“What is this?”
Lee Hamin, who had come up behind Sihyeon, spoke as he examined the altar. It seemed he had also caught the foul stench—fine wrinkles formed across the bridge of his nose. Sihyeon stared blankly at the altar marked with black patterns, then slowly reached out. Just as his fingertips were about to touch the stone—whoosh—Hamin snatched his hand out of the air. In an instant, the hand that had been reaching downward was yanked upward.
“And you’re touching it without even knowing what it is?”
Frowning, he spoke irritably. Sihyeon had only meant to check what it was… With his wrist grabbed, Sihyeon awkwardly swallowed his words. Somehow, the guy who was usually fine had started acting overly protective ever since they fell down here together.
Blinking, Sihyeon wondered if he was really in a situation where he needed protection. Then, feeling a dull ache in his wrist, he lowered his gaze to his hand.
“Let go.”
Despite how roughly he had grabbed him, Hamin obediently released him when told to. Sihyeon stared at the red mark left on his wrist. Would someone normally worry this much just because he collapsed once? Narrowing his brows at the thought, he looked over at Hamin—who, at some point, had already begun brushing his hand across the altar.
“…….”
Even as Hamin swept his hand over the altar, nothing happened—no sudden vibrations, no strange voices. Sihyeon stared at him with an incredulous expression. When I tried, you stopped me—now you’re doing it yourself? The nonchalant way Hamin said, “There’s nothing here,” only made it more absurd.
“You know you guys worry way too much?”
“If we’ve started worrying more, there must be someone who made us that way.”
“Were you like this from the start?”
Hamin shot back.
If he said it like that, there wasn’t much Sihyeon could say.
That put him at a disadvantage. Realizing that, Sihyeon rubbed his aching wrist once before examining the stone statues. Even though this was beneath an Orc settlement, the statues didn’t resemble Orcs. Instead, they depicted some kind of faceless being draped in robes. Not wanting to get scolded again, Sihyeon only looked at them with his eyes before moving deeper inside.
“Why is there a place like this?”
“If we knew that, would we have come down here?”
“You really need to work on how you talk.”
He had muttered it to himself, but Hamin responded provocatively anyway. Not wanting to get caught in an argument, Sihyeon simply shut his mouth. Pressing his lips together, he heard a scoff from beside him. Ignoring it, he silently continued walking.
As they went further in, a fork in the path appeared. Sihyeon looked between the two routes, then met Hamin’s gaze.
“Which way?”
“You?”
“Left.”
He asked, yet answered at the same time. Somehow, they always matched in the strangest ways. Thanks to that, there was no need for pointless bickering, and Sihyeon headed left. Hamin stuck close behind him.
“Where do you think this is?”
“Who knows. Seeing there’s an altar, maybe it’s a place where they perform rituals.”
“Rituals?”
“Yeah. Maybe they tie something up and pray for the tribe’s prosperity or something.”
“Like pigs or cows?”
“Or maybe… people.”
“…….”
At the casual remark, Hamin frowned. Seeing how he couldn’t hide his expressions, Sihyeon shrugged.
“Or maybe not.”
Only then did the deeply furrowed crease between Hamin’s brows relax.
“Ah…!”
Mid-step, something like a stone caught Sihyeon’s foot. As he tilted forward, nearly falling, Hamin grabbed him.
“What are you doing?”
Holding him firmly, Hamin spoke in disbelief. His half-scoffing voice practically said, Of course it’s you.
“I just tripped on something.”
Not liking the tone that made him sound pathetic, Sihyeon’s eyes narrowed. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he felt about 30% of his mana had recovered and glanced over Hamin. His blue eyes scanned him from head to toe.
“What?”
When Sihyeon stopped walking and turned to look at him, Hamin asked.
“I was wondering if you’re not in pain anymore.”
“Why that all of a sudden?”
“I think I asked first.”
“I said I can manage.”
Hamin’s expression looked completely calm. If not for the cold sweat forming on his forehead, Sihyeon might’ve believed him. The underground space was damp and chilly—not hot in the slightest. That wasn’t sweat from heat.
So stubborn. Will you die if you don’t act tough?
He genuinely wondered. Figuring he’d only get the same answer no matter how many times he asked, Sihyeon reached out toward Hamin. His hand moved faster than his words. Flash—a brief light flickered and disappeared, and immediately, Hamin’s face twisted.
“Hey, you—!”
“This much is fine.”
“What do you mean—… ha.”
A sigh slipped out of Hamin’s mouth. Sihyeon lifted his hand to brush his shoulder, then paused at Hamin flinching and made an awkward face. What was he, Pavlov’s dog? Did he think Sihyeon would heal him every time he raised his hand?
Hamin’s expression turned serious as he muttered something and ruffled his hair. Sihyeon was the one who used the heal, and Hamin was the one who received it—so why was he the one getting angry? Would it kill him to at least say thanks?
He’d only used as much as wouldn’t burden him anyway. They fell down here as two—wouldn’t it be a problem if only one made it back out?
As he was grumbling to himself, suddenly, something surged up his throat.
When it filled his mouth, Sihyeon stubbornly swallowed the hot, metallic taste.
Swipe—he wiped his mouth with his wrist. Hamin quickly noticed and was about to say something, but Sihyeon spoke first.
“When I used heal earlier, did you see it?”
“What?”
“I think there was something on the wall.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see.”
Casually redirecting Hamin’s attention, Sihyeon formed a small pillar of light above his hand. His mana had recovered enough to use this much without issue.
“What’s that supposed to be now?”
“A mini version of Holy Light.”
It wasn’t particularly useful aside from the fact that it wouldn’t disappear until the caster canceled it—but here, it served its purpose. Using the light pillar as a lamp, Sihyeon placed his hand against the wall. Bright light illuminated the dark surface. Only then did Hamin see what Sihyeon meant. The wall, which had gone unnoticed until now, was covered in murals—an enormous amount of them.
“…What is all this?”
At Hamin’s astonished voice, Sihyeon stepped sideways and placed his hand on the opposite wall. As expected, more murals were carved there.
“…Is this… a record?”
Sihyeon muttered as he looked at the numbers written above the murals. There were words after them, but they were too faded to make out. Even if he could read them, they didn’t look like Korean. After studying them for a moment, he shifted his focus to the images. One depicted some indescribable being being scolded by a robed figure.
“Looks like it’s getting chased out.”
Hamin muttered as he looked at the next image. Indeed, the mural showed that being getting struck on the backside and driven away by someone.
“…Could it be an Irregular?”
“Maybe. Or it could just be some Orc myth.”
Hamin lightly brushed the wall. Even when he rubbed it hard with his thumb, the mural showed no damage.
“It’s old.”
At Hamin’s murmur, Sihyeon nodded in agreement. Whatever this place was, it was clear the Orcs had built it a long time ago.
“…Do you think this place is more than ten years old?”
Irregulars had only started appearing ten years ago. At the sudden thought, Sihyeon asked, and Hamin shook his head—not in denial, but in uncertainty.
“…….”
As if by agreement, they both fell silent and continued walking. The murals stretched on. Behind the exiled being followed a group that looked like Irregulars. Some were angry, some were crying, and others seemed happy. They entered some kind of space—and once all of them were inside, it closed completely.
For a moment, the mural seemed to break off. Then, a little further ahead, there was a single droplet drawn—something that looked like a tear.
That was the end of the mural.
Sihyeon looked at Hamin. Tilting his head slightly, he met his gaze. Their differently colored eyes blinked slowly.
“…What is this?”
“Some kind of folktale?”
Tilt.
Their heads tilted at the same time. Sihyeon realized that no matter how much they thought about it, they wouldn’t find an answer. They had come in halfway through, so they couldn’t fully understand the story anyway. One thing was certain—the strange figure had been driven out by someone.
“Hm.”
Letting out a low hum, Sihyeon looked ahead. Beyond where the mural ended, stairs continued downward again.
“What do you want to do?”
“Take my hand.”
Hamin extended his hand as he spoke. Taking that as his answer, Sihyeon grabbed it and descended the stairs. It wasn’t until they were halfway down that he realized he didn’t actually need to hold hands, thanks to the light.
After descending fewer steps than before, a massive door came into view. Standing before it made them feel infinitely small. The door looked far too large to be pushed open—like it had been made for giants.
Yes—something like an Orc Lord.
For no reason, the sheer size and age of the door felt overwhelming.
“Do you think we can get in?”
“If it won’t open, we break it.”
Hamin gripped his sword tightly as he spoke. Sihyeon looked at him with disdain. Ever since they got here, they’d been giving each other that same look.
“And what if there’s something inside?”
“What would be inside?”
“Who knows. But whatever it is, it wouldn’t be strange. Like… a thousand-year-old mummy or something.”
“What?”
Even if he pretended otherwise, Hamin was easily scared. There was a reason someone with perfect vision wore glasses when watching horror movies. When they were kids, Kang Haeun told him that ghosts would grab his feet if he slept with them outside the blanket—and even now, he still tucked them tightly under the covers.
Recalling that story, Sihyeon added,
“Or maybe it’s a corpse.”
Only then did Hamin lower his sword and admit that breaking it down recklessly would be impulsive. He tried to sound reasonable—but he was just scared.
A guy who could face Irregulars without blinking—why was he afraid of ghosts?
Shaking his head in disbelief, Sihyeon clicked his tongue.
“Hey, isn’t there something written over there?”
It was then that Hamin spoke, gesturing toward the top of the door with his chin. Following his gaze, Sihyeon looked up. There really was something written there. It looked like Latin, or maybe English, or even Chinese.
It was an unidentifiable script.
Then—
Buzz.
His head rang, and his vision violently shook.
“Ugh.”
As Sihyeon staggered, clutching his forehead, Hamin asked what was wrong—but his voice faded away like a distant echo. In the silence where all noise had died out, Sihyeon stared at the words in his vision. The dizzying script blurred as if it would disappear, then suddenly became clear.
It was something he could read.
“…For… Mother…?”
“What?”
As Sihyeon read the words on the door, Hamin asked again.
The world spun once more, and Sihyeon’s body collapsed.
As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Hamin’s startled face.
Then everything went black.
Darkness.
