100% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? - Chapter 241

Chapter 241: Chapter 241 – Garden Where Breath Sleeps
The Obsidian Collegium Scholars lingered among the floating shelves. Arctyx, Cyranor and the Celestial-realm seniors became lost in the Eternal’s annotations.

None of them attempted to enter the Chamber of Silent Heart anymore.

Not out of fear…

…but out of respect.

The Lunareths had gone first.

Their path was one of Stillness.

To intrude upon that space while they meditated would be a desecration only fools would commit.

Thus the Obsidian Collegium bowed their heads and returned to the bound tomes, seeking their own enlightenment.

•••

Lucien’s group stepped away from the Library of Bound Pages and crossed back into the vast arterial halls of the ruin.

Once again, they stood before the five diverging paths.

The Verdant Veil members gathered around Eirene without a word.

No one asked where they were headed next.

They were waiting for Eirene to decide.

Eirene held the crescent fragment close to her chest for a moment, letting its gentle glow fade into her robes.

Then she inhaled once, a controlled breath that made the motes around her being flicker awake.

Her gaze lifted toward the carved inscriptions marking each path:

The Chamber of Lingering Echoes

The Court of Unmoving Stars

The Library of Bound Pages

The Hall of Quiet Footsteps

The Garden Where Breath Sleeps

Lucien followed her eyes, thoughtful.

Eirene finally spoke. Her voice was soft but decisive.

“The Garden Where Breath Sleeps,” she murmured.

Marie blinked. “The… garden? Why there next?”

Eirene’s eyes swept over the group.

“Of all the paths,” she explained quietly, “the Eternal’s notes gave the most context for this one. The garden’s trials are tied to breath and internal rhythm.”

Lucien’s brows rose.

“And the Chamber of Silent Heart scrolls had instructions on how Stillness interacts with breath…” he murmured. “So the library wasn’t just convenient… it prepared us.”

Eirene nodded once.

“The other paths,” she continued, “won’t be easier. But the garden will be… safer now that we know what to expect.”

Lucien applaud Eirene silently.

‘Good call picking the library first,’ he thought. ‘The other paths would have been hell without the Eternal’s annotations…’

Marie shivered. “Safer in what way?”

Eirene lifted her gaze toward the inscription.

“In the Eternal’s own words,” she recited softly:

‘Stillness is not silence.

Stillness is breath held between life and death,

between motion and meaning.

In this space, breath sleeps—

and the world remembers itself.’

A hush fell over the Verdant Veil.

Marie shivered.

“That sounds… ominous.”

Eirene chuckled then nodded.

Finally, she turned.

“Let’s head to the Garden Where Breath Sleeps.”

And without a single voice raised in disagreement, the Verdant Veil formed ranks behind her and followed.

•••

The corridor wound downward like the throat of a slumbering serpent. It was narrow at first… then it widened in slow, spiraling arcs.

The descent felt endless, carved with the patience of a being who lived long enough to forget the meaning of haste.

At first, the air was normal. It was stale with the scent of ageless stone.

Then something shifted.

A subtle pressure brushed against the group’s faces.

Their breaths lengthened without their permission.

In… out… slower… slower still.

Marie rubbed her nose, blinking sluggishly.

“…Why am I suddenly… sleepy?”

Eirene lifted a hand. She moved her palm flat against the air.

Her fingers pressed into it as though touching a translucent curtain stretched across reality.

“That is expected,” she murmured. “The Eternal crafted this place to hush breath.”

They stepped across the invisible veil…

…and the world changed.

A vast circular expanse opened before them, illuminated by constellations carved into the vaulted ceiling like fossilized galaxies.

But nothing here was alive in the normal sense.

The garden was sculpted from sand, moonlight and suspended breath.

Silver dunes curled into the shape of blooming petals. Floating grains of glowing sand drifted like gentle pollen.

Pools shimmered not with water but with reflected memories.

They saw branches that grew from petrified breath. They looked like translucent arcs of crystal shaped like vines frozen mid-sway.

Everywhere…

Breath itself drifted…

Lucien breathed out on instinct…

…and froze.

His exhale left his lips and hung in the air as a small, silver wisp.

It drifted downward like a soft lantern drawn to the ground.

Marie opened her mouth—

A gasp escaped her and turned into a floating wisp of light.

She stared.

“What… the… hell.”

But her voice was a breathless whisper. The garden muffled it with gentle insistence.

“This place steals breath?” she mouthed, horrified.

“Not steal,” Eirene signed with two fingers. “It preserves.”

Even the Celestial seniors faltered.

One whispered… “Marvelous… and terrifying.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes, recalling a line he had nearly skimmed past among the Eternal’s scattered annotations.

“There was a passage,” he murmured, “about this place being shaped with a single breath from the Eternal of Stillness.”

Marie blinked.

“So that’s why it feels like our lungs want to take a nap,” she muttered. “We’re standing inside the echo of her breath. Who’s supposed to fight that? My whole chest feels like it wants eight hours of sleep.”

Lucien snorted softly.

Eirene heard them. A faint smile tugged at her lips.

She traced her fingers through the drifting breath-motes, watching them ripple like stardust reacting to her touch.

A silent affirmation.

The Eternal’s breath had shaped this garden…

…and her will still lingered.

•••

The group continued forward with careful steps.

Just then, they realized that their motion affects the stillness inside the garden.

When someone moved too quickly…

shk—

The moon-sand recoiled like startled petals, the floating grains dimmed, and the crystalline branches tightened inward like wary sentinels.

The air changed.

It thickened with a crushing heaviness that made every breath feel like pushing through stone.

Those in the Transcendent Realm felt their chest tightened.

Even the Celestial-realm seniors stiffened.

And worst of all—

The luminous path ahead dissolved like a lantern snuffed out by unseen fingers.

Eirene raised a single hand.

Every member froze mid-step. None dared to exhale too forcefully.

They waited…

…until the air returned to normal.

Eirene traced the edge of a drifting breath-wisp with her finger then explained…

“The Eternal did not design this place to punish intruders but… she shaped it so that breath… or life itself… learns restraint.”

Lucien understood immediately.

Marie swallowed hard, nodding.

And so… they moved again.

Gently this time.

And immediately, they saw the shift.

The petals unfurled in layered waves, warm light climbed the roots of moonstone trees, and pathways of floating motes opened like doors of starlight.

Lucien observed the shifting terrain.

Beside him, Marie exhaled. Her glowing wisp drifted into a crystalline bloom.

“Does this place feed on our breath?” she asked, curious.

Lucien replied calmly.

“No. It remembers our breath.”

Soon, they reached the towering archway woven from moonstone and sleeved with ancient cracks that glowed faintly like sleeping veins.

But beyond it…

Was nothing.

A vast, circular abyss yawned beneath them.

No bridge crossed it. No stepping stones emerged. No vines stretched to help. It was simply… emptiness.

Marie peered over the edge and instantly staggered back.

“Is this… a dead end?” one Verdant Veil member asked.

Even the Celestial-realm seniors frowned.

Lucien squinted. “The Eternal wouldn’t carve an entire garden just to end in a pit.”

As if responding to his thought…

shiiink—

The runes on the arch awakened.

Their dim glow sharpened into brilliant strokes, aligning like a constellation remembering its shape.

A message unfurled across the stone:

[ To step deeper,

Offer breath in calmness.

Not as sacrifice,

But as sincerity. ]

The group tensed.

“What does that mean?” Lucien asked.

As if to answer Lucien, Eirene stepped forward first.

She… exhaled calmly.

And then…

The garden responded instantly.

The moon-sand bloomed open like a sigh. Crystalline vines ignited with internal light.

The floating motes arranged themselves into a gentle path, spiraling ahead like a celestial river.

The Verdant Veil disciples watched with widened eyes.

One whispered, barely daring to breathe:

“…it’s beautiful.”

The Celestial senior at the back added,

“Beautiful things can drown you in silence. Don’t be careless… if your breath falls too deeply asleep, your soul may follow.”

Lucien nodded once.

Eirene began walking with steady composure.

She moved like someone who understood this place.

Lucien followed with measured steps.

The others mimicked their pace.

They steadied their breaths too, directed toward the abyss where the bridge of motes formed.

Their breaths fell into an accidental but beautiful harmony. The steady pulses of silver drifted into the abyss, weaving the bridge with every exhale.

But the danger was merciless.

Whenever someone’s breath faltered, the bridge dimmed. It trembled like glass on the verge of shattering.

And whenever someone inhaled too sharply, the motes flickered violently. Portions of the path dissolved into darkness before reforming slowly.

Those afraid of the abyss below kept their eyes forward, refusing to glance at the yawning void.

Composure became survival.

Step by silent step, they crossed.

The motes continued to form beneath them. Each breath was a thread holding the bridge together.