Chapter 383: The Shadow Signet Ring
The crystal window shattered with a sharp crash as Francis II burst through it, landing on a soft carpet.
A carpet?
The old king’s instincts screamed that something was wrong. With surprising agility—almost forgetting his frailty and age—he rolled to his feet in an instant. His eyes quickly scanned the surroundings: the familiar lounge, the gold-and-crimson patterned carpet, the couch. Not far off stood a fully regenerated monster, poised like a predator. Its grotesquely twisted human form still bore the tattered remnants of a courtier’s uniform. And the window that should have been broken? Completely intact.
Hallucination? Mental suggestion? When did this happen?
Alarm bells rang in Francis II’s mind, but despair did not take hold. He knew that as long as he could recognize the deception, his mind was still his own. As long as he could think clearly, the situation was not yet out of control.
Swiftly, the old king traced several runes in the air before him, weaving protective spells one after another around himself. At the same time, he rotated the strange ring on his left hand—the one etched with swirling black mist symbols. Meanwhile, the regenerated flesh monster let out a roar and lunged forward.
It tackled Francis II, knocking the aged king to the ground. Then, with its terrifying, twisted maw of rotting flesh, it savagely tore into its prey. Thick clouds of shadowy smoke billowed from the king’s body, enveloping the monster in a swirling shroud.
Suddenly, a shadowy mist materialized in another corner of the room. From within it, Francis II’s own shadowy form took shape. The old king raised his left hand, the strange ring glowing faintly with a hazy light. A strange voice, layered with multiple tones, echoed from his lips: “Born of the shadow realm, dwellers who crawl within the darkness, descendants of the covenant, I call upon your aid!”
At the Rebellion Fortress, in the Shadow Experiment Grounds, Amber and Solderin arrived at a clearing in the center of the cavern, curiously examining the area.
The clearing was elevated above the surrounding terrain, spared from flooding. The dry ground bore clear signs of having once held numerous devices—remnants of grooves from dismantled equipment and undisturbed magical conduits lined the edges. But these weren’t what intrigued Amber and Solderin the most.
Their attention was drawn to a circular pit about ten meters in diameter at the center.
The pit resembled a series of descending steps, sinking roughly a meter below the platform. Each “step” was etched with intricate magical runes and embedded with dimmed mana crystals. At the very bottom lay a shattered ancient metal device—the core component, clearly ravaged by a millennium of decay in the cavern’s harsh environment, now unrecognizable.
“Looks like some kind of spatial gate,” Solderin said, drawing on his knowledge of ancient Gondor technology. “But I’ve never seen a spatial gate lying flat on the ground, let alone embedded underground…”
“I’ve never seen one either,” Amber murmured, peering down. “But I think there’s gold in that pile of metal down there…”
Solderin glanced at Amber silently, then looked around. “By the way, where’s Miss Tyr?”
“She said this place is comfy and went off to find somewhere to sleep,” Amber waved dismissively. “Probably soaking in some pool right now. No need to worry—she’ll float back up when she’s had enough.”
Amber frowned slightly, eyes fixed on the broken metal device below. “Ranger, stay here. I’m going to check out the Shadow Realm.”
Solderin’s expression turned serious. “Did you find something?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll tell you when I get back.”
With that, Amber’s figure dissolved into a swirling black mist, drifting away on the air.
Solderin stared, stunned by how effortlessly Amber slipped into the Shadow Realm. “Isn’t this half-elf usually a scaredy-cat?”
Amber couldn’t hear Solderin’s words as she descended rapidly through the veil between worlds. In a brief moment, she stood firmly on the Shadow Realm’s ground.
Her hair had grown long and black, dancing in the windless air. Her lower body was shrouded in a hazy cloud of shadows. In her shadow fairy form, Amber opened her eyes and curiously surveyed the scene.
The cavern had transformed into stark black and white, illuminated by an invisible light that revealed every detail. Before her, where the circular pit should have been, churned a swirling mass of black clouds.
Just as she sensed in the “real world,” a door had indeed opened—only this one was in the Shadow Realm.
Amber studied the rotating black cloud, her hand instinctively pressing against her chest. “Strange… that inexplicable sense of familiarity is gone… I could’ve sworn it was right here just moments ago…”
Her muttering was cut off by a trembling, ancient voice emerging from the mist: “…dwellers who crawl within the shadows… the descendants need your aid…”
Amber’s eyes widened. That familiar feeling—the one that made her defy her own timidity—returned from the mist. But as she stepped forward, numerous other presences suddenly appeared in the Shadow Realm, forcing her to halt.
She took a few hurried steps back. From all directions, vague, shadowy figures emerged—tall and slender, clad in robes covered with strange symbols. Their vaguely human forms seemed made of swirling smoke, the patterns on their garments shifting endlessly in eerie, formless waves.
These were the Shadow Realm’s natives—ever-present yet elusive. They could appear anywhere in the Shadow Realm, but few shadow masters had ever seen them firsthand. Even Amber had only limited contact with these beings.
The shadow natives emerged from hidden phase spaces, rushing toward the door and the swirling black smoke. Many passed close to Amber, occasionally glancing at her with curiosity—her hybrid form, part shadow creature, part corporeal being, was unusual to them. Yet none stopped to speak.
“Hey!” Amber finally couldn’t hold back. She grabbed one and asked, “Where are you all going?!”
Dealing with the shadow natives was dangerous. These powerful, enigmatic beings wielded knowledge and power beyond human comprehension. They could tear apart uninvited visitors to the Shadow Realm—even high-level or legendary mortals—with ease. But Amber knew they wouldn’t attack her.
Still, this “friendship” only meant they wouldn’t harm her. Past encounters showed the shadow natives struggled to understand the real world’s inhabitants. Their responses were fragmented and cryptic, making communication difficult.
As expected, the native replied with broken, disjointed words: “…respond…bring back…not yet time…”
The figure suddenly dissolved, slipping free from Amber’s grasp.
Amber watched silently as the shadow natives vanished into the black mist. Almost instinctively, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a treasured item.
It was a strange ring—an unadorned, pale gray metal band, plain and unremarkable. But on its face swirled a black rotating pattern, identical to the vortex of shadow smoke before her.
“Dad… Mom… is that you on the other side?”
The shadow natives around the “gate” had all disappeared into the mist, but the swirling black cloud showed no sign of stillness. Amber hesitated for a long moment, then cloaked herself in a veil of shadow mist and stepped forward.
Francis II trembled as he lowered his left hand, the one wearing the ring. Forcing the shadow signet ring to activate despite his incompatible bloodline sent sharp pains through his nerves—but the cost was worth it.
At the center of the room, where the monster had pinned his shadow form, a massive rift tore open in space. Dozens of strange, terrifying shadow creatures poured out. They were immensely powerful—without casting a single spell, they effortlessly shredded the nearly immortal flesh monster.
Before the shadow creatures could attack him, Francis II decisively reversed the summoning incantation, banishing the dark beings back to their realm.
Though the spatial rift still hovered in the room, Francis II allowed himself a slight breath of relief. He approached the fallen monster, hoping to find clues among the shredded flesh to identify who wanted him dead.
But just as he bent down to inspect, a sudden, violent pounding echoed from the door.
The old king spun around, every nerve taut, eyes fixed on the entrance.
The pounding continued, interspersed with sharp, piercing sounds of magical seals breaking. Francis II felt the protective barrier around the room vanish. The door burst open, and Master Duke, clad in a starry robe and drenched in sweat, rushed inside.
“Your Majesty! Are you alright?!” The legendary mage shouted as he entered, immediately spotting the monster at Francis II’s feet and the dark rift still hanging in the air. “By the Goddess of Magic! I was trapped in a magical snare for over ten minutes! I thought all was lost!”
“Master Duke,” Francis II said cautiously, his eyes never leaving the mage who had loyally served the royal family for decades, his left hand still stroking the ring, “you were caught in a trap?”
“Yes,” the old wizard said, a look of shame on his face. “I was careless. The moment I stepped outside, I was trapped in some kind of mirror dimension. If Prince Edmund hadn’t sensed something was wrong and broken the seal from the outside, I don’t know how long I would have been wandering among those reflections…”
“Edmund?”
“I’m here.” Prince Edmund’s voice came from outside the door. The next moment, the young prince, fully armored, appeared before Francis II. The old king noticed a sheen of sweat on the prince’s forehead and fresh wounds on his hands—likely from forcibly breaking the seal.
“Father, I’m so relieved you’re safe… I was almost about to order the wall blown open.”
Francis II finally allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “Thank goodness I had the Shadow Signet Ring with me.”
“You should always wear it,” the young prince smiled, walking alongside the wizard Duke toward the king. “Otherwise, how would Mr. Clement test the new pet he created?”
Francis II blinked in surprise. “Mr. Clement?”
The “legendary wizard Duke” stepped forward. Without a sound, a corrosive beam leapt from his fingertips, piercing straight through Francis II’s chest.
“My true name, Your Majesty,” he said.
(End of chapter)