In this world, the term "ruins" referred to the remnants of dungeons conquered long before the Adventurers' Guild was even an idea—places whose histories had mostly been ground into the dust of time.
While more recently cleared dungeons might still see adventurers diving in to scavenge for missed treasures or using them as training grounds, ruins were generally forsaken places left to the elements. Since they had already been stripped of anything valuable, there was no reason to risk the structural collapses, monster nests, or ruffian hideouts that typically infested them. Most adventurers wouldn't go near them without a very good reason.
At most, a research team might visit if the site were unusually close to a city, but that was the exception.
To compare it to my previous life, they were like abandoned buildings deep in the mountains—eerie, crumbling structures that became magnets for wild animals and delinquents.
Exactly as Staffio had said in his final moments, we found the ruins tucked behind a ridge on the mountainside.
It was a standard cave-type dungeon. Perhaps the inhabitants assumed no one would ever approach, or perhaps they were simply overconfident in the success of their "hunt," but there wasn't a single ruffian sentry posted outside. The entrance resembled an altar at the top of a short flight of stone steps, though like most ruins, it was heavily weathered. About a third of the structure had collapsed, and the original door was long gone, replaced by a gap in the rubble where someone had clearly forced a path.
"Neesama...!"
"Wait, Lady Ruerie. You mustn't rush."
Rosche restrained Ruerie as she prepared to charge in. The knight, who had just wiped out nine ruffians single-handedly, showed no sign of fatigue. Not a single drop of blood marred his light armor. For a man of his caliber, such a feat was probably routine. Had he sustained so much as a scratch, I might have joked about his skills getting rusty.
Master agreed with Rosche. "The man said he left four behind. We cannot afford to be careless yet."
"Right... you're correct." Ruerie lowered her head.
Cave-style dungeons were common, but their difficulty was never to be underestimated. The narrow, linear paths meant defenders could set as many traps as they liked. They could rig the corridors, station men outside to pincer us once we entered, or even light a fire at the entrance to smoke us out.
I couldn't take Staffio's claim of "four porters" at face value, either. While he didn't seem like the type to lie on his deathbed, that wasn't a reason to relax.
Master pointed her staff forward. "Now then, I shall begin with a Probe."
Probe—a spell that emitted a wave of mana and analyzed the fluctuations as it bounced off objects, allowing the caster to map the terrain and locate living presence.
I recalled my previous life having a similar technology using sound waves. It was an essential skill for scouts in narrow, low-visibility environments like caves or labyrinths.
However, the spell was more difficult than it sounded. The caster had to manually interpret the mana echoes, and if used crudely, the wave would alert every enemy in the vicinity. It required both a high level of mana control to remain undetected and an extraordinary aptitude for sensing reflections.
Master lowered her eyelids and tapped her staff against the ground, sending a mana wave into the depths—or so I assumed. The pulse was so faint that even I couldn't sense it. Ruerie simply looked on, confused about what Master was doing.
Rosche nodded solemnly. "A truly admirable display of skill."
"She’s my pride and joy," I said.
"Ngh," Master let out a tiny, hiccupping sound. She flapped her hand in the air as if swatting away a fly.
"Q-Quiet, you two! I’m trying to concentrate!"
It seemed the sudden praise had flustered her. I meant every word, though, and I was sure Rosche did too.
We fell silent and waited for her to finish. It took about twenty seconds before Master opened her eyes again, her gaze narrowing.
"This is..."
"Master?"
After a few more seconds of silence, a voice rang in our heads.
Everyone, I am connecting this Telepathia to everyone except Ruerie. Listen carefully, and do not let your expressions change.
Master only used high-level magic like Telepathia when she felt it was absolutely necessary. A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach.
...I sense only two responses.
I processed the information. Staffio had said there were four porters. Even if we assumed he was lying, there was still Ruerie’s sister and the other captured adventurers. There should have been at least six people inside.
Two was far too few.
The bad feeling intensified.
"Lady Ruerie," Rosche said, his voice remarkably gentle. "We will head inside, deal with the remnants, and rescue your sister. Could you wait here for us?"
"B-But...!" Ruerie started to protest, then bit her lip. She likely remembered how she had been used as a human shield by Staffio. She clenched her fists. "You're... right. Please, take care of my sister!"
"Of course. What is her name?"
"Shiarie. Her hair is longer than mine, and the color is a bit darker."
"Understood. Leave it to us." Rosche nodded with a smile, then turned to me, his expression turning grave. "You’re coming, Wolka?"
"...Yeah."
The discrepancy between the expected headcount and Master’s readings was too large to ignore. Unless it was a trap, there was only one explanation.
There were dead people inside.
"I am going as well," Master said, gripping my right hand. There was a desperate strength in her small fingers, a silent declaration that she wouldn't be left behind. She had been just as stubborn about the seating in the carriage.
Anze stepped forward next. "Lord Wolka, please let me accompany you. I suspect..." She glanced at Ruerie for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "...that my power may be needed."
I didn't need her to explain. We needed a Holy Magic user. I wasn't optimistic enough to believe the captives would be uninjured. I knew this world too well to expect such a mercy.
"Yulitia, Atri. Stay here and protect Ruerie."
Yulitia bit her lip. The sun was setting, and the woods were growing dark. We couldn't rule out an ambush, so someone had to stay behind to guard our rear. Even though she understood the necessity, she looked miserable at her own perceived helplessness.
"Promise me one thing," she said, looking straight at me. "Do not be reckless. Rely on the others. Do not try to do everything alone. ...If you do, I will be very angry."
"Understood. If you break that promise, we're having a talk," Atri added.
"...I promise."
Rosche drew his sword, and Master lit the tip of her staff. Beyond the ruined entrance was a set of stairs leading down into the dark. Mana stone lamps were spaced out along the walls, but even with Master’s light, the footing was treacherous. With only one eye and a prosthetic leg, I had to be extremely careful.
Anze pressed close to my left side. "Lord Wolka, please be careful. Let us take this very slowly..."
"Hmph." Master looked annoyed and clung to my right side. Normally, I would have told them to stop competing or complained that they were making it hard to walk, but I didn't have the mental energy for it.
Two responses. Only two.
If this world has prepared the worst possible ending after we've come this far... I’m going to have a word with God.
We descended the decaying stairs and moved through a corridor so claustrophobic and dark it felt like the gullet of a beast. We soon reached a wider chamber.
Flickering mana stone lamps illuminated the space, revealing tables made of stacked crates, barrels used as stools, and frayed rugs serving as beds. Scraps of food sat rotting on the crates, spilled alcohol stained the floor, and trash had been swept carelessly into the corners.
I didn't even want to speak.
"...No one is here. Let’s keep moving."
Master continued her detection as we moved. She made it look easy, but processing visual information while navigating and maintaining a detection spell was an incredible feat of multitasking—like solving complex math in your head while juggling. It was a reminder of just how powerful a mage she really was.
Rosche led us into the back corridor. We passed a small, empty room on the left. Then came a door on the right.
"Ngh—"
My breath hitched. At the back of the room, where the wall had partially collapsed, there was a gruesome trail of blood—a smear left behind by something being dragged and thrown into the pit.
I knew exactly what had been dumped there. When monsters died, their bodies dissolved into dust, leaving only Drops. If someone went to the trouble of hauling a corpse to a hole, it meant the body wasn't a monster's.
I picked up a piece of rubble and tossed it into the dark abyss. It took four seconds for the sound of it hitting the bottom to reach us. At that height...
"Wolka..." Master shook her head sadly. Her magic sensed no life at the bottom of the pit.
In the corner of the room lay items that no ruffian would own: a high-quality sword that looked recently purchased, gauntlets, greaves, and a belt pouch.
And a shattered, blood-stained talisman bearing the emblem of Sword & Wand.
The suspicion that had been gnawing at me was confirmed. Ruerie’s companions, Cain and Lloyd, had been murdered so the ruffians could take their places. These were the bloodstains of their disposal.
"Let’s go, Wolka," Rosche said softly. "The living come first."
"...Yeah." I grit my teeth and forced the thought away. He was right. We had to save whoever was left.
We moved deeper. The path split, but the left branch was blocked by a cave-in. We took the right. We passed two more empty rooms, but at the third, we stopped.
"..."
"Stay back," Rosche commanded.
It was a corpse. Even at a glance, it was clear the man was beyond help. He looked like one of the ruffians, his throat opened with a single, clean slash. He lay in a widening pool of blood that hadn't even begun to dry. He couldn't have been dead for more than an hour.
Bloody footprints from bare feet led further down the hall.
"Stay three steps behind me," Rosche whispered.
The killer was still here.
Rosche readied his blade. Master prepared several quick-cast spells like Vortex. I gripped the hilt of my sword. We moved in formation: Rosche in the lead, Anze behind him, then Master and me.
The corridor opened into a larger chamber. Master’s voice was low. "Two people in the back. They aren't hiding."
My heart hammered against my ribs, and my throat felt like it was on fire. There was no other way forward. Whatever was in that room, we had to face it.
Memories of the various "bad ends" from The Original Work flashed through my mind. I was terrified. Remembering the "Knowledge of the Original Work" had fundamentally changed how I saw this world. Logically, I knew Staffio’s goal was trafficking, so the women were unlikely to be killed. But in that "story," a tragedy where everyone but Ruerie died was exactly the kind of thing the author would write.
But I wouldn't pray to God. To me, the "God" of this world was that sadistic author, a person who would delight in plunging someone into despair just when they thought they were safe.
A world without a god was better than a world with him.
We entered.
Three sights met my eyes.
Three men lay dead in a pool of fresh blood, their lives clearly cut short in the same manner as the man in the hall.
Nearby, a girl lay sprawled on the floor.
In the shadows at the far end of the room, two more girls huddled together, staring back with hollow, vacant eyes.
I focused on the two survivors first. Based on Ruerie’s description, they were likely the members of the A-rank party captured alongside Windmill. They were the two responses Master had sensed. One had golden hair and the other pink; both looked to be about seventeen, my age. They were dressed in nothing but rags and bound with chains. It wasn't hard to imagine what they had endured, and the realization made my blood boil.
"Master, Anze. Take care of those two."
"Understood," Master said.
"Yes. Leave them to me," Anze added.
It was better for the women to handle them. I approached the girl lying on the floor.
Her hair was a deep violet, longer and darker than Ruerie’s. Her frame was slightly smaller than Atri’s, but her features bore a clear resemblance to the girl waiting outside.
"......Haaah."
A long sigh of relief escaped me. My knees felt weak, and I had to lean on my good leg as I looked down at her.
"Thank God. She's alive."
She was only unconscious.
I felt a pathetic amount of relief. She was in the same state as the others, wearing only a tattered rag, and this was far from a happy ending—but she was breathing.
"This is Shiarie, then," Rosche said.
"Yeah."
A bloody knife lay by her hand. The soles of her feet were raw and red. She was the one who had killed the men. Whether she had timed it with the main group's departure or it was a desperate gamble, she had tried to save her sister with nothing but that blade. She must have realized Ruerie wasn't there and collapsed once her adrenaline ran out.
It had been a reckless, suicidal move. If we hadn't arrived, or if the timing had been off by minutes, this would have been a scene from a horror novel. The odds had been stacked against her.
But I couldn't call her foolish. I empathized with her from the bottom of my soul.
"...Do we have anything to cover them with?"
"Let's see," Rosche said, opening his Storage. He pulled out a pair of sturdy traveling cloaks. "Anze! Use these!"
He handed them over. I reached into my own Storage to find my spare cloak. It was a cheap, coarse thing compared to Rosche's, but it was clean and would serve the purpose.
In the second my attention shifted away from Shiarie—
"Guh!?"
She struck from my blind spot. Shiarie snapped awake with the ferocity of a wild animal. She lunged, and because of my prosthetic leg, the force of her tackle sent me flat on my back. Before I could react, she was pinned on top of me.
"Give... Ruerie... back...!"
Her voice was thick with pure, unfiltered hatred. Her eyes were those of someone who wanted nothing more than to tear her enemy’s throat out with her teeth.
"GIVE HER BACK!"
I had no time to move. The knife, dull from claiming four lives, descended toward my throat with murderous, desperate force.