Savior in Shadow Slave

Today was the day the new Sleepers would arrive.

Murphy, mildly curious and somewhat excited, made his way toward the assembly hall. Part of him wondered what the experience would be like—dozens of freshly awakened children, wide-eyed and buzzing with hope, ambition, or fear.

But the moment he stepped inside, two truths crystallized instantly.

First—he didn't really need to befriend any of them.

Not out of cruelty or superiority. Simply because… none of them mattered. At least not yet. The main cast—the true storm to come—would only arrive more than a decade later. Thirteen to fifteen years from now, depending on how fate twisted its threads.

Even Jet, the only outlier he was remotely interested in watching, wouldn't appear for another three years.

Second—his social battery was already crying for help.

The moment Murphy entered, the hall shifted.

Eyes turned. Whispers bloomed like flowers in the silence.

"He's a Sleeper like us? He looks so young... and cute!"

"No way, you duffer. He must be some Ascended's kid. Or maybe someone's little brother."

"Are you dumb? Don't you recognize him? That's the kid who got caught up in a Spell incident at eight years old—and survived."

Murphy let out a small sigh. Here we go.

He could see it in their eyes—gleaming, hungry, naive.

The same way his father's eyes gleamed when he spotted a tiny start-up with "limitless potential."

Although what sort of potential they see him in, he couldn't tell.

But it sent chills down his spine.

"It's a sin to be this handsome," Murphy mused, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from his collar.

For a brief moment, he felt something—an odd sensation, like a divine presence from high above was glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand suns… reaching out with holy fury, ready to smash a phone in cosmic protest.

He blinked. Looked around.

Nothing.

Must've been his imagination.

Or perhaps guilt from a previous life.

Either way, he smirked faintly and strolled deeper into the hall, leaving behind a small trail of gasps, stares, and barely concealed envy.

Murphy's gaze swept the hall like a blade through grass—quick, precise, uninterested.

Until it stopped.

There, in the far corner of the room, away from the laughing clusters of hopeful Sleepers and their overly enthusiastic introductions, stood a boy.

Maybe seventeen.

Tall, lean, wearing clothes that had clearly seen better days—but were immaculately kept. Not a wrinkle, not a thread out of place. His sleeves were ironed, his collar straight, his boots clean.

But it wasn't the clothes that caught Murphy's attention.

It was the boy's eyes.

Bleak. Heavy. As if they had seen something the world had yet to name.

And more than that—he was being ignored. Not avoided. Not shunned. Just... unseen. The crowd flowed around him like wind around stone.

Murphy's instincts, honed by sacrifice, suffering, and lifetimes in the First Nightmare, roared.

'Don't ignore him.'

This boy was a still shadow in a room of moving color. Like a crack in a flawless painting—small, but hinting at something far deeper beneath.

Danger? Potential? Fate?

Murphy didn't know.

But he knew this: That boy was important.

He was surely not doing this to avoid these girls who were looking at him constantly.

Curious about the boy, Murphy walked over, extended his hand, and offered a friendly smile.

Strangely, a woman standing in the corner suddenly had a nosebleed.

"Hey, why are you standing here all alone? I'm Murphy, by the way."

"Yes... I'm Lucas. I just like standing back and observing everything."

"So, you're a creep."

"Yes—wait, no! That's not what I meant! I just meant... you know... in that sense!"

"Ah, so a crazy creep."

Lucas blinked.

He wasn't sure whether to be insulted, confused, or strangely... entertained.

"I–I meant it in a strategic sense," he stammered, his calm facade cracking. "I like to analyze environments, people, patterns—like a tactician!"

Murphy's grin widened, eyes glinting mischievously. "So… you're a nerd creep?"

Lucas opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." Murphy gave a casual shrug, the kind that could start a riot or end a war.

"You are a fun one, you know. After this so-called speech, come with me. I will teach you how to die not horribly in the dream realm."

Lucas coughed and looked away. "You're weird."

"Thank you," Murphy replied with a beautiful smile. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me today."

Somewhere behind them, the girl with the nosebleed fainted.

After that, an Awakened stepped forward and began delivering a speech—long, dull, and utterly uninspired.

He spoke about how the Dream Realm would throw them into random, hostile environments. How even Ascended beings could die instantly within its depths. How the academy would do everything in its power to help them grow strong enough to protect themselves.

Murphy resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

'What a load of crap,' he thought. 'There are more beings in the Dream Realm that can kill these kids instantly than those who can't.'

At this time period, the Dream Realm is near-uninhabitable due to the birth of not a single Saints and the scarcity of Ascended.

After that, he started mentioning how a monster would have been born from your corpse if you had died in your First Nightmare and how lucky we are to be able to stand here.

Murphy's thoughts wandered.

'I'm pretty sure the house next to ours had an Awakened living in it. That must be I was completely unguarded. No one has spare manpower to monitor a corpse. Just an awakened living next door would suffice.'

Then the Awakened began explaining the difference between Dream Realms and Nightmares—comparing one to an open-world game and the other to a highly structured MMORPG but with lives on line. A useful analogy.

To him, it was pointless.

But to the rest—especially the children who didn't hail from Legacy Clans—it was invaluable. Every single one of them listened with rapt attention, eyes sharp and intense, absorbing every word as though their lives depended on it.

Because someday, they would.

After a while, he ended the speech with:

"When the solstice comes, you will be drawn into the Dream Realm. The exact location of where you will appear can't be predicted in advance, but there is a high chance that many of you will find yourselves in close proximity to each other. Band together and proceed to the nearest human Citadel. Each Citadel is built around a Gateway. Once you reach it, you will be able to return. Good Luck."

After that, Lucas came running toward Murphy, eager to learn "How Not to Die Horribly in the Dream Realm."

Hearing that, Murphy's mood noticeably brightened.

'Teacher Julius will be thrilled to have another student,' he thought.

But when they reached the Wilderness Survival classroom, Murphy was in for a surprise.

The room was already filled. Not just with a student or two—but a full crowd. Most were girls, a few boys mixed in, all chatting, laughing, and clearly excited to be there.

Murphy's eyes instinctively searched for Julius, concern prickling in his chest.

'Did they swarm him? Did he get overwhelmed?'

But the worry evaporated instantly.

Julius stood at the front of the room, beaming. His smile was so radiant, it could've outshone the morning sun itself.

Not overwhelmed.

Absolutely thriving.

Days passed by.

At first, most students only came to the Wilderness Survival class because of Murphy's presence. But after a single day of real lessons, once they realized how crucial the subject truly was, their attitudes shifted. Interest turned to enthusiasm. Attendance became dedication.

Murphy's bond with Lucas also grew steadily.

They sparred often—sometimes daily. At first, Lucas couldn't even withstand a single blow, even when Murphy held back. But no one mocked him. Because day by day, Lucas improved at an astonishing rate.

'Just who is he?' Murphy often wondered.

As it turned out, Lucas possessed extraordinary scouting abilities—rare even among Sleepers. He told no one else. Only Murphy.

Then came the day that would mark the turning point.

The Winter Solstice.

Murphy awoke feeling unusually tired, his limbs sluggish, his body heavy—as if he were made of lead and memory.

'So… it's today.'

The realization pressed against his chest like a weight.

'This was my last day on Earth—at least for a while. By nightfall, the Spell would come for me again. This time, it would hurl me into the vast and treacherous Dream Realm. And given its animosity toward me, there was no doubt: it would send me somewhere brutal. Either a death zone or an unexplored region.'

At 11 a.m., the instructor who'd once lectured them on survival came to escort the chosen to the medical ward—where their bodies would sleep… for who knew how long.

Lucas was jittery, his gaze flickering around the hallway like a moth to flame.

He was nervous. Understandably so.

Murphy saw it—and, without warning, gave him a strong slap on the back.

"Well? Are you ready?"

Lucas turned, glaring at him with eyes full of both tears and betrayal.

"No. Actually, yes… What the hell? I feel confident all of a sudden. Did you do something?"

His voice brimmed with suspicion.

Murphy smirked. "Obviously not."

A silence passed, warm despite the cold halls.

"See you, Murphy."

"You too, Lucas."

His voice carried a rare weight—one laced with genuine concern, soft but clear in the desolate wind.

Because Lucas wasn't just a classmate.

He wasn't just another Sleeper tossed into the jaws of the unknown.

He was Murphy's only friend since the Apparition.

The only one who didn't look at him like a miracle, a tool, or a curse.

With that, Murphy stepped into his designated room. Alone.

In the vast, echoing darkness, something stirred.

Then he heard it—ancient, familiar, inevitable:

[Welcome to the Dream Realm, Murphy.]

Murphy opened his eyes.

Gone was the warmth of linen sheets, the quiet hum of hospital machines and the scent of sterile floors.

Now, he stood atop a crumbling stone wall, its surface cracked and laced with age. Below him stretched the remnants of a ruined city—its buildings half-destroyed, skeletal towers piercing the grey sky like broken teeth.

And in the middle of the city, rising from the rubble like a monument left by forgotten gods, stood a Spire.

It was not merely tall—it was impossibly tall.

It was...Crimson.