Chapter 319: Umbral Weaving

She had only learned to coexist with it. To snatch a ragged breath in the brief lulls when the tide of terror receded.

But here, it was different.

This frozen library, as if forgotten by time, was fundamentally cut off from the world outside the door.

Here, there was no fear. That pervasive, bone-deep dread could not reach this place. It was barred by the unique dimensional laws that governed this realm.

That was why, every day, following Pandora into this space was the moment she looked forward to most—the moment she could feel pure, untainted happiness.

Miss Anomaly’s joy seemed almost ready to spill from her brightening eyes. Only here did she truly feel as though her shackles had been removed.

The tight clench of her jaw loosened ever so slightly, and even her breathing became smoother, deeper—unlike anything she managed outside.

Pandora, walking ahead, could not possibly have failed to notice this.

She felt the grip of Miss Anomaly’s hand, which had gone from tense to trusting, though she didn’t turn around. The corner of her mouth merely curved upward, so faint it was nearly imperceptible.

She gave that small, slightly sweaty hand a gentle squeeze. Her voice cut through the stagnant air, crisp and clear:

“Keep close, and don’t let go. This place is relatively safe, but there are still rules that must be followed.”

“Mm!” Miss Anomaly nodded vigorously, her voice bright with eagerness. She fell into step half a pace behind Pandora, her footsteps now light. She was like a tiny caged canary, finally released to stroll through a safe and beautiful garden.

Soon, they chose a direction and walked forward along the front-facing row of neatly arranged bookshelves. The scenery around them seemed to repeat, yet with subtle variations in the details.

They walked for some time—perhaps minutes, perhaps longer. Here, the sense of time was always hazy.

The seemingly endless array of bookshelves ahead suddenly broke into a small clearing. It was a miniature hub formed by six different shelves converging from different directions.

In the midst of all this toppled, collapsing chaos, this small central area had miraculously remained relatively stable and tidy.

There, at its center, sat the familiar black marble desk. Pandora stopped and gestured for Miss Anomaly to go ahead.

The girl skipped lightly to the desk, expertly pulled out the single high-backed chair, and sat down.

Then, from the smooth surface of the desk, she picked up a thick, heavy book that had been waiting there for her.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The leather cover was dark, and on the title page, embossed in gold, were ornate letters: The Undying Baroness.

Miss Anomaly eagerly flipped the book open and was almost instantly lost in its richly ornate prose—a tale of ancient nobles, secrets of immortality, and palace intrigue. A smile of pure, satisfied contentment lit up her face.

Pandora waited until the girl was fully absorbed, then continued onward. Before long, in much the same fashion, they found another central clearing formed by converging shelves within this seemingly infinite library. Another stable black marble desk.

This time, Pandora walked over and seated herself in the chair that seemed to have been left waiting just for her.

On the desk lay a book. The leather of its cover was worn pale at the edges by time, and the writing on it was faint and barely legible.

But when she gently lifted the heavy cover and revealed the title page, the words there were as clear as if they had just been written in the deepest ink.

The Lightless Spectrum: Reconciling Mindscape and Shadow

This was the book Pandora had come to read this time.

For the past month, the bulk of her energy had been devoted to books on the fundamentals of Wizardry.

With Rank-6 meditation art, The Quicksilver Blood Meditation, as her foundation, even though the wizardly knowledge system was far more twisted and bizarre than ordinary academic disciplines—

Even occasionally causing spiritual distortions and interference from the knowledge itself—

Reading and grasping them hadn’t been all that difficult for her.

In a single month, through an almost extreme level of intense dedication, she had rapidly familiarized herself with the Spell Matrices of two spells: Rank-3 Susurrus Mist and Rank-3 Conflagrant Breath.

Her mastery wasn’t deep yet; she was still a long way from turning them into instinct or performing in-depth personal modifications.

But at least in actual combat, she could already wield their fundamental power.

That much was enough to show that she had grasped the core principles and structural frameworks of these two spells.

However, she had no intention of diving deeper into them now—at least, not for the time being.

Because she had her sights set on a Wizardry direction she was far more interested in. And that direction was recorded in the book before her: Umbral Weaving.

“Susurrus Mist and Conflagrant Breath… they’re still a bit too basic,” Pandora mused.

“The learning threshold isn’t high, and the difficulty of mastering them is relatively moderate. But from actual combat, I can see that they still have notable shortcomings that can’t be ignored.”

Her fingertips lightly traced the strange, lustrous surface of the page. It didn’t feel like paper; more like solidified shadow. As she read the bizarre, almost dancing script, she turned these thoughts over in her mind.

For an ordinary wizard, such comments might sound absurd. But for Pandora, it was simply an objective assessment based on facts.

For the vast majority of wizards at her stage, Susurrus Mist and Conflagrant Breath were undoubtedly useful and powerful spells—more than sufficient, even. But for Pandora, there were indeed flaws.

“Susurrus Mist can hold a clear advantage against enemies like those maggot-people—vast numbers but individually weak.”

“Its ability to sow chaos, disrupt perception, and amplify fear works remarkably well in group battles.”

“But once you face an enemy whose individual strength matches or exceeds your own, or one who already possesses similar disruptive abilities, its effectiveness drops sharply—sometimes to zero.”

An image surfaced in her mind: Poppy. That Rank-3 veteran apprentice who manipulated smoke, skilled in creating those smoke foxes to ambush her prey.

“If I faced her, Susurrus Mist might not only fail to disrupt her—she might even turn it against me, using it as an amplifier or a smokescreen for her own abilities.”

“Compared to the exquisite, almost limb-like control Poppy has over her smoke, Susurrus Mist feels… crude. Clumsy, in terms of finesse and controllability.”

This wasn’t a put-down; it was facing the facts. Spells of the same rank and the abilities of a Corpse-Plague Acolyte had different optimal contexts and advantage windows.