Lumian's entire body was gradually turning darker by the second.
Seeing this, Vincent pressed his fingers against his temples. From his perception, Lumian's spiritual composition was fading, as if something was slowly erasing him from within.
Although sorcerers except Diviners, couldn't normally see ghosts or spirits, they could still sense supernatural fluctuations—and right now, Lumian's presence was collapsing.
Vincent immediately pushed through the partition and rushed to inform the captain.
...
At the same time, within the Land of Evernight.
Lumian's gaze remained fixed on the sky.
Only now, fragments of understanding began surfacing in his mind.
Two chambers.
One where people endlessly relived their happiest memories, trapped in comfort that never ended.
Another where monsters roamed alongside the remaining survivors, struggling in endless darkness.
There was no sun. No moon.
Some regions were deeper than others, as though the darkness itself shifted according to the emotions of the god, signaling danger without words.
Then, slowly, he understood something far more terrifying.
This land had one rule:
You do not become part of Evernight by entering it.
You become part of it by knowing it.
Knowledge itself was the beginning of assimilation.
The more one understood, the more they were absorbed into the land—until they were no longer an outsider, but a fragment of it.
And because this was another plane of existence, it was also where dead ghost and spirits lingered.
Lumian felt as though he was reading the mind of something far beyond him.
...
At that moment, a voice suddenly echoed inside his consciousness.
"Lumian—stop."
"Lumian—forget."
"Forget, and you live."
"Forget."
"Forget."
"Forget…"
...
That's right… This world allows itself to become part of you the moment you understand it.
If I can erase my memories… then I won't be able to be affected.
But what just spoke to me… could it be my Eidolon?
No, there's no time to think about that. I have to seal my memories. I can do it in the White Kingdom.
In the next instant, still looking at the turning clouds, Lumian envisioned himself in the White Kingdom.
And just like that, he was seated upon the High Seat.
The invisible sun cast a faint, pale glow over the sun-engraved table before him.
Lumian snapped his fingers.
Snap!
Immediately, black energy surged through the hall, twisting and spiraling upward, before dissolving into the light of the unseen sun.
"I hope this works," he murmured.
Then he leaned back slowly, letting his consciousness drift away once more.
...
Lumian slowly regained control of his body. He lowered the pendant, drawing in a quiet breath as the fog clouding his vision gradually cleared.
When his sight finally returned, he saw Hargreaves standing in front of him, murmuring a spell under his breath. The moment their eyes met, the captain stopped, his expression shifting into one of genuine concern.
"Lumian… what happened to you?"
Lumian exhaled and tucked the pendant back into his coat. His memories felt… incomplete. He knew he had gone somewhere—had seen something—but the details were gone, as if erased.
"I tried to locate the old man's son," he said honestly. "But I ended up… somewhere else. Another dimension, I think."
Vincent looked at him with his green eyes and asked. "Do you remember anything about the place? Your spiritual composition was fading. It looked like something was trying to possess you."
Lumian shook his head.
He didn't remember anything, not even fragments.
Hargreaves gave a slow nod. "Then whatever you encountered likely tampered with your memory," he said. "We'll need to investigate that old man again."
He let out a tired sigh, pressing a hand briefly against his temple. "And on top of that, we still haven't tracked down Kelly…"
After a short pause, he straightened.
"We'll deal with this later."
His gaze returned to Lumian. "For now, you're to continue your shift at the Crimson Choir Faculty. You'll be patrolling the Olympic Coast."
Lumian frowned slightly. "What—"
"Don't ask," Hargreaves cut in calmly. "When a superior there approaches you, follow their lead. Understood?"
Lumian hesitated for a second, then nodded.
Hargreaves stepped closer and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "And Lumian… if something like this happens again—anything at all—report it immediately."
"…Alright," Lumian replied.
Satisfied, Hargreaves turned and walked through the partition, disappearing back into his office.
...
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room, Mr. Shadow lay on his bed.
His mask was off—yet his face remained unseen, swallowed by darkness.
In his dream, he stood in a quiet street, laughing softly as three children played around him.
One of them—a young girl—tripped and fell. She looked up at him, smiling warmly.
"Jake… can you pick me up?"
Mr. Shadow—no, Jake—smiled faintly and reached out his hand.
Just as quickly, everything twisted and changed.
The entire city seemed to be in flames, as the screams of nearby civilians echoed in the distance.
At the center of it all, a familiar figure stood before him, holding a gun.
It was one of his friends, a man whose outline had a lanky appearance and black hair.
Without hesitation, Mr. Shadow lifted a finger and pointed to his own chest… a faint, calm smile spread on his lips.
Bang!
...
Mr. Shadow quickly jolted awake. Sweat poured down his body as he sat up abruptly, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath sharper than the last.
Though his face remained hidden in shadow, his outline became clearer—slicked-back hair, rigid posture.
After a few moments, his breathing steadied.
He thought of something for a moment, then quickly stood up, regaining his composure.
Dressing up quickly, he wore his suit, his black cane… and finally, the white, featherless mask.
Without another word, he stepped out into the smooth evening.
...
Mitchell Street, Lampoon Garden.
About two hours later, Mr. Shadow—now dressed in his usual attire—stood within a lavish garden.
The place was filled with influential guests, all gathered in small circles, engaged in quiet yet meaningful conversations.
Even King Mathew was present. With his short brown hair neatly arranged, he stood among a group, speaking with a relaxed smile.
"Yes," he said with a light chuckle, "I've been doing everything I can regarding the situation in Betyl. As you know, several towns still fall under our control, so naturally, I have to keep watch over them."
Beside him, a woman with heavy makeup and a sharply pointed nose swirled the wine in her glass before speaking.
"We understand, Your Majesty," she said smoothly. "But do you happen to know who will become the next Duke?"
Mathew shook his head, still smiling. "That will be decided by the people. The election is scheduled for next week."
The group continued their discussion, their voices blending into the calm atmosphere of the garden.
Unbeknownst to them, high above, on a rooftop a figure lay prone.
The figure had black coat and short hair, as he checked the bullets in his chamber, before shutting it.
Then, he sat it down and took aim. The scope in it, outlined a farmiliar figure with black clergyman suit, and slick back hair, with his back turn, holding a cup of wine.
Just as quickly, Mr. Shadow paused as he was talking to someone, and slowly turned to the area of the rooftop. It was as though he had known all along.
...
Seeing this, the man couldn't even pull the trigger.
His fingers shook uncontrollably, as though he had seen an existence that should not be seen!
Panic crept into his chest.
With unsteady hands, he reached for his phone.
Below, Mr. Shadow muttered a spell under his breath, then slowly raised his left hand up, clenching it into a fist.
The man immediately froze, as a sharp gasp escaped his throat.
At that moment, he began choking.
His hands flew to his neck as he clawed at his throat, desperately trying to breathe. But no matter how hard he struggled, no air came.
His vision blurred.
His body convulsed violently. With that, the sniper collapsed onto the rooftop, his mouth twitching, eyes wide with terror.
Until, finally… He went still.
...
And in that same instant—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the garden.
Screams erupted immediately. Guests scattered in panic—some running, others dropping to the ground, covering their heads in fear.
...
Amid the chaos, Mr. Shadow stood still.
He didn't seem to fully understand what had just happened.
Leaning slightly on his black cane, he turned slowly, his expression hidden… yet somehow tired.
...
In the next instant, through the drifting smoke, three figures emerged.
One man stood at the front, two others behind him, all armed. Without hesitation, they raised their guns—aiming directly at the king.
But before they could act, Mr. Shadow was already there.
Like a phantom, his outline appeared beside the king, who was crouched under the table, clutching his head.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots tore through the air, but however, they all passed through, as though he was translucent as a spirit.
He slowly advanced towards them, step by step, Like a man approaching an old friend… ready to embrace them.
As he advanced, his voice rose softly, reciting something under his breath.
Then he paused and said evenly:
"Heh... do you guys even exist?"
The three men froze. They glanced at one another, confusion flashing across their faces.
Then suddenly, their hands shot to their throats.
They began choking.
Desperately gasping, stumbling backward as their bodies convulsed, before collapsing to the ground, motionless.
Thud!
However, Mr. Shadow didn't feel safe. He still felt as though he was in danger!
He cocked up his ear, as though listening to something beyond.
When he was done, he Immediately, tapped his cane on the ground and recited a spell under his breath.
At that moment, the floor beneath him, gradually grew darker and darker by each passing second.
From the ground, translucent slick and sinister tentacles emerged as a flame was shot towards Mr. Shadow, immediately engulfing it.
...
Seeing this, Mr. Shadow quickly stayed alert, as he was surrounded by the writhing sinister tentacles.
Pa!
Another fireball shot toward him, only to be swallowed instantly.
The thing that made the situation rather dangerous, was the smoke which was left behind by the earlier explosion, not leaving or dissipating.
It was as though the situation was planned. Yes, the situation was a terrorist attack!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Quickly after that, bullets rained from all directions, but the tentacles rose and devoured them one after another.
Pa!
Then another burst of flames struck—but this time, the tentacles failed to consume it.
They shrieked as they burned, recoiling back into the ground.
At that same moment, beneath the drifting smoke, another fireball surged toward him.
Pa!
Mr. Shadow raised his arm.
"You are fake."
But the flames didn't falter.
They surged forward—and engulfed him.
As a Phase 6 of the Darkness Order, Mr. Shadow possessed a skill that brushed against the authority of fate itself. But to use it, he had to understand the attacker—their intent, their purpose—and predict the outcome of their attack.
This time…
He miscalculated.
His body burned, ash consuming him as a sharp scream tore from his throat. Moments later, he collapsed to the ground—motionless.
Seeing their protector fall, the guests' eyes widened in shock as they stared at the charred body.
Then—
A deep voice echoed through the smoke.
"Where is King Mathew?"
From within the haze, a man wearing a red mask stepped forward, a gun in his hands.
There was silence for sometime, till a young looking man slowly pointed to the area near the table.
The man adjusted his aim, and fired.
Bang!
In the next instant, like a shadow returning to form, Mr. Shadow reappeared.
Dark tendrils burst from the ground and swallowed the attack whole.
...
The guest were slightly taken aback, but with no time to dwell on it they could only lower thier heads, as more shot rang out.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Mr. Shadow simply stood there, then with a defeaning scream from the slick, sinister tentacles.
"Ah!"
The tentacles burst forward in all directions, lashing through the smoke and seizing the hidden attackers one by one, bringing them to their deaths.
This had been Mr. Shadow's plan.
He had sacrificed one of his shadow extensions—allowing himself to be "killed"—just to draw them out.
Now they were exposed.
Once the tentacles finished, they retracted smoothly back into his shadow, as if nothing had happened.
Mr. Shadow stood still, his gaze fixed on the man before him.
The attacker—a Phase 7 from the Warrior Order—let his gun fall and charged forward. His legs shifted unnaturally, expanding and contracting in bursts of force.
Boom! Boom!
He launched a powerful kick.
Mr. Shadow sidestepped, steadying himself with his cane. At the same time, he began reciting a spell under his breath, weaving through each attack with precise movements.
Then he finished—
"You came, you were, you killed… and you are not."
But the man didn't stop.
He kept attacking.
Because that… was never his real objective.
...
Mr. Shadow adjusted his cane and blocked the incoming strike—one that had been aimed at his face just moments ago.
He shifted his stance and retaliated, striking the man's leg with force, using his right leg.
Bam!
The force was so great, that it caused the leg to dislocat to an impossible angle.
But instantly, the bone twisted unnaturally—cracking—and snapped back.
Bam!
The recoil slammed straight into Mr. Shadow's left hand.
Stumbling backward, his hand bent backwards. He paused for a moment, then tilted his hand and casually reset it, as though it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Without wasting time, the red-masked man began to move.
He danced.
Drawing upon the Warrior Order, his movements became rhythmic, deliberate—each step carrying a strange force. It was a technique meant to drag others into enforced rest.
Above Mr. Shadow, a faint skull-like apparition began to form.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind grew heavier, pressing down on the surroundings.
Though not yet overwhelmed by sleep, Mr. Shadow felt a subtle unease. Something about this ability wasn't right.
Yes, he must also be calling the attention of other powerful ghost or spirits!
But if that's so, why's he trying to make us sleep... wait, that's it, he's actually buying time. The spirits he's summoning must simply be the kind that amplify the dance effects.
With those brief thoughts, Mr. Shadow tapped his cane lightly against the ground and spoke in an even tone:
"You came… you stayed… and you let them kill."
At that exact moment, high above, seated unseen in the sky, Lancelot gave a slight nod as he observed the man now cloaked in misfortune.
In the next instant, the howling winds ceased.
The red-masked man froze mid-motion. His eyes widened in shock, then his pupils shrank.
His body collapsed heavily onto the ground.
Thud.
At the same time, Mr. Shadow slowly turned toward a nearby window.
Raising his hand, he placed a finger gently against his forehead.
...
The man who had been aiming for the king's head suddenly froze, as he saw the figure.
How… was he seen?
He slowly turned his gaze again, locking onto the figure standing in the distance—Mr. Shadow, his finger resting lightly against his temple, as though inviting death itself.
At that moment, a whisper brushed through the attacker's ears.
Within those fragmented murmurs, Mr. Shadow learned something crucial—
This terrorist attack… had been orchestrated by the Linktons, and they had paid about five thousand pounds for the job.
Without hesitation, he spoke in a cold voice:
"You came… and you waited. You came… and you died. What a pity."
The man held his throat, and suddenly collapsed.
...
Mr. Shadow, wearing his white featherless mask, slowly calmed himself as the situation settled.
The guests, still disoriented from the earlier chaos, gradually regained their senses as the effects of the strange "dance" faded.
When they saw Mr. Shadow standing alone with his cane, silence spread through the hall—then relief.
A man quickly stood and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Shadow. The King can truly rely on you."
King Mathew, still shaken, forced a tense smile and stood as well.
"Mr. Shadow… is there anything you require in return for this?"
Mr. Shadow paused for a moment.
He understood this incident would not remain private.
Without turning back, he replied calmly:
"No. Thank you."
Then he walked away.
The only sound left behind was the steady tap… tap… tap of his black cane fading into the distance.
...
Everise street, the King's Mansion.
Mr. Shadow walked past the guards and entered the King's mansion without pause.
As he moved through the corridor, he passed a closed door.
Click.
The door suddenly retracted spiritually and faced horizontal, emitting a glittery colour.
And from the glittery door, Lancelot with his white hair, and blindfold leaped out.
The faint outline of wings lingered behind him for a brief moment—then retracted seamlessly into his back.
Without a word, he fell into step beside Mr. Shadow.
There was a long silence as they walked, until Lancelot spoke up.
"I thought you wanted to kill the king, "Lancelot said calmly. "Why protect him?"
Mr. Shadow didn't stop walking.
A faint smile formed beneath his white, featherless mask.
"That's simple. He's simply part of my plan, and would I want my piece to die? Hehe, of course I wouldn't."