Conceptual Vision

The solemn holy portrait radiated a sacred and majestic aura. Under the portrait, even the mad patient quieted down, leaving only the sound of hurried footsteps and the clinking of vessels in the room.

The hexagram represented holiness. As Mrs. Nightingale heavily thudded her double-headed snake scepter against the floor, a perfect hexagram outlined in golden light materialized out of thin air upon the snow-white ground.

Colors swirled, and every glowing line radiated a pure, holy light.

“The raiding bat steals its prey's abilities by drinking their blood, possessing the greatest capacity for containment. Using the bat's blood as a base, we harmonize all conflicting elements, bringing stability and balance to everything.”

The scepter pointed to one point of the hexagram, causing it to glow even brighter.

An assistant immediately stepped forward, opened a blood-red glass vial, and poured out the viscous red liquid inside.

As if drawn by some unseen force, the blood twisted and morphed in midair. By the time it hit the ground, it had formed a bizarre symbol just outside the point of the hexagram. Immediately, the golden light of the hexagram spread over, fusing the blood-formed rune into itself.

“The spitting lizard has viscous bodily fluids, possessing the strongest adhesive properties in the mortal world. Using the spitting lizard's blood as a cage, we bind the violent nature of the disease.”

Mrs. Nightingale had already paced to another point to light it up. The assistant followed closely, opening a second blood-red glass vial.

The tip of the scepter vibrated in a specific pattern, guiding the blood in midair to twist and deform. Before it even touched the ground, another pattern, radiating a sticky, entangling aura, formed in the air and then imprinted itself onto the floor.

“Phew...” The elderly woman stopped and stood in place, panting softly. The other assistant immediately approached to wipe away the sweat seeping from her mask and tried to support her, but the old woman gently pushed them away.

The elderly woman flexed her arm in a show of strength, then walked toward the third point.

“The Son of the Formless is entirely colloidal, soft yet firm. Using the blood of the Son of the Formless as a barrier, we neutralize the erosion of the disease's Divine Authority.”

“The golden-winged griffin soars year-round, naturally deterring all living things. Using the golden-winged griffin's blood as a banner, we deter the violent power of the disease.”

“The cold spider's venom is as fierce as fire, having poisoned countless living things. Using the cold spider's blood as a vanguard, we use its fierce nature to destroy the onslaught of the disease head-on.”

The three chants were delivered in one breath. Black, gold, and green—the runes twisted from the three vials of blood occupied the other three positions.

By now, five of the points were occupied by blood runes, giving off a sense of seamless unity under the illumination of the golden light.

After leaning on her scepter to catch her breath for a moment, the elderly woman straightened her back once more and stood before the final point. However, she did not immediately begin chanting as before. Instead, she lowered her head in deep thought for a long while before reaching out to take another glass vial handed to her by her assistant, personally pouring it out.

“The wasteland mammoth is heavy and stable, integrated as one with the earth. Using the mammoth's blood as a foundation, we bear the soul of the suppressor and block all corruptive power.”

This time, the elderly woman's movements became sluggish, as if her scepter had become incredibly heavy. The speed at which the bright red blood twisted and deformed in the air also grew increasingly slow, and each change seemed to radiate a massive, oppressive force.

As the final rune gradually took shape, the hexagram's light grew brighter and brighter. The moment the room became so bright that it was impossible to keep one's eyes open, the light suddenly vanished, and the entire hexagram dimmed once more.

An uncontrollable fit of coughing followed. The elderly woman clutched her mask and hunched her back, taking a long while to catch her breath before turning to Lynch and pointing at the rune formed from the mammoth's blood.

Understanding her silent message, Lynch stepped onto the rune. Whether it was an illusion or not, the moment he stood on it, a profound sense of security washed over him from the bottom of his heart.

The assistants and Mrs. Nightingale were also moving. They pushed the iron bed securing the patient to the cage position, which was one point away from Lynch. Meanwhile, the point with the raiding bat's blood faced the holy portrait on the wall directly, forming an equilateral triangle with the patient and Lynch.

The two assistants and the elderly woman stood on the remaining three points. High on the ceiling, the Ouroboros holy emblem hung directly above the center of the hexagram.

Mrs. Nightingale's gaze finally turned to Lynch, silently asking if he was ready. Lynch adjusted the bird mask on his face, which was stuffed with medicinal herbs, and gave a gentle nod.

The two assistants each picked up a syringe. The one holding the contaminated blood first injected it into the exact center of the hexagram, followed by Lynch's blood. However, the two pools of blood did not merge; instead, they remained incompatible and separated from each other.

Leaning on her scepter, the elderly woman began to chant a prayer. Her voice was deep and powerful, and her scepter hovered just above the two pools of blood, swaying gently. Following her chants, the two pools of blood soon began to move, rotating clockwise. Their speed increased rapidly, until they resembled the yin-yang fish diagram he had seen in his past life.

“Stay awake. Do not lose consciousness. Staying awake and holding out until the end is victory.”

Mrs. Nightingale's anxious warning rang in his ears, but Lynch did not respond. His eyes were fixed on the rotating blood. Like a vortex, the blood drew his entire consciousness into it.

The entire world shook violently, and Lynch snapped back to reality from the pull of the vortex.

Yet, this did not help him understand his current situation, for he simply could not comprehend his present state.

Lynch did not see, nor did he hear, because at this very moment, sight and sound had lost all meaning.

Yet, everything was naturally fed back into his consciousness, as if this was exactly how things were meant to be perceived.

Where he was was an indescribable void, devoid of anything comprehensible.

No matter, no life, no animals, no humans.

Within the void, there were only countless distorted lights and shadows twisting, flickering, and changing. Within these distorted lights and shadows lay a simplicity that could be seen through at a glance, yet also a complexity so difficult to comprehend that the sheer contradiction was enough to drive one mad.

As the chaotic lights and shadows swept past, Lynch felt another violent jolt. His mind grew hazy, as if his consciousness was about to dissolve into this incomprehensible void.

Just as the thought arose, his mind suffered several more violent jolts. Each tremor sent his consciousness into a state of chaos, as if his soul might leave his body at any moment.

Lynch was truly panicking.

It was as if he had returned to the time before his transmigration, with only a shred of consciousness floating in an endless crimson mist.

It was even more painful than back then. At least then there had been the red fog and the red moon hanging high in the sky. Now, there was only an incomprehensible void and a lethal bombardment that showed no signs of stopping.

Such frequent and intense impacts had nearly knocked Lynch unconscious several times. He had no idea how many more he could take.

【Do not try to "see." Within the conceptual vision, sight does not exist. Use your inspiration to understand, and only then will you comprehend this conceptualized world.】

The gentle female voice instantly calmed Lynch's panicked mind, and even the frequent bombardments became less jarring.

Following the guidance of the red moon, Lynch struggled to calm his mind amidst the relentless bombardments. It was extremely difficult, as the interference from the impacts was severe, but after several attempts, he finally managed to project his will outward, using his inspiration to comprehend everything around him.

Within the distorted and chaotic lights and shadows, he finally managed to grasp his current state.

This was a void that existed only in concept. Of the two clusters of light and shadow in this void, one was the protected suppressor—Lynch himself.

Under the control of Mrs. Nightingale's ritual, the lights and shadows representing the six mysterious heteromorphs merged their respective traits, turning into a barrier that protected Lynch's will within.

On the other side was the Divine Authority of disease, which contained the residual consciousness of Mordiggian, the King of Ghouls. The distorted lights and shadows in the void represented the manifestation of their respective wills. The lights and shadows tangled and devoured each other; it was the collision and confrontation between the two consciousnesses.

However, after an unknown number of collisions, the barrier formed by the mysterious heteromorphs was already riddled with holes, exposing more and more weaknesses. The bombardment Lynch felt was the sensation of the residual consciousness in the Divine Authority directly striking his mind through the gaps in the barrier.

It was becoming increasingly frequent and intense. Clearly, the barrier could no longer hold.

Lynch knew that once the line of defense collapsed, the disease would manifest upon his physical body, and just as Lady Luna had said, death would be certain.

As if sensing Lynch's observation, the light and shadow representing the authority of disease suddenly stopped flickering, falling abruptly silent. It no longer flickered, yet the pressure multiplied.

A terrifying deterrence projected from the authority's light and shadow, almost materializing.

The suffocating silence before a storm was nothing compared to this.

Having realized he was at a dead end the moment he came to, Lynch gritted his teeth. Driven by instinct, he fused his own will into the crumbling barrier, merging with it as he charged head-on into the oncoming residual consciousness.