"Cast a mana vision space," Percival ordered, his grip tightening on his War-Scythe.
Lewis shivered, hugging his robes. "W-what? Why? Wait! How did you even know that I have a Skill like that?"
Percival glared at him. "What did I say about listening to me? Just do it!"
"Of course!" Lewis didn't argue further. He raised his trembling hands. "⸢Mana Illumination Sphere⸥."
Golden mana condensed in his palms before exploding outward in a silent, expanding dome of yellow light.
The spectral pulse washed over the room, peeling back the layers of the unseen world.
And behold, the library was not empty. They were completely surrounded.
Dozens of ghostlike beings floated in the air, hovering silently above the bookshelves, drifting through the solid petrified wood as if it were water.
Percival narrowed his eyes in dark recognition. Nightwraiths.
They were terrifying apparitions—tattered, flowing shrouds of absolute darkness that seemed to swallow the golden light.
