Chapter 215
A flash of light burst before Nerys’s eyes as the ground gave way beneath her. That wasn’t all. She felt herself crashing and scraping against something over and over, skin breaking along the way—but more than that…
The fall was much longer than she expected.
Thump! Something soft caught her at the bottom, cushioning the impact.
“Ugh.”
There was no question the earthquake had struck again, and that she had slipped into a fissure created by the shifting earth.
Normally, falling into a ground fissure meant getting wedged and dying—but she had slid through something closer to a long chute, wide enough for a person to pass through cleanly. Strange. Maybe it was the eerie voice she heard before falling. It made her suspect this whole thing might be magic.
She had already suffered enough from absurd high-level magic. Her years in that illusion—hazy as dreams always are—were still torture. If another magic trap lay waiting for her, she was already sick of it.
Nerys first checked what had cushioned her fall. Everything around her was pitch-black, thick with dust. And judging by touch, she had fallen onto something that felt like a sofa or a bed.
“Cough, cough! Cledwyn?”
She coughed loudly and called the name of the one person she desperately wanted beside her. No answer.
And now that she thought about it—what bed would exist underground? She shot up. She strained her ears for any sound, but nothing stirred. No sign of any living creature.
Where was she? Had she died and returned in time again?
If so, this should have been somewhere she remembered. Her breath tightened. She reached out, hands brushing against something like a column—intricately carved, nothing she recognized. A few seconds later—
A breeze blew.
…So, you have come, …Truydd.
Nerys froze. The voice carried on the wind knew her name.
“Who’s there?”
In the next instant, the room lit up.
She realized she was standing in a bedroom she had absolutely no memory of. And not just any bedroom—an impossibly luxurious one.
Its width rivaled that of the grand duchess’s chamber back at the ducal estate, but the ceiling reached nearly twice that height. There were no windows, but decorative columns stood everywhere like the trunks of a stone forest.
Each column—white marble wrapped in carvings of living vines—sparkled like starlight. A glowing magic orb sat atop each one, explaining the sudden illumination.
The floor was tiled with small white plates, each painted with cobalt-blue designs. The walls bore no tapestries, but the stone itself shone faintly, etched with elegant arches—far more refined than anything plain cloth could add.
Could the rumors be true—that beneath the gentle hillside of Dreykum lay another set of ruins?
“…How strange.”
This wasn’t simply strange. Dreykum was famous for its mysterious ruins supposedly created four centuries ago—but those ruins might actually date back six centuries or more.
Except six centuries ago, humanity had been pushed to near ruin by the evil dragon. People barely maintained small tribal networks, let alone anything resembling an empire.
Structures from that era were crude rubble compared to art. Even relics preserved in the imperial treasury or academy museums were coarse and primitive. Even the ruins aboveground in Dreykum had been suspiciously too refined for their age.
But this—decorated tiles, floor murals—was architectural extravagance utterly impossible for that era.
It implied something else entirely.
But the most astonishing thing in this place was the magic orbs themselves.
Enchanting an object was difficult enough. But something this bright—this stable—would have been a royal treasure in the present day.
In her previous life, Nerys had seen an orb of similar brilliance only once: inside the emperor’s treasure vault.
This overwhelming remnant from the past swallowed her whole.
“What is this place…”
Words failed her. Even now—today—no amount of imperial wealth could build something like this.
She looked back at the bed she’d landed on—soft silver fabric glowing faintly like moonlight, lined with gold. Slightly smaller and fuller in shape than modern beds, but luxurious enough to rival a crown prince’s.
The canopy above showed no sign of damage—no hole from her entrance.
‘A dream?’
She pinched her cheek. Then confirmed she was very much awake.
She hadn’t returned to the past. She still wore the same clothes.
‘For now…’
She needed to find a way out. If this was another illusion woven by magic, she had to understand her surroundings before anything else.
❖ ❖ ❖
Cledwyn had leapt into the fissure without hesitation—but he hadn’t caught her. He could barely control his own body during the fall.
“Ugh!”
A ground fissure caused by a wild earthquake should have crushed him. But whether by luck or irony, he slid through a long gap like a natural tunnel and eventually landed in a wide, stable area.
He had scraped against stone and roots along the way, leaving cuts everywhere, but he was conscious and upright. In the pitch-black darkness, he raised his voice.
“Nerys? Nerys!”
He had jumped in the same spot—he should have landed near her. But there was no answer.
Only echoes returned. Nerys… rys… rys.
From the echo alone, he could tell this place was enormous. Jaw clenched, he pulled a dagger from his waist and struck the ignition mechanism embedded in its pommel. A wick hissed into flame, lighting the area faintly.
“What is… all this?”
White tiles painted with colorful designs covered the floor, and massive columns surrounded him. This architectural style had never existed anywhere in Maindulante.
‘If the floor above collapsed, no wonder I fell this far.’
He lifted the fire higher. But the columns stretched up infinitely—no ceiling in sight.
‘We’re inside the ruins.’
He had heard the rumors of underground ruins beneath Dreykum. But stumbling into them was hardly something he could appreciate right now.
The place felt deathly eerie. A cold, earthy draft swept past him. And Nerys was nowhere.
His chest burned. He forced a deep breath. If he didn’t, he thought he might go mad.
He had nearly lost her over some ridiculous reason just days ago. And now they were separated like this?
No natural disaster was as merciless as an earthquake. He turned back toward where he must have fallen.
Judging by his rough fall, he must have dropped from about half a man’s height below a hole. But there was no trace of such an opening here. No faint silhouette of Nerys either.
He ground his teeth. And then—
The world lit itself.
Only now did he realize how vast the space truly was.
This wasn’t a room. It was a corridor—or rather, a great hall masquerading as a corridor.
The ceiling required stacking five grown men to reach. The far end was as distant as a full palace wing. Even the width made the term “corridor” feel wrong.
‘How far did we fall?’
If this were a random accident, it was a miraculous one—any normal person would have died from a fall through such a height.
The crude ceiling looked like raw stone embedded with gem-like flecks, glittering faintly. Light sources hung along the columns—each one holding a magic orb.
Each orb was clutched by a lifelike gargoyle statue perched on the column corners.
Grrrrrrr.
A low, chilling sound spilled from the shadows between the columns. Cledwyn drew his sword instantly.
“You. Are you the one who has my wife?”
Even while speaking, his sharp mind was working. That wasn’t a wolf’s snarl. He had never heard such a sound before.
Like a giant waking from centuries of slumber, a suffocating presence filled the air.
Not just one. Several. Dark silhouettes approached.
Slash.
The thing falling with a spray of blood looked vaguely human in build—two legs, hands holding weapons, clothed. But the screeching noise it made was not human. Its face resembled a pig—distorted with hatred and malice.
He recognized them. Every child in Bistor had heard stories of such creatures at least once.
Monsters.
Creatures that had faded from the world after the three heroes defeated the evil dragon six hundred years ago.
In moments, he was surrounded by these pig-headed creatures—and others.
Seven, eight more kinds of monsters lurked behind them. Most were pig-faced, but here and there stood taller ones with hyena-like faces. Kieeek! Keeruruk! They rushed forward with malicious glee.
Where Cledwyn’s blade passed, light and blood scattered. The fight ended in seconds.
The last surviving pig-headed monster trembled, staring in horror at the madman who had cut down its comrades without blinking.
It had merely approached because it smelled a human. Humans were the enemy—always good prey.
‘She’ would surely be pleased too—if a human died here. Except for the special humans she’d ordered them not to harm. But this man—judging by those eyes—was not one of them. His color was concerning, but still—he was not one of the “protected.”
Yet the humans had killed them. Instantly. And now he glared at it with murderous intent.
A sharp blade pressed against the monster’s throat. It squealed.
“Kriiik! Spare me, human! Kriiik!”
Cledwyn narrowed his eyes.
“You can speak.”
“O-ork! I am an o-ork! Kriiik!”
“Orc, right. I recall reading about you in childhood books.”
Bare teeth, he asked low:
“A human woman. Have you seen one?”
“M-many! Kriiik! Human women everywhere! Kriiik!”
“You mean many humans have come in and out of here? Into my land? Without my knowledge? What vermin.”
Cledwyn clicked his tongue and leaned closer.
“I don’t care about the others. I’m looking for a blonde woman, small, around my age. Violet eyes—almost red. She should have fallen near here just moments ago. Seen her?”
The orc tilted its head. It had sensed only one human scent in the area.
“Kriiik! Violet? Kriiik! Don’t know! Only you in this area! Kriiik!”
“Is that so?”
The orc toppled backward, life draining from its eyes.
Cledwyn wiped his blade on its rough clothes and muttered,
“Then you’re useless. I’ll find her myself.”