I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 398

"An intruder?" Diana tilted her head at the unexpected question but answered, "As far as I know, the Mantra circuit only reacts if there's a direct threat to the city or the nest. That's why we can cultivate those mutated crops here with no issues."

"I figured as much," Ian muttered under his breath, almost like a sigh, and downed the entire drink in his glass in one go.

Setting the glass down with a thud, he glanced at Diana, whose expression twisted slightly as though she'd just witnessed him drink poison.

"Follow me. I need to confirm this myself."

"Where to?"

Ian didn't answer. Instead, he turned abruptly, grabbed the scabbard of Truesilver Steel Sword leaning against the wall, and headed straight for the door.

Diana, puzzled, followed him, pressing for answers. "Ian. What exactly are you trying to confirm? Where are we going?"

Fastening the scabbard to his belt as he walked, Ian stepped into the staircase and replied curtly, "The sewer entrance we used to get in. Probably."

"Probably?"

"Yeah. There's an intruder."

Diana's already narrowed eyes behind her mask thinned further.

Her swamp-colored pupils instinctively darted toward the underground city. However, the cityscape looked no different from usual.

Sticking closer to Ian, she whispered, "At this distance, you sensed an intruder?"

"You should know by now—I've got good instincts," Ian said without looking back, quickening his pace as he descended the stairs.

Of course, that wasn't the whole truth.

—Yeah, now it's unmistakable. This scent is familiar.

Yog, having abruptly woken, had whispered to him about the scent it detected. It was immediately after that Ian's intuition kicked in.

Turning sharply, Ian took the path leading to the passageway. Diana, saying nothing further, trailed after him, her right hand gripping the hilt of her short sword.

Tap-tap-tap.

Moving through the passageway, Ian climbed the incline with almost no sound, his pace swift. Soon, a faint metallic tang reached his nose.

"Blood?" Diana barely murmured, her lips parting in shock. At that moment, Ian's pace quickened into a near sprint.

Tap-tap!

Reaching the low exit, Ian leaped forward, kicking it open, and drew his sword smoothly from its perfectly fitted scabbard.

The scene before him burned into his vision in an instant.

Crunch, crunch—

Two dwarven guards lay collapsed on either side, blood pooling beneath them. One intruder stood over the fallen dwarf on the left, striking his head with a short sword. On the opposite side, another intruder gripped a wall-mounted handle, using a weighted dagger as a makeshift hammer to bash it.

Both intruders turned their heads almost simultaneously, seemingly just now noticing Ian's presence. Their eyes flickered with a bluish glow, faintly shimmering in the dim light.

Slash—

A blindingly white arc cut through the head of the intruder who had been attacking the dwarf. The top portion of the head, sliced horizontally from the cheekbones, spun into the air before bursting upward. Sticky black blood and bits of severed brain spattered across the chamber walls, staining the stone.

Crash!

As Ian rammed his left shoulder into the barrier where an arched doorway protruded, a turquoise glow flared briefly from the decapitated intruder's remains, leaving its body crumpled like straw.

Whoosh!

The other intruder, who had been hammering at the wall's handle, spun around mid-strike, aiming a dagger at Ian as he landed. Its glowing turquoise eyes flashed, preparing to draw a deadly arc.

Thunk—

The intruder's head jerked violently to the side as a dark dagger buried itself deep into its temple.

Diana, who had followed closely behind, had reflexively thrown the dagger. The intruder's stance faltered for a moment—just enough time for Ian to swing his sword again.

Slash.

The gleaming white arc severed the intruder's neck, pinning the blade into the barrier behind it. The headless body collapsed in a heap, limp and motionless. Once again, little blood spurted from the wound.

Ian pulled his sword free from the wall. The Mantra circuit hadn't activated—most likely because they weren't considered an intruder.

"Damn it." The faint sound of rasping breath spread across the floor.

The severed head on the ground still glimmered with a turquoise light in its eyes. Thanks to the dagger embedded in its temple, the head remained still as it opened its mouth toward Ian.

"So this is how I die? I didn't expect to get caught so soon. Fascinating." Its voice came out as a mere breath, likely because its vocal cords had been severed.

Diana's gaze twisted as she looked down at the grotesque sight. "Marco?"

The glowing eyes shifted slightly as though attempting to look at Diana. A forced smile spread across its frozen lips.

"Nice to see you. Then, will you pass along a message to our—"

Crunch!

Before he finished the sentence, Ian's sword descended again, splitting the head in two like a watermelon. Turquoise energy sparked and dissipated from the bisected remains.

"Was he one of the Owls?" Ian asked, raising his sword again.

Diana nodded quickly. "Yes, he left at the same time as me. Shit, damn it!"

Realizing the condition of the fallen dwarves, Diana suddenly bolted toward them. She crouched over one of the brutally attacked bodies, her expression darkening.

Meanwhile, Ian turned toward the wide-open entrance. Crouching slightly, he stared up the staircase beyond the doorway. A faint, veil-like glimmer flickered across his eyes, reflecting the dim light of the underground.

"Hey, you. Half-Pint. Are you conscious? Hey!" Diana approached the dwarf on the right, who had a dagger deeply embedded just above his collarbone, and called out.

The dwarf was still breathing. His eyelids quivered before he forced his mouth open with great effort.

"Hurry... go... to... Al... q... ears...." Red blood trickled from the dwarf's mouth.

At nearly the same moment, Ian, staring beyond the staircase, spoke without even turning around. "How many entrances are there to the city?"

"Three in total. Wait, don't tell me." Diana, who had been watching the dwarf with sunken eyes, turned to Ian.

Finally, Ian glanced back at her and pointed his sword toward the passage leading into the city. "Send Bears to all the entrances. Immediately. At least two for each. Anyone who comes back is a pawn of the Wanderers."

"How can you?" Diana asked, her breath caught in her throat. "The soul leaves the body upon death, and what's left behind is only—"

"Now's not the time to satisfy your curiosity. Before they destroy the door controls, move." Ian cut her off, looking up at the broken stone handle on the wall.

Upon realizing that the handle was damaged, Diana quickly turned without saying another word.

Tap-tap!

In a low stance, she sprinted through the passageway, vanishing instantly.

Does she have some knowledge of dark magic?

Watching her retreating figure, Ian wondered.

Diana's suspicion wasn't wrong. Necromancy used residual thoughts, grudges, or spirits lingering in corpses to reanimate the dead. Those revived this way kept only fragmented memories, which became increasingly faint the longer they had been dead. If too much time had passed, they became puppets driven solely by instinct, like the wandering undead of the North.

It seems that those annoying traps weren't set up for fun.

Still, corpses that had died recently held relatively large fragments of memory. While these memories operated completely differently than during life, repeatedly reviving them would eventually yield a being capable of recalling the stronghold's location with some clarity.

That must be why they tried to capture me as well.

Thinking this, Ian stood and approached the broken wall handle. The long handle, meant to be grasped with a full hand, was now only half intact. At least, it was clear there was no Mantra circuit inscribed on it.

Clank.

Ian gripped the handle and pulled it upward.

—Finally, this dull peace comes to an end. I'm looking forward to this.

Yog's laughter echoed in his mind, the voice that had been tickling his thoughts all along.

Ian muttered coldly, "Says the one who claims my survival is its top priority."

Rumble, rumble.

The walls on either side shifted, closing the previously open entrance.

—It's not just for fun, you know. The more you fight, the more it feels like my soul is becoming whole again.

Without responding to the continuing whispers, Ian crouched toward the dwarf at his feet.

Then he froze. The dwarf was already dead. His words to Diana had been his dying wish.

Clicking his tongue softly, Ian suddenly realized why the dwarf's face seemed familiar. It was one of the craftsmen who had visited him before. The other corpse, his face mutilated beyond recognition, was likely another one of them.

"You should've worn your armor..." Muttering bitterly, Ian reached out and pulled the dagger embedded in the dwarf's collarbone free in one swift motion. Dark red blood trickled down the blade.

Gripping the bloodstained dagger in his left hand, Ian turned toward the opposite passage.

***

The atmosphere in Drag Velga had grown tense in a brief time.

"Is something wrong? What's going on?"

"Mom, what's happening?"

"I don't know yet, dear."

Villagers were stepping out onto the streets, looking around nervously. It seemed Diana had caused quite a stir as she ran around. Considering her safety was at stake, it wasn't surprising.

"Blood?"

"What's with that dagger?"

Ian quickly cut through the crowd, heading for the stairs. The villagers instinctively stepped aside, but their gazes lingered on the dagger in his hand, especially the bloodied one on his left.

—This chaos, this fear! Ah, now this is truly entertaining. freёwebnoѵel.com

Ignoring Yog's whispers, Ian descended the stairs at a brisk pace. Diana was nowhere to be seen—she had probably informed the Bears, the guards, of the situation and then rushed straight to the inner city.

"What? Intruders? What's going on?"

"Move aside, you stubborn molars! Our people are on duty down here!"

From the opposite side of the workshop district, a group of dwarven craftsmen was already descending into a swarm. The dwarves who had arrived ahead were arguing with the orc guards, blocking the upper stream of the waterway.

"You must step back until the situation has been assessed. That's the rule." The orc guards, unaffected by the dwarves' protests, merely stood firm with their axes and spears raised, pushing the dwarves back slightly.

Spotting Ian approaching, the orc's yellow eyes narrowed as he addressed him. "Step back, Sir Ian. This area is currently—"

"I'm the one who sent Diana. I need to see the situation myself."

As the orc gave Ian a slight nod at Ian's response, the gathered dwarf craftsmen raised their voices in protest.

"What the hell! You're letting that lanky guy through, but not us?"

"By my anvil! We're dwarves, and our people are the ones—"

Their shouting trailed off as they noticed Ian wasn't heading toward the underground waterway but instead approaching them directly.

"Head to the sewer entrance. Quickly," said Ian, extending the bloodstained dagger. "You need to retrieve the bodies of the two craftsmen."

"Shit. Pin and Hemit?"

"No way— My brother!"

A few dwarves gasped and, without another word, ran in the opposite direction. Ian turned his gaze to Corvo, the red-bearded dwarf, and his curly-bearded friend, Langley.

"Bring me my armor. I'll need it immediately."

"We barely reassembled it, but... Hold on—just a moment!"

The two dwarves exchanged a glance before bolting toward the workshop.

"Wait. I'll be back soon." Ian added to the remaining dwarves before passing by the orcs and continuing. However, he barely managed ten steps before coming to a halt.

Squish, squish—

Emerging from the shadows of the cave were an orc guard and two human guards.

Ian's brow furrowed slightly as he noticed the blood staining the orc's poleaxe and the two spears held by one of the humans. The other human and the orc were each carrying something small and limp in their arms.

"Damn it."

"By the forge... Findley..."

Behind Ian, the dwarves let out groans of despair, realizing that the limp forms in the guards' arms were the corpses of their dwarven guards.

Facing the approaching orc, Ian asked, "The intruder—did you kill them?"

"Yes."

"Eyes glowing turquoise, an Owl, already dead?"

"Yes, Sir Ian. They were corpses moving as if alive," replied one of the human guards.

The groans of the dwarves behind quickly followed.

"The Wanderers! Damn it, we should've cracked Carmiel's skull and tossed it into the furnace before they got here!"

"How the hell did they find this place?"

"Does this have something to do with the Owls that left?"

Their voices quickly died down as the orc kneeled before them, lowering the small body it had been carrying in its left hand.

"Our condolences," the orc said.

"Our condolences," echoed the other human guard as he placed the second body forward.

The bodies were in a terrible condition—faces, necks, and countless stab wounds curved apart chests.

"Thank you," one of the dwarves muttered.

Yet, they accepted the bodies as though the horrific state didn't faze them, lifting them overhead. Multiple dwarves reached out to help hold the remains, their hands supporting them together.

At this moment, it seemed, the dwarves and orcs set aside any tensions between them. Then, without another word, the dwarves turned and walked solemnly toward the city. Ian watched their somber procession for a moment before shifting his gaze back to the guards.

"The entrance—did you close it?"

"Yes. They hadn’t destroyed all of it yet." The orc spoke in a deeper, more subdued tone than usual. His perpetually grim, expressionless face couldn't entirely hide the anger reflected in his yellow eyes.

"Just as I thought." Ian nodded.

The Wanderer's method was simple but effective: they would send back members of the stronghold, now turned into puppets, to open the gates from within. Once the guards fell and the passage opened, their main force would attack the city.

Of course, the main force wouldn’t be stationed too far away. The faint sense of chaos lingering in the air flowing through the sewer entrance earlier was evidence of that.

But now, due to prior interruption, the plan's failure left the main force a choice of a reckless charge or retreat.

Hopefully, it's the latter.

"There's one more entrance, isn't there?" Ian asked.

"It's up there."

The orcs all simultaneously pointed toward the third floor. Ian's gaze shifted to the opposite side of the sewer entrance he had come through, where another passageway was carved into the wall.

Below it, he caught sight of a crowd pouring out of the dining hall in a noisy commotion. Without hesitation, Ian broke into a run.

The orc and the human guards exchanged glances before following him, sprinting together with no one needing to give the signal.