Chapter 158: The Shadow Spirit’s Information

"Ho—ly—!"

Ron jumped in fright. He had assumed he was locked in a private cell, never expecting someone else to be below him. And when he looked down, his blood ran cold in an instant.

That Gray Elf!

’Good grief,’ Ron thought. ’At this distance, this position... if she decides to make a move, I can’t even be sure I could cast Shield Magic in time!’

Besides, what good would Shield Magic do? This place was so small that two people could barely even move around properly. How could I fight freely? You expect me to cast Magic in here?

"You seem to be afraid of me," the other person said, her voice hoarse. It was clear she was suffering from various symptoms caused by external injuries and burns; she appeared to be seriously wounded. "Don’t worry. I don’t have the strength to kill you anymore."

She gasped for breath, an act that seemed to take all her remaining energy. "You see? I... I don’t even have a weapon right now."

"Don’t try to fool me," Ron said after a moment of silence, then kicked her in one of her wounds. "That weapon of yours is a product of Magic, isn’t it? It’s not a real, physical object."

"You bastard!" The Gray Elf grimaced, Ron’s kick having nearly sent her to the afterlife. "It’s true. Spend too much time with a Vampire, and your heart turns cold."

"I heard you made a lot of Healing Potions, didn’t you? You should be saving me... Stop kicking!"

"You brought this on yourself," Ron said with a sneer. "If you hadn’t insisted on killing me at that exact moment, would you have ended up in this state?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" The Gray Elf rolled her eyes. "Wait until you were all prepared and then come serve myself up to be killed?"

"This is his territory. It was the best opportunity for me to assassinate you—if you hadn’t recklessly used Fireball Magic."

"And why don’t you mention that you used Dark Magic first?"

"How was I supposed to teleport in front of you to kill you without using Dark Magic?"

"Why did you have to pick that exact moment to kill me?!"

"Cough... let’s stop arguing for now," the Gray Elf said, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. She was too weak. "You... we should think about how to escape."

"’We’?" Ron snorted. "If you’re being sincere, then you should hurry up and die. Maybe I can use your bones to dig out a crack in the wall."

"Please... you’re a Caster, aren’t you?" The Gray Elf sighed. "Can’t you show a little more promise? Besides, with that small frame of yours, even if you used my bones, how long would that take you? Until hell freezes over?"

"This whole place is made of stone."

"That’s none of your business. Besides, aren’t you a Caster too?"

"One look at you and I can tell you have no ambition to pursue power," the Gray Elf said with a small laugh. "No powerful beings have sought you out to make a pact, have they?"

"Oh, so you’re one of those pact-signers!" Ron immediately understood what kind of person he was dealing with. "Relying on handouts to get that pittance of Magic, and every so often you have to ’repay’ your Sect Leader’s ’grace,’ right? Forget it. How is that ’pursuing power’?"

"If you’re going to worship strength, you could have at least found a better master, couldn’t you? Look at you now, on your last legs, not even sure you’ll see tomorrow. Where’s your Sect Leader? A fae? An Evil Demon? Or General Manager Ke? Why don’t you call them down here to save you?"

"What... General Manager Ke?" The Gray Elf glanced at Ron. "I signed a pact with an ancient, mysterious, and powerful being. Just as my kin once followed a great being into the Shadowfall Netherworld, I chose to return to the Material Plane and serve my Sect Leader."

"I am the one who needs Them, not the other way around. I answer Their call, and They grant me power and knowledge as a reward."

"Well then, I’d say you can get ready to return to your Sect Leader’s embrace," Ron said mockingly. "I just wonder, does your Sect Leader accept the souls of the dead?"

"Or maybe your kin will come to collect you, bringing crows with them?"

From what the Gray Elf had just said, Ron guessed her identity: this was a Shadow Spirit who no longer served the Crow Queen.

They were once like Elves but chose a different path—to follow the God of Death into the Shadowfall Netherworld. They traveled back and forth between that dimensional space, where all colors except black, white, and gray had been drained from everything, and the Material Plane, searching for souls and tragedies that might please their god.

However, this particular Shadow Spirit seemed to have left her group and found another master.

"They won’t come for me, and we’re too far from a weak point between the two planes," the Shadow Spirit said weakly. "If it weren’t for him, I would never have come here. I wouldn’t have even gone to Carolina."

"You’ve mentioned ’him’ several times, but you refuse to say who he is." Ron chipped off a small piece from the stone wall, trying to determine what material it was.

"I thought you knew," the Shadow Spirit said, startled at first, then smiled slyly. "My intelligence in exchange for one Healing Potion. That’s not too much to ask, is it?"

"Half a Potion," the Shadow Spirit said again after waiting a while for Ron to answer. "If you at least want someone to talk to, you’d better heal me quickly."

"Otherwise, in a little while, you’ll only be able to ask me five questions (Communication with the Dead)."

Ron stared at her, then pulled a weakened Healing Potion from his coat. "I’d rather you just die. It would save the breathable air."

"The air in here isn’t actually that scarce," the Shadow Spirit said, pulling the cork out with her teeth and downing the Potion in one go. "Thanks."

"Is there something wrong with this Potion? Why is it so weak?"

"And you said you’d only drink half," Ron said, pinning one of her hands with his foot to prevent her from Casting or summoning a Thorn Chain. "Talk. Who exactly is ’he’?"

"Who else could it be? The Baron of the Hailan Empire, of course. Saran Lane," the Shadow Spirit said nonchalantly.

"I thought it was Ming Datiss, but it’s... say that again?!" Snapping back to his senses, Ron grabbed the Shadow Spirit by the collar and hauled her up. "You, say that again?!"

"Baron Saran Lane. It’ll be the same no matter how many times you make me say it," the Shadow Spirit struggled weakly. "Can you let me go? My chest! My chest is showing!"

"Can’t you be a little less depraved?! Although we Shadow Spirits only reveal our true forms back in the Shadowfall Netherworld, even as I am now, I can’t compare to those underlings of yours, right? You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel!"

"Scraping the what— I’m asking you, which Baron Saran Lane?!" Ron was nearly sidetracked by her.

"Which Saran Lane do you think?" The Shadow Spirit pursed her lips. "You should have already collected quite a few of his treasures. Why are you still playing dumb?"

"The very same Baron Saran Lane who, over two centuries ago, led a group of Elves to the Delusional Land to establish Green Swamp Town, and was publicly declared to have died an early death!"