The Queen of Scrolls never admits defeat

The kettle's shadow, like a diligent butler, gracefully suspends itself above the stew pot, its spout tilting elegantly to pour clear spring water into the pot.

He poured for a while, then paused, as if asking Moran if it was enough.

The kettle didn't return to its original position until Moran said, "That's enough."

In the corner, the previously listless shadow insects suddenly perked up, lined up in neat rows, and wriggled their gray bodies as they rushed toward the pile of firewood behind the door.

Working together, they rolled up the firewood and slid it smoothly toward the fireplace.

The slightly larger shadow bug at the front seemed to be the leader, occasionally emitting a soft "squeak" to direct its companions.

After watching for a while, Moran thanked them for their help, then rolled up his sleeves and drew a sharp dagger from his waist.

The blade flashed a cold light in the firelight, and the salted meat was sliced ​​into even, thin slices, each with an amber sheen.

The spring water in the stew pot gradually boiled, with fine bubbles rolling on the surface. After the thin slices of salted meat were put into the pot, the amber-colored fat immediately separated out in strands under the heat, spreading out on the surface of the water like a golden spider web.

The salty aroma, mixed with the spiciness of rosemary, instantly filled the entire grotto.

Blue pine mushrooms danced between her fingertips, the stem and cap separating perfectly, releasing a refreshing and delightful fragrance.

After the blue pine mushrooms were added to the stew pot, the flesh gradually changed from pale blue to a translucent glassy color, and the edges of the caps curled up in an elegant arc, like countless tiny seashells floating in the soup.

As the mushrooms simmer, they release a sap with a pine-like aroma, turning the broth a pale blue-gray color with a pearly sheen on the surface.

Finally, halved honey crystal fruit is added.

The emerald-green peel softens under high temperature, and the golden nectar inside slowly flows out, spreading a sweet aroma in the soup.

The honey syrup and the fat from the salted meat blended wonderfully, with just the right consistency—neither too watery nor too sticky.

Martina pretended to be nonchalant as she flipped through an ancient book, but out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but follow Moran's movements.

Her shadow on the wall completely betrayed her thoughts; the dark figure was craning its neck, staring intently at the stew pot, and occasionally secretly wiping the corner of its mouth.

After the stew was cooked, Moran served her a bowl first.

Martina first blew on the soup with a reserved air, but the moment she took the first sip, her gray eyebrows shot up.

The savory aroma of meat first takes over the taste buds, followed by the unique pine fragrance of blue pine mushrooms, and finally the sweetness of honey crystal fruit. The three flavors advance layer by layer and blend perfectly in the throat.

"……good."

Martina gave a defiant assessment, but her hands didn't stop; she had already scooped up a second spoonful.

Her shadow completely abandoned its image, pouring soup into its "mouth" with exaggerated movements, and twisting and turning happily.

Moran smiled and served herself a bowl, then placed the soup spoon against the side of the pot.

The shadows inside the room suddenly became lively.

The teapot's shadow moved first, flipping itself upside down with a "snap," spouting steam as it charged towards the oak cabinet in the corner like a whistling locomotive. The stew pot's shadow wasn't to be outdone; it stood up, carrying its triangular iron stand, and scurried away, its lid opening and closing rapidly.

The shadow insects, like a string of moving black buttons, formed a "ladder" connected end to end. The insect at the very top hooked its forelegs onto the shadow of the cabinet handle and pulled down forcefully—

The moment the cabinet door slowly opened, a shadow was cast over the entire stack of dishes.

But as the shadow of the teapot carrying a stack of bowls, the shadow of the stew pot carrying several plates, and the shadow insects carrying spoons in unison filed out, the shadow gradually disappeared like the receding tide.

The shadow of the ladle had somehow drifted above the stew pot, stirring the thick soup like a seasoned chef.

It suddenly paused in mid-air, elegantly flicked the spoon handle, and began to preside over the soup-serving ceremony.

The people in line immediately and obediently stepped forward one by one with their bowls, scooped a spoonful, and then pushed it away.

A small bowl, its shadow greedily wanting an extra spoonful, was immediately slapped on the rim by the soup spoon and shrank back to the side, looking aggrieved.

Martina's chair shadow had somehow secretly moved to the front row, and she had quietly replaced her "bowl" with the biggest one.

Moran couldn't help but move closer to the shadows, peering curiously into the "bowls" they were holding.

No matter how she adjusted the angle, all she could see was a dark, blurry shadow, with no trace of soup visible.

But the way those shadows "drink soup" was particularly vivid.

Some sipped slowly, while others gulped it down with gusto. One round earthenware jar, its shadow swirling around, drank too quickly and got burned, jumping up and down several times.

"Stop watching, they're putting on an act!" Martina had already started serving herself a second bowl, a sly glint in her cloudy eyes. "These guys have no sense of taste, they just love to join in the fun. Last time a spice merchant came, they even pretended to 'sneeze'."

As if to confirm her words, the shadow of the table that was "drinking soup" suddenly trembled violently, as if it had been "choked" and sprayed out a blurry shadow.

The other shadows immediately scattered and dodged, while the tablecloth's shadow exaggeratedly patted the "back" of the table's shadow.

Moran couldn't help but chuckle as he looked at the lively shadows filling the room. He asked curiously, "Teacher Martina, how did you bring these shadows to life? I've read all the skill books for shadow hunters, but none of them mention this ability."

"Skill book?" Martina scoffed, her spoon hovering in mid-air. A sly smile suddenly appeared on her face. She lightly stomped her stone scepter, and all the shadows froze instantly, like a shadow puppet show that had been paused.

“Little girl,” Martina’s voice held a hint of smugness, “what do you think a shadow is?”

Before Moran could answer, the old woman suddenly threw the soup spoon into her own shadow.

The silver spoon, as if dropped into water, created a ripple on the surface of the shadow before disappearing completely.

Moran was surprised to find that a small bulge suddenly appeared at the throat of Martina's shadow on the wall. The bulge slowly moved down and finally "poof"ed out of the shadow's hand—it was the soup spoon that had just disappeared.

“Before mastering the power of shadow, the shadow is merely an accidental product of the interweaving of light and darkness…” As she spoke, the shadow of the stone crutch suddenly split into countless tiny fragments, scattering and fleeing on the wall like a flock of startled birds.

"But once you truly understand it... it becomes a part of you, more obedient than your hands and feet, more agile than your thoughts."

Martina flicked her finger, and the scattered fragments of shadow instantly converged like rivers flowing into the sea, reforming into a swimming black serpent that affectionately coiled around her arm. (End of Chapter)