Or rather, never deceived.
Yet even so, the Prisoner of Destiny continues to attempt.
In the next second, the people Lynn cherished—Yan Qing, Su Wan, Li Yutang, and even his sister and friends—suddenly appeared beside him as if drawn by invisible strings. Their expressions were so vivid, their eyes full of sorrow, desperately pleading him to stay.
"Don’t go... Lynn, promise you’ll stay, okay?"
Yan Qing, his official girlfriend who had the sa appearance as Ivyst, at this mont, her tears fell like broken pearls. She clutched his arm tightly, her voice heart-wrenchingly pitiful, "Isn’t this world good enough? We have... we have by your side..."
Even his mother slowly erged from the crowd, her eyes brimming with restrained tears as she reached out to gently caress his cheek, her voice choked, "Child... this ti, mom really doesn’t want to lose you again..."
Even Li Yutang, usually aloof, stepped forward with a voice that was soft yet exceptionally firm, "Lynn, don’t go... we all need you. Not just in my capacity as a senior, but as soone who doesn’t want you to leave."
However, Lynn’s gaze did not linger on their tear-stained faces.
His vision seed to bypass their trembling shoulders, penetrating the walls of this cozy classroom, even piercing through the layers separating fiction from reality, an invisible wall imperceptible to mortals.
His eyes were clear and cold, deep within burned a fire of insight and understanding everything.
He spoke calmly, his voice not loud, yet carrying a peculiar, undeniable penetrative power, as if no longer addressing this illusionary world, but directly conversing with the supre Law that maintained this ti and space:
"Co out."
These three words fell lightly again, yet weighed a thousand pounds.
They were no longer a challenge to the "Prisoner of Destiny" existing solely within the story, but like a precise command, directly questioning a more hidden, greater, and higher-dinsional existence behind the scenes!
Thus, at the mont the words fell—
Lynn "saw."
Not with his eyes, but with the essence of a soul tempered through billions of reincarnations, surpassing the mundane, touching upon the ultimate answer behind the myths and phenona.
Endless information, rules, causes and effects, and the aning of existence, like a vast galaxy, surged into his perception at once.
He understood, perceiving everything.
Though there was nothing before him, he clearly sensed the presence of the other.
It did not dwell above the firmant, but existed outside the story.
For Lynn, for the Prisoner of Destiny, for the myriad beings in billions of reincarnations, it was the absolute "Other."
Its existence itself is both the source of the world and the end of all worlds.
In terms of it, ti is not an endlessly flowing river but a book that can be spread out, flipped through, or even edited at will; space is not a vast, boundless realm but glistening fragnts that can be folded, twisted, and played with in the palm of its hand.
All causations, every possibility, infinite branches of fate, in its view, are like a ticulous spider web, neatly arranged, visible in every detail.
The so-called divine power and the birth and destruction of the universe, for it, are but punctuation already set within the lines, devoid of any surprise or accident.
It requires no form, and if one must describe it, it is the ultimate aggregation of all "observations" and "settings."
When it casts its "gaze" upon a world, that world becos "determined" out of infinite chaotic probabilities, beginning to operate according to its implicit or written rules.
And when it diverts its "sight," that world, like closed book pages, instantly reverts to silence and void, as if it never existed.
It is the silent playwright, the coldly observing reader, the final adjudicator of creation and annihilation unspeakable.
In its eyes, all things have no distinction of worth, only the difference between "interesting" and "dull."
The Prisoner of Destiny considers itself a player, yet unaware that even the chessboard is but a trivial toy on its desk.
At this mont, it is watching Lynn, not out of concern or malice, but more like a creator scrutinizing a character under their hand, about to break free, trying to gaze back at them—a character suddenly becoming extrely "special."
All gods in the Otherworld, including the Prisoner of Destiny, are rely existences within the world of the novel.
And what Lynn sees at this mont is the true hidden one who created all of this.
Its na is, the High-Dinsional Observer.
...
What happened?
For Lynn’s sudden words, the Prisoner of Destiny was incomparably puzzled.
anwhile, a trace of unnoticeable panic rose in its heart.
Because it realized that Lynn, encased within the cocoon of destiny at this mont, was not speaking to him.
Not only that.
"Crack..."
Under its gaze, the cocoon of destiny, which should have been indestructible, shockingly started to show threads of cracks!
"I’m sorry, it seems my previous statent was sowhat mistaken."
Lynn’s sowhat weary voice suddenly erged from the cocoon of destiny, as if the few seconds just now had spanned a ti as long as eternity.
"You are not ." His tone suddenly turned a bit cold, "Or rather, you’re simply one of the countless failed ’Lynns’ in this predetermined story, to the point where even your true na was taken away, watching as His Highness and Miss Witch walk towards the most tragic ending."
"A coward like you, do you have any right to share my na?!"
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