Chapter 15: Vanished Without a Trace

In the shadow realm woven from black and white, Gawain, Amber, Betty, and an unnamed wild mage sat together inside a humble wooden cabin. Before them lay a simple lunch Betty had just prepared—plain slices of bread, fried sausages, and some vegetable soup.

Everything was devoid of color, like an old black-and-white photograph.

Gawain showed no intention of touching the food before him. Although cooking was possible in the shadow realm, he wasn’t willing to risk eating something from this place—after all, he was a living human (probably), and he had no idea what effect consuming shadow-realm food might have.

Amber and Betty beside him also refrained from picking up their forks and knives.

Across the table, the wild mage didn’t urge them to eat. He quietly ate his own meal, his demeanor calm and reserved.

An odd, unspoken understanding hung in the air.

Gawain was the first to break the silence. “How long have you been here?”

“A long time,” the wild mage replied politely, setting down his cutlery. “Since the second year after I left the Arcane Council.”

“You used to be a member of the Arcane Council?” Gawain asked, surprised. “I thought you were always just a wild mage.”

“I was a level-two member,” the wild mage said quietly. “By the Council’s standards, I was a poor spellcaster—I excelled at calculation and reasoning but lacked the ability to translate that into spell models. In other words, my magic never advanced beyond the novice level. Such mages are unwelcome in the Council.”

“So they kicked you out?” Amber found it hard to believe. She knew that even a mediocre mage was valuable—‘mediocre’ only meant that to the Council’s masters. To ordinary people, even a mage who could only cast a small fireball was a big deal. Even if low-level casters were overlooked in the Council, they wouldn’t be outright expelled.

“I left on my own,” the wild mage shook his head and looked toward Betty. “For my daughter’s sake. To cure her, I had no choice but to leave.”

Betty stared at him blankly, then nodded vaguely.

Gawain didn’t press further. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the wild mage’s eyes, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. Slowly, he said, “You know why we’re here—we don’t have much time to waste.”

The wild mage’s stiff, dull expression finally shifted slightly. His body trembled, and he lowered his head. “…Guest, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

Betty looked nervously at Gawain. “Master?”

Gawain frowned, then after a moment, removed his hand from the hilt of the Pathfinder sword and exhaled slowly. “Then we wait a little longer.”

The wild mage bowed his head and continued eating quietly and silently. The only extra movement he made was occasionally glancing sideways at Betty.

Food had to be finished eventually, and Gawain couldn’t wait forever.

The wild mage swallowed the last bite of sausage, then carefully wiped the soup bowl clean with a piece of bread. After finishing, he looked up toward Betty—but his eyes weren’t really focused on her; they were fixed on something farther away. His body swayed as if trying to stand, but despite several attempts, he failed.

In the end, it was Betty who helped him up.

“Dad, I’m leaving now,” the little girl said, steadying the wild mage’s arm. Once he was stable, she let go and took small steps over to Gawain. “Miss Rebecca and Lady Hetty are still waiting—and the master is here too.”

The wild mage’s lips moved, and he gave a faint nod. His expression had calmed, and he carefully gave his instructions: “Don’t eat food from strangers. Go to bed on time. Listen to your teacher. Don’t fight with other children.”

The rational light was fading from the poor man’s eyes. Gawain knew everything he said now was just delirium.

Though, to be fair, he hadn’t been fully lucid for most of the time.

The wild mage’s figure gradually grew faint, but within that dimming silhouette, a flame suddenly ignited. Gawain had been waiting for this moment. He swiftly drew the Pathfinder sword, its blade shimmering with a faint glow.

Amber quickly pulled Betty into her arms and covered the girl’s eyes just in time.

Gawain plunged the sword into the fiery core burning in the wild mage’s chest. The flame flared violently. The wild mage, who had already begun transforming into a malevolent spirit, abruptly stopped the change. His ethereal form solidified once more, then the raging fire consumed him, reducing him to a grotesque, charred corpse.

The blaze burned for a full thirty seconds before the body turned to ash and scattered to the wind.

Crackling sounds echoed from all directions as the cabin, now ownerless, rapidly crumbled. Countless cracks spread across the walls and roof in the blink of an eye. Pale light from the outside world filtered through the fissures.

Gawain grabbed Amber and Betty, sprinting out just as the cabin collapsed completely behind them.

The burning cabin flared up briefly, as if it were a paper house set aflame rather than a wooden one.

As the cabin turned to ashes and the embers drifted away on the breeze, Amber suddenly grabbed Gawain’s arm, pointing excitedly at the cabin’s foundation. “Hey, look at that!”

Gawain focused his gaze and saw beneath the ashes a network of glowing lines brightening. The light pierced through the drifting dust, gradually forming a complex, massive structure—it was unmistakably a large magic array.

“This was probably the wild mage’s greatest achievement in life,” Gawain nodded slightly. “And likely the flaw in this array is what led to his downfall.”

As he spoke, Betty’s form began to dissolve into drifting points of light. They circled twice in place before swiftly flying off in the direction Gawain and Amber had come from.

Amber looked down at her own hands. Where they had once been pale and ashen, color was returning, blood flowing anew. As the hues returned to her and Gawain, the shadow realm’s rejection of them grew stronger.

From the thin mist around them, vague shapes began to coalesce—formless but clearly hostile. The native denizens of the shadow realm had finally caught the scent of intruders. Some of the shallowest entities emerged, gathering like hyenas drawn to the smell of blood.

“We have to get out of here!” Amber said urgently to Gawain. “This place is starting to turn against us!”

Gawain cast one last, deep glance at the ruins of the cabin, committing the glowing lines and symbols to memory. Then he grabbed Amber’s arm. “Let’s go!”

After a brief dizziness, the sights of the real world reappeared before him.

The vengeful mist had vanished, and the dense forest returned to its original state. Rebecca and Hetty, both exhausted, leaned against a tree, supporting each other. Sir Byron stood nearby, barely steady on his feet, his longsword propping him up as he guarded the two ladies. The two surviving soldiers lay collapsed on the ground.

Betty seemed to be in the best condition of them all—she stood dazed beside Rebecca, clutching a frying pan as if her vacant expression had become permanent.

Hetty immediately rose when she saw Gawain. “Ancestor—thank goodness you’re safe!”

Then she noticed Amber trailing behind him, and her expression shifted subtly. “So the thief didn’t run away after all?”

“Hey! What’s with the double standard?” Amber jumped up like a cat with its tail stepped on. “I risked my life with your ancestor in the shadow realm to save you all! And you call me a thief? You big-breasted, brainless old woman…”

Hetty was stunned that this ‘thief’ dared to insult her so openly. Her face darkened. “Silence! Such disrespect is outrageous! Do you even understand what it means to offend nobility…”

Gawain quickly stepped between them to defuse the tension. “Enough, enough. Amber’s not lying—we did face the crisis together. Though, yes, her comment about your… attributes was uncalled for.”

A brief silence fell. Rebecca cautiously raised her hand. “Ancestor, Amber only said that one compliment, and you just dismissed it…”

Hetty looked utterly defeated.

Gawain: “…”

Fortunately, Hetty was reasonable and didn’t dwell on the minor spat. Once Gawain explained what had happened, all misunderstandings faded away.

Everyone was amazed by what Gawain and Amber had witnessed in the shadow realm—even Sir Byron, who knew nothing of magic, couldn’t help but lean in to listen.

This was an experience beyond ordinary imagination.

“You actually entered the shadow realm?” Hetty’s first concern was Amber’s unique ability. She scrutinized the half-elf woman several times, as if trying to read the answer from her face. “Only a few high-level shadow mages or the ‘Chosen’ of the shadow gods can do that. How did you manage it?”

Amber turned her face away. “I’m the Chosen of the Night Goddess, okay?”

Hetty glared. “Don’t joke. A Chosen would never be knocked down by Byron with an ordinary steel sword.”

“Forget it, no more questions,” Gawain cut in, stopping Hetty’s probing. “I promised her I wouldn’t press. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

The elder’s word was law, and Hetty had no choice but to drop it.

“Let’s bury the dead first,” Gawain said. With the mist gone and warmth returning, everyone had regained some strength. He approached the soldier who had died from a shattered soul. “He fought bravely and deserves a warrior’s burial.”

The two surviving soldiers looked at Gawain in surprise.

“Did I say something wrong?” Gawain asked.

“He was a serf’s son,” Sir Byron explained as he approached. “By the Viscount’s decree, serfs’ children could join the domain’s army to redeem their freedom through service. But he’d only served six months, so he was still legally a serf. People of that status can’t be buried as warriors.”

Gawain frowned and looked at Rebecca. “Is that true?”

Rebecca immediately looked nervous, as if she’d done something wrong. “Yes… I’m sorry! But I think the serf system is really… unfair. That’s why I allowed them to redeem themselves through service. I know it’s not proper, but…”

Gawain’s frown softened. “No, I’m not blaming you.”

He bent down, searching his pocket for a coin. Then he placed it carefully inside the dead soldier’s chest pocket, right over his heart.

That coin had been placed by King Charles I himself seven hundred years ago when Gawain Cecil was laid to rest.

The moment Amber saw the coin, she immediately recognized it. She covered her eyes and gasped, “Oh my god… that’s worth at least half an estate…”

But Gawain himself was completely unaware of its significance. He simply followed the rules as he remembered them, finished the task, then stood up, clapping his hands. “Someone has come to redeem his soul’s debt. Bury him.”

Byron hesitated slightly. “But the rules say—”

Gawain shot him a look. “I am the rules.”

(End of chapter)