It took Lin Ye three days to stand on his own again.
He had not been unconscious, nor bedridden like ordinary wounded soldiers. His body functioned with apparent normality, yet something deeper was misaligned. Every time he tried to focus, a sense of delay passed through his chest, as if his mind always arrived one heartbeat too late to its own thoughts. It wasn't pain or dizziness, but a subtle loss of synchronization with the world.
The imperial physicians found nothing.
—Organs stable.
—Physical structure intact.
—No detectable spiritual damage.
The verdict was as useless as it was reassuring.
"It's extreme stress," one of them concluded. "Mandatory rest."
Zhao Wen did not seem convinced, but he did not press the matter. He ordered Lin Ye transferred to an intermediate rest zone—far from the combat units, yet still within the camp's perimeter. The formations there were gentler, designed to stabilize rather than to monitor.
During those days, Lin Ye observed.
The Southern Front camp was a city in constant motion, but not a chaotic one. Everything followed a precise order, though that order was not always visible at first glance. Troops moved along routes that changed daily. Officers exchanged communication seals with tense expressions. Flying carriages arrived and departed at all hours—some carrying the wounded, others transporting sealed resources whose contents no one discussed.
The Empire was accumulating something.
Not men.
Not weapons.
Information.
Lin Ye listened to fragments of conversation without drawing attention. He learned that not all pacification expeditions served the same purpose. Some suppressed open rebellions. Others cleansed regions where ancient ruins had awakened. And a few—the most dangerous—focused on anomalies that even the high command did not fully understand.
The Gray Zone was not unique.
It was only the most unstable… for now.
One afternoon, as Lin Ye walked slowly along one of the outer corridors, Wei Shun appeared beside him without warning.
"I didn't think they'd let you out so soon," he said.
Lin Ye glanced at him.
"I'm not confined."
Wei Shun let out a brief laugh.
"That's what they say when they haven't decided what to do with you yet."
They walked a few steps in silence. Wei Shun seemed uncomfortable, as if he wasn't used to starting conversations without a clear hierarchy behind him.
"What you did in the Gray Zone…" he began. "If it hadn't been for that, at least two of us wouldn't be here."
"I didn't do it for you," Lin Ye replied honestly. "It just happened."
Wei Shun nodded slowly.
"That's what worries me."
He stopped and looked up at the gray sky of the Southern Front.
"There are things in the Empire that aren't written in the official annals. Not because they're secret, but because acknowledging them would mean admitting limits. What you did falls into that category."
Lin Ye said nothing.
"My family," Wei Shun continued, "belongs to a secondary imperial branch. We're not close to the throne, but we're not irrelevant either. That lets me hear things others don't."
He lowered his voice.
"There's a division within the Empire. Not openly—not yet. Some believe anomalies must be sealed at any cost. Others think they should be studied… even if that means creating new ones."
Lin Ye frowned slightly.
"And you?" he asked.
Wei Shun looked at him directly.
"I haven't decided yet."
That night, Lin Ye once again descended into his consciousness. The dark space responded sluggishly, as if resisting being fully opened. The fragmented clock appeared—but it no longer floated calmly. The cracks were more visible now, and the gear that had lost its fragment turned irregularly.
"Anchor of possibility…" Lin Ye murmured. "That's what I lost, isn't it?"
The eye remained closed.
Yet something new had appeared.
On one fragment of the clock, a barely visible mark glimmered faintly. It was neither a rune nor a recognizable symbol, but something organic—like an incomplete eyelid.
A chill ran through Lin Ye.
This wasn't power.
It was incomplete potential.
In that moment, a memory that was not his seeped into his mind—not as a clear vision, but as a sensation: an eye observing across multiple realities, bound by seals, divided into parts, each hidden at a different point in the flow of time.
The Eye of the Throne.
Not whole.
Not awakened.
"So I'm not the only fragment…" Lin Ye whispered.
The clock answered with a faint pulse.
"Bearer: access restricted."
"Condition not met."
Lin Ye exhaled slowly.
"What condition?"
This time, the response was clear.
"Own Domain required."
His eyes snapped open.
A domain.
Not in the territorial or political sense, but something far more fundamental—a space where his laws would prevail, even if only for an instant. He understood then that his current abilities were mere reflections, minimal interferences in the world's flow. To advance, he would need something more stable, something that did not rely solely on stolen dead instants.
He would need a Temporal Domain.
But not now.
Not yet.
The next morning, Zhao Wen summoned him again.
This time it wasn't a medical chamber or an improvised office. It was a sealed room beneath the camp, protected by multiple layers of formations. At its center, a circular table of black stone emitted a faint glow.
"The Empire has made a provisional decision," Zhao Wen said bluntly. "Not about you… but about the Southern Front."
He activated a formation, and a three-dimensional map appeared above the table. Several regions pulsed with irregular lights.
"These anomalies are increasing in frequency," he continued. "Not chaotically, but following a pattern we don't yet understand."
He turned to Lin Ye.
"But you seem to sense them before they fully manifest."
Lin Ye remained silent.
"I won't ask for explanations," Zhao Wen said. "I'll ask for cooperation. You will be permanently integrated into an advanced observation cell. Not as a soldier. Not as a standard scout."
He paused.
"As a variable."
Lin Ye raised his gaze.
"And if I refuse?"
Zhao Wen looked at him coldly.
"Then you'll become invisible again. And the Empire does not protect the invisible when the board begins to break."
Lin Ye understood the message.
"I accept," he said at last.
Zhao Wen nodded.
"Good. Then listen carefully. There's something we haven't told you yet about the Heaven-Stolen Hour."
Lin Ye's heart skipped a beat.
"The Empire knows it happened," Zhao Wen continued. "And it wasn't the only time."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Prepare yourself," he added. "Because what's coming won't affect just this front—or this continent."
"It will affect time itself."
Thousands of kilometers away, in a sealed region beyond Auralis, an ancient entity opened an incomplete eye and smiled.
The game was no longer local.
And Lin Ye—whether he wished it or not—had just entered a match that spanned continents, eras… and gods.