Chapter 13: The Shadow Realm

Ethereal and eerie laughter echoed endlessly from within the mist, as if a frivolous woman were taunting the lost souls stumbling helplessly through the fog. The phantom that Gawain had cleaved in two with a single sword truly dissipated into nothingness—but in the very next moment, it reformed somewhere else within the swirling haze.

This vengeful spirit mist… was sentient.

Realizing this, Hetty felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead.

At first, the mist feigned unconsciousness, lulling everyone into a false sense of security, making them believe the danger wasn’t so dire, and seeking an opportunity to break free. But as time dragged on, the mist steadily sapped each person’s strength. By the time Gawain and his group truly attempted to escape, everyone would already be weakened to varying degrees—then, if the vengeful spirits within the mist struck suddenly, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Perhaps due to some inherent flaw in undead creatures’ consciousness, the faint laughter drifting from the mist disrupted its own trap.

Still, the situation remained grim.

Ordinary soldiers found it difficult to fight such a strange enemy. They could only rely on their hardened wills to resist the creeping malice and fear seeping from the fog. The powerless Betty was immediately moved to the center of the formation for protection. Sir Byron’s steel longsword radiated intense heat as he swung it, driving away the pervasive chill and severing countless phantom arms reaching out from the mist. Thanks to his defense, Hetty and Rebecca had a relatively stable environment to cast their spells.

Hetty muttered incantations, continuously weakening the mist’s power with a variety of low-level support spells. Rebecca’s approach was far more straightforward—she brandished her staff and unleashed nothing but fireballs.

One after another, fireballs flew from Rebecca’s staff into the mist, triggering a series of explosions. But the effect was underwhelming: flames did have some restraining effect on undead creatures, but this vengeful spirit mist was something special—thin and widespread, with no solid form to absorb the blast damage. When a fireball detonated within the fog, much of its destructive force dissipated.

“Stop using fireballs!” Gawain shouted, noticing Rebecca’s tactics. “Use wide-area spells! They don’t need to be powerful, but the range must be large! Otherwise, the mist will just disperse all attacks!”

“But fireball is all I know!” Rebecca cried out.

Gawain was stunned. “What?!”

“Rebecca only knows fireball!” Hetty’s voice was nearly exasperated. “She’s been studying magic for five years and that’s the only spell she can cast!”

Rebecca flushed with frustration at her own limited magical aptitude. Gathering all her strength, she forced her magic into a spell form, then swung her staff. A fireball the size of a basin shot toward the densest part of the mist.

There was no last-minute epiphany, no miraculous breakthrough.

The oversized fireball caused an explosion far beyond the usual scale, even thinning the mist directly ahead. But almost instantly, the gap was filled again. Worse still, Gawain suddenly heard a terrified, furious roar behind him.

A clan warrior’s eyes had turned blood red—the negative energy from the vengeful spirit mist had completely shattered his soul. The damage to his spirit immediately manifested physically: his skin shriveled and turned pale like dried parchment. Howling madly, he raised his longsword high and began wildly slashing as if surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Two nearby soldiers reacted immediately. Dodging the crazed attacks, they rushed forward and pinned the unfortunate man down.

The soldier struggled violently, his flesh writhing and twisting as if trying to tear itself from his body. His eyes bulged with rage as he hoarsely screamed, “Kill me! Kill me!”

But the two soldiers holding him showed no response to their comrade’s desperate plea. A dark cloud seemed to gather in their eyes as well—they too were losing their minds.

Seeing this, Gawain plunged the Pathfinder’s Sword into the ground and summoned the body’s latent power as recorded in his mind. “Mental Intimidation!”

This was one of the few knightly abilities that affected the mind. A powerful will swept across the battlefield, exerting immense psychic pressure on all hostile targets, while also bolstering allies’ spirits.

Under the effect of Mental Intimidation, the two soldiers quickly shook off their fear. But the poor man beneath them had already been utterly destroyed by the vengeful spirit mist. After a few more struggles, he went completely still.

Gawain’s eyes scanned the battlefield rapidly. The mist showed no sign of weakening; in fact, it seemed to thicken under Hetty and Rebecca’s attacks. And where the three soldiers had stood, Betty had vanished without a trace.

“Where’s Betty?!” Gawain’s heart tightened as he shouted, “Betty!”

Amber leapt out from a nearby shadow. “I just saw the little girl run into the mist—she looked like she was sleepwalking!”

“Damn… she’s lost her mind,” Gawain said in shock. “How can this vengeful spirit mist be so strange?!”

Amber’s face was pale with horror. “I don’t know what’s strange, but the situation’s already terrible!”

“The mist shows no sign of dissipating. After all this time under attack, even the strongest fog should weaken somewhat,” Gawain said quickly, piecing together knowledge from memories that weren’t originally his but felt as natural as his own experience. “And we already judged that the magical focus here isn’t strong. How could such an ordinary focus give rise to this kind of vengeful spirit mist that even seems sentient?”

Amber was sharp and caught on immediately. “You mean this mist isn’t natural? There’s some artificial energy source maintaining it?”

“Not necessarily artificial, but something is definitely sustaining it,” Gawain frowned, staring into the fog as if trying to pierce its essence with his gaze. “And whatever it is should be nearby. We’re just blinded to it.”

“But Lady Hetty already used distortion detection…” Amber said, confused, then suddenly widened her eyes. “Could it be… not on this ‘plane’?!”

Before she finished speaking, Gawain watched as the half-elf suddenly stepped back and vanished into thin air.

No, she hadn’t disappeared.

Gawain noticed strange shadows flickering on the ground nearby—vague human-shaped silhouettes faintly resembling Amber’s outline. These shadowy forms, lacking any solid body, seemed to teleport between nearby planes, appearing on the ground one moment, then on a tree trunk the next. After several jumps, they vanished completely.

These weren’t true shadows, but Amber walking the edge of the material world in a shadow state, projecting “reflections” into the physical realm.

This simple yet powerful “shadow walk” left Gawain wide-eyed.

Who exactly was this half-elf rogue?

Before Gawain could ask more questions, Amber reappeared beside him, rushing over. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, she grabbed his arm and pulled hard.

Gawain staggered, then felt himself pass through a cold, illusory barrier. When his vision refocused, the surroundings had changed.

All color was drained—only black and white remained. A thin, chilly mist hung in the air, but unlike the vengeful spirit fog, it did not drain life.

Gawain looked around. The dense forest was gone, replaced by a series of withered tree stumps perfectly matching the positions of the vanished trees.

Not far off stood Hetty and the others, but they were frozen stiff as if petrified, utterly motionless.

Rebecca was closest to Gawain, clutching her staff tensely, her face tight with anxiety. Yet her eyes were lifeless, a dull gray-white, staring blankly ahead. Her skin had the texture of rough ceramic.

Thin tendrils of black mist rose from the ground nearby, seeping into their bodies and causing fine cracks to spiderweb across their ceramic-like forms.

The eerie, terrifying sight made Gawain instinctively glance at his own hands. Seeing they were still flesh and blood, he breathed a slight sigh of relief. He gripped the Pathfinder’s Sword tightly and stepped toward Rebecca, ready to sever the harmful black mist.

But Amber suddenly appeared beside him again, gripping his arm tightly. “Don’t get close. Outside help won’t save them. If we’re careless, it’ll only make things worse.”

Gawain stared at Amber in shock—here in this black-and-white world, she looked different.

Her hair had grown long and floated weightlessly behind her. Her light brown eyes now glowed faintly with golden light. At her feet, a swirling black smoke flickered like flames, repeatedly condensing and dissipating.

Even Gawain Cecil’s memories held no explanation for this strange vision.

“Don’t ask me too many questions. If you do, I won’t answer—it’d be awkward, especially since I just dug up your grave. I’d feel guilty,” Amber said quickly. “We don’t have much time. This is the first time I’ve ever gone this ‘deep.’ Bringing you along… who knows how long we can hold out.”

“What is this place?” Gawain asked, the question burning in his mind.

“The Shadow Realm,” Amber said softly, nodding toward where Hetty and the others stood.

That was where Betty and the soldiers had been at the start. One soldier now lay on the ground, shattered into countless pale fragments—like broken porcelain. The others, like Rebecca, remained frozen in the exact poses and expressions they had when first touched by the vengeful spirit mist.

But beneath little Betty’s feet, a trail of faintly glowing tiny footprints stretched forward…

(End of Chapter)