Chapter 40: The Ancient Ruins

In truth, the ancient ruins—or rather, the relics—that Gawain remembered weren’t far from where the group had set up camp. They lay on the northern side of the Dark Mountains, mostly concealed within the mountain itself. Some parts of the structure jutted out between the cliffs, so theoretically, if one looked up toward the distant Dark Mountains, they could spot fragments of the ruins nestled hundreds of meters above the ground.

But the passage of time had long since erased the traces of civilization. Thick vines and mountain vegetation sprawled over the rock faces, layering over the ruins like a natural shroud. Add to that the collapse of the structures and the accumulation of earth and stones, and the exposed parts of the ruins were now difficult to discern. Even a hunter with keen eyesight would struggle to immediately notice anything unusual among the rocks and creeping vines from the camp below.

After settling the camp arrangements, Gawain and his three companions set off into the mountains. Ten years was hardly enough for nature to alter the terrain significantly. Using the satellite image etched in his mind from a decade ago, combined with his memory of the route, Gawain led the way smoothly up the mountain path.

Amber looked uneasy. “I mean… you’re really going treasure hunting in the Dark Mountains with just the four of us? Don’t you think that’s a bit risky?”

Gawain glanced at the half-elf. “And what do you suggest?”

Amber gestured animatedly. “At the very least, you need a few hundred guards along the way, a dozen or so master-level rangers and druids in the vanguard, knights clearing the path ahead, mages holding the rear, and a master rogue like me to handle locks and traps. Isn’t that the standard setup for mountain treasure hunts?”

“Standard my foot!” Gawain had half expected some brilliant insight, but all he got was this nonsense. “What treasure hunting party do you know that’s organized like a regular army? And it’s easy for you to say—go ahead and assemble a team like that for me.”

“Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit, but this is the Dark Mountains! The Dark Mountains!” Amber waved her arms dramatically. “Legend says there’s a demon lord every eight hundred meters! And you’re just bringing three others with you—one of whom only knows how to cast fireball…”

“Believe me, I don’t even need fireball to knock you flat!” Rebecca snapped, suddenly fiery, raising her staff and pointing it at Amber. “Let me show you just how formidable a Cecil woman can be!”

Gawain stepped between the two, sighing, and shot Amber a look. “You’re going to get yourself killed with that mouth of yours. And where did you hear there’s a demon lord every eight hundred meters in the Dark Mountains? That’s just ignorant villagers scaring children. If there really were that many demon lords, they’d have swept through Ansu long ago.”

He lifted his gaze to the winding mountain path ahead.

“The Dark Mountains are indeed dangerous, but most people exaggerate the risks. Back in the days of the Gondor Empire, this range was just one of many ordinary northern mountain chains, paired with the Gaoling Mountains in the south as the two great mountain systems of Loren. Back then, the Dark Mountains weren’t dark at all. In fact, they were known as the ‘Golden-Embedded Mountains’ for their rich resources and abundant minerals. Unfortunately, when the magical cataclysm struck, the Dark Mountains bore the brunt of the elemental storm’s fury—the entire southern foothills were ravaged by elemental corruption, forming the dreaded Black Forest. That’s when the range gradually earned its ominous name.”

Gawain shared what he knew—some from his memories, some from recent study.

“The Black Forest on the southern side is truly dangerous, but it lies south of the range. The mountains themselves form a natural barrier, almost completely blocking the taint seeping from the ruins of Gondor beyond the Great Wall. Most of the mutated creatures in the Black Forest depend on chaotic magic to survive, so they never leave that corrupted land. They certainly don’t cross the ridge into the northern side, which is practically suffocating to them. So the northern side of the Dark Mountains is actually quite safe.”

The route Gawain chose had little vegetation, but here and there, twisted trees and creeping vines blocked the path. These plants, stubbornly growing in the Dark Mountains, were somewhat affected by the tainted winds drifting down from the south—the so-called “elemental winds” that the Viscount Andrew called the “unclean winds.” Under the influence of chaotic elemental forces, the plants appeared gnarled and unnaturally thick, giving off a somewhat menacing vibe.

But Gawain knew well that despite their frightening appearance, these plants posed no real threat. They were just “stronger” plants. Those noble brats who wandered the northern forests and bragged about surviving the Black Forest were wildly exaggerating—they had no idea what the real Black Forest was like.

His certainty that the northern side’s contamination had faded wasn’t just from memory or hearsay—it came from that satellite image from ten years ago. Comparing the image with his knowledge made it clear this area was now a safe zone.

“People’s fear of this place comes from two things,” Gawain explained as he hacked away at a vine blocking the path. “First, fear of the Gondor Wastelands. Although the Elves built the Sentinel Towers and the Great Wall to seal off most of the wasteland, the magical barrier only blocks about seventy to eighty percent of the chaotic magic. The corrupting forces leaking from the wasteland every year remain the greatest threat to the borderlands. Even though the magical cataclysm’s aftershocks have faded, the generations of fear and tension here won’t disappear overnight. These terrifying borderland tales have been passed down for seven hundred years, becoming almost a part of local culture.” He paused, then added, “Second… fear of the unknown.”

“Unknown?” Amber frowned.

“Exactly. Unknown. How long has the Kingdom of Ansu stopped expanding southward?”

Rebecca answered, “If you count from the order to halt expansion, over two hundred years. If from the withdrawal of all settlements, about a hundred years.”

“Right. For at least a hundred years, this place has been off-limits. Except for those ‘adventurers’ who come back bragging, no one dares approach, so no one really knows what it’s like here. They only hear the terrifying stories passed down through generations or the tall tales of adventurers. How could they not be afraid?”

After Gawain’s lengthy explanation, Amber finally relaxed. “Phew… so all those scary stories about the Dark Mountains are just exaggerations? We’re actually pretty safe here?”

Gawain thought for a moment, then leaned in close to the half-elf with a wicked grin. “Actually, I was lying—the place is creepy, dangerous, chaotic, and yes, there really is a demon lord every eight hundred meters.”

Amber: “…Ugh!!”

“Master rogue, huh? What a joke,” Gawain chuckled, patting Rebecca’s head and pointing to a fallen tree trunk nearby. “Your fireball’s got a job—blow that thing apart. If I’m not mistaken, the ruins are just ahead.”

Rebecca had been waiting for this moment and nodded eagerly. She raised her staff and sent a fireball the size of a human head hurtling forward.

It felt like she was summoning fireballs faster than before…

“Boom—”

The fireball exploded with a thunderous crack, shattering the already rotten tree trunk in two. The broken halves tumbled down the slope, clearing the path ahead.

Before them lay a hidden clearing carved into the mountain.

The area looked deliberately leveled, the rocks cut into astonishingly neat shapes. Between the stones stood ancient arches and collapsed walls, seemingly fused into the cliffs themselves. It gave the illusion that a grand fortress had once stood here, now swallowed by the surrounding stone.

In reality, the ancient ruins were built inside the mountain, with about two-thirds of the structure hidden behind the rock face.

Whether it was the perpetually nervous Amber, the attentive Rebecca listening to the old man’s stories, or the ever-watchful Knight Byron, all of them widened their eyes in awe at the sight of the ancient ruins nestled within the mountain.

They stared, stunned, at this incredible relic of a bygone age.

Gawain’s gaze roamed the area until it settled on a pile of rubble. He approached and spotted something blackened and nearly unrecognizable sticking out of the stones. After careful inspection, he realized it was a heavily rusted, decayed broken sword.

On the ground beside the rubble was a deeply carved inscription, worn by seven centuries of weather but still legible: “16th Squad, Sergeant Kohl rests here.”

Rebecca’s voice came from behind him. “What is this?”

“When the squad crossed the Whitewater River, they were pursued. The 16th Squad stayed behind to cover the retreat—none survived,” Gawain said slowly. “The last surviving soldiers must have fallen back here when escape was impossible. Unfortunately, the magical cataclysm was raging then, and the entire Dark Mountains were shrouded in corruption. In my lifetime, we never reclaimed this land. By the time the cataclysm faded naturally, no one remembered this place anymore…”

Knight Byron removed his sword and pressed it to his chest, bowing solemnly to the humble grave.

The soldiers buried here had a grave mound, but the warriors who built the mound and left the inscription had long since vanished without a trace.

Gawain stood silently before the grave for a moment, then picked up a stone and placed it atop the rubble. “Don’t worry. Everyone made it out alive.”

At that moment, he wished he could say those words as Gawain Cecil, not as Gawain the time traveler.

He then turned toward a nearby archway. “Come with me. I’ll show you what your ancestors left behind here.”

(End of chapter)