Chapter 178: Ethereal Skin
A brown-gray marmot stood upright on its hind legs beside the rear wheel of Ellen's pickup truck.
Facing a stick extended toward it, its moist black nose twitched continuously. It neither dodged nor resisted, letting the branch poke at its fluffy belly again and again. Its once-bright black eyes now stared blankly at the young human before it—full of confusion and innocent bewilderment.
"Why did I summon a marmot…?"
Charles frowned slightly.
He was crouched beside the pickup, studying the little creature while occasionally prodding it with the stick, utterly perplexed.
"Does 'Summon Rats' actually mean summoning rodents in general… not just rats?"
"And… are marmots even part of the rodent family?"
For the first time, he wasn't entirely sure how this spell actually worked.
…
Clearly—
Charles was experimenting with magic.
For now, even though he had identified a target, things couldn't be rushed. It wasn't as if he could just decide to follow someone and expect them to remain oblivious.
So he stayed at the bar, letting the two brothers come and go as they pleased.
He wasn't worried about losing track of them.
For one, he had their phone number.
For another, they had ties to Ellen—and were currently relying on the bar's resident hacker, Arthur.
So for the past half month, Charles had essentially been "living off the land," occasionally seeing the brothers drop by and gradually becoming a familiar face.
Fifteen days had passed.
He had made no real progress in uncovering the truth of this world, and the portal showed no signs of activating.
But that didn't mean he had been idle.
He hadn't even begun properly studying his spells after advancing—so now was the perfect time to fill that gap.
There were countless spells in his mind.
Most, however, were unusable—either beyond his current ability or requiring rare materials.
After filtering them down, only thirteen remained:
Bone Ladder
Summon Rats
Feign Death
Detect Undead
Land of the Dead
Call of the Dead
Ethereal Skin
Medium's Hand
Spirit Vision
Feeblemind
Animate Corpse
Spiritual Analysis
Whisper Seal
Animal Revival
…
During this time, he had been practicing these spells.
And right now—
He was testing one of the newest: Summon Rats.
The spell was supposed to call forth a group of rats that could follow simple commands.
But for some reason—
Instead of a swarm, he got… a single marmot.
"And not even a group…"
Charles let out a sigh.
"Sure, you're cuter than a rat… but that's not what I was aiming for."
He stood up and gave a casual whistle.
Instantly, the poor creature—still under the spell's lingering influence—seemed to snap awake. It let out a sharp squeak and bolted toward the bar in panic.
Without watching where it was going—
Bang!
It ran straight into the bar door.
The noise caught the attention of the two women inside, who were in the middle of an argument. After confirming nothing unusual had happened, they immediately resumed their heated exchange.
"I've already made all the preparations, Mom! Nothing's going to go wrong!"
"I said no, and that's final!"
"You can't control me forever!"
"Why not?!"
…
Awkward, perhaps—
But not unusual.
The mother and daughter argued all the time.
At first, they had held back because of Charles's presence. But as they grew more familiar with him, they stopped bothering to restrain themselves.
This was just another round.
Charles had long since gotten used to it.
Usually, their "cold war" would last half a day at most—maybe a full day—before everything went back to normal.
Nothing worth worrying about.
But while he was unfazed—
Someone else clearly wasn't.
…
The two brothers had just stepped out of their sleek black Impala when they froze at the sound.
Sam blinked, curious.
Dean, on the other hand, glanced repeatedly at the bar door before turning to Charles, who was leaning casually against the pickup.
"What's going on in there?"
"Pretty obvious," Charles replied. "They're arguing."
The brothers exchanged a look.
"About what?"
"Freedom and control. Conservatism and rebellion. Youth and age…" Charles said casually. "Same old story."
That only confused them more.
After a brief glance at each other, they decided to head inside and see for themselves.
But before leaving—
Dean let out a regretful sigh as he looked at Charles.
"Man, trust me—giving up that '74 Wilson limited-edition leather jacket? That's a huge loss."
"I think he looks fine," Sam muttered.
"Fine?" Dean scoffed. "That's a Wilson, Sammy. Dad left me one—I barely even wear it!"
"Wilson or not, ugly is ugly…"
"Ugly? What would a bookworm like you know?"
…
The brothers bickered as they walked toward the bar, their voices fading into the distance.
Naturally, they were talking about Charles's current outfit.
He no longer wore the old leather jacket.
Instead—
A simple white T-shirt, light blue jeans, and a pair of white canvas sneakers.
Combined with his neat, slightly tousled short hair, the overall look was far less old-fashioned and heavy—much more modern.
Of course…
It also made him look even more like a high school student.
These clothes had been brought by Ellen during one of her supply runs. Charles had originally wanted something like a long coat or a hoodie with a cap—
But Ellen had decided this style suited him better.
Without asking.
So he had little choice but to wear what he considered somewhat plain clothing.
Still—
Better than that old leather jacket.
Honestly…
He agreed with Sam.
That thing had been ridiculously ugly.
Suppressing the urge to say it out loud, Charles watched the brothers disappear into the bar.
He made no move to follow.
After spending time here, he had come to realize—
These Americans seemed to have… a lot of psychological baggage.
Sometimes, their way of thinking about things was downright baffling to him.
So after the initial adjustment period—
He had learned to simply ignore their conflicts and contradictions.
"Maybe…" he murmured to himself,
"this is what they call a generation gap."
Muttering to himself, Charles shook his head and crouched back down, continuing to practice the arcane script of his spells.
He didn't bother hiding it too much.
For one, no one here could understand those strange symbols.
For another, his senses were sharp—if anyone approached, he could erase the traces in advance.
Of course, even if someone saw it, it wouldn't matter much.
Still, less trouble was better than more.
Right now, he was still in the stage of observing this world—not exposing himself prematurely.
…
He practiced without pause.
Before long, the two brothers came back out of the bar. After a brief greeting, they got into their car with a stack of documents and drove off.
Charles barely paid them any attention.
He simply continued tracing his spell glyphs.
But not for long—
"Charles, I need your help."
Jo—full name Joanna Beth Harvelle—was now crouching beside him, her voice lowered.
"What is it?" Charles glanced at her, puzzled.
"Listen… I know this might sound a bit extreme, but I need your support." She spoke quietly, glancing nervously toward the bar door before taking a breath.
"I'm running away from home."
"Running away?" Charles blinked, slightly caught off guard.
"Yeah." Jo pressed her lips together. "I can't stand Ellen anymore. Did you hear what she just said? She actually wants to lock me in the basement!"
"So… what does that have to do with me?" Charles asked, confused. He certainly wasn't arrogant enough to assume she wanted him to run away with her.
"You have to help me," Jo said seriously. "I'm going to investigate a serial murder case. Arthur says he faints at the sight of blood, so… it has to be you."
After spending time together, they had become something like friends. So Charles wasn't surprised she came to him.
But he didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he fell into thought.
"Come on—you wouldn't make me go alone, would you?" Jo pressed, trying to provoke him. "Or are you like Arthur? Afraid of blood?"
That kind of tactic didn't affect Charles at all.
But he still asked one thing:
"Is it a human… or a monster?"
"…We're not the police or the FBI," she hesitated slightly, as if worried about scaring him off. But in the end, she spoke honestly. "I'm pretty sure… it's a ghost."
She expected hesitation.
Instead—
Charles nodded immediately.
"When do we leave?"
"You… agreed?" Jo's eyes widened in disbelief, clearly not expecting it to be this easy.
"Of course." Charles raised a brow. "So—when?"
"In the next couple of days. I noticed we're low on beer—once Ellen goes into town to restock, we leave," she said, excitement creeping into her voice. "But before that, we need to sort out your identity. I know people who make fake IDs, we can—"
"No need."
Charles cut her off and pulled out a black ID holder from his pocket, handing it to her.
"I've already taken care of it."
"Already?" Jo blinked, then opened it.
Her brows furrowed.
"Charles Cranston? Address—Louisiana… Do you have friends there?"
"No."
"Then why not just put Nebraska? We're literally here."
Nebraska was their current location. Louisiana was over a thousand miles away.
"You'd have to ask the guy who made it," Charles replied casually. "I didn't request a specific address."
In reality—
She should've been asking herself.
Because the ID holder was actually empty.
What Charles showed her—was only what he wanted her to see:
A driver's license. A photo. A name.
Everything else?
Her mind filled in the blanks.
He could have fabricated every detail perfectly—
But that would take effort.
And it wasn't necessary.
---
[Ethereal Skin]
Wrap an object in spiritual energy, allowing the target to perceive whatever you want them to see.
---
Magic truly set him apart from ordinary people.
With this spell—
Charles couldn't help but feel that he might never have to worry about money again.