The outlines of all tangible things crumbled under the Bronze Lantern’s glow, dissolving like melting snow.

Colors faded. Vitality drained away, as if the world had been paused. Fawena’s expression froze mid-daze.

Then, all light vanished from her eyes. Her body unraveled into wisps of mist.

But it wasn’t just her.

The street behind her dissolved too. The Elves on it. The entire Lundeheim where they lived.

Thick fog swallowed the world again.

Lyselle and Shall stood within it, both instinctively scanning the pure-white void.

Like two small boats adrift in the open sea, they’d struggled desperately, paddling hard. Yet they’d always despair—the ocean stretched endlessly. Land felt unreachable. They’d likely die alone at the heart of the visible waves.

Neither could see anything beyond the fog. Not buildings. Not living things.

What was this fog? Why mimic Lundeheim?

Lyselle bit her lip unconsciously.

In this fog-formed Lundeheim, everything felt real to touch. Absurd. Its essence was mist—it should scatter with a wave.

And if this Lundeheim was somehow real… where was the original? Where had the fog-shrouded city gone?

An illusion? Did the fog cause hallucinations? Or was it not fog at all—but something mimicking it?

Lyselle’s gaze snapped to the Bronze Lantern she held high.

Then—what was this lantern’s true nature? The Governor had called it an ancestral Elf relic. But Elves’ long history had erased much knowledge. They didn’t know why it banished fog.

If Elves couldn’t grasp it, Lyselle wouldn’t either. Yet observation led her to one conclusion:

“The fog engulfing Lundeheim… it’s deeply tied to this lantern.”

Things grew eerily complex.

She’d brought Shall to Lundeheim just to gather materials for forging a fake Priestess. Somehow, they’d been dragged into this conspiracy. Or something stranger—since even the Elves were clueless.

Lyselle almost regretted coming.

But before Shall, she couldn’t act like a coward fleeing at the first scare.

Strategic retreat seemed wisest.

After weighing risks, she chose to wait. Lundeheim’s strangeness hadn’t yet threatened their lives. Besides:

“The rougher the waves, the pricier the fish!”

The weirder Lundeheim got, the harder it’d be to fix—and the richer the Elves’ reward. One big job might gather all materials. Enough not just to revive Shall’s Priestess, but to rebuild her plane-teleportation array.

Going all-in was an art.

Risk it all—turn a bicycle into a motorcycle!

Win big, lose big… if we lose, Shall can work off the debt.

Decision made, Lyselle turned to Shall. “When did you figure out the truth?”

Shall pulled his gaze from the fog. He glanced at her, then looked away. “Just now.”

“Just now?”

He nodded lightly. “There can’t be two Lundeheims. One must be fake.”

His eyes flicked to her lantern. “The fake appeared after it went out. Relighting it might make the fake vanish… that’s what I thought.”

His answer was blunt, straightforward.

Surprisingly, Lyselle agreed.

Cutting through noise, he’d grasped the core truth: only one Lundeheim existed. Combined with the fog vanishing when the lantern dimmed, relighting it was the obvious test.

She’d overthought it, missing that simple clue.

“Tch.”

Annoyance prickled, but she hid it. “What now?”

They’d left the Governor’s lodging, deep in the fog.

Beyond the lantern’s three-meter sphere, only endless mist loomed. Lyselle couldn’t see what hid within—or what’d happen if the lantern died. Without the stone bricks underfoot, she’d doubt they were still in Lundeheim.

Where to go? Stay put? Or explore?

She sought Shall’s opinion.

He hesitated, startled she’d ask. After a pause: “We should explore the fog.”

Reasons followed. “I don’t recall the way back to the cabin. You’ve forgotten too, right?”

Lyselle admitted it—fog erased direction, let alone paths.

“Staying put isn’t wise. Lundeheim’s vast. Even if the Governor notices we’re missing, finding us in this fog…” He shook his head. “Better to move. If we’re still in Lundeheim, we’ll soon spot Elf cabins. We can ask for directions.”

Sensible. Lyselle nodded. “Fine. This way.” She pointed randomly.

Any direction should lead to residents—if they were truly in Lundeheim.

Shall understood. He grunted, drew his Holy Sword, and turned to lead.

Lyselle kept the lantern high in one hand, Magic Wand ready in the other.

But Shall didn’t move.

Impatient, Lyselle almost poked his back with her wand.

Then he turned.

She nearly dropped the lantern on him.

Unaware, he said: “Once you refill the lantern with magic, it’ll stay lit awhile. Could I hold it? I’m taller—I might clear a wider area.”

Unnecessary. The lantern worked regardless of holder. His request felt forced, like a cover.

“What’s the difference if you hold it or I do?”

Shall thought. “I’m taller. It’d push the fog back farther.”

“…”

Lyselle ground her teeth. *Tall? So what? Think I won’t saw your legs off at the knees? Brew a dwarf-making spell tomorrow?*

But he was right. Reluctantly, she handed over the lantern.

Still, he didn’t turn to leave.

He seemed to wrestle with another request. Finally, voice low: “To avoid getting separated… if you don’t mind… could you hold my sleeve?”

“?”

Lyselle’s mind blanked. *Ah. The lantern didn’t matter. This was the real ask. You want me clinging like some damsel?*

She almost snapped refusal. Then she recalled the late Priestess—Shall avoided close contact with her.

Why ask now?

Earlier, when she’d sought his opinion, he’d hesitated. *Did he think I was scared?*

Impossible! Just fog—she wasn’t afraid.

But this could be useful. Men loved protecting “delicate” girls. It fed their pride.

She convinced herself. Meeting his awkward gaze, she lowered her head. “Mm.” Her fingers brushed his sleeve.

*My acting’s flawless!* she gloated inwardly.