Chapter 1474: “Experienced”
The eerie city shrouded in thick gray-white fog, the sloping streets dissolving into black flames carried by the wind, the couriers scattering like distorted shadows in the shockwave, the mushroom cloud rising slowly into the sky in the distance—and the mysterious old man who had somehow appeared at the end of the slope, looking at them with a puzzled expression.
Jabberwock swore she had never experienced anything so bizarre and surreal in her entire life.
The mushroom cloud began to dissipate, but the mysterious old man remained standing quietly in her and Night Owl’s line of sight. Without a doubt, the devastating attack just now had come from him. Yet, instead of fear or awe, Jabberwock felt something stranger—a strange mix of power, mystery, and quiet menace, but also an odd distraction: the man was wearing pajamas and a nightcap. And not just any pajamas—his were patterned with tiny little flowers.
Still, she was a trained MI6 agent, and quickly forced herself to calm down. After confirming no more couriers were nearby, she maintained a cautious stance and respectfully nodded toward the old man. “Thank you very much for your help—may I ask who you are?”
“I don’t know,” the old man replied before she finished speaking, his tone casual and without a hint of superiority. “I was just sleeping at home, and when I opened my eyes, I was here… Who are you?”
Jabberwock and Night Owl exchanged confused glances.
His answer was completely unexpected, throwing both MI6 agents off balance.
“…Just ordinary people caught up in some supernatural phenomenon,” Night Owl said with a helpless sigh after a brief awkward silence. “We don’t know what’s going on either. The city was suddenly engulfed in fog, and strange, dangerous enemies appeared within it. We were running a shop on the street, but now we’re just trying to escape this city.”
He spoke the truth without revealing any sensitive information. Although the old man had saved their lives, his identity was unknown, and they couldn’t risk exposing themselves.
The old man in pajamas didn’t seem to mind. He furrowed his brow and studied the fog-covered slope carefully, then casually traced a few runes in the air, as if casting some protective magic on himself. He shook his head thoughtfully. “This definitely isn’t a dream… Could I have been transported here by some strange force? But the atmosphere feels oddly familiar…”
Jabberwock and Night Owl exchanged a quick glance, hesitated for a moment, then cautiously approached the seemingly friendly old man. After all, he was far less threatening than those bizarre, dangerous couriers.
The old man barely reacted to their approach. He continued scanning the surroundings while layering dozens of instant magical effects on himself. Only after finishing did he turn his attention to the two young people curiously inspecting him and casually ask, “Where is this place? What are your names?”
“This is Prandell, a border city in Violet,” Jabberwock hesitated but decided to be honest. Despite the man’s odd appearance—especially the pajamas—she realized her survival might depend entirely on this mysterious, powerful stranger who had appeared in the fog. “My name is Flora. This is my friend and colleague, Grando.”
“Violet… you say this is Violet?!” The old man froze for a moment. Jabberwock thought he might know some secret about Violet, but instead, he immediately cast twelve layers of elemental resistance and arcane protection on himself. “…That’s a relief.”
“What are you doing?” Night Owl’s lip twitched. He’d encountered many supernatural beings in his life, but none quite like this eccentric old man.
“Better safe than sorry when you’re out and about. Caution is key—if you meet something you can’t beat, you run,” the old man said with a smile. Then, as if remembering something, he added, “Oh, by the way, you can call me Modir—Modir Wilde.”
Jabberwock nearly lost control of her expression and blurted out, “Modir Wilde?! You’re saying your name is Modir Wilde?! Wait—that means you’re the ancestor of the Grant Duchess Victoria…”
Shock washed over both her and Night Owl. The news of the “Wilde family ancestor’s return” hadn’t caused a nationwide sensation like the resurrection of Gawain Cecil, and the Empire hadn’t publicized it widely. But within official channels, especially MI6, the information was known. As low-level agents, they might never have seen a portrait of the legendary adventurer, but they certainly knew the name!
“That’s right—I’m your great-great-great… great-grandfather,” Modir Wilde said with a smile. The astonishment on the two young faces didn’t surprise him; he’d grown used to it over the past year. Since reconnecting with the Shadow Kingdom and reclaiming his family name, he’d been slowly adjusting to his identity as the Wilde ancestor. “Judging by your reactions… you’re from Cecil, aren’t you?”
Jabberwock: “…You figured that out?”
“Not hard to guess. Foreigners don’t usually react that strongly to my name, and people from Violet certainly don’t. Plus, your looks and accents are very Cecil.”
Both agents felt a bit awkward but also somewhat relieved to find this powerful mage was “one of us.” Jabberwock glanced around, checking the walls and pavement for any new markings left by the “shopkeeper,” but saw nothing. Night Owl then asked the old mage, “Lord Modir, you said you don’t know how you got here?”
“Yeah, I was just sleeping at home,” Modir shrugged. “Then I opened my eyes and saw this fog-covered place, and you two being chased by a bunch of weird shadows. I didn’t think twice before stepping in to help.”
He glanced down at his pajamas, finally seeming a bit self-conscious about his attire. His gaze drifted to the nearby houses still faintly glowing with eerie lights—those not yet cleared by the couriers. “I really should find someone to lend me some clothes…”
“Please don’t enter any of these buildings—the city’s current state is strange and dangerous,” Night Owl immediately warned. Though he wasn’t sure if the legendary adventurer could withstand the supernatural hazards, he had to say something. “Those shadowy figures you saw are ‘couriers.’ They erase buildings within the fog. The entire northern district and large parts of the surrounding streets have already been wiped out by their strange power. If you don’t mind, you can wear my coat… and shoes, too.”
Modir looked him over and waved his hand with a smile. “No, thanks. I don’t think it would suit me, but I appreciate the offer, young man. Right now, I want to know what’s really going on here. I’ve had my share of strange experiences, but this is a first—even for me.”
Night Owl was about to explain the situation when he noticed a thin mist swirling over the ground nearby. Suddenly, pale letters appeared on the stone pavement: “Leave here—they’re coming again!”
Modir’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Run!” Night Owl didn’t have time to explain further and urged them on. “Those monsters are regrouping—we’ll talk on the way!”
Before they could move, a chilling cold swept down the street from the inner city like an invisible, frigid wind. The thick fog on the slope shifted direction, flowing like liquid. In the next moment, Jabberwock saw the vanished buildings’ former sites, the dark crevices between houses, and the shadowy alleys beyond the streetlights all come alive with emerging shapes. One after another, shadows materialized.
In the blink of an eye, over a dozen tall, thin couriers appeared in the fog. Behind them loomed an even larger horde—figures wrapped in rune-covered bandages, filled with shifting black mist. There were easily over a hundred of these strange creatures. As soon as they appeared, they all fixed their “gaze” on the three unwelcome visitors on the slope and lunged forward without hesitation.
Yet the entire process was silent, like phantoms gliding through the air without stirring a breath of wind.
Night Owl and Jabberwock broke out in cold sweat. Just as they were about to turn and flee, they heard the legendary adventurer Modir shout in surprise, “What the hell?! Shadow Dwellers!?”
The next second, a piercing shriek of rapidly gathering energy filled the air, accompanied by a compressed, accelerated chant almost too fast for human ears to catch. Modir Wilde suddenly raised both hands, channeling an astonishing amount of magic in just two or three seconds. The energy coalesced into a massive, brilliant white orb larger than the one Jabberwock had seen earlier. Lightning crackled around it, runes spinning in a circle.
With a wave of his hands, the “arcane missile” shot like a cannonball through the fog on the slope, striking the couriers and shadow dwellers in the distance with devastating force. The mushroom cloud soared upward once more!
The sheer power of the attack made Night Owl and Jabberwock instinctively stop in their tracks. Suddenly, facing the old mage’s overwhelming strength, the bizarre crisis didn’t seem quite so dire. But just as they paused, they were stunned to see Modir turn and run, shouting over his shoulder, “What are you waiting for?! Run! You can’t kill these things by standing and fighting—even a legendary mage would get beaten to death!”
As if to prove his point, the familiar chill surged again. The mushroom cloud on the slope hadn’t yet faded when countless shadowy couriers and dwellers reappeared, this time in even greater numbers and at a faster pace.
The two MI6 agents had no choice but to turn and flee.
A legendary adventurer in pajamas and two dazed intelligence agents were now sprinting wildly up a fog-shrouded slope. Along the way, Modir still managed to hurl powerful spells like fireballs or flamestrikes behind him—though a person isn’t a magical weapon, and running makes it impossible to chant or channel properly. Even a legendary mage like him couldn’t instantly cast high-level spells like before. But even his ordinary fireballs and flamestrikes hit like tank shells, shaking the hillside with thunderous explosions. Countless shadow dwellers dissolved in the blasts—only to instantly reform and reappear.
Modir didn’t even glance back. He ran with practiced ease.
Night Owl clearly noticed this. As he dashed behind the old wizard, he instinctively asked, “Do you have experience fighting these shadow creatures?”
“I don’t remember!” Modir shouted while running, quickly casting a few instant protective spells on himself and the two agents. “But I think I’ve dealt with them before. This feeling is familiar, especially—”
He threw another volley of fireballs behind them, his running speed somehow edging past the two highly trained, swift agents. “Especially now! For some reason, this scene feels very familiar!!”
Wasp was pushing herself hard, eyes fixed on the old mage leading the way. A strange disbelief crept into her mind—she’d never seen a caster with such stamina and speed. In her experience, no matter how powerful a spellcaster was, their physical condition was usually lacking. Years of study and research left little time to train the body. Even those who used secret arts to strengthen themselves couldn’t run as smoothly and naturally as this legendary adventurer.
After all, physical enhancement was one thing, but experience running for your life was another. Without having been chased across wilderness and mountains, Wasp found it hard to imagine anyone running faster than her and Night Owl while casting spells—especially this old man, who wasn’t even wearing shoes!
Of course, she wasn’t counting the monks and nuns of the Holy Light Church among casters—she didn’t really consider them spellcasters. Who casts spells while swinging giant iron clubs and warhammers, chasing bears all over the hills? Lately, the bears around Cecil City had even started migrating south past the Dark Mountains…
These chaotic thoughts flashed through Wasp’s mind, but they didn’t slow her down one bit. Nor did they stop her and Night Owl from briefing the old man on the extraordinary phenomena unfolding in the Violet Kingdom as they ran.
From the clues they had, it was clear that this legendary adventurer, Modir, had mysteriously appeared in this strange city—undoubtedly drawn here by the same supernatural event.
Wasp and Night Owl were intelligence operatives, not experts in the arcane, but Modir Wilde was a powerful, learned mage—an expert in the supernatural!
More than that, this formidable old wizard seemed to have some kind of experience fighting these bizarre “shadow dwellers.” Or at least, experience running from them… but experience is experience, right?
(End of chapter)