Do you know what the Land of Shadows is?
As its name implies, it's a demonic realm where everything you see is swallowed by shadow.
A world of darkness untouched by sunlight—a world of death.
In Celtic myth, there exists the concept of the "Otherworld." Legend has it that the Otherworld is a divine realm beyond the sea, an underworld beneath the mortal world—something roughly comparable to a "fairy realm." Within it stand fortresses inhabited by gods.
Those dwelling in these fortresses know neither illness nor aging; hence, the Otherworld is also called the "Land of the Ever-Young."
Avalon and the Land of Shadows both belong to this Celtic Otherworld.
Though similar in essence, unlike Avalon—where spring is eternal—the Land of Shadows is a realm of death, home to the restless and the deceased. In that regard, it closely resembles the underworld.
"How intriguing. This time, it seems it's not just me manifesting in the living world—it's a buy-one-get-one deal with the entire Land of Shadows included?"
Scáthach stood atop a towering gray spire, gazing over the Land of Shadows like a monarch surveying her domain… no. "Like" wasn't the right word—she was the Queen of the Land of Shadows.
Mature warriorhood and a mysterious, sensual regal presence fused seamlessly in her—beauty sharpened into lethal grace.
Long, lustrous, deep-purple hair cascaded down her back. Her crimson eyes brimmed with occult allure, their gaze keen as a hawk's. At the corner of her lips rested a faint smile—barely there, edged with emptiness.
She was tall and perfectly proportioned, muscles sleek and defined. Those seemingly slender limbs weren't delicate in the slightest—they were a warrior's frame, forged in countless battles, built for power and speed.
She wore a bold purple bodysuit that accentuated her figure, clinging to every curve while affording her maximum freedom of movement as a fighter—visually overwhelming.
Above was a heavy gray sky, oppressive enough to suffocate. Below stretched jagged gray rock and treacherous terrain. The entire world was eerily silent—no wind, no stir of living things—as if someone had muted all sound and allowed silence to swallow the land whole.
Without question, this was a forbidden zone for all life. If someone blundered in by accident, they probably wouldn't survive. Even ignoring the brutal environment and lurking enemies, the very air here was effectively poisonous to ordinary humans—enough to effortlessly break their will.
If you spend enough time here… wouldn't you go mad?
And yet, she felt no discomfort at all. On the contrary, it was effortless—as natural as a fish in water—as though she could move freely between heaven and earth as she wished.
"Some old friends came along, too? They're opponents I've defeated countless times, but… they do help with the loneliness sometimes…"
Scáthach held a vermilion spear, lightly tapping its shaft against her shoulder—a habitual motion, as if thinking flowed more smoothly with a weapon in hand.
From her deceptively slender body surged a terrifying fighting spirit, like a relentless storm—dreadful, unyielding, capable of sweeping everything away.
Then Scáthach noticed something new: her Land of Shadows had suddenly filled with "newcomers."
They were the dead—those who'd died from old age, illness, murder, suicide, accidents… countless souls pouring into this kingdom of death.
These souls hadn't come from the TYPE-MOON world. That meant Scáthach's Land of Shadows had linked to this world—which explained the sudden influx of souls into her demonic realm.
"I wonder if any of these dead have the makings of a warrior strong enough to satisfy me… better yet, a powerful one who can grant me death."
Under her crimson gaze, each soul's potential was laid bare. Distance meant nothing to her.
[Wisdom of Dún Scáith (A+)]:Having surpassed humanity and slain gods, she obtained supreme wisdom by dwelling in another world. Aside from hero-specific abilities, she can wield nearly all skills at B–A rank proficiency, and can even bestow them upon others.
With this skill, Scáthach could acquire [Clairvoyance] at Rank A. At that level, [Clairvoyance] surpassed mere enhanced sight and long-range vision—it allowed glimpses into the near future.
"Hm?"
Scáthach murmured softly, her gaze sharpening.
As though she'd found something truly interesting, her lips slowly curved into a smile—stunningly beautiful, yet brimming with battle intent. Like a lioness catching a scent: graceful, and deadly.
In the next instant, she vanished from the Land of Shadows.
Upon leaving the Land of Shadows, Scáthach arrived at a battlefield.
There, she saw an army that could not be defeated.
They were the undying dead—an endlessly spreading darkness.
Ally or enemy, it didn't matter. Once killed, they would join this invincible legion.
And they themselves could not be killed, having already died once. Their king had dragged them back from the abyss of nothingness. No matter how many times they fell, a single command from their sovereign would make them rise again and again, rushing back into battle without hesitation.
Given enough time, this army would only grow larger—more soldiers, stronger soldiers.
Leading them was one of the nine Monarchs: the Shadow Monarch, Ashborn, who wielded the power of death and ruled the boundless dark.
The tedious war had dragged on so long no one even knew how long—long enough to breed exhaustion.
Ashborn himself had no intention of taking the field. His legion alone could annihilate every enemy, then absorb them into its ranks.
Then, suddenly, an unimaginably sharp gaze locked onto him. He sensed the overwhelming battle intent in that gaze, and in an instant both body and soul knew one thing clearly...
A terrifying existence had taken notice of him.
"How fascinating. To think someone like you still exists in this world… death itself walking upon the earth."
There was no need to hide her presence. No need to restrain her intent.
Holding a vermilion spear in each hand, Scáthach advanced toward Ashborn, step by step.
With each step, the pressure of her battle aura surged sharply.
Ashborn was astonished. This was the first time he'd encountered fighting spirit so pure and dense that it felt tangible.
Yet what shocked him even more was the woman's constitution.
As the Monarch who governed death, Ashborn could tell at a glance…
"You… are untouched by death."
As though death itself feared her.
Because of that, the shadow soldiers stood frozen around them, immobile—allowing Scáthach to pass without reaction.
Scáthach ignored them entirely. In her eyes, there was only Ashborn.
"I am an existence that has lost death. Beautiful death, ugly death—I can have neither. So, I'm curious…"
Slowly she raised one spear, its tip aimed at Ashborn. It was a simple motion, yet Ashborn felt utterly immobilized—as though his limbs, even the space around him, had been pinned in place.
"…Will you be the one to kill me?"
"Let's find out with this spear. In other words—fight me. Properly. Of course, refusing isn't an option."
The corners of Scáthach's lips rose in a wicked smile. "This is your fault, you know—for exuding such a powerful aura of death. So satisfy me. If you can't…"
Her smile deepened.
"…I'll take your life."
In the next instant, the cursed vermilion spear became a streaking crimson meteor, giving Ashborn no chance to speak as it shot straight toward his chest.
...
Ten years ago, the "Gate" connecting this world to other dimensions opened. On the other side of the Gate were Dungeons crawling with monsters. Those deadly monsters could cross over to Earth and harm humanity—and simultaneously, mana and people with supernatural abilities began appearing in the world.
These ability-users worked together, entering Dungeons to hunt monsters. While preventing monster invasions, they also obtained rare resources within the Dungeons. People called these individuals "Hunters."
Ten years was long enough for humanity to become accustomed to Gates and magic beasts. Through experience and cooperation, they gradually pieced together some rules governing Gates and Dungeons.
For instance, monsters couldn't initially cross through the Gate—but if the Dungeon wasn't cleared within seven days of opening, its monsters would come to Earth.
For example, Gates generally fell into two categories. Blue Gates were common and ordinary. Red Gates were special—once a Gate turned red, the Dungeon became entirely sealed off. Those inside couldn't leave; those outside couldn't enter. Only two ways existed to reopen a Red Gate: either those inside killed the Dungeon boss, or those outside activated a Dungeon Breaker.
Another example: mana detectors could measure mana fluctuations near a Gate, roughly estimating the Dungeon's difficulty and the magic beasts' strength. However, this applied only to regular Blue Gates. Red Gate Dungeons were typically two ranks higher than the detected level.
...
In Seoul, Korea, a crowd had gathered in a plaza.
They had assembled because mana fluctuations had been detected—a sign that a Gate had appeared—and had come to investigate and confirm the Dungeon's rank.
They found it easily, of course. It was in the middle of the plaza—impossible to miss, with nothing around to block the view. Fortunately, after ten years, even civilians had grown used to Gates. Otherwise, something like this appearing in such a place would have triggered absolute chaos.
Everyone gathered here was a professional.
Yet, faced with this Gate, they were utterly baffled.
"Th-This… what is that?"
"I've never seen a Gate like this before!"
The reason these professionals were so shaken was the Gate itself.
It wasn't the common, ordinary blue. Nor was it the mutated red.
It was—
"Why the hell is there a Purple Gate?!" The man in front—clearly the leader—groaned, clutching his head as if in pain.
"Captain, what should we do?" someone stepped up beside him, panic creeping into his expression.
"What do you think we can do?" The man shot him a look, took a deep breath to steady himself, and said, "Report this to the Hunters Association and the major guilds. What we think doesn't matter—they're the ones who'll make the final call."
He paused, then added, "Of course, we still have our own job to do."
They had no idea what a Purple Gate signified, but at least they could test the strength of the mana leaking from it. It was the only thing within their power.
Ultimately, their readings indicated a B-Rank Gate.
Hunters, magic beasts, and Dungeons all had Ranks—from low to high: E-Rank, D-Rank, C-Rank, B-Rank, A-Rank, and S-Rank.
To receive authorization for Dungeon entry, more than half the members of a raid team needed to meet the required Rank. For instance, clearing a C-Rank Dungeon required at least ten Hunters, more than half of whom had to be C-Rank.
However, considering special cases like Red Gates, nobody casually assumed the Purple Gate led to a mere B-Rank Dungeon.
Based on the Red Gate precedent, they raised the estimated difficulty by two Ranks.
That meant S-Rank…
S-Rank.
Over the years, fewer than ten S-Rank Hunters had appeared in Korea in total.
Most critically, the last S-Rank Gate in Korea had appeared on Jeju Island.
Today, all of Jeju Island had become a nest of monsters. The island's human population had been slaughtered. Korea had launched three full-scale counteroffensives to reclaim Jeju—but each ended in failure with enormous sacrifices. Even S-Rank Hunters had fallen there.
The only mercy was that Jeju's magic beasts couldn't swim or fly, so they remained trapped on the island.
But that luck wouldn't repeat itself…
This Purple Gate had appeared in Seoul, the capital. If the Dungeon beyond truly possessed S-Rank strength, once seven days passed and its monsters successfully crossed to Earth, Korea would suffer catastrophic casualties.
And in truth, it wasn't only Korea.
On that very same day, the U.S., China, Germany, Russia… numerous other countries had also discovered these Purple Gates.
---
[Scáthach]
Class: Lancer
Level: 100
Personal Skills:
Wisdom of Dún Scáith A+
Primordial Rune
God-Slayer EX
Class Skills:
Magic Resistance (A)
Parameters:
STR B
END A
AGI A
MANA C
LUCK D
NP A+
Noble Phantasm:
Gáe Bolg Alternative B+
---
A/N: Scáthach x Solo Leveling is a pairing readers suggested ages ago. The first time I started reading the manhwa was because someone in another section had a novel where Castorice went to that world—In a Crossover Animeverse, Starting Out by Transforming into Fu Hua, that one.
If you want to write Scáthach, the first nightmare you face is finding art… damn it, most of Shishou's pictures can't even be shown.
I also cleared the BS2 dl3 author route, and honestly the hardest fight was still Guranginiel's second phase. My attack power and mana got nerfed down to 1, so I could only scrape him bit by bit with the Corpse Dragon's scythe. Every other phase I basically buried him with Black Slash: Burial. Shame I didn't save Gerda—I didn't find the snowman before she did.
Then there's Lode, the Prince of Hell. He's so famous, and some reader with Lode as their avatar dropped one of his classic lines back in the Nursery Rhyme arc, so I ended up remembering him. Before he ambushed me, I put on a resurrection armor and brought three resurrection rings. After the fight, not a single ring even cracked.
After finishing the ending, I felt super, super empty. Who understands this kind of emptiness and loneliness? I was so hollow I didn't even want to write anymore… so I asked the author of Starting Out by Transforming into Fu Hua to write for me and he wouldn't. He asked why I wouldn't write for him instead. (Yeah, sure.)
BS3 still isn't out, and neither is Little Red Riding Hood's Death. I heard there's a fan game called Journey of Red, so I'm planning to go hunt it down.
T/N: BS is black souls btw ALSO OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH SHISHOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU