Chapter 14: The Wild Mage

The Shadow Realm.

Gawain wasn’t sure how the various human nations of the present day understood the Shadow Realm, but from the memories he had inherited, over seven centuries ago, the kingdom of Gondor had done quite a bit of research on it. Back then, scholars with white hair and weary eyes spent endless days poring over dusty tomes and data, staring intently at the crystalline scales buried deep within mana wells, all in an effort to grasp the true nature of the world. One classic model they developed described the world as layered.

According to this model, the world was divided into several “planes.” The topmost was the Material Plane—stable, orderly, tangible, and easy to observe. It was where the vast majority of living beings dwelled. Beneath it lay the Shadow Realm, a twisted reflection of the Material Plane, inaccessible to ordinary humans. While people couldn’t directly perceive or touch it, they could sense and measure it through magic and mental disciplines. Below the Shadow Realm was the Umbral Plane, an even more elusive and mysterious domain—essentially a reflection of the Shadow Realm itself. It was so intangible that no magic or mental power could fully explore it. Only a few fortunate mages had managed to capture shadow creatures with rudimentary intelligence and communication skills, and from their fragmented words, scholars inferred the Umbral Plane’s existence.

Some more radical scholars extended this model further, speculating that beneath the Umbral Plane lay even deeper layers—domains belonging to the gods themselves. These were the “foundations of origin” laid down by the creator deity when forging the world, realms beyond mortal comprehension.

To Gawain, this model was like a stack of translucent parchment sheets, each one bearing a shadow of the reality in front of it. The real world was the foremost image, and its shadow was cast onto each successive sheet, growing more blurred and distorted the further back you went.

He and Amber were standing on the back of the first sheet—the Shadow Realm.

Even though it was only the second layer, it was a place most humans had never set foot in.

Gawain wisely refrained from asking Amber how she had the ability to enter the Shadow Realm—especially since, judging from her words, this was her first time venturing so deep. Pressing her for answers would likely be fruitless.

There were still many secrets in this world worth exploring, and some things couldn’t be understood just by staring at the sky for years.

After a brief assessment, Gawain decided that following Betty’s footprints was their only way forward.

But before leaving, he glanced back uneasily. Hilda, Rebecca, and the others remained frozen in place like porcelain dolls. Their true bodies were resisting the encroaching wraith mist in the real world, but their projections in the Shadow Realm were trapped at the moment of attack, slowly being dissolved by the black fog seeping up from beneath the ground.

Fortunately, judging by the rate of the mist’s erosion, they still had some time left.

“Maybe this is the true nature of the wraith mist,” Amber said, following Gawain’s gaze and shaking her head. “If we sold this discovery to the Arcane Council or the Astrologers’ Guild, how much do you think it’d be worth?”

“They’d probably drown you in potions, strap a recording crystal to your head, then cast a banishment spell and toss you into the Shadow Realm as a living scout,” Gawain rolled his eyes. “Come on, focus. We have work to do.”

Amber trailed behind him, muttering, “But you could be the face of it all. You’re one of Ansu’s founding ancestors, right? Surely they wouldn’t drug the founder of the nation?”

“Think again,” Gawain smirked. “They love putting me on display—hung on walls, written about in books, placed on altars. The king even leads the whole family in laying flowers for me every year, and everyone gets three days off. It’s risk-free and good for their reputation. But if this ancestor actually jumped out of the coffin? The first thing those people would do is shove me back in, nail me down with two hundred spikes, and maybe pour lead into the coffin for good measure.”

Amber’s eyes went wide. “Why?!”

Gawain gave the half-elf a look and snapped, “Because then the whole country would lose their three-day grave-visiting holiday!”

With that, he strode forward, leaving Amber behind, who only caught up after a moment, shouting, “Wait! You’re wrong! The holiday’s only for the founding kings’ memorials! They don’t get time off for visiting regular graves! You just died too early to know!”

Gawain nearly face-planted.

Though he’d quashed Amber’s idea of selling Shadow Realm intel, he had his own plans. He was deeply curious about the Shadow Realm—or rather, about the entire world.

One day, he would uncover all its mysteries.

The footprints didn’t stretch far.

Perhaps because of the Shadow Realm’s peculiar environment, the usual sense of distance from the Material Plane didn’t apply. Gawain and Amber had only followed the prints a short way when a small, dilapidated wooden cabin suddenly appeared before them.

The cabin was tiny and worn, its age unknown. Around it stood a broken fence, so sparse it offered no real protection. In one corner of the cabin, Gawain noticed a splash of color.

It was moss—vivid green in this monochrome world—and it was fading rapidly.

Betty’s footprints led right up to the cabin’s door.

Amber drew her small dagger, nervously gesturing in front of her chest. “You just charge in like a god of war, slicing and dicing, and I’ll cover your back.”

Gawain thought for a moment, restraining the urge to grab Amber by the collar and throw her into a minefield. Instead, one hand rested on the hilt of the Pathfinder’s Sword, while the other gently pushed open the grayish-white door.

No attack came.

Inside was just an ordinary room—old, shabby, like a black-and-white photograph come to life.

But someone was there.

A scruffy, bearded man in a tattered robe sat behind a square table in the center of the cabin. He looked so worn and weathered that Gawain couldn’t guess his age. Behind him stood two wooden shelves cluttered with bottles and jars, and an ancient alchemy bench.

Scattered throughout the room were various magical apparatuses, all mixed in with piles of broken junk. Any sane mage would probably be moved to tears by the pitiful sight.

The man behind the table looked up toward Gawain and gave a stiff smile. “Ah, guests—haven’t had visitors in my lab for a long time. And two at once, no less?”

Amber peeked out from behind Gawain, her half-elf face wary. “No… no fighting?”

Gawain didn’t draw his sword but kept his hand close to the hilt, ready to strike. He stepped inside. “We’re just passing through, looking for someone—a girl about fifteen or sixteen, carrying a frying pan…”

But the man seemed not to hear him. He smiled dully and nodded. “Please, have a seat. Annie’s preparing lunch. It’s hard to find a place to rest in these deep mountains. If you don’t mind, stay and eat.”

“Annie?” Gawain asked instinctively.

“She’s my daughter,” the man said with a gentle smile. “Very well-behaved.”

At that moment, a girl’s surprised voice came from nearby. “Father?”

Gawain turned to see Betty standing by a small door in the corner of the cabin, looking astonished.

“Betty? You’re alright,” Gawain breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m here to take you back.”

But Betty shook her head slightly. The man behind the table looked at her kindly and asked, “Annie, is lunch ready?”

Betty nodded obediently. “Almost, Father.”

The girl turned and slipped back into the kitchen. Gawain and Amber exchanged a glance. Seeing that the strange man showed no reaction, they followed.

Betty was cooking in the kitchen, using her treasured frying pan. Pale blue flames flickered on the stove, and sausages sizzled in the pan.

Amber’s curiosity got the better of her. “You can cook in the Shadow Realm?”

“What’s going on here?” Gawain asked quietly, standing beside Betty.

From the girl’s demeanor, it was clear she wasn’t under any mind control or magical compulsion. Yet she was here of her own will, cooking, and calling the strange man “Father”—which was odd.

“I don’t really understand it either,” Betty said, looking as confused as ever. “But that man seems to think I’m his daughter…”

Amber’s eyes widened. “And you just go along with it?”

Betty shook her head. “He’s so pitiful… I just want to make him a meal before I leave.”

Gawain and Amber exchanged a look.

Then Betty reached into the pocket of her maid’s dress and pulled out an old notebook, handing it to Gawain.

“Master, here—this is from that man. There’s a lot I don’t understand, but you might.”

Gawain took the thin, worn notebook with some puzzlement and flipped quickly to the last few pages.

Amber leaned in, curious. “What is it? Let me see… magic formulas? Rune sequences?”

The half-elf’s eyes glazed over at the complex symbols and equations. She looked up at Gawain, dumbfounded. “So that weird old guy’s actually a mage?”

“Strictly speaking, a wild mage,” Gawain said, rolling up the notebook and tapping Amber on the head. “And didn’t you notice all those magical experiment tools when you walked in?”

(End of chapter)