Episode 133: The Ruins (Part 1)
“Well then, Mr. Victor, let’s head back. If you want to find a decent place to stay, we should get moving now. That way, you’ll be in bed before sunset.”
Damian shook his head at Thiebo’s suggestion.
“No, I’ve changed my mind. We’re going into the ruins right now.”
“What…? You mean to enter that dangerous place without any preparation?”
Ignoring Thiebo’s protests, Damian strode toward the iron gate. Thiebo hesitated, conflict written all over his face.
“Damn it, you only live once,” he muttered, cursing under his breath as he followed Damian. Together, they stepped through the gate into the ruins.
Inside, the ruins were like another world entirely. Unlike the small iron gate, the interior opened into a vast corridor that stretched far into the distance. The walls, floor, and even the ceiling were smooth and polished, made from some unknown material that was nothing like modern stone buildings.
“So, this is the ruins…” Thiebo marveled, glancing around in awe. Even from the entrance, it was clear how advanced the ancient civilization’s technology must have been.
They continued deeper inside, soon coming across doorways leading to other rooms along the corridor.
<┻┓┣┫┗┛>
The inscription above one entrance read “Security Equipment Storage” when translated. Damian entered the room.
It was empty, save for a few long benches bolted to the floor.
“There’s nothing left in places like this. Other explorers have already picked them clean,” Thiebo remarked. Being the closest room to the entrance, it was no surprise it had been thoroughly scavenged.
“If we want to find anything, we’ll have to go deeper. But that’s risky, so we should be fully prepared…” Thiebo’s words trailed off as Damian focused on the writing on the wall.
<┳┓┏┳┓┏┳┓>
The translation read “Equipment Locker.” It was just ancient script on the wall, with nothing else visible.
Damian recalled his past life, exploring ruins with Dorogo. “We activated it by channeling magic back then,” he remembered.
He ran his hands over the wall, searching for a way to open the locker by infusing it with magic. “This is trickier than I thought,” he mused, trying to determine the right amount and direction of magic to use.
After about a minute, there was a click, and the wall split open to reveal an equipment rack.
“Wha—what? How did you…?” Thiebo exclaimed, astonished.
Damian inspected the locker. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left—just a single helmet resting on the rack. It was likely used by a guard who once protected the ruins. Unlike modern helmets, it was perfectly round, with a visor that could be raised or lowered.
“I was hoping for a map of the ruins,” Damian thought, uninterested in the guard’s equipment. Despite its unique appearance, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Even as an artifact, lower-grade items weren’t much different from current equipment in terms of performance. They were just unusually shaped and more durable.
“Unless it belonged to someone of high rank, it’s useless to me,” he concluded. Higher-grade artifacts from the ruins were known for their advanced technology, superior performance, and immense power. These were the items people typically thought of when they heard the word “artifact.”
“Even low-grade items sell for a good price, though… Might as well take it,” Damian decided, handing the helmet to Thiebo.
“Hold onto this.”
“Yes, sir!” Thiebo replied, quickly wrapping the helmet in a large cloth from his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
Damian continued to explore three more storage rooms, opening hidden lockers and gathering whatever remained. By the end, he had assembled a complete set of guard armor.
“Not finding a map is a real setback,” he thought. His primary goal was to locate Gasdal. A map would have helped him deduce potential hiding spots, but it seemed he would have to search without one. Perhaps it was on another floor.
“Let’s head down,” Damian said.
“Yes, sir!” Thiebo responded, carrying the guard armor.
While the first basement level was a long, narrow corridor, the second was a vast chamber with multiple entrances along its walls.
“Third floor entrance, break room, supply storage,” Damian read the inscriptions above each doorway, considering his next move.
“Supply storage seems promising. There might be maps intended for the guards,” he decided, leading Thiebo toward the storage area.
They passed through the entrance into a corridor, finding doors to various storage rooms along the way. Each one they entered was empty, with only dust covering the floors.
Finally, they reached the deepest storage room, which was also devoid of any items.
“Everything’s been thoroughly cleaned out,” Thiebo said, setting down the guard armor and taking a seat on a box-shaped stool, clearly exhausted.
“There’s really nothing left,” Damian thought, searching for any hidden compartments but finding none.
“No maps in the supply storage either… I doubt there’d be one in the break room,” he pondered, deep in thought.
“What are you two doing here?” a voice suddenly called from the entrance. Turning, they saw a young man in chainmail, a large emblem emblazoned on his armor. Thiebo whispered to Damian.
“Mr. Victor, that’s the emblem of the White Nation. He must be one of their soldiers.”
“Why would a White Nation soldier be here?”
“I heard they patrol the ruins regularly to maintain order.”
As they whispered, the soldier approached them.
“Judging by your looks, you must be new to the White Nation, right? Just exploring the ruins?”
“You’ve got a keen eye, young man. That’s exactly it,” Thiebo replied with a friendly grin. The soldier shook his head.
“There’s nothing to gain from these levels. If you’re looking for something, you’ll need to go down to at least the fourth floor.”
Thiebo’s eyes widened. “That deep?”
“To find anything worthwhile, you’ll need to go down to the fifth floor,” the soldier advised.
“Wow… I see,” Thiebo sighed.
“Mr. Victor, perhaps we should call it a day and return tomorrow with proper preparations,” Thiebo suggested.
“That’s a good idea. The ruins are quite dangerous,” the soldier warned, sounding like a concerned teacher.
“Don’t let your guard down just because you’re on the upper levels. You could end up in serious trouble.”
“What do you mean?” Thiebo asked, puzzled.
“There have been quite a few deaths on these levels,” the soldier explained.
“How is that possible? I thought these areas were thoroughly explored and safe,” Thiebo said, confused. The danger of the ruins came from traps and ancient golems, but the second floor had been picked clean, leaving no threats behind.
“That’s what everyone thought… but bodies keep turning up. No one knows who’s responsible.”
It was a bizarre situation. How could such incidents occur in a supposedly safe area?
“Could mercenaries be killing people and stealing their finds?” Thiebo speculated.
“We’re investigating that possibility, but until the culprit is caught, it’s still dangerous. Be careful,” the soldier cautioned.
“I think I know why people are disappearing,” Damian suddenly spoke up. The soldier looked at him, surprised.
“Have you seen the culprit? Or do you have evidence?” the soldier asked eagerly.
Damian gestured for the soldier to come closer.
“What is it?” the soldier asked, puzzled, as he approached. In an instant, Damian drew his sword, Dawn, and slashed at the soldier’s face.
The soldier barely managed to dodge, flipping backward with agility that belied his rank.
“Mr. Victor!” Thiebo cried out in shock.
“You can’t attack a White Nation soldier! If they put out a warrant for you…”
Damian silently pointed at the soldier. Thiebo glanced over and gasped in horror.
The soldier’s face was torn, revealing not flesh and blood, but a stark white skull.
“Wh-what is that?!”
Unlike Tievault, who cried out in shock, Demian remained unfazed.
Demian had known from the moment the soldier appeared that it was an undead.
“A skeleton that can communicate with people?”
Of course, such a thing was impossible for the undead. They were created by twisting and shattering human souls, which meant most lacked any true intelligence.
This undead was no exception. It didn’t just lack intelligence; it had none at all.
The only reason it could converse with people was because memories had been implanted into it.
“It’s certain now—Gastal is hiding here.”
Gastal, as a necromancer, specialized in manipulating human memories.
Normally, memories would vanish the moment a person died. Gastal had pondered how to gather and utilize those memories to the fullest.
The undead standing before them was a result of that research—a creature that could mimic life by replaying memories.
Gastal’s method of strengthening his legion was also tied to these memories.
“The culprit behind the lower-level murders must be Gastal’s undead.”
Gastal likely hid undead on each floor, ready to ambush explorers who ventured into remote areas, stealing their souls.
Disguising them as soldiers of the White Kingdom was a cheap trick to lull adventurers into a false sense of security.
“Be… be careful… be… be careful…”
The young soldier repeated the words like a broken record.
The unexpected situation had disrupted the implanted memories, causing them to malfunction.
A soldier of the White Kingdom—or rather, a skeleton—drew its sword. A vivid aura enveloped the blade in an instant.
“I said be careful!”
With a shriek, the skeleton charged at Demian.
“Ahhh!”
Tievault screamed in terror. Demian grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him back to protect him from the skeleton.
Then, he reached for his sword, Dawn, to cut down the skeleton.
At that moment, the blade of Dawn erupted in a brilliant light.