Ruins and a Shadow in the Mist

The southern part of the empire, a hilly area.

Lupa walked ahead.

Lupa carried a Flame Banner Spear and walked in front. Her high, peach-pink twin ponytails swayed gently behind her head, and her deep red cloak billowed slightly with each step.

Linié followed half a step behind her.

A pink-haired girl was taking small bites of a rosy apple, the soft crunching sound particularly clear on the quiet official road. She walked with a somewhat languid gait, her purple eyes half-closed, her gaze sweeping over the roadside bushes and the rolling green hills in the distance.

Hmm.

Linié swallowed the fruit in her mouth, uttering a muffled syllable.

Lupa turned her head.

"What's wrong?"

"There."

Linié raised her hand that wasn't holding the apple, pointing her index finger straight to the right of the official road. About a hundred meters away, on a sparsely vegetated gentle slope, a large area of gray-white man-made structures stood out abruptly from the greenery.

It was the outline of a huge and well-ordered stone foundation, which, even after being eroded by the long years, still revealed that it had once been the foundation of some magnificent building. Several sections of the remaining wall stood stubbornly, the highest of which was still three or four meters high, and the walls were covered with dark green vines, with the faintly visible relief patterns below. Most of the area was a pile of collapsed rubble, with wildflowers blooming sporadically in the cracks.

A ruin.

"Oh?"

Lupa stopped, put her hand to her forehead, and squinted at the scene.

"Ruins. Judging from the style... it looks like something from the early to mid-period of the Unified Empire, something over a thousand years old."

Linié took another bite of the apple, chewing as she mumbled a question:

What is it?

"Uncertain."

Lupa strode off the main road and headed towards the gentle slope. Her boots rustled as they stepped over the ankle-high grass.

"But given its size, it's probably more like Arena."

"Arena?"

Linié followed, tilting her little pink head.

"Hmm. During the Unified Empire period, some places would build these large arenas. The figures inside were called gladiators? It was a characteristic profession of that era."

As Lupa spoke, she reached the edge of the stone base. She lifted her foot, her boot landing firmly on the bottom, broken yet wide stone step. The surface of the stone step had been smoothed by wind and rain, and cracks appeared at the edges, from which a few clumps of pale yellow wild chrysanthemums peeked out.

She walked up the stone steps.

Linié followed behind, quickly finishing the apple until only a bare core remained. Looking around but finding no suitable place to discard it, she casually tucked the core into the small pocket at her waist, then stuck out her little tongue and carefully licked the sweet juice that clung to her fingertips.

Upon reaching the top of the gentle slope, the view opened up somewhat.

The entire ruins are now in sight.

It was indeed the ruins of an oval-shaped Arena, like a silent giant bowl on the earth. At its center was a sunken, vast sand field paved with broken stone slabs, about half the size of a standard training ground. Around it were tiered spectator seating steps—now only the incomplete stone framework remains, along with a few stubbornly standing, thick stone pillars whose tops have long since broken, like the remaining ribs of a giant beast, silently piercing the sky.

The wind swept through the center of the open space, stirring up fine dust and whistling softly, bringing a heavy silence steeped in time.

Lupa stood on the highest step of the stands, arms crossed, her gaze calmly sweeping over the sunken sand field below. The wind ruffled her peach-pink hair and crimson cloak.

"Gladiator..."

She repeated the word softly, then, as if suddenly remembering something, the corners of her mouth curved upwards in a subtle, slightly wild and unrestrained arc.

"You do resemble me somewhat."

Before she could finish speaking, her wrist, gripping the middle of the spear, suddenly jerked—

The spear drew a clean, crisp arc in the air, its tip pointing sharply towards the ground. She lowered her body, leaning forward, and assumed a standard thrusting stance.

"Would those gladiators be like me—"

She deliberately lowered her voice, making it sound somewhat theatrical and fierce.

" --Imitation the sound of a wolf to intimidate the enemy?"

She took a deep breath, her chest rising slightly.

"Awoo--!"

A clear and penetrating wolf howl suddenly burst forth, resounding through the empty ruins, crashing against the remaining stone walls, stirring up brief and indistinct echoes, which were then swallowed up by an even greater silence.

Lupa laughed first. She lowered her stance, propped her spear on the ground, and turned to look at Linié, her heterochromatic eyes gleaming with a mischievous gleam.

"How is it? Does it look like it?"

Linié stood beside her, her pale purple eyes blinking. She looked at Lupa's expression, blinked slowly, then very cooperatively shrank back, raised one small hand to her mouth, and covered her flat chest with the other, putting on a "I'm so scared" expression, and said softly in that characteristic, monotone, monotone tone:

"Ahhh~ Linié is so scared, Linié is going to be carried away and eaten by the little gray wolf~"

"Ha ha!"

Lupa laughed. She took a few steps forward, leaned her spear against the ground beside her, reached out, and scooped up Linié in her arms—in a face-to-face, cuddling-like position. Linié naturally wrapped her arms around Lupa's neck, her pink little head nestled in the crook of Lupa's shoulder.

"It wouldn't be to the point of eating it."

Lupa said, her voice still carrying a lingering smile.

"But since we're already here—why not go in and take a look?"

Linié nodded in her arms, her hair brushing against Lupa's neck.

"Good."

To descend from the high stands to the Arena's sand pit, one must traverse a partially collapsed sloping passage.

The light in the passage suddenly dimmed, with only a few rays of sunlight filtering through cracks and holes overhead, barely illuminating the ground. Most of the stone slabs on the ground were broken and uneven, with old soil accumulating in the gaps, where some shade-loving ferns grew. The air was filled with a damp, earthy smell, a faint scent of stone dust, and a cool, silent stillness unique to places untouched for a long time.

Lupa put Linié down and took her hand instead. He gripped the spear again with his other hand, but his posture remained relaxed, though his gaze lingered for a moment longer in the shadows on either side of the passage.

"A place like this might have Mimic."

"If Lady Frieren were here, she would definitely think it was a treasure chest."

"Then he excitedly pounced on it, only to be bitten."

Lupa's lips curled into a slight smile.

Then came the response, "It's so dark! It's so scary! Help me!"

They both uttered the second half of the sentence almost simultaneously, then looked at each other and chuckled softly.

The laughter echoed briefly in the narrow, dimly lit passage, sounding exceptionally clear, and then dissipated just as quickly into the silence.

The passage wasn't long; after about twenty meters, a bright exit appeared ahead.

Lupa stepped out of the passage first.

The Arena appeared even more spacious, desolate, and oppressive than when viewed from above. Wild grass grew even more rampant in the cracks between the broken stone slabs, with some areas even sprouting knee-high shrubs. The towering, crumbling walls around the arena cast large, sharply edged shadows, dividing the entire arena into blocks of light and shadow, and cool and warm tones.

The wind, now free of obstruction, swirls across the battlefield, whipping up fine dust and emitting a low whistling sound, mingled with the faint sobbing of the pine trees on the distant hills.

Lupa stopped in her tracks.

Linié followed behind her and stopped as well.

In the center of the venue—the most open spot where the afternoon sun poured down without any obstruction—stood a person.

Short and thin, he looked like a teenager. His back was to the exit of the passage, his head bowed, seemingly intently watching something at his feet. His dark, simple clothes stood out somewhat incongruously against the backdrop of the ruins, which resembled the style of the Unified Empire.

He was eating something in his hand.

A faint, continuous chewing sound drifted on the wind. It was very soft, but in the silence, it was so clear it sent chills down your spine. The sound didn't seem like eating ordinary food; it sounded more like something sticky being ground and torn by teeth.

Lupa's brow furrowed slightly.

She didn't speak immediately, nor did she make any obvious defensive gestures; only the fingers gripping the spear tightened silently. Her gaze calmly fell on the figure's back, quickly scanning the person's physique, clothing, posture, and the surrounding ground.

There was no magical fluctuation.

At least, there were no obvious, outward-radiating magical fluctuations.

But a certain instinctive alertness, like a tiny electric current, crept up the spine.

Linié stood slightly behind her, her pale purple eyes also fixed on the figure. Her face was expressionless; she simply watched quietly, as if observing a still life painting with strange brushstrokes that had suddenly appeared in a landscape.

A few seconds of silence.

There was only the sound of the wind and the continuous, subtle chewing sound.

Then, the figure seemed to have finally finished what he was eating. He raised his hand and casually, even somewhat roughly, wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then, he turned around.

A boy's face. Short green hair, dark skin, and dark red pupils devoid of any emotion. No surprise, no wariness, no curiosity, not even the most basic reaction one should have when "seeing a stranger." Just an empty, bottomless dark red, like two pools of congealed blood.

He looked at Lupa and Linié for two seconds.

Then he spoke.

The voice was that of a young man, clear and bright, but the tone was flat and flat, without any inflection, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

"Disgusting."

He said.

Lupa didn't reply.

Linié blinked.

The boy lowered his head, looked at his empty hands, and then raised his eyes again.

"The taste of memories should be even better."

He seemed to be talking to himself, or perhaps explaining something to someone.

"But the 'food' of this era is getting worse and worse. There's too much noise, too little emotion, and it tastes like eating porridge mixed with sand."

His dark red eyes turned to Lupa, then to Linié.

And you?

He asked, and finally a hint of "interest" flickered in his voice.

"Gluttony! Gluttony! Gluttony! Gluttony! Your 'names'...!"

At the same moment, in the Imperial Capital command post.

Weige stood in front of the long table.

He wore the standard uniform of the Magical Special Forces —a dark gray stand-up collar jacket with silver embroidered badges on the epaulets and cuffs. His face bore the dust and weariness of a long journey, but his posture remained upright, like a taut bowstring.

"Kanon, the front lines are in dire need of help."

Behind the long table, Kanon looked up from the map.

"The National Day holiday is already over. According to the plan, the main force of the Magical Special Forces should have been recalled to the front lines. Emergency?"

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table with his fingers interlaced.

"Who is our opponent? Is it a large-scale invasion by the Demons race? Or...?"

Weige shook his head.

"No. It's not Demons, nor is it a human army. It's... a gigantic magical beast I've never seen before."

Kanon frowned.

"Monsters? Large monsters do occasionally roam the northern ice plains, but the garrison is more than capable of handling them. Why the 'emergency'?"

"Because it... is completely different." Weige took a deep breath, as if he needed to suppress the lingering fear in his voice. He took out a recording magic crystal, its edge still warm from his body, from the inner pocket of his robes, carefully placed it on the clean table, and then infused it with a wisp of magic.

The inside of the crystal lit up, projecting a slightly shimmering but clearly clear image of light.

The screen displays a view recorded from a watchtower at a frontline outpost.

Beneath a heavy, leaden sky that seemed to press down on the snow-capped peaks, a massive, breathtaking white shadow was slowly "swimming" across the low sky.

It possesses a sleek, whale-like silhouette, its entire body covered in a white skin that appears soft yet displays astonishing resilience during attacks. Its length is definitely over five hundred meters, perhaps even more. It has no wings or fin-like structures, but its movements are eerie and elegant, truly like a giant whale gliding through the water, carrying a tranquility and oppression that defies the laws of nature.

Even more unsettling is the grayish-white mist that naturally permeates its body. This mist, like a living thing, constantly seeps out and surges from countless tiny pores on its surface, trailing and enveloping the vast forests and snowfields below as its massive body moves.

The image shook a few times, and the camera zoomed in.

At the edge of the fog-shrouded area, several members of the Magical Special Forces were taking turns providing cover as they retreated. Their movements remained swift and disciplined, but everyone was injured—some had arms bent backward unnaturally, some had scorch marks on their faces from magical burns, and some had their uniforms torn open by invisible blades, revealing ominous bluish-purple flesh beneath.

As one of the team members dodged to the side, his movement was a fraction too slow, and a wisp of drifting grayish-white mist quietly brushed against his right forearm, which was holding a cane.

The next moment, his entire forearm, along with the magic staff in his hand, vanished without a sound.

It wasn't severed, nor pulverized. It was as if it had been cleanly "swallowed" from the level of "existence" by an invisible, greedy mouth. The cut was as smooth as a mirror, without any gushing blood or even the sound of bones shattering. The team member was stunned for a moment before looking at his empty sleeve, now only a neatly cut surface, with a sense of bewilderment and sudden, overwhelming terror.

The video then shook violently at this point, before abruptly stopping.

The magic crystal exhausted its last bit of energy, the light curtain went out, and the room returned to its original brightness.

Kanon stared at the spot where the crystal had gone out, remaining silent for nearly ten seconds.

"... What is that?"

He finally spoke, his voice much lower than before.

"Have no idea."

Weige shook his head, his expression grave.

"The special forces members stationed there tried various conventional magical attacks and physical interceptions, but could hardly inflict any effective damage. Its mist seems to be of two types: one obscures vision and can be dispelled by magic, but it regenerates and replenishes itself at an extremely rapid rate. The other... is what you just saw, it 'disappears' upon contact. People, buildings, weapons, all are affected."

"We've tentatively named it 'White Whale' because of its similar appearance, and the way it moves in the air does indeed resemble a whale swimming in water."

"White Whale..." Kanon repeated the provisional codename, as if chewing on the unknown threat and weight it represented.

"Appeared suddenly? There were no warning signs beforehand?"

"Without any warning," Weige replied decisively. "The last routine patrol report before sunset yesterday stated everything was normal outside the defensive line. This morning, it was already hovering less than three kilometers outside the line. It was like... it squeezed in from another world out of nowhere."

Kanon leaned back heavily in the high-backed chair, raised his hand and pressed hard against his brow, as if trying to dispel the heavy pressure that had accumulated there.

"Casualties?"

"Seventeen people have been confirmed to have minor injuries, and five to have serious injuries. Most of them were injured while attempting close-range reconnaissance or were caught in the blast of the fog. But..." Weige paused, a hint of confusion on his face, "It seems that there are fewer members of the Magical Special Forces stationed at the border than usual. But when we counted the number of people, we didn't find any missing... It's a very strange feeling."

"... I see."

Kanon lowered his hand and sat up straight again. The weariness on his face was even deeper.

"All frontline combat units, immediately abandon any attempt at frontal interception or attack. The highest priority task is now: to evacuate all civilians along the path Swirl the fog and establish an absolute cordon with a radius of at least five kilometers. Without my direct orders, no one is permitted to enter the fog zone for any reason, and any attack or provocation is strictly prohibited. I am going to see Captain Fres immediately."

"Yes."

Weige nodded, turned around, and with his still swift but slightly heavy steps, quickly left the command room.

Outside the window, leaden-gray clouds hung low and churned, as if they were about to crush the distant, continuous snow-capped peaks.

On the other side of the mountain, the fog is spreading.

At the same time, on a desolate ridge closer to the area where the "White Whale" was spotted.

The terrain here is high and rugged, with jagged rocks, offering a panoramic view of the vast, snow-covered, pale plains ahead, and the enormous, ominous white shadow that moves slowly across the sky above the plains.

Three figures stood silently on the jagged rocks, their robes fluttering in the mountain wind.

Brugge stood at the very front.

The collar of his dark blue overcoat was turned up high, obscuring the lower half of his face, revealing only a pair of calm eyes gazing into the distance. The hem of the overcoat billowed violently in the strong wind.

"Sense."

He spoke, his voice muffled but clear enough, coming through his raised collar.

"Do you recognize this? In any ancient books, legends, or even just a few words Serie mentioned?"

Sense stood half a step behind him.

Her eyelids drooped, her face bearing the same expressionless weariness that had remained unchanged for years. Her long, brown hair was pulled straight back by the fierce mountain wind, the ends almost touching the rocky surface at her ankles. Her gaze followed the unsettlingly slow movement of the White Whale in the distance, moving in sync with it, as if measuring or calculating something.

"Never heard of it."

Falsh stood beside her, his posture as straight as a pine tree. He pushed up his round-framed glasses, revealing a sharp gaze behind the lenses.

"We came to the northernmost part of the Empire to investigate clues about Clematis's birthplace. Instead of finding any clues, we stumbled upon this." His gaze swept over the tiny figures on the plains who were urgently constructing glowing barriers and guiding the evacuation of the crowd, before returning to the suffocating behemoth in the sky.

"Lady Serie has just signed a treaty of friendship with the Empire. Logically and morally, it seems we shouldn't stand idly by. But—"

"--Such a large thing, and with such bizarre abilities, is clearly not the type we're good at dealing with."

Brugge gave a brief "hmm" in agreement.

"The combat strength of the Magical Special Forces should not be underestimated. They specialize in fighting 'humans,' but they are equally experienced in hunting monsters. The overall strength of the regular members is generally close to that of First-Class Mage." He paused, his gaze falling on the futile Ordinary Attack Magic. "So many people working together, yet even slowing its movements seems so difficult... This thing is a great threat."

Sense's gaze shifted from the White Whale's massive body to the billowing, swirling gray-white mist. She stared for a few seconds, the unnatural flow of the mist reflected in her brown pupils.

"There's something wrong with the fog. It's not just about visual obscuring and physical removal," she said slowly. "My magical perception extends, and the signal that comes back is very... 'thin.' It's like something 'ate up' part of it along the way, and what's left is blurry."

"Furthermore, notice its surface, those seemingly soft white downy hairs," she added. "When magical attacks touch it, the decay rate is exceptionally fast. Physical impacts, unless the power is extremely concentrated, are unlikely to even cause noticeable deformation of those hairs. It possesses both extremely high magical resistance and physical cushioning."

Falsh nodded.

"I've observed it. It resembles some kind of innate, almost absurdly perfect composite defense layer. Conventional methods are indeed ineffective; a specialized attack approach is required."

A particularly fierce mountain wind howled across the rocky ridge, whipping up snow and sand, emitting a sharp whistling sound, and also bringing with it the low, mournful wail of the churning mist over the distant plains, like the breathing of a giant beast.

The three remained silent for a moment, the only sound the sharp rustling of their robes against the wind.

Sense's gaze shifted from the White Whale, across the pale plains, to the faint outline of the empire's heartland further south. Her brown eyes reflected the heavy, leaden sky and the endless, silent snow-capped mountains beneath it.

"This kind of thing... Ubel should be able to handle it more easily."

Falsh turned to look at her.

"Because it can be cut open?"

"Hmm." Sense nodded slightly, a strand of brown hair slipping from her cheek. "No matter how large its size or how special its defense, as long as it's still a 'physical entity made of matter,' it's within the range of Ubel's magic. Her 'Nothing Is Uncuttable' magic will be extremely advantageous against these relatively slow-moving, conspicuous, and powerfully built-up giant units."

Falsh thought for a few seconds and nodded.

"That makes sense. Well— Ubel and Lanto went to several villages in the south to check for any clues Clematis might have left behind. You two go find her and relay the situation here. I'll stay here to observe. The movement patterns of this thing, the fog's Swirl patterns, and the Imperial's official response... gathering more intelligence is never a bad thing."

Sense hummed in agreement, signifying her acceptance of the task. She took one last look at the unsettling white giant shadow on the distant horizon, turned, her long brown hair arcing cleanly through the air, and prepared to leave.

Just as she was about to take a step—

"Aaaaaah--!"

A piercing, inhuman scream, distorted tones, a mixture of extreme pain, madness, and a kind of hysterical ecstasy, suddenly came from the direction of the coniferous forest behind the three people!

Then came more chaotic and terrified screams, dull, eerie sounds of flesh being torn apart and bones shattering, and... the deafening roar of trees being pushed down and snapped in swathes by an invisible yet violent force!

At the edge of the thick fog, the shadow of that dark green coniferous forest began to sway violently and abnormally.

A figure stumbled out of the deep shadows of the forest, its joints twisted in a bizarre posture.

It was the uniform of the Magical Special Forces, but now it was tattered and soaked in dark blood. The man's face was completely distorted by unimaginable pain and another kind of fanatical emotion. His mouth was torn open to his ears, revealing bloodstained teeth. His eyes bulged out, and tears, saliva, and nasal blood mingled together, carving deep furrows on his filthy face. One of his hands was bent behind his back at an impossible angle, while the other hand was clawed, the nails digging deep into the flesh of his cheek, leaving several bloody gashes that reached the bone.

"Ahhh... Diligence! Diligence! Diligence!!" he roared, his voice hoarse and broken, "To repay that favor!! I must be even more, even more diligent!! Fingers! I need more fingers!! My brain, my brain is trembling ahhh--!"

As he roared madly, more staggering, contorted figures slowly emerged from the swaying shadows of the forest behind him.

Nine, ten... eleven.

They were all dressed in tattered spy uniforms or civilian clothes. Every single one of them had their eyes rolled back, revealing only the cloudy whites of their eyes. A uniform, manic, empty smile hung at the corner of their mouths. Their bodies were contorted and trembling at various angles that defied physiological structure. Their fingers twitched and scratched strangely, as if they were tearing and grasping at something invisible and repulsive to ordinary people.

And in the center of these "people"—

A figure walked out unhurriedly.

With short, dark green hair, deathly pale skin, and his signature, eerie head-tilting posture—as if his neck couldn't bear the weight of his head—Pettyius Romani-Conti raised his eyes, which were filled with a sense of unease. His gaze passed over the gray-white mist that filled the wilderness below and landed on the three figures on the distant mountain ridge.

He stuck out his tongue and slowly licked his chapped lips, a chilling smile spreading across his face.

"Ah... found it, found it, found it, found it, found it!!"

His voice trembled slightly with extreme excitement, yet it was eerily clear, piercing through the wind and the distant commotion, reaching the ears of the three people on the ridge.

"Such... such surging, pure magic! Such a resilient and powerful soul! This must be... this must be a new 'finger' bestowed upon me by the Witch! It's to enable me to repay that precious gift of deep love even more diligently and perfectly!!"

He opened his arms as if to embrace the whole world, his body trembling violently with surging passion.

"I, Witch Cult Romani-Conti, Sin Archbishop in the Cult of the Witch, the Lord of Sloth—Come! Come! My dear, precious 'fingers'!"

His crazed gaze was fixed on Brugge, Sense, and Falsh, and deep within his dark green eyes, it seemed as if a dark flame was Burning.

"Give your bodies... everything you have... as a sacrifice!"

"For -- our supreme --"

"Like!!"