Eerie, ethereal laughter echoed continuously from the mist, as if a frivolous woman was mocking those hapless souls floundering in the haze. The spectral figure that Gawain had split in half with a single sword stroke dissipated instantly, only to reassemble itself in another part of the mist a moment later.
This fog of vengeful spirits… it had sentience!
Realizing this, Hetty felt a slight cold sweat break out on her forehead.
Initially, the mist feigned mindlessness, lulling everyone into believing the situation wasn't as dire and allowing them to seek a way out. But over time, the fog would gradually drain each person's strength, weakening them so that, when they finally attempted an escape, they'd already be worn down, leaving them vulnerable to the wrath of the spirits lurking within.
Fortunately, due to a typical flaw in undead beings, the mist betrayed its own trap with the laughter it let slip. But even so, the situation remained grim.
Ordinary soldiers could hardly contend with such an uncanny enemy. They relied solely on their honed willpower to resist the malice and terror seeping from the fog. Betty, entirely without combat skills, was quickly shielded at the center of the formation.
Sir Byron's steel sword radiated searing heat, slicing through the encroaching cold and severing the spectral arms that stretched from the mist. With his protection, Hetty and Rebecca managed a relatively stable casting environment.
Hetty chanted incantations, using an array of low-level auxiliary spells to weaken the mist's power. Rebecca's approach, however, was much more straightforward. She wielded her staff, unleashing a continuous stream of fireballs.
The explosions from Rebecca's magic had limited effect. Fire could harm undead, but the mist of vengeful spirits was an unusual entity—expansive and diffuse, lacking a physical form to absorb the damage. Each fireball's explosion dissipated much of its power into the fog.
"Stop using fireballs!" Gawain noticed Rebecca's ineffective attacks and quickly called out. "Use wide-range spells—power isn't as important as range! Otherwise, the mist just disperses the attacks!"
Rebecca shouted back, "But I only know fireball!"
Gawain was taken aback. "What?!"
"Rebecca's only spell is fireball!" Hetty's voice was nearly frantic. "Five years of study, and that's all she's mastered!"
Flushed with embarrassment at her own magical shortcomings, Rebecca pooled her power, struggling to shape it into a spell. She finally managed to hurl an oversized fireball into the densest part of the mist.
No sudden breakthroughs or miraculous last-minute revelations occurred.
The oversized fireball caused a substantial explosion, thinning the mist slightly before it promptly closed in again. Worse still, Gawain heard a terrified, rage-filled scream from behind.
A family warrior's eyes were bloodshot—the negative force of the vengeful mist had shattered his soul. His skin shriveled like parched leather, and he began slashing wildly, seeing enemies all around him.
Two soldiers nearby quickly dodged his erratic swings and then pinned down the raving man.
The pinned soldier's flesh writhed as if trying to tear itself apart. He glared and screamed hoarsely, "Kill me! Kill me!"
Yet the other two soldiers, their eyes clouding with red, showed no response to their comrade's plea. They, too, were losing their minds.
Gawain, seeing the situation, plunged his sword into the ground and channeled the power within his body according to ancient memories. "Mind Shock!"
This rare mental attack—a surge of willpower meant to cow enemies and bolster allies—helped the soldiers shake off their fear. But the pinned man's soul was too far gone, and he soon lay lifeless on the ground.
Gawain scanned the battlefield and noticed that, rather than dissipating, the mist seemed to grow thicker under Hetty and Rebecca's attacks. Betty, who had been with the soldiers, was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Betty?!" Gawain's voice rang out in panic. "Betty!"
Amber leapt from a nearby shadow. "I saw the little girl wander into the mist—she looked like she was sleepwalking!"
"Damn… she's lost her mind…" Gawain's face fell. "Why is this mist acting so strangely?!"
Amber's face twisted with horror. "I don't know what's strange about it, but the situation's terrible!"
"The mist should have weakened by now," Gawain muttered, piecing together the ancient knowledge in his mind, even though the memories weren't his own. "With a focus of ordinary strength, it shouldn't sustain such powerful, sentient vengeful mist…"
Amber quickly grasped the implication. "You mean this mist isn't natural? There's some kind of artificial power source maintaining it?"
"Not necessarily artificial, but something is sustaining it." Gawain's gaze pierced into the mist as if he could see through its essence. "Whatever's holding it together should be nearby, but we can't sense it!"
"But Hetty already used detection magic…" Amber trailed off before her eyes widened. "Is it… on another 'layer'?"
Before he could reply, Amber suddenly jumped back, disappearing into thin air.
No, she hadn't vanished. Gawain noticed a strange shadow on the ground—a vague, humanoid silhouette resembling Amber. It flitted between surfaces like an afterimage, moving from the ground to the trees before it finally disappeared.
Amber was shadow-walking, straddling the edge of the material world in a way that left only her silhouette visible—a powerful and uncanny maneuver that stunned Gawain. Who was this half-elf thief, really?
Before he could ponder further, Amber reappeared, sprinting toward him and yanking his arm. Gawain staggered, passing through an icy, intangible barrier. When his vision refocused, the environment had changed.
The world around them was drained of color, leaving only black and white. Mist hovered over this realm, cool but lacking the life-sapping chill of the vengeful mist.
Surveying his surroundings, Gawain saw that the forest had vanished. The ground was covered in dried stumps matching the positions of the trees in the real world. Everyone, including Hetty, was nearby, standing frozen like statues.
Rebecca was closest, clutching her staff in a tense stance, her eyes lifeless. Her body appeared like coarse pottery, as if she were a gray, hollow statue. Wisps of dark mist rose from the ground and seeped into their forms, creating hairline cracks.
The sight unsettled Gawain, and he checked his own hands, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing they were still human.
As he moved toward Rebecca, intending to sever the ominous mist, Amber seized his arm. "Don't go near them. Outside interference could make things worse."
Gawain turned to Amber, only to see her transformed. Her hair was now long, floating weightlessly, and her once light-brown eyes glowed with a faint gold light. Dark, fiery mist gathered at her feet, pulsing between solid and dispersed states.
"What is this place?" Gawain asked.
"The Shadow Realm…" Amber replied, nodding toward Hetty and the others. "See for yourself…"
One soldier had already fallen, shattered into pale fragments like a broken porcelain doll. The others remained in place, just like Rebecca, their postures frozen and eyes empty. But beneath Betty's feet lay a trail of faintly glowing footprints, leading deeper into the mist…