Chapter 1470: The Unusual

The massive procession silently advanced through the city’s projection, when suddenly, countless “gazes” lifted and fixed themselves on the spot where Amber was hiding. Though the shadow dwellers had no facial features—no eyes to speak of—Amber was absolutely certain in that instant that those invisible, bandage-wrapped wraiths were staring right at her.

A shiver ran down her spine, every hair on her body standing on end, and her heart skipped a beat.

In her entire life, she’d only ever experienced one moment as chilling and heart-stopping as this—on a war-torn night, trembling in an ancient tomb, watching a corpse sealed for seven centuries lift its coffin lid…

But even that moment wasn’t as terrifying as this.

Yet, in the next second, Amber noticed that the shadow dwellers merely cast their gaze her way; the enormous “migrating army” didn’t stop. They continued their silent march northward, as if fulfilling some solemn mission, their eyes never leaving her position.

They moved on, silent and watchful. The countless eyes fixed on Amber in quiet observation. Gradually, she realized that this silent scrutiny, combined with their steady advance, was even more eerie and unsettling than the initial sudden turn of their gaze.

Swallowing hard, Amber slowly rose from her hiding place. The focused attention made it clear that hiding here was pointless. Standing at the edge of a tall building, she quietly looked down at the vast procession slowly moving below. Their eyes met in the air—neither side breaking their gaze. The shadow army did not halt, and Amber did not look away.

After a moment’s thought, she restrained the urge to tear open a shadow rift and return to the real world. Gradually calming, as the overwhelming sense of dread and pressure eased slightly, she took a deep breath and looked toward the direction from which the shadow army had come. With a single step, she leapt toward the rooftop of a nearby building.

She wanted to find out where such a massive number of shadow dwellers had originated, to gather intelligence and report back—that was her mission.

Despite the strange and unsettling scene before her, one thing remained unchanged: the shadow dwellers did not attack her. These chaotic, suspicious “kin” were, as always, merely suspicious. Confirming this gave her a small measure of relief.

Amber’s figure began to move swiftly between the overlapping building projections, darting like a nimble sparrow among twisted walls, curling rooftops, and shattered, floating tiles. Shadows swirled like mist behind her, supporting her body as she defied gravity, soaring through the sky and leaving a faint trail of afterimages in her wake.

Below her, the shadow army continuously shifted their gaze, watching the figure crossing the sky. The scene was silent and uncanny—but Amber forced herself to ignore the heavy pressure of their stares. She pushed herself not to focus on the army, instead turning her eyes toward the distant outskirts beyond the city.

Time passed, though she couldn’t say how long. She crossed the city’s boundary, and at the edge of the distorted projection lay the vast wilderness beyond Cecil City—endless fields stretching out before her. There, she still saw countless shadow dwellers, with no visible source or end. They seemed to be converging from an even more distant place, endlessly marching on in a mysterious procession.

Amber suspected that even if she followed this army’s trail for an entire day, she wouldn’t find its origin. She even wondered if all the shadow dwellers in the shadow realm had gathered together, moving toward some unknown goal.

The scene resembled… a pilgrimage.

Finally, Amber shook her head and tore open a shadow rift, revealing the real world on the other side. Continuing the pursuit likely wouldn’t yield results; her priority was to return and report her findings.

She chose not to use the shadow realm’s “shortcut” back to Cecil Palace, fearing that opening a portal in front of the massive army might trigger unpredictable trouble. After all… she didn’t truly understand these silent, eerie “kin” of hers.

…

Gentle waves lapped against the black coastal rocks below. The sea foam shimmered white with each crash, then slowly sank, tinted orange by the setting sun. The steep cliffs rose sharply from the shore, weathered and worn by the relentless sea breeze, their surfaces mottled and peeling.

Yet atop these seemingly unstable cliffs stood rows of tightly packed houses and somber towers—architecture starkly different from that of the Lorren kingdoms. Their slender ridges, dark walls, and deliberately emphasized spires exuded an air of mystery.

A young woman with shoulder-length black hair and a faint scar beneath her cheek stood at the edge of this “cliffside city,” quietly gazing down at the crashing waves below, lost in thought. After a long while, she withdrew her gaze and looked toward the city’s streets.

As a seasoned intelligence agent, “Wasp” had operated under the guise of a foreign merchant in this violet-hued city called Prandel for a year and a half. Though she had yet to find a way inland, she had become familiar with the local customs and the city perched atop the cliffs. Yet recently, for some reason, the city had begun to feel strangely alien to her.

The city was still the same city; the buildings remained unchanged; the locals were as before. But all information related to “beyond the city,” especially about the inland regions, had subtly shifted over the past half month to a month. And the only one who seemed to notice this change was an outsider like her.

Wasp took a slow breath and turned toward the inner city. The somber, peculiar houses and towers basked in the twilight glow, their slender silhouettes reminding her of strange, flickering illusions glimpsed through cracks in fences or windows. For some reason, these once-familiar cityscapes now felt dreamlike and unreal.

A local passerby approached—someone she knew. Wasp smiled and greeted him calmly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Torig.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Flora—though it’s nearly evening now,” the man called Torig replied with a smile. “Were you out by the coast again?”

“The waves at dusk are beautiful, especially when viewed from beyond Prandel’s high walls,” Wasp said casually. “My hometown has no such view—it’s far from the sea, with only a river flowing past.”

“The Whitewater River, right?” Torig responded warmly. He seemed fond of “Miss Flora,” the alias Wasp used in the city. Chatting with her on the street was a rare pleasure for him. “Honestly, I’ve always longed to see the Lorren continent beyond the sea. I’ve lived here over twenty years but never seen foreign lands…”

“My hometown lacks the vast sea and cliff-lined coasts, but it has dense, endless forests and rolling mountains beyond the city,” Wasp said, a slight smile playing on her lips as she steered the conversation. “If you’re truly interested, why not apply to the lord for permission? Trade between Prandel and Northport has become routine, and more and more Prandel residents are becoming merchants traveling the straits. Since you often help out at the guild, Mr. Klein there could probably get you a recommendation.”

“Apply to the lord?” Torig paused, momentarily thrown off, but after a second or two, he recovered with a resigned smile. “I don’t think I’d pass the lord’s approval. He’s never been fond of ‘inner city folk’ like me becoming merchants. You know, the best path for us inner city people is to become mages or alchemists—that’s our bloodline’s duty. Me helping out at the guild already stirs discontent among my elders…”

Wasp studied Torig’s eyes quietly, then suddenly asked, “By the way, the lord hasn’t been seen for a long time, right? I think… it’s been almost a month?”

“Has it been that long?” Torig blinked, seemingly never having considered the question. But the next moment, his expression returned to normal, a faint smile on his lips. “That’s normal. The lord’s always been a recluse. A high-level mage like him focuses most of his energy on magical research.”

“That makes sense,” Wasp smiled, as if they’d just been chatting about trivial matters, smoothly changing the subject. “The weather’s getting colder. How’s your uncle? I remember you mentioned he gets stomach problems every winter. I’m about to bring in some herbs from Northport…”

“My uncle?” Torig blinked in confusion. Since earlier, he’d been slipping into this puzzled state, and now it was affecting his speech. His words slowed, as if rusty gears were grinding inside his mind. “My uncle… Miss Flora… I don’t quite understand what you mean…”

“Uncle Toller, you’ve forgotten?” Wasp asked naturally, watching his expression closely. “He lives in Palansanto, near the inland. You two often correspond. You’re close—I remember last winter he came all the way from Palansanto to see you. I met him then too…”

Torig looked at Wasp in bewilderment. He listened carefully to every word from this scarred yet captivating black-haired girl before him, but each word twisted into bizarre illusions in his mind, swirling and reforming into an incomprehensible language, gradually piling up and distorting within his thoughts…

But suddenly, the confusion on Torig’s face vanished. His body gave a barely perceptible shiver, as if his mind had rebooted. The corners of his mouth lifted into a natural, genuine smile as he said, “The lord has always been a recluse. High-level mages like him tend to focus most of their energy on magical research…”

Quefeng watched this young man, a native of Prandel, quietly, taking in his effortless smile.

She knew—this was truly a living, breathing person.

But not entirely.

“That makes sense,” the young black-haired girl chuckled, then waved goodbye. “It’s getting late. I have to get back to the shop for my shift. Goodbye, Mr. Torig—it’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Of course, Miss Flora, I… I’ve enjoyed it too,” Torig hurried to reply, his voice a little tense. As the black-haired girl turned to leave, he couldn’t help but add, “Um… would you like to have lunch together tomorrow? I’ve prepared some fine pine-patterned cheese—it’s made by the best cheesemakers in this city…”

“Sorry, I have plans tomorrow,” Quefeng shook her head apologetically. “But next time, if there’s a chance, I’ll come visit you.”

She waved and turned away, heading toward the sloping street that led into the inner district. The moment she turned, the faint smile on her face faded, replaced by a cautious, serious expression.

Prandel didn’t produce pine-patterned cheese. That was a specialty of the inland city of Palansanto.

The new setting had been altered—the “cut” between this city and the “Violet Inland” was becoming increasingly obvious…

Quefeng didn’t linger in the border area. She quickly passed through the streets and familiar shops of the boundary district, entering Prandel’s inner quarters before night fully fell.

The magical street lamps lining the roads gradually brightened, their soft glow pushing back the darkness. As she moved deeper into the city, the number of pedestrians increased. The bustling crowds dispelled the cold and loneliness that nightfall usually brought.

Quefeng slowed her pace, blending in like any ordinary citizen as she walked along the city’s wide, orderly streets. The people passing by wore clothing typical of the Violet Kingdom—dark-toned coats and cloaks that felt both dignified and subtly distant, much like the mysterious, secluded realm’s reputation among the other nations of Loren Continent. The wrought-iron, intricately carved magical lamps cast warm, pale yellow light, their shadows stretching and shrinking beneath the feet of passersby.

On either side of the street, the windows of the border shops were lit, and now and then a door would open, the clear chime of a brass bell ringing out.

It was the most ordinary nighttime city scene imaginable. Quefeng had been here for a year and a half, seen it countless times, and was thoroughly accustomed to it.

Yet, for some reason, an indescribable sense of dissonance kept rising from deep within her. Even as she took in this perfectly normal scene, she felt as if everything she saw was veiled behind a suspicious curtain—as if the entire city was “deceiving” her.

If the strange occurrences she’d uncovered here over the past months were conclusions drawn from piecing together clues and intelligence, then right now… it felt as though she was directly “touching” the city’s anomaly.

Or to put it another way: the anomaly had long since taken root, hidden away, quietly building until today—when it finally reached a critical point where it could no longer avoid clashing with reality.

(End of chapter)