Chapter 14: The Soul of the Wild Mage

A heavy silence blanketed the Shadow Realm, with an oppressive atmosphere pressing down on Gawain and his companions. The faint footprints left by Betty grew increasingly blurred in the mist, yet the path remained clear. They had no choice but to press forward, despite the looming sense of danger at every step.

"Stay close," Gawain commanded, his voice steady and resolute. "This place distorts reality. Trust nothing you see and remain alert at all times."

Amber nodded, her golden eyes flashing in the dim light. "If we're truly in the Shadow Realm, then some force here must be controlling Betty's mind."

Hetty cast a worried glance at their immobilized companions, whose surfaces were marred with spreading cracks. Concern flickered across her face. "The only way to protect her is to locate the source of power in this place. But in such a distorted realm, where do we even begin?"

Gawain wasn't certain how modern scholars viewed the Shadow Realm, but his inherited memories carried knowledge from over seven centuries ago, when the Gondor Empire had already begun exploring this obscure dimension. Back then, scholars devoted themselves to ancient texts and charts, analyzing crystalline grids buried in mana wells in an attempt to reveal the layered reality of the world. They eventually devised a model—a hierarchy of realms.

In this model, they proposed that the world was divided into several "realms." At the top was the Material Realm, the most stable and comprehensible layer, where everything followed fixed laws and could be directly observed and interacted with. Most sentient creatures resided here. Beneath it lay the Shadow Realm, an obscure reflection of the Material Realm. Humans couldn't access it directly but could perceive it through magic and spiritual techniques. Further down was the Spectral Realm, a distorted and intangible space mirroring the Shadow Realm, so elusive that even magic and spiritual powers barely touched its edges. A few fortunate mages managed to communicate with basic-intelligence shadow entities that hinted at this hidden layer.

Some radical scholars extended this model, theorizing that realms deeper than the Spectral Realm might exist—territories belonging to gods, where the primal foundations of creation lay. These were realms mortal minds could barely fathom.

In Gawain's understanding, this model resembled layers of translucent parchment, with the material world as the foremost image. Each successive layer grew fainter and more distorted, like a projection fading as it receded. He and Amber were now standing on the reverse side of that first sheet—the Shadow Realm.

Even being just one layer below the Material Realm placed them in a domain most mortals had never entered.

He wisely refrained from questioning Amber's ability to access the Shadow Realm—her own words suggested this was her first time venturing so "deep." Any further inquiry would likely yield few answers.

After assessing the situation, Gawain determined that following Betty's footprints was their best course of action.

Before leaving, however, he cast a glance back. Hetty, Rebecca, and the others remained in their "porcelain doll" state, frozen mid-motion in this shadowy reflection of the real world. In the Material Realm, they continued resisting the wraith mist's assault, but here, in the Shadow Realm's distorted image, they appeared immobilized, their figures held still while dark mist rose from the ground, gradually eroding them.

Fortunately, judging by the mist's slow rate of corrosion, they still had some time.

"Perhaps this is the true form of the wraith mist," Amber mused, following Gawain's gaze. She shook her head. "Imagine how much this discovery would fetch from the Arcane Guild or Astral Society?"

"They'd fill you with potions, strap a recording crystal to your head, and then cast a banishment spell to toss you into the Shadow Realm as a live experiment," Gawain replied, casting her a sidelong glance. "Let's move. We have more urgent matters."

Amber fell in behind Gawain, still muttering. "But you could represent us! After all, you're the founder of Ansu—they wouldn't dare drug the nation's ancestor, right?"

Gawain allowed himself a small, ironic smile. "Oh, they'd love nothing more than to display me on their walls, inscribe my story in books, place my portrait on altars, and have the king bring flowers once a year. That way, they could commemorate me without risk, while gaining reputation. But if I actually crawled out of the grave, those same people would nail me back in with two hundred stakes from every angle—maybe even pour in molten lead."

Amber's eyes widened in horror. "But why?!"

"Because," Gawain replied dryly, "there goes their annual three-day holiday."

He strode ahead, leaving Amber to process the irony for a moment before she called after him, "Hold on! You're mistaken! The holiday is for the founding king's remembrance, not your grave—since you died too early, you wouldn't know that…"

Gawain nearly stumbled at that.

Regardless, her ambitions tempered, Gawain couldn't help but feel a deep curiosity about this Shadow Realm and the mysteries of the world itself.

One day, he would uncover the truth.

The trail of footprints didn't extend far.

Perhaps due to the peculiarities of the Shadow Realm, familiar spatial judgments became unreliable. After following the tracks for a short distance, a decrepit cabin appeared before them.

The cabin was small and dilapidated, seemingly weathered by untold years. A sparse, broken fence surrounded it, offering no real protection. In one corner of the cabin, a faint touch of color caught Gawain's eye.

It was the green of moss—a lone patch of color standing out starkly in this monochromatic world, though even as they watched, it rapidly faded.

Betty's footprints led right to the cabin door.

Amber drew her dagger, holding it defensively. "Alright, you charge in like a god of war, and I'll cover you…"

Gawain resisted the urge to toss her inside as cannon fodder and instead placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, cautiously pushing open the faded, gray door.

No attack came.

Inside, the cabin was nothing more than an ordinary, rundown room—like a black-and-white photograph frozen in time.

Yet, someone was there.

A scruffy, middle-aged man in a ragged robe sat at the table, his haggard face so worn that his age was impossible to guess. Behind him stood two shelves cluttered with bottles and a worn alchemical setup.

The room was filled with tools for magic experiments, all piled among assorted, broken items. Any self-respecting mage would likely feel disheartened at such a sight.

The man looked up at Gawain with a stiff smile. "Ah, guests—it's been ages since I've had visitors in my lab. And two, no less?"

Amber peeked out from behind Gawain, her small face full of suspicion. "Um…no…attack?"

Gawain didn't draw his sword but kept a hand close to the hilt, ready to defend. "We're just passing through, looking for someone—a girl around fifteen or sixteen, carrying a frying pan…"

The man didn't seem to hear him, nodding slowly, his smile vacant. "Please, sit down. Annie is just finishing lunch. If you need a rest in these woods, you're welcome to stay and eat."

"Annie?" Gawain asked reflexively.

"Yes, my daughter," the man said with a fond smile. "She's a good girl."

At that moment, a familiar voice piped up. "Master?"

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

"Betty? Thank goodness you're alright," Gawain sighed in relief. "I'm here to take you back."

But Betty shook her head slightly, and the man turned to her with a warm smile. "Annie, is lunch ready?"

Betty nodded obediently. "Almost, father."

She disappeared back into the kitchen. Gawain and Amber exchanged glances, and seeing no reaction from the strange man, they cautiously followed her.

In the kitchen, Betty was cooking, using her beloved frying pan. Pale flames danced in the stove, sizzling sausages in the pan.

Amber's eyes widened. "You can… cook in the Shadow Realm?"

Gawain approached Betty, speaking softly. "What's going on here?"

From her expression, it was clear Betty was fully aware of herself and not under any spell, yet she willingly stayed and addressed the strange man as "father"—an odd turn indeed.

"I'm not really sure," Betty admitted, her usual puzzled look returning. "But he seems to think I'm his daughter…"

Amber looked incredulous. "So you just… play along?"

Betty shook her head. "He seems so lonely… I thought I'd cook him a meal before leaving."

Gawain and Amber exchanged looks, speechless.

Betty then reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn notebook, handing it to Gawain. "Here, Master. The man gave me this. There are a lot of things in it I don't understand, but you probably can."

Curious, Gawain accepted the notebook and flipped through its final pages.

Amber leaned over, eyes wide. "What is it? Magic formulas? Rune sequences?"

After a moment, she was thoroughly lost, her eyes glazing over with confusion. "So… that old guy was a mage?"

Gawain rolled up the notebook and tapped it lightly against Amber's head. "Strictly speaking, he's a *wild* mage. Didn't you realize that the moment you saw all those magic tools scattered around?"