Chapter 18: I Will Create a World Without Ethan

Ethan, I will create a world without you.

As he was thrown to the ground with a shoulder throw, it felt as if such a roar echoed in his ears.

Ivy looked down disdainfully at Ethan, who lay on the floor with his body stretched out in a “T” shape, face up. Her noble upbringing restrained her from pressing her high-heeled boot onto his chest. She had always been a person who valued etiquette. However, when a sudden sneeze startled her and her finger accidentally poked into the sea, she couldn’t help but curse aloud.

That was the first time in her life she had sworn—and it was directed at Ethan.

After a long stare, Ivy said, “Don’t ever sneeze when someone else is performing teleportation magic!”

“Well, I never thought the Containment Bureau would recruit a knight,” Old Mu the Treant finally recovered from his shock and secretly breathed a sigh of relief—thankfully, this girl wasn’t here to beat him up.

“I’m not a knight,” Ethan replied.

“What? I thought only knights had the strength to execute such a perfect shoulder throw!”

Old Mu had witnessed Ethan’s body spinning flawlessly in the air, completing a beautiful 360-degree rotation before landing. He could only say that the throw was quite artistic, reminiscent of a stage play at the Imperial Grand Theater.

Ethan listened quietly to their exchange. In fact, Ivy’s shoulder throw was even more skillful than Old Mu imagined. She had eased the force when throwing him down, making it look grandiose but not very painful. He thought if Ivy ever joined WWE, she would surely become an all-star.

It was clear Ivy was just venting her anger, not truly wishing for his disappearance from the world.

Ethan learned something new today: sneezing during someone’s teleportation magic could cause the person to be teleported into the sea. A fruitful day indeed.

Though the throw didn’t hurt much, Ethan lay on the cold floor for a moment longer—after all, if your leader just gave you a shoulder throw, immediately dusting yourself off and getting up would be akin to slapping your leader in the face.

This time Ivy used physical technique; if he angered her again, next time she might unleash divine power.

He stayed still, watching the conversation between Ivy and Old Mu. Waiting for Old Mu to pack up the base station equipment into a box, while Ivy boldly took out a gold-edged savings card and handed it over. Payment made, goods delivered—Ethan knew it was time to get up from the floor.

Soaked and dripping, Ethan must have looked quite unpleasant to Ivy. Though still simmering with anger, she couldn’t help but feel amused when she saw Ethan’s ghostlike steps as he floated toward the counter, voluntarily cradling the box in his arms. His subtle expressions and small gestures made her want to smile.

Fortunately, her professional training and mask helped her conceal her feelings well.

After unexpectedly teleporting into the sea, the first thing she did upon arriving at Hearthbay was to swim ashore freestyle. Her original plan to tour around with Ethan had to be put on hold—a lady would never wander about in soaked clothes; such behavior was improper.

The deck was much livelier than expected. The sudden commotion had formed a crowd, arms crossed and voices filled with commentary, mostly schadenfreude—only fools would dare attack merchants on the territory of the Lophic Consortium. This was rare entertainment.

***

Ethan spotted a familiar face.

The young man who had been scammed out of a gold lion by a drink trap looked worse than before. Guards held him down, pressing his face into the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, teeth clenched in pain, helpless against overwhelming force.

Ivy noticed Ethan’s glance. “You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my teacher.”

“Teacher?”

Ivy paused, scrutinizing more closely. The young man also wore a mask, concealing his original features. “Is he from Creekwood Town?”

“Don’t know, never met him,” Ethan shook his head. “But he taught me about the dangers of Hearthbay through his own experience.”

As the saying goes, among three people, one is bound to be a teacher. Though they never spoke a word, Ethan considered the young man his mentor. Had he not witnessed the man’s plight, he might have ended up drowning in debt after trying to snag occult books from the bookstore for free.

Ivy’s eyelids twitched slightly. Ethan’s thought process was peculiar, beyond ordinary understanding.

Probably his fascination with occult studies and dark creatures had, to some extent, warped his mind under the influence of eldritch gods.

“That’s convenient. Wait here a moment and don’t wander off. I have to go somewhere first.”

“Okay.”

Ethan set the heavy box down. He noticed Ivy carrying a black cloth bag that jingled—likely full of gold lions. She headed straight for the captain’s quarters, guarded by soldiers and sailors, a place off-limits without clearance.

He wisely joined the crowd to watch the spectacle.

Don’t pry too much into the leader’s affairs; it might involve imperial secrets best left unknown.

“It’s been a while, yet you still chase after her? Time to give up,” someone remarked.

Ivy pushed open the door and immediately heard the captain’s deep, slightly hoarse voice.

A man in his fifties, his hair streaked with gray, wore a white cloak. He leaned over the table, studying the nautical charts spread before him.

Without looking up, the captain said, “It’s for your own good.”

Ivy’s expression tightened as she tossed a bag of gold lions onto the charts.

***

The captain finally paused, untying the bag’s cord. The golden coins shimmered brilliantly. He weighed the bag in his hands. “Looks like you haven’t been home for a while.”

“Take it or leave it?”

The captain answered with action: he opened a drawer and placed the heavy bag inside. “I just happened to hear about this from a friend. Over a year ago, he met a buyer—a woman with unique silver-white hair and red eyes. She bought some things from a shop: parchment, pens, tools for magical inscription. Looks like she intended to create a spellbook.”

“A spellbook?”

Ivy fell silent, pondering. “Why make a spellbook?”

“That’s beyond my knowledge. My friend dislikes the spotlight and refuses to testify. He hopes that once you leave this room, you keep this matter to yourself. Even mentioning it carries great risk.”

“I understand,” Ivy said. “I’ve never been here today.”

“Good.”

The conversation lasted only a few minutes. She stepped out of the captain’s quarters, gazing up at Hearthbay’s perpetually dark sky, and sighed deeply.

Winter had come.

She had found traces of him once again, yet felt as if chasing a ghost.

Still, her investigation had finally made tangible progress.

Though his motives were unclear, she knew Winter had visited Hearthbay while on the run, purchased the basic tools to craft a spellbook, and likely left behind a grand tome of magic.

She must find that spellbook.

It was the strongest proof that the Winter Witch still lived, undeniable evidence the Church could not ignore.

(The data for the first week’s trial reading is very important. Please do not abandon the book. Thank you!)