Solemn, oppressive, heavy, stern, clear straight lines and right angles, advanced and modern, minimalist and efficient...

All along, the staff had numerous words to describe the style of the Cultivation Room, but under Bologue's summary, he felt one word was enough to perfectly encapsulate everything about the Cultivation Room.

Order.

Meticulously organized order.

This is the style of the Cultivation Room, whether it's the resting benches or the division of areas, even down to the grading of permissions, everything is classified and arranged according to some standard, completely bound by cold and solid order.

Order brings reason and stability, like an unshakeable safe house, as long as you are within the Cultivation Room, you can shed all sense of crisis and let the Cultivation Room shelter you.

But now, the reason and order wholly trusted by the staff are gradually collapsing before Bologue's eyes. The neatly arranged bricks are shattered, the straight edges covered with broken gaps, and beyond the collapsed walls lies boundless darkness, streaked with ghastly white arcs of electricity.

The safety passage signs are chaotically piled on the floor, walls, and ceiling, all pointing behind Bologue, as if the will of the Cultivation Room is guiding Bologue to flee this place.

It's too late.

The surrounding lights began to flicker rapidly. Amidst the alternation of light and dark, Bologue could clearly perceive the changes around him; the entire space was twisting and deforming under some force, the straight lines bending into curves, heralding the annihilation of order and reason.

In an instant, the safety passage signs emitting green shimmer turned a striking red, as if a virus was spreading amidst the light, the red glow quickly spreading, engulfing all the green shimmer, casting Bologue's face in a blood-red hue.

Bologue had no interest in delving into the mystery of the Cultivation Room; he turned and ran madly in the direction the safety passage indicated, the formerly straight and deep corridor already beginning to bend and deform.

As if a pair of giant hands were forcefully twisting the space, the corridor was like iron bars being twisted and hammered, the bricks starting to crack, sending up countless fragments and dust. Amidst running, Bologue's steps were somewhat unsteady as the ground under his feet began to curve to one side.

The originally rectangular cross-section of the corridor was twisting into a strange parallelogram, and in some places, the space had already twisted a full turn, with bricks stacked together, presenting a layered screw-like pattern.

The Alchemy Matrix operated efficiently, the ether surging high and unyielding. Bologue again attempted to spread the Flame of the Cauldron to prevent the deformation of space, but this was the Cultivation Room, a vast Void Realm, filled with ether; under the Ethereum Mutual Exclusion, Bologue's resistance was futile.

Bologue still remembered Fuen's praise for the Cultivation Room. If the Void Realm were divided by the Condenser Tier, the Cultivation Room would undoubtedly be a Glory Seeker Level Void Realm, and even among all Glory Seekers, it was the closest Void Realm to the Crowned.

In a stable state, the Cultivation Room was a safe house protecting against the elements, but when it became agitated, it would transform into a chaotic Ruins District.

Bologue poured all ether into his legs, relying on Ethereal Amplification, he propelled forward like a cannonball.

Behind Bologue, the corridor began to collapse, space folding together like twisted reinforced iron, exposing the dark space behind the bricks. Bright arcs broke through constraints, lashing at the objects they encountered, reducing them to dust.

Gritting his teeth, Bologue advanced. He noticed the corridor ahead had changed; it was not the same as when he came earlier. It had split into multiple diverging paths. As Bologue hesitated, one after another, safety passage signs appeared on the walls, continuing to guide Bologue.

Time was of the essence; Bologue had no time to think; he rushed into the branching path indicated by the safety passage. The scenery before his eyes was still that monotonous, unchanging corridor, with no end in sight.

While sprinting, Bologue faintly heard singing, coming from behind the dark fissures.

A woman sang emotionally, in a language indecipherable to Bologue.

Warm liquid traced along Bologue's cheek, causing him to pause in a daze for a moment. He raised his hand to wipe his cheek, only to find numerous teardrops in his palm.

In Bologue's lifetime, the instances of him crying were few and far between. At times, Bologue thought he would never cry again, yet now tears were uncontrollably streaming down.

Is it due to fear?

How could that be? As an Undead, how could Bologue be so frightened by such matters that he would shed tears? Facing the chaotic Cultivation Room, at most Bologue felt some agitation and nervousness, with a worry for the unknown.

The emotions melded together, far from evolving into tears of fear.

Yet Bologue was uncontrollably crying, accompanied by the continuation of the woman's singing, an unimaginable feeling of sadness overflowed from his heart.

This sudden emotion left Bologue bewildered, the melancholy ballad lamented beside his ear, and the unintelligible language gradually became clearer.

"On this day of tears."

The syllables struck Bologue's heart; his tears had long run dry, and his eyes turned red as scarlet blood oozed from beneath his eyelids.

Bologue staggered a few steps, vomiting blood, his mind beginning to blur, an overwhelming fatigue spread over him, urging him to stop and rest here eternally.

Still unable to stop, Bologue had a premonition that once he halted here, even the Time Reversing Axis could not save him.

The building crumbled and collapsed, revealing the dark void behind it, where arcs and lasers coexisted, drawing like a master's strokes, creating a masterpiece.

Bologue dared not look back, nor had time to, as at the end of the corridor, a gentle dawn emitted warmth, like a rope forged from light in this endless darkness.

Grasp that rope tightly, Bologue thought, no matter what's beyond this dawn, it has to be better than being consumed by the darkness behind.

Bologue was getting closer, his body increasingly fatigued, while a wailing female voice grew clearer, louder.

"The sinner about to be tried."

She was so sorrowful, as if she carried all the world's woes.

"Will resurrect from the ashes."

Bologue couldn't run anymore, the surrounding bricks twisted together, shattered into fragments returning to darkness, soon Bologue would join them.

Just as Bologue was about to fall, an indescribable force seized his body, like strings controlling a puppet, forcing him to move again.

Move towards the dawn.

This time, Bologue's speed was much faster than usual, he became like a walking dead, subject to its manipulation.

As the light approached, Bologue saw the form at the end of the dawn clearly.

It was an open door, near the door there were densely packed, overlapping safety passage signs, like burgeoning crystals.

Now all of them had dimmed, leaving only the running figures on the signs.

Running towards the darkness behind Bologue.

This wasn't a safe house, compared to the darkness behind, the area beyond the dawn was truly fraught with danger.

Bologue froze, regrettably, at this moment he had no strength to resist, dragged by that unknown force, crashing into the dawn.

The door closed, the light dissipated, the safety passage sign lights rekindled, flickering with glaring red light.

The female voice grew stern, the darkness became restless, all surrounding bricks collapsed into the darkness, and just before the darkness approached, the door began to blur and fade.

The darkness engulfed everything, within the murky shadows of void, only the female voice continued its lament.

...

Bologue fell to the ground, from the feel of it, he was lying on cold tiles, the threads of coolness cooling his feverish body significantly.

Struggling to open his eyes, through the blood-blurred vision, Bologue could see neatly arranged tile patterns.

Seeing these orderly lines now, Bologue unexpectedly felt happy, even though he knew he might have stepped into another perilous place.

Strength gradually returned to his body, the lost senses sharpened again, Bologue lifted his head, the warm light struck him, evoking a sense of afternoon sunset.

Rubbing his eyes, wiping away the bloodstains, Bologue's vision cleared, and he discovered he was in a peculiar place.

In fact, it wasn't so strange, rather it seemed quite normal.

It's somewhat roundabout to say, having witnessed too many bizarre things, this place seemed too normal, instead giving Bologue a sense of distortion lurking beneath the normalcy.

This was an inn, an inn filled with sunshine.

Bologue swore, the lighting rod here surpassed any house he had ever seen.

As if the sun rose right outside the door.

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