Legend of the Embroiderer

Chapter 508 The Dimensional Rift Behind the Bronze Gate

The forbidden runes on the bronze gate rippled strangely under the erosion of the data stream. The ancient observer script twisted as if it were alive, gradually losing its golden luster to reveal the hidden silver-gray patterns beneath.

The Guardian gripped the four-colored longswords, the life stories on their blades shimmering in the shadows of the doorway, forming a delicate balance with the data stream—whenever the data stream attempted to cross the rune boundary, the corresponding story of resistance would emerge on the blades, forcing it back.

"These runes themselves are a seal."

The fused entity placed its palm on the bronze door, and white life force flowed along the runes. "But what it sealed was not a specific being, but a passage between dimensions."

Her fingertips suddenly stopped, and at the intersection of the runes, she touched a tiny indentation, the shape of which perfectly matched the nib of the silver fountain pen.

The guardian's gaze fell upon the text composed of the data stream: "An eye from a higher dimension... Is the recorder merely a messenger?"

He recalled the blurry figure beside the control panel of the circular device, the "true observer" holding the same pen, and a faint throbbing suddenly came from the chaotic heart in his heart, as if sensing a power of the same origin.

When the silver pen was held in his hand again, the nib automatically aligned with the indentation on the bronze door.

The moment the two made contact, the prohibition runes shattered like broken glass, and the data streams and fragments of ancient texts reassembled in the air, forming a portal of light composed of countless question marks.

The other end of the light gate was not a physical space, but a flowing vortex of color. Within the vortex, countless eyes could be vaguely seen blinking, each pupil reflecting a different cosmic scene.

"This is a dimensional rift." The fused entity's voice was filled with astonishment. Her white light lengthened the instant it touched the portal, transforming into a band of light connecting the two dimensions. "The recorder's data stream seeped in from here!"

Countless images flashed through the light band: higher-dimensional beings circled on the star map with a pen, and the recorder converted the instructions into a data stream like a printer. The failure of the previous 49 generations of guardians was nothing more than the wrong answers they casually scribbled down.

The guardian's four-colored longsword suddenly trembled violently, and the life stories on the blades began to flow at an accelerated pace, as if resisting some kind of scrutiny from a higher dimension.

He felt those blinking eyes piercing through his consciousness, reading the choices he hadn't yet made; this feeling of being completely seen through was even colder than facing his primal consciousness.

Primitive consciousness at least disguises itself as a creator god, but these higher-dimensional eyes don't even bother with disguise; they simply treat all existence as analyzable samples.

"The 50th experiment variable injection is complete."

A voice composed of countless superimposed sounds came from the vortex, and the portal suddenly expanded, sucking in the guardian and the fusion together.

The instant they plunged into the vortex of color, they saw that behind the bronze door was not darkness, but a circular space composed of countless bookshelves, each filled with books with blank covers. In the center of the space, a giant open book floated, its pages automatically writing down their current experience.

"This is the record library for all experiments."

The fusion entity picked up a blank book, and words appeared on the pages the moment she touched it, recording the life of the 12th generation guardian.

However, the ending was completely different from what they knew: the guardian did not choose to resist, but instead became an assistant to the higher-dimensional beings, personally erasing three "unstable" parallel universes with his pen.

The guardian's gaze swept over the other books and noticed that the last page of each book had the same silver-gray stamp, the design of which was an eye holding a pen.

As he turned the pages, the text suddenly began to distort, and the passages that originally recorded resistance were automatically rewritten into submission to higher-dimensional beings.

The four-colored longswords were drawn in time, and the light of the blades swept across the pages of the book, allowing the rewritten text to reappear in its original form.

"They not only record history, but they also distort it."

The guardian's voice was chilling. He noticed a new line of text slowly forming on a blank page of the giant book.

"Sample No. 50 and the equilibrium representation are entered into the record library, and the 'selection induction' procedure is initiated."

The moment the text was generated, all the books on the bookshelf suddenly opened, and countless future scenes from parallel universes poured out of the books. In each scene, he was making different choices, and the final result of these choices was the ending set by a higher-dimensional existence.

The fusion suddenly pointed to the binding of the giant book, where half of a silver chain was exposed, with the other end extending into the vortex of color.

At regular intervals along the chain is a pendant, each a miniature ring-shaped device containing the consciousness of a different guardian:

"These are not samples from failed experiments; they are samples they used to predict the model we chose!"

Her white light touched the chain, and the pendant suddenly lit up, reflecting the possible ways the guardians might die in the future—some would die from the backlash of the power of the end, some would be assimilated by the Chaos Council, and some would completely dissipate when they resisted higher-dimensional beings.

"It seems you've discovered something interesting." The pages of the giant book suddenly stood upright, forming a figure dressed in a silver robe.

His face was blurred, and the pen he held was exactly the same as the Guardian's, except that the four-colored flower on the cap was slowly withering, revealing a silver-gray eye pattern underneath: "I am the 0th generation Observer, you can call me 'The Penholder'."

The Guardian's chaotic heart clenched suddenly; he sensed a familiar aura emanating from this figure.

That was the aura shared by the first observers, the elders of the Chaos Council, and even the primordial consciousness, only purer and colder. The four-colored longswords automatically unsheathed, their blades pointing directly at the writer: "You are the mastermind behind all these experiments!"

The author chuckled softly, and the pages of the giant book turned with a rustling sound, the scenes in each parallel universe beginning to change at an accelerated pace:

"The mastermind? I'd rather be the rule-maker."

He brandished his pen, and the books on the shelf suddenly flew up, forming a giant scale in the air. On the left side of the scale was chaotic free evolution, and on the right side was orderly control by the observer. "Unrestrained freedom can only lead to destruction. Look at these universes—"

The image on the left side of the scale suddenly zooms in, showing countless parallel universes self-destructing in their free evolution: some explode due to an excessive pursuit of power, some stagnate and wither due to their refusal to change, and some turn into dust in endless wars.

The guardians in these scenes all chose to rebel against the higher dimensions, but ultimately this led to an even more tragic end.

"Is this the future you want?" The writer pointed to the right side of the scale, where the universe, though uniform, had existed stably for far longer than on the left. "Being observed may not be free, but at least you can survive."

The fused entity suddenly rushed towards the scales, and white light transformed into a mirror in her palm, reflecting the truth of the universe on the right side of the scales:

In those stable universes, all life has lost the ability to think independently, repeating fixed behaviors like puppets, while their guardians have become emotionless observation machines, constantly deleting any possible "anomalies" with pens in their hands.

"Stability does not equal survival!" The mirror of the fused entity erupted with intense light, completely shattering the image on the right side of the scale. "What difference is there between an existence without thought and a stone?"

For the first time, the figure of the penman trembled. His pen drew complex runes in the air, and the books on the bookshelf suddenly closed up, turning into countless black spears that shot towards the guardian.

The spear was engraved with distorted history, each word trying to warp his memory—to make him believe that resistance would only bring destruction, and that submission was the only way out.

The four-colored longswords transformed into rotating wheels of light in the guardian's hands, shattering the black spears one by one.

From the tattered pages flew countless imprisoned consciousnesses, belonging to those lives that refused to be altered. Under the protection of the halo, they formed a white torrent, rushing towards the figure of the writer: "We would rather be destroyed than be kept as specimens!"

The writer roared in fury, his silver robe suddenly unfurling into a gigantic page that sucked in the torrent of consciousness:

"A stubborn variable!" The words on the pages began to multiply wildly, forming a giant cocoon that trapped the guardian and the fusion in the center. "Since we can't induce it, we can only force a format!"

The space inside the cocoon began to shrink, and all the colors were extracted, turning into pure gray.

The Guardian felt the four powers within him being suppressed, and the silver-gray mark of the Heart of Chaos became clear again, as if it were trying to turn him back into his original container state.

The white light of the fusion body danced in his palm, resonating with the life stone on the sword blade, barely managing to resist the erosion of the gray space.

"What they fear is not power, but the possibility of choice."

The voice of the merged entity echoed within the cocoon. Her consciousness suddenly connected with the consciousness of all the life forms absorbed into the pages of the book, causing a surge of white light that bloomed into countless four-colored flowers in the gray space. "Every life's choice is unique; this is the variable that cannot be recorded!"

The Guardian's consciousness was suddenly enlightened by the light of the flowers. He plunged the four-colored longswords into the Heart of Chaos, no longer trying to suppress the silver-gray mark, but instead guiding the four powers to merge with it.

When the golden power of creation, the dark purple power of the end, the white power of life's will, and the silver-gray heart of chaos completely merged, the longsword erupted with an unprecedented light. This light belonged to no dimension, yet contained the possibilities of all dimensions, forming an ever-expanding singularity within the cocoon.

"What power is this?"

For the first time, the writer's voice carried fear, and cracks began to appear in the cocoon formed by the pages: "This kind of energy doesn't exist in the laws of dimensions at all!"

"This is the sum of all choices." The Guardian's voice overlapped with the voices of countless lives, and the singularity exploded in the gray space, tearing the cocoon into countless fragments.

Each fragment contains a life consciousness, which, propelled by light, flies into the vortex of color, returning to its respective universe, carrying with it the belief in resisting higher-dimensional observation.

The figure of the writer became thin in the explosion; his pen fell to the ground, the silver-gray eye pattern on the cap melting away.

"Impossible... Without observers, the universe would descend into utter chaos..."

"There is balance in chaos."

The guardian picked up the fallen pen. The four-colored flower on the nib had fully bloomed, completely covering his silver-gray eyes. "Just like you can never predict, a rewritten pen will shine with the light of freedom in whose hands."

As the light faded, the archive began to collapse, and the books on the shelves turned into countless seeds that fell into the vortex of color.

The guardian and the fused entity stood before the closing portal of light, watching the seeds take root and sprout in the vortex, growing into a tree of life connecting different dimensions.

The writer's figure has vanished, leaving only a faint whisper: "The dimensional barrier... is thinning..."

When they returned to the Forgotten Library, the bronze doors had closed again, and the data streams on the forbidden runes had vanished without a trace, as if nothing had ever happened. But the Guardians knew that some things had changed forever.

The pen in his hand began to write automatically, recording not pre-programmed experimental data, but unique stories happening in each parallel universe.

However, when he turned to the first page of records automatically generated by the pen, he found a tiny note on the edge of the page, with handwriting identical to the pen's: "50th experiment, unexpected result: the variable itself is a constant."

The guardian suddenly looked up at the twelve stars outside the window that were regaining their light.

In the light of one of the stars, a silver figure flickered faintly, writing something with a pen identical to his own. And at the highest point of the Forgotten Library, the blank book brought back from the records suddenly opened automatically, and a line of text slowly appeared on the first page:

"Welcome to the real testing ground for the 50th experiment—the Dimensional Battlefield."

The pen slipped from his hand, spun on the ground, and pointed its tip toward the center of the cosmic network.

The space there is rippling, and within those ripples, countless guardians holding identical pens can be vaguely seen, making their own choices in different dimensions.

At the end of all choices, a rift spanning all dimensions is slowly opening, and from within the rift comes the overlapping laughter of countless writers.

The real dimensional war has only just begun.