, locked in a contest of pure force!

Igni: both spat out streams of fire simultaneously. Quen: magical shields deployed to fend it off. Yrden: speed control applied to each other. Aard: mutual attempts at stun failed. Finally, Aard: they blasted each other flying in opposite directions.

The execution of the five Signs ended in a dead heat.

Reaching into their coats, a flurry of bombs flew: Honeycomb, Dancing Star, and Moon Dust were merely the basics, and they even effortlessly hurled the anti-magic metal bombs and the Devil's Puffball poison gas bombs that Viktor hadn't even crafted yet.

Bombs and swords, Signs and swords, bombs and Signs intertwined in a fluid, seamless dance. The witchers' toxic reactions continuously surfaced on both of their faces due to the potions they had imbibed.

Finally, after another fierce collision, they separated.

His counterpart had been panting heavily, but after taking a deep breath, the toxicity reaction naturally vanished. Viktor experienced the exact same thing.

Facing off for a brief moment, the boy tugged off his leather armor, baring his upper body to reveal a full back adorned with dragon tattoos. His counterpart similarly ripped off the Van Helsing outfit, unquestionably bearing an identical full-back dragon tattoo.

Since they could not settle the outcome through witcher methods, they would do it the Skelliger way—brawling!

Twin dragons roared as their gazes locked. Charging toward each other, they shouted in unison:

"Dragons! One is more than enough!"

"Ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora..."

"Muda muda muda muda muda muda muda muda muda muda..."

The destiny of the strong; dragons battling in the wilds.

"Witness my Art of the Buddha Shaking the Rivers and Mountains!"

"A hundred years of mastery in the Heavenly Remnant Leg!"

Palms and kicks collided.

"Rasengan!"

"Spirit Bomb!"

Internal energy clashed.

"Innate Universe Skill: Shocking a Hundred Miles!"

"Magnetic Field Rotation: One Million Horsepower Sea Tiger Blast Fist!"

An exchange of ancient and modern martial arts.

"A Thousand Strikes in a Flash! Annihilation Fierce Shoryuken!"

"Ura 108 Shiki: Orochinagi!"

Brawling and fighting games intertwined inextricably.

"Ultimate Move! Serious Punch!"

"Third Gear! Gum-Gum Elephant Gatling!"

After a single punch met countless fists:

"Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms: Proud Dragon Repents!"

"Wind Without Phase, Clouds Without Constant: Mahamudra!"

Bang! Bang! Lightning cracked and thunder roared. Finally, they separated once more, covered in wounds from head to toe with hardly a patch of unbroken skin remaining, looking utterly wretched.

Yet the very next second:

"Magnetic Field Rotation: Cellular Reorganization!"

"Crazy Diamond: Instant Repair!"

Shouting aloud as they restored their condition, the two did not immediately hurl themselves back at each other. Instead, they began to concentrate on meditation, preparing to unleash their ultimate techniques: "I originally didn't want to use this move!"

Finally, a few minutes later, it began with Viktor's impassioned shout:

"Mark my words! The wishes of those who fell, and the hopes of those yet to come—weaving these two emotions into a double helix to drill a path toward tomorrow!

This is... Tengen Toppa, this is... Gurren Lagann!

My drill... is the drill that pierces the heavens!!!"

His counterpart showed no fear whatsoever:

"School of Undefeated of the East! The Winds of the King! Zenshin! Keiretsu! Tenpa Kouran! Look, the East is Burning Red! Stone—LOVE LOVE—Godfinger!"

When the massive drill of Gurren Lagann collided with the super-sized heart of the Stone Godfinger, the terrifying destructive power generated by their ultimate clash far exceeded the sum of everything that came before.

Heaven and earth fractured!

As the magnificent, towering aftermath of the ultimate technique finally subsided, the battle came to an end.

All creation turns to ash, Ryujin Jakka—the Zanka no Tachi in Viktor's hand pierced deeply through his counterpart's heart, pinning him to the ground. However, the expression on the boy's face was not the least bit happy.

"You must be very displeased right now, aren't you?" A voice came from behind Viktor. "You're wondering, from what moment on did you labor under the illusion that I wasn't using Kyoka Suigetsu?"

The illusion-type Zanpakuto's ultimate secret, Kyoka Suigetsu: once it hit, the victim plunged deep into an illusion that was nearly impossible to break.

Discarding the Zanka no Tachi and refusing to fight any further, Viktor let out a breath and sat down directly on the edge of the cliff. His counterpart likewise dropped his weapon and leisurely walked over to sit beside him.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath a newly sprouted centenarian oak tree, they admired a sunset that had abruptly materialized. The friendship forged in battle—surely, it must be born precisely this way...

"What is your name?" Viktor asked.

"Didn't you name me long ago? Why bother asking now?"

After a moment of silence, the boy finally spoke: "Corleone?"

"Correct answer. Hello, Viktor, I am Corleone."

"So it was when we were in Vergen, forming the Hansa with Angoulême, that you began influencing me?"

He shook his head, "No! That was the moment your instincts sensed my existence, naming me after the symbol of sin within your heart.

The true subtle cultivation—come to think of it, should be that afternoon when we first arrived in this world and read books, asking Vesemir to teach us swordsmanship."

"Why did you only appear after coming to this world?"

"In our first life, the place we lived had a complete penal code. In our second life, the place we lived required no penal code. And in our third life, the penal code here is merely decoration." As he spoke, the corners of Corleone's mouth curled up in a pure, delighted smile.

"So, what on earth are you trying to accomplish?"

"You knew all along, didn't you? Why pretend not to know me? We are of one mind and body! No one can suppress their own nature, just as no one can stop their fingernails from growing!

I, Corleone, have a dream—to personally exterminate humanity."

Sighing softly, Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, "That's a truly terrible dream... even worse than I originally imagined."

"What did you originally think I wanted to do?"

"I thought you wanted to replace me."

Corleone rubbed his chin, "If you had gone around killing people back in Vergen, it probably would have turned out that way.

Think about it: I had been suppressed for so many years, tortured every single moment by desires, while you always lived happily and contentedly, lacking in tempering. The moment our minds merged, you likely would have lost yourself instantly.

Just like that foolish doppelganger—he must have killed someone previously, so the moment he copied, the sheer thrill drove him insane."

"Yet you look quite normal right now?"

"Because your mind has grown stronger. Since we are of one mind and body, we naturally influence each other. Just like right now, I believe that the kind of indiscriminate slaughter from before lacked all aesthetic appeal; if you're going to kill, it must be carefully handpicked."

Hearing the implication behind the words, the boy stared at the sunset, and his counterpart stared at the sunset as well. A tacit consensus was silently reached.

"Then how am I supposed to coordinate my relationship with you moving forward?" Viktor's voice carried a hint of helplessness.

Corleone smiled brightly, slinging his right arm around the boy and resting his head on his shoulder, "No need for special changes, just let nature take its course! Besides, I usually won't manifest on the surface.

Listen, brother! You're willing to acknowledge me, and that truly makes me happy. If you stubbornly refused to recognize me, we'd have no choice but to walk the path of schizophrenia, and that would bring misery to us both.

If I must make a request, it's this: our very first time must be reserved for someone thoroughly wicked, steeped in sins—someone whose crimes demand death to appease public outrage.

The first time is exceptionally crucial. If you don't want our fusion to be a half-assed affair where we suffer mental splits at every turn, please exercise extreme caution in choosing the target for our first time.

Find a major villain, a bad guy who meets your internal moral code for absolute execution. Get rid of him, and our souls will completely unite without the slightest resistance."

Having finished his piece, Viktor fell into deep thought, but Corleone clearly had no intention of stopping there.

"Ah, this sunset is so beautiful. Brother, do you want me to sing you a song right now? This song is called *The Rest of My Life*."

Viktor covered his forehead. He could suddenly empathize with the conflicting emotions Angoulême experienced every time he abruptly derailed a topic to inject Bell Town humor; Corleone, this bastard, truly lived up to being himself.

True to form, just as that conversational detour was taken, Corleone was already humming away:

"For the rest of my life, hacking people is me

Stabbing people is me, blowing people up is me too

Bathing is you, yearning for thighs is you

Falling in love, is also you."

Quite speechless at this adapted rendition, the boy asked in a low voice, "Since you could choose not to appear in the past, then you—"

Before he could finish, he was interrupted by the other.

"——I refuse. Now that I've awakened, there's no way I'm going back. Besides, you won't even listen to the voice of your own heart; how could you ever expect to hear the 'Voice of All Things'?"

Viktor was momentarily stunned, left speechless. The implications of Corleone's words were truly profound.

Then the boy watched as his counterpart rose to his feet, smiling down at him, "The dream is about to end, and we must say our goodbyes.

The next time we meet will likely be either our final farewell... or the moment we become truly inseparable.

Viktor... my brother, farewell."

Like a dream or an illusion, Corleone dissolved into bubbles and vanished.