The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?-Chapter 139: Ch138 Misty Room

The mirror image shattered—

And reality resumed.

Luther sat cross-legged in the center of a vast chamber filled with glowing runes and thickening mist.

No door.

No windows.

No guards.

No dramatic explanation.

Just fog.

And glowing symbols crawling across the walls like they had too much time and not enough hobbies.

He exhaled slowly.

"...Right."

The mist curled around his boots like it was considering something personal.

He stretched his senses outward.

Magic obeyed instantly—flowing from him in soft invisible waves, reaching toward the edges of the chamber.

He searched for a seam.

A crack.

A hinge.

A door pretending not to be a door.

Nothing.

"...Still can’t feel anything," he muttered. "No exit. No shift in air pressure. Not even a draft. Whoever designed this place hates fresh air."

"Even tomb architects knew the value of air."

The demonic sword floated lazily in front of him.

You sound disappointed.

"I am disappointed," Luther replied dryly. "I was hoping for at least one dramatic hidden lever. Or a glowing weak spot. Something classic."

The mist thickened.

He frowned slightly.

"Also," he added, voice growing sharper, "what exactly was that back there? Separate the guests? Throw one into a glowing magical box? What excellent hospitality."

The sword snickered.

If you wish to lecture them about etiquette, you must first survive the lecture hall.

Luther glanced around.

"This is less lecture hall and more ’ancient magical, like someone trapped me inside a mana furnace."

The sword rotated.

Then find the exit.

Luther gestured broadly.

"With what? A compass? The fog stretches as far as I can see. And apparently the door decided it no longer identifies as a door."

He stood slowly.

Mist shifted around his legs.

The glowing runes lining the walls pulsed faintly, almost lazily.

He stared at them.

"...Illusion magic," he murmured.

The sword paused mid-air.

Oh?

"The room isn’t empty," Luther continued thoughtfully. "It just wants me to think it’s empty."

He pointed toward the walls.

"The runes are the source. They’re feeding the illusion."

The sword brightened slightly.

Then destroy the runes.

Luther immediately shook his head.

"No."

No? the sword echoed.

"I feel something familiar in them."

The sword stilled.

Familiar?

Luther’s frown deepened.

"It’s subtle. But it’s there. The mana structure... it doesn’t feel hostile."

The mist swirled faintly at his words.

"It feels..." He hesitated. "...structured."

That is not reassuring.

"Which means," Luther continued calmly, "this isn’t just a prison."

He looked back at the runes again.

"And if this is illusion magic, then those runes might not even physically exist. We could be staring at projected symbols meant to mislead."

The sword rotated slowly, considering.

That... is annoyingly logical.

"I try."

You’re still weird.

Luther rolled his eyes.

"Do you have a better idea, old gramps?"

Silence.

He waited.

Nothing.

"...That’s what I thought."

He clapped his hands once, the sound muffled by mist.

"Well. Sitting dramatically in the center of the room is clearly not working."

He dusted off his knees.

"I’ll walk."

The sword tilted.

You have a direction?

"Nope."

...

You are insufferable.

"I prefer ’intuitive.’"

You said you were going to let your legs and magic guide you.

"Yes."

That is not intuition. That is wandering.

"Wandering with confidence."

The sword made a sound that could only be described as ancient irritation.

Weird.

"You’ve said that three times."

I will say it again if necessary.

Luther began walking forward.

Mist parted reluctantly before him.

The runes shifted faintly along the walls as he moved.

"Let’s see," he muttered. "Either this place rearranges itself... or it’s circular."

Or infinite.

"...I hate that option."

First attempt.

He walked straight.

No turns.

No deviation.

Just forward.

Ten minutes.

Nothing changed.

Same mist.

Same glow.

Same eerie hum.

He stopped.

"...I feel like I’ve passed that rune before."

You have.

He turned slowly.

"...Wonderful."

Second attempt.

He turned sharply left and continued.

This time he marked his path—dragging his fingers lightly along the mist-coated wall.

After several minutes, he stopped.

His fingers were clean.

No residue.

No trace.

"...It erased the trail."

Yes.

"...Rude."

Third attempt.

He infused a pulse of magic outward—carefully, not forceful—just enough to ripple the space.

The mist recoiled briefly.

Then swallowed the disturbance.

He sighed.

"This room doesn’t want me leaving."

You realized this now?

Luther shot the sword a glare.

"I realized it after the second failure."

Third.

"Details."

Fourth attempt.

He closed his eyes.

Let magic flow.

Not outward.

Inward.

He listened instead of pushed.

The mist felt thick.

Old.

Heavy.

But beneath it—

Something steady.

A pulse.

Not aggressive.

Not oppressive.

Just present.

His eyes opened slowly.

"...You feel that?"

The sword was quiet for a moment.

Yes.

"It’s not fighting me."

No.

"It’s observing."

The sword hovered slightly closer.

You are being tested.

Luther crossed his arms.

"I dislike being examined without consent."

You dislike structure.

"I dislike being separated from Elythra."

That too.

His jaw tightened briefly.

The humor faded for a moment.

"...She’s struggling."

Yes.

"This place is pressing on her mana."

Yes.

He inhaled slowly.

"...They’re watching."

Obviously.

He glared at the sword.

"You could try sounding less smug."

I am ancient. Smugness is my inheritance.

Luther sighed dramatically.

"Fine. If they’re watching, let’s give them something worth watching."

He rolled his shoulders.

"Again."

Montage of failure.

He walked diagonally.

The room stretched.

He turned around abruptly.

The walls were farther away.

He sprinted.

The mist thickened.

He stopped abruptly.

The hum deepened.

At one point he shouted—

"IS THIS A MAZE OR A VERY COMMITTED PRANK?"

No response.

The sword snickered.

Did you not suspect this after the third failure?

"I suspected it after the second."

Third.

"Stop correcting me."

He stopped walking.

Silence swallowed the space.

His irritation finally cracked through.

"They don’t want me to leave," he muttered darkly. "They’re playing me for a fool."

The sword hummed in agreement.

Finally catching up?

Luther sent it a look sharp enough to shave wood.

"I was ahead. I was simply allowing dramatic buildup."

Of course you were.

He inhaled deeply.

"Alright. One more try."

He turned—

And froze.

"...Elythra?"

She stood several paces behind him.

No mist obscuring her.

No glow distorting her form.

Just Elythra.

Blonde hair slightly disheveled.

Eyes wide with worry.

"Sire," she breathed. "Are you alright?"

Luther didn’t move.

The sword brightened instantly.

Ah! The elven woman returns!

It floated forward eagerly.

"She found a way in—"

The sword’s handle was seized mid-air.

Luther yanked it back.

The blade jerked in surprise.

What is the issue?

Luther’s gaze never left her.

"Don’t."

She took a hesitant step closer.

"Sire? What’s wrong? They separated us— I was worried—"

Her voice was perfect.

Her expression flawless.

Concerned.

Relieved.

Familiar.

The sword lowered slightly.

It’s her.

"No," Luther said quietly.

The mist around them thickened.

The figure paused.

"Sire?" she asked again.

But something in her tone shifted.

Barely.

Just slightly too smooth.

The sword tilted.

What do you mean no?

Luther’s grip tightened on the handle.

"That isn’t Elythra."

The figure’s worried expression trembled.

Just for a fraction of a second.

Then returned.

"Sire... what are you saying?"

The mist around her ankles darkened faintly.

The sword hesitated.

Explain.

Luther’s voice was calm now.

Measured.

"Elythra wouldn’t be able to get in here. This place is covered by runes that would Brian her dry as soon as she stepped even a foot in"

Hahaha.. HAHAHA

Laughter rang.

Luther watched as her smile sharpened.

The voice that came next was no longer hers.

"Very observant."

The mist surged violently.

The sword vibrated in Luther’s grip.

Well.

That escalated.

The creature tilted its head unnaturally.

It’s teeth sharpened.

"Well... why don’t we try this again"