Chapter 22

Remnant Shadow

Sylas wasn’t quite certain where exactly to start, or, rather, which tangent to begin with. Logically, he should be hunting down a way to subjugate Farseew since that would also ‘subjugate’ the Baron, but there existed a tiny issue of the hint meaning absolutely nothing to him. What was Farseew made of? As far as Sylas was concerned, he could have been made either from moonshine or fae dust, it was irrelevant to him.

Without that, however, he’d have to proceed forward with the Baron, playing the fine line between guilting the man hard enough to bend over, but not too hard so he doesn’t summon the spirit within him. Then there was also training the sword—he’d hit a plateau already, actually, on how much he can improve. From here on out, the one thing that he actually needed to progress was a better body, the very thing he couldn’t obtain within the loop itself.

He ransacked his brain with the options within the chambers, nearly howling out in frustration quite a few times. None of the choices he could make were technically wrong—he could, in fact, just completely ignore the Baron and have Valen execute him. Or, on the off chance that the spirit might emerge, they could just imprison the man indefinitely.

After, Sylas could just not restart the loop and continue training his body, praying all the while that the next save isn’t dependent on him saving the day against a hellish invasion.

Going the other routes wasn't wrong either; he could just begin asking everyone under the sun what the hint could possibly mean. If anything goes wrong, he would just reset it and start over. The problem with this route was that it was like going into a dark room and then just randomly grabbing around in vain hopes of reaching the exit on the other side without ever learning where exactly it stands.

Sure, you could reach the exit within a few minutes if you're lucky, but if you're not… you'd die before ever reaching it, and die believing there wasn't an exit, to begin with, and it was all an elaborate Cube-like trap.

And then there was the third route, the one in which he somehow manages to convince the Baron to ally with him without waking up that demon, all the while keeping the Baron and his secret from Valen, and continuing to train his body.

This route was lucrative as, unlike just asking everyone under the sun what the hint could mean, there was a tangible goal, something he could latch onto and test, no matter how many tries it took. Furthermore, he’d gain a powerful and smart ally rather than just locking the man up in the chains to rot away in silence.

There was an issue in that plan, however: whether it was even possible to convince the Baron within that fine framework that Sylas had to work in. Sylas firmly believed that no man or a woman was infallible; everyone, strong or weak, had their breaking point. The issue with the Baron, however, is if that breaking point existed past, well, the breaking point. The infinite number of attempts Sylas had at his disposal became pointless, then, as the outcome could not be altered.

Loop, though magic, was not magic—it could not work against the nature of things, just restart them. If something wasn’t doable without the loop, then it wasn’t doable within it.

“Is something wrong?” Valen had long since noticed the shifting expression on the Prophet’s face, though didn’t dare ask until now. He stiffened, expecting a rebuttal that never came.

“Everything, young Prince,” Sylas cracked open his fuming heart. “Everything. No, I’m just being a drama queen. Do you know what spirits are made of?” like every other time, though Sylas asked the question in the tone of a mentor quizzing his pupil, he was genuinely asking the question and hoping—nay, praying that Valen knew the answer.

“The… the spirits? N-no… no, I don’t. What… what are they made of?” Shit, seeing that his farce had backfired, Sylas stared at Valen for a moment before replying.

“Of the unspeakable,” he just randomly uttered the first thing that came to him, but, to Valen, it seemed as though he’d spoken the untold truth of the reality. The boy fell into deep thought, seemingly pouring over every single letter of what Sylas just said, trying to discern the meaning.

Leaving the Prince to his devices, Sylas decided to wander the halls. He never actually explored the castle in-depth, not once, content with just knowing the in-and-out path from the chamber to the front doors.

Experiencing a castle, he realized, was a whole lot different than just imagining it or visiting a ruin from history. The stone was thick but damp, and there were holes everywhere, purposefully carved out of the walls to provide some natural light. This meant that if even the slightest of winds blew, the draft became almost physically painful.

Though Sylas confirmed the existence of oil lanterns, they seemed to be a luxury since the only other source of light within the castle's winding corridors beside the natural one peering through the holes were the wall-standing torches. They were quite weak, however, and rather than illumination, they acted more like beacons, waypoints to note from the distance and move toward.

Each wing of the castle was broken down into sections, though Sylas never bothered learning just what exactly that meant—he only knew that certain people only had access to certain sections. Since he, as someone close to the Prince, could wander wherever he wanted, he didn't care much for the inner divisions within an inner division.

Eventually, he found his way to the far-back courtyard of the castle. To call it a ‘courtyard’, however, would be to afford it courtesy it didn’t deserve. It was effectively untamed wilderness, with weeds sprawling everywhere and tall shrubberies hugging unkempt trees and ruined walls of some structure that, once upon a time, stood here.

The canopy of branches and leaves blocked nearly all light from illuminating the small patch of the wild, making it seem like darkness itself overtook the place. It was eerie and ghastly, and each howl of the wind was like a cry of a ghost.

Sylas remained standing on the edge, not daring to venture further; something about the darkness spooked him. That was strange, he mused, since very few things these days spooked him. It was almost a novel feeling, something that he hasn’t experienced in quite some time.

“Many a wanderer come here; nary a few manage to leave,” a familiar voice startled Sylas into a childish yelp, causing him to slip on the damp stone, fall forward, and roll into the wilderness. Standing up swiftly, he saw a figure looming above him—its feet levitating three-four feet above the ground, clothes swaying in the gentle wind. It was the very same masked and hooded and cloaked figure that emerged from the walls of the library and killed Valen and him. “Which one shall you be?”

“… uh, the one that leaves?” Sylas said nervously. “I like leaving places. In fact, it’s my favorite thing to do. I go to places just so I can leave them. I know, strange! But, alas. Anyway, I will—”

“Stay,” the figure said, prompting Sylas to freeze in place. He didn’t know why, but his body naturally reacted fearfully to the phenomenon. Even if he couldn’t die, it was like his mind forgot the fact and regressed to the time he was fourteen and entered an abandoned building on a friend’s dare and definitely, without a doubt, 100% saw a ghost of a woman that wanted to eat him. “I very so rarely receive visitors. Afford me the courtesy of a chat, at least.”

“A… chat?” Sylas noticed that the figure was very much different than it was in the library. Rather than immediately chopping for his head, it kept its distance from him and didn’t even take out a weapon. “S-sure! Let’s chat! My favorite thing in the world is to chat!”

“I thought it was to leave places?” the figure spoke bemusingly.

“It’s a tie, yea, a tie! I like leaving places, but I also like chatting! In fact, what I like most is chatting about leaving places! So, like, what kind of places do you leave? Like… a… a coffin, maybe?”

“A coffin? I am not a corpse.”

“Oh. Are you a ghost?”

“No.”

“A ghoul?”

“Do I look like one?”

“An assassin?”

“Are you being assassinated?”

“… then what the heck are you?!” Sylas cried out in frustration. The frustration wasn’t at the figure’s answers—it was that the figure answered… seriously. It was like he didn’t pick up on Sylas’ playful undertones, and replied to every question a matter-of-factly.

“I… I am a shadow. A lingerer in the walls. That which no eye sees and that which the sun illuminates not. I am…” Sylas’ stare turned blank. He confirmed one fact, at least: whoever the figure was, Sylas decided to call it ‘Edgelord’. Since, for all intents and purposes, that was exactly what it was. By the time the soliloquy was over, one built upon the corpse of subtlety, Sylas wanted to scream at the figure in frustration but decided against it.

“I see,” instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “So, uhm, you’re a shadow. That must be tough.”

“It… has its pains.”

“… I’m all ears.” Sylas picked up on the expectant tone, even with the inhumane voice, and gritted his teeth before replying.

“Nobody knows my name, for I have no name—nor have I a face. Merely my shadow lingers, a whisper here and there, a remnant of the fire in my wake. I…” Sylas blanked again—this time in both the expression and in thought. Did… did he just start reciting fucking poetry? Jesus Christ, who the fuck did I get myself involved with?

You have completed a quest: A Touch of Darkness

Having learned that the Spirits are made of Remnant Shadows and that the Remnant Shadows are used to subjugate them, you are now truly ready to subjugate Regent Lord Farseew the Horrible.

A pending reward: ‘Spirit Consolidating’ talisman

New Quest: Spiritmancer

Use the newfound knowledge to subjugate Farseew the Horrible

“…….FUCKING WHAT?!”