Chapter 18: Shadow Realm -1-

The sky of the Shadow Realm hung heavy.

It was an eternal dusk where time ceased to flow. In that oppressive air, Kay panted raggedly, his eyes burning with a fierce glare.

"Let me go! I have to get back! My siblings are waiting for me!"

Kay screamed, the veins in his neck bulging with effort.

But Scáthach, standing before him, looked down with a bored expression, as if she were watching a whining child.

"Returning is not for you to decide. Leaving is my prerogative."

She let the tip of her spear thud lightly against the ground.

"And… my pride will not allow me to send you back in such a pathetic state. I can almost hear the mocking laughter of the nightmare that sent you here."

Her crimson eyes seemed to pierce through everything, seeing right through his desperation and his circumstances.

"Pathetic? Me?"

Kay bit his lip.

It wasn’t mere arrogance. He had spent sixteen years fighting the beasts and monsters of Britain, and he had even crushed the skulls of Picts with his bare fists. By any human standard, he was among the strong.

But Scáthach only scoffed.

"Warriors of your caliber were as common as dirt in old Ulster. Even a peasant plowing a field would have fought better than you if he picked up a spear."

"You've got to be kidding me…!!"

Kay could endure no more.

He dropped into a low stance, inhaled deeply, and tightened every muscle in his body. His heart hammered like a racing engine.

"Hah!!"

Kay kicked off the ground and lunged forward.

He had no sword, but his fist carried more weight than most maces.

He threw a full-powered straight punch aimed directly at Scáthach’s face.

Whoosh!

The air shrieked as it was torn apart.

But Kay’s fist sliced through nothing but empty air. Scáthach remained where she stood, evading the strike with a slight, effortless tilt of her head.

"Too slow."

Kay didn’t stop, unleashing a relentless barrage of strikes.

Hooks, uppercuts, and kicks—practical combat techniques honed in the wild hunting grounds.

Yet Scáthach brushed aside every attack with the back of her hand or let them flow past her like water. It was as if she were dancing.

"You seem to know how to handle your strength. Using breath to elevate your physical capabilities… it's not bad. I had a few students like that."

Scáthach commented calmly as she caught Kay’s fist in her palm.

"But you are unrefined. The flow of your power is coarse and wasteful. You attempt to maximize efficiency, but your method is flawed. Furthermore, that raw strength… it doesn't even compare to a single claw of Fergus."

"Shut up!!"

Kay squeezed out the last of his strength and charged once more. At that, Scáthach’s red eyes glinted with a chilling light.

"Lie down."

She reached out and lightly struck Kay’s bare chest with her palm.

Boom!

The impact felt like being hit by a cannonball.

"Gah…!!"

Unable to even scream, Kay was sent flying dozens of meters before slamming into the ground. His entire body went numb, paralyzed by the shock.

An overwhelming defeat.

The gap was too wide. They were on entirely different dimensions.

Scáthach walked slowly toward the fallen Kay. Her eyes were not those of a mortal; they were deep and heavy, the eyes of one who had touched the Root.

"Listen well, Kay."

Her voice carved itself into Kay’s mind.

"With that level of strength, you cannot survive the chaos of Britain. Those family members you wish to protect… in the end, you will only be a burden to them. The obstacle you fear most will be yourself."

"…!"

Kay’s pupils trembled.

It was exactly what Merlin had said.

Mediocre. Dead weight. An obstacle.

That cruel truth gouged at his heart once again.

However, Scáthach’s next words were different from Merlin’s curse.

"Therefore, learn."

"…What?"

"That nightmare abandoned you, but I shall take you in. I will teach you."

Scáthach extended her hand to the fallen youth.

"If you are mediocre, then there is a way of fighting suited for the mediocre. I will take you as my disciple so that you may protect your family. Besides, you cannot leave without my permission anyway. Choose: will you rot away here, or will you crawl through hell to become strong?"

Kay stared blankly at her hand.

He had no other choice. And a spark of defiance ignited within him.

Fine. Just watch, Merlin. I'll prove you wrong.

Kay grasped Scáthach’s hand with his blood-stained fist.

"…Fine. Let's do it. But the tuition is on credit."

And so, the mediocre Kay’s study abroad in the mystical realm began.

Just because it was the Shadow Realm didn't mean he had to starve.

Scáthach was a great witch who mastered the Primordial Runes; procuring ingredients was a trivial matter for her.

"Meal duty falls to the disciple. Handle it yourself."

As Scáthach traced a rune in the air, a massive pig plopped onto the ground. It was a plump black hog of unknown origin.

"…Got it, Master."

Kay sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

If there were ingredients in front of him, he cooked. It was an instinct and a vocation carved into his very bones over the last sixteen years.

Three hours later.

A savory, rich aroma permeated the front yard of Scáthach’s castle.

Kay butchered the pig with practiced ease. He smoked the lean meat, but the offal remained.

Most would have thrown it away, but Kay couldn't bear the waste. It was a habit born from a lifetime of poverty and the common sense of his previous life.

"The intestines and blood are high quality. Maybe I'll try making that."

Kay washed the pig intestines thoroughly and salted them. Then, he stuffed them with a mixture of congealed blood, minced meat, and various vegetables.

It was a dish that did not exist in Britain—something that existed only in the memories of his past life.

Sundae. Traditional Korean blood sausage.

He placed pig bones in a cauldron and boiled them until the broth turned a milky white. Into that, he added chunks of head meat, offal, and the freshly made sundae.

"…Oops."

When he snapped back to reality, the pot was bubbling with enough sundae soup to feed fifty people.

"Damn, old habits die hard… I guess habits formed at three years old really are terrifying."

Kay scratched his head. There were only two people here to eat: himself and Scáthach.

Of course, he could just leave it and reheat it later. The cool temperature meant it wouldn't spoil quickly.

Just then, drawn by the scent, Scáthach emerged from the castle.

"Ho? What is this smell?"

She peered into the pot.

Unidentifiable lumps floated in the milky-white broth. While the visual wasn't exactly refined, the aroma was divine.

"It's a soup made from pig offal. It might not suit a sophisticated palate."

Kay ladled the soup into a stone bowl and handed it to her.

He then arranged several small side dishes beside it.

"This is salted shrimp made from the ones you provided, and this is chili paste and seasoning. Add them to your taste; it'll be bland otherwise since I didn't season the base."

With a curious look, Scáthach tasted the broth.

Slurp.

The taste of a rich, savory bone broth.

Following Kay's instructions, she added a bit of salted shrimp and stirred in the red seasoning. The broth turned crimson, and a sharp, spicy aroma wafted up.

Another sip.

"…!!"

Scáthach’s eyes widened.

Taste buds that had been dormant for centuries exploded.

The chewy texture of the intestines, the savory richness of the blood sausage, and the spicy broth that cut through the grease.

This was… this was…!

"…Liquor."

Scáthach murmured softly.

"Huh?"

"Bring me liquor! Now!"

Scáthach shouted, her eyes gleaming. She continued to drink the soup in admiration.

"This taste… it makes me crave alcohol intensely! It is far deeper and more stimulating than the meats the Celtic warriors ate at their banquets!"

She popped a piece of sundae into her mouth and chewed.

"Ho, to think of filling intestines with blood and meat. It is bizarre, but… delicious. Truly excellent."

"…I'm glad you like it."

Kay gave a wry smile and prepared a bowl for himself.

As the hot broth entered his system, the pain in his solar plexus seemed to fade.

Before long, Scáthach had used her rune magic to summon a jug of mead and was drinking deeply.

A faint flush appeared on her cheeks.

"Kay."

"Yeah?"

"You said you had no talent."

Scáthach set down her empty bowl and chuckled.

"You may be mediocre at fighting… but you have talent to spare when it comes to cooking. In all my long years, I have never seen anyone coax such flavor from pig offal."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Starting tomorrow, I shall double the intensity of your training. One must eat well to fight well."

"Wait, why does it always end up like that?!"

"Quiet. Tomorrow, make something that pairs well with alcohol. I shall look forward to it."

Night fell over the Shadow Realm.

Under the ashen sky, the legendary Godslayer and her mediocre disciple forged a strange bond, centered around a pot of sundae soup.

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