Chapter 12: Shadows

An unnamed forest.

In this underdeveloped region far from the centers of civilization, such nameless places were everywhere—though every patch of land had a lord, not all of it was cultivated.

The kingdom lacked the manpower and resources to develop the borderlands near the Gondor Wastelands. Thanks to the elves’ help in building the grand wall—a network of Sentinel Towers encircling the entire wasteland—modern nations no longer needed to station large forces at the borders to fend off the occasional monsters wandering out of the ruins. As a result, these border areas fell into a vicious cycle of decline.

There wasn’t just one way from the Cecil estate to the northern town of Tansan, but the shortest route was through the forest onto the main road. Other paths either required detours around the whole region or crossing even more dangerous no-go zones—not exactly wise choices.

The deeper they went into the woods, the dimmer the light became, and the thick layer of decaying leaves underfoot grew increasingly troublesome. Though not a vast forest, this wild, untamed woodland was enough to broaden Gawain’s horizons. In his previous life, he’d lived in a concrete jungle; after crossing over, he’d only ever observed this world from a distant perspective. Now, standing amid the trees, he realized how shallow his understanding of nature had been.

Fortunately, he was gradually getting used to this body. Its strong physique and overall resilience made surviving in the wilderness manageable. Byron the knight and Amber also had plenty of experience navigating forests and mountains, so the journey wasn’t too bad.

Only Hetty was going to suffer a bit. Though the Cecil family had declined, it remained a noble house with a long history, directly loyal to the king. Born into such a lineage, Hetty was a true noblewoman—seasoned and hardy by aristocratic standards—but nature’s challenges were a different matter altogether. And as a mage, her physical strength was naturally limited.

Rebecca’s performance surprised Gawain. The girl, who looked like a high schooler from Earth, never fell behind. She ran through the pathless forest as well as any burly soldier. Curious, Gawain asked her about it. Rebecca blushed slightly and explained, “I was wild as a kid—always running around like a boy, even sneaking into the estate’s woods to explore. Back then, I hadn’t shown any magical talent, so my father thought I might become a knight… but he was sorely disappointed. Still, since I couldn’t be a knight, I made sure to train hard. After all, the family motto says a lord must first have a strong body to protect their people.”

Gawain nodded silently. This N+1 generation great-granddaughter might sometimes seem scatterbrained, but she was honest and straightforward—a rare trait in noble circles.

Nearby, the Nth generation great-granddaughter was already gasping for breath. She’d better learn from Rebecca.

“The deeper parts of this forest might have some monsters, but nothing too strong,” Byron said, picking up a clump of dark matter from the ground with his longsword. The mass slowly turned transparent and dissipated into the air. “Shadow elements are concentrated here. The forest’s center should be a natural magic nexus, but a weak one.”

“Definitely weak,” Amber said, twirling a delicate dagger as she scanned their surroundings. “If there were a high-quality magic node here, the Arcane Council or the Astrologers’ Guild would have claimed this forest ages ago. And judging by the plants—no obvious mutations—this elemental concentration isn’t even strong enough to affect the flora.”

Gawain looked at the two survival experts with some surprise. “You really know your stuff?”

Rebecca glanced at Byron. “Before pledging loyalty to my father, Uncle Byron was a mercenary.”

Byron seemed uncomfortable discussing his past. “That’s all behind me, miss.”

Amber’s dagger spun faster. “Pfft, everyone’s got a past. No need to act all mysterious.”

Though the half-elf’s expression screamed, “My past is amazing, ask me about it!” Gawain wasn’t about to indulge her theatrics. From just a day and a half of interaction, he’d figured out her personality well enough. Her extensive wilderness knowledge probably came from being chased by patrols and forced to survive in the wild—though she’d never admit it, preferring to spin grand tales of traveling the continent and chatting with elven kings.

As they pressed deeper, the trees grew denser, and the sunlight filtering through the canopy became sparse.

Gawain looked up. The giant sun was fragmented into countless tiny specks of light, as if a massive plate had been flipped upside down in the sky. The sunlight on their skin felt colder somehow.

Betty, the weakest among them, sneezed. Her hands felt icy; she nearly dropped her frying pan.

Amber stopped twirling her dagger and crouched low, her pale eyes flashing with caution. She looked at Gawain and exhaled a breath of white mist. “Don’t you think… the temperature’s dropped a bit too much?”

Hetty’s eyes sharpened. She pushed aside her fatigue, slammed her staff into the ground, and quickly chanted a complex spell: Detect Distortion.

This was a common magic, learned by second-level mages and up to ninth-level archmages. It wasn’t offensive but detected hidden energy phenomena within a certain range—like concealed magical traps or invisible energy fields. When fully cast, it could sense energy traces one level higher than the caster’s rank. Hetty was a third-level mage.

Though Byron had reached the early intermediate stage and was physically stronger, Hetty’s magic was more versatile and convenient, often more useful than brute force.

As the spell took effect, a mist began to rise around them.

No—it wasn’t mist. It was previously hidden spiritual energy, now thick enough to obscure trees dozens of meters away. Within the swirling pale fog, vague shadows flickered.

Betty’s eyes widened in terror. She was about to scream but Gawain clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shh, don’t make a sound. You’ll attract whatever’s in the fog.”

The little girl’s eyes were huge, tears threatening to spill. Clutching her frying pan tightly, she nodded frantically.

Gawain shook his head. She hadn’t cried even when facing a dragon, but now she was scared stiff. Everyone’s weaknesses were different.

“What are those things?” Rebecca gripped her staff, sparks flickering at its tip. “When did we… get surrounded by them?”

“Wraith mist,” Hetty gritted her teeth. “How could this be here?”

Gawain recalled the knowledge from his memories. Wraith mist was a phenomenon that could form naturally or be artificially created. Naturally occurring wraith mist was rare, appearing where shadow energy gathered and restless spirits roamed. It was part of the shadow environment but heavily influenced by undead presence, making it highly destructive. Yet this mist was invisible in the material world—it formed and grew in the spirit realm, leaving no trace for the living.

Only when a victim ventured deep inside would the mist slowly kill them through cold and invading hallucinations and fears. Most who entered never understood what happened, dying without seeing a thing.

The mist only became visible at the moment their souls slipped into the shadow realm, occupying their final memories.

Artificial wraith mist was possible but required extreme conditions and powerful casters, and its effects were weaker than most spells of similar level. Dark necromancers rarely wasted time on it.

Gawain drew his Pathfinder’s Sword but held back from attacking. Wraith mist was unique: merely entering its range caused harm, but it didn’t actively attack at first. The damage was an inherent environmental effect. Only if the entities within the mist were disturbed would it become violently aggressive.

And a raging wraith mist was a nightmare to deal with.

Unsure if the mist had been provoked, Gawain didn’t order an attack. Instead, he carefully searched for weak points, preparing to break through. Then, suddenly, a soft, ethereal laugh echoed from deep within the fog.

Damn it—a bunch of mist had just toyed with him!

Gawain raised his longsword and swung toward the sound. A dark red flame burst from the blade, slicing through a vague figure emerging from the mist.

“Focus fire on the one in white darting through the fog!”

(End of chapter)