The hunters stepped deeper into the ruins.

The air changed the moment they crossed the broken threshold. It felt heavier, colder, as if the stones themselves were breathing slowly around them. Walls stood crooked and wounded, their surfaces eaten away by time. Broken pillars lay scattered like fallen bones. Rusted metal frames jutted out of the ground, twisted and useless, remnants of something once grand and purposeful.

Kaelo turned in a slow circle, his boots crunching over debris.

“What was this place before it was abandoned?”

Miles walked ahead, his eyes moving calmly across the ruins, as if he was not seeing them for the first time.

“It was the vacation palace of King Oswin Sterling.”

The words landed heavier than the silence.

The monk glanced toward Miles.

“Vacations are for peace, not chaos.”

Miles did not slow.

“For him, vacation was hunting. You can call it his hunting cabin.”

Kaelo let out a low whistle.

“He must have had a big army, if he built something like this in the middle of death itself.”

Miles smirked faintly but said nothing.

Elias kicked a piece of rusted metal aside, irritation clear on his face.

“So where is it? There is nothing here except rotting stones and metal.”

Miles stopped walking.

“It should be nearby.”

Elias narrowed his eyes.

“It better be nearby.”

Kaelo crossed his arms.

“Only the monk can stay patient in a place like this.”

The monk replied without looking at him.

“Patience is fruitful.”

Elias gave a short chuckle, though it lacked humor.

They moved again, weaving through collapsed corridors and half standing halls. The deeper they went, the more unnatural the ruins felt. It was not just abandonment. It was preservation mixed with decay, as if someone had chosen very carefully what was allowed to die and what was not.

Then they saw it.

At the far end of a collapsed courtyard stood a structure untouched by ruin.

The walls were intact. The stone was cleaner, stronger. Vines avoided it, growing around but never over it. Even the air felt different there, steadier, quieter.

A single room.

Though everything outside had fallen to time, this room stood firm, as if history itself had decided to protect it.

The group slowed instinctively.

The monk exhaled softly.

“Looks like we reached the real entrance of the ruins.”

Expressions shifted across every face.

Awe. Greed. Fear. Suspicion.

Miles stood still, eyes fixed on the structure.

“It is in there. Open the door.”

A few men stepped forward, weapons ready, hands tense as they approached the entrance.

Before they could touch it, Kaelo raised his hand sharply.

“Hold.”

Everyone froze.

Kaelo pointed toward the side of the entrance, where a large stone tablet stood half buried in the ground.

“Look at that. There is something written on it.”

Elias moved closer, brushing dust and moss away with his glove. The stone was ancient, its surface cracked but deliberate. Letters had been carved deep, preserved through centuries of neglect.

Hilda stepped beside him, her voice tight.

“What is it?”

Everyone leaned in.

The sentence was written in English, etched cleanly into the withered stone.

Silence fell as they read.

The wind shifted slightly as Kaelo cleared his throat and read the inscription aloud.

“Opening the door is your final decision. Either you are destined to begin your journey when you leave, or you never leave this place. Remember, only open the door if you are strong. Your final decision can be your final destination.”

He paused, then read the name carved beneath.

“Oswin Sterling.”

Kaelo snorted.

“What a load of nonsense. Was this written by a child?”

The monk’s eyes remained on the stone.

“Are you judging a place by just a door?”

Elias smiled faintly.

“Philosophy suits you, monk. Perhaps you should write a book.”

Miles let out a soft breath, something between amusement and warning.

“I should remind you, it was written by a king. Do not take it lightly.”

Elias glanced at him.

“We will see.”

Hilda did not laugh.

She did not speak.

Her eyes remained fixed on Miles, on that faint smirk that never quite left his face. A chill crawled up her spine. She could not shake the feeling that every word carved into that stone had been placed exactly where he wanted it.

Around them, whispers passed between the men.

Some scoffed.

Some swallowed.

Some glanced back toward the forest, as if reconsidering.

Kaelo folded his arms.

“So how do we open it?”

Elias pointed toward the center of the heavy door.

“Can you not see the latch? It is right there.”

A massive metallic latch stretched across the double doors. Thick. Bulky. Rust had eaten away at its surface, turning it a deep reddish brown. It looked fused to the door itself, as if it had not moved in a century.

Elias gestured sharply.

“Move it.”

Two of his men stepped forward first. They wrapped both hands around the iron bar and pulled.

Nothing.

The latch did not even tremble.

Another man joined them.

“Pull harder.”

They strained. Muscles tightened. Boots slid against stone.

The metal let out a faint groan but refused to budge.

Kaelo stepped in.

“Let me.”

He grabbed the latch with both hands and heaved, teeth clenched. Veins stood out along his neck.

The latch shifted barely an inch, scraping with a sound like metal grinding against bone.

“There” one of the men shouted. “It moved.”

“Again” Elias barked.

More hands joined.

Five men now.

They pulled together, breath ragged, boots digging into the ground. Rust flaked off in clouds. The latch screeched in protest, the sound echoing through the ruins.

“This thing is fused” one man gasped.

“Use leverage” the monk said calmly.

A long metal rod was wedged beneath the latch. Two men pressed downward while the others pulled.

The iron shrieked.

Dust fell from above.

Then, slowly, painfully, the latch began to slide.

An inch.

Then another.

Kaelo let out a growl of effort.

“Move you cursed thing.”

With one final synchronized pull, the latch tore free of its resting place, slamming against the door with a deafening clang.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Elias grinned.

“See. Just old metal.”

“Push it open” he ordered.

Four men braced themselves against the massive doors.

“On three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

They shoved.

At first the doors resisted, sealed by time and pressure.

Then, with a deep cracking sound, the stone hinges shifted.

A cloud of powdered white dust burst outward as the doors opened inward.

The air inside rushed out like the breath of something that had been sleeping for centuries.

Men coughed violently.

The dust filled their lungs, burned their eyes. Visibility dropped instantly. The interior was pitch black beyond the white haze.

“Cover your faces” someone shouted.

The dust settled slowly, coating the ground like fresh snow.

Elias waved his hand impatiently.

“Wear your head lights.”

One by one, beams of white light pierced the darkness.

Backpacks were unzipped.

Magazines were checked again.

Knives were repositioned.

The tension returned.

Ahead of them stretched only blackness.

Not like a room.

Like a cave.

Like something that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.

Elias stepped forward first, his beam cutting through the void.

“We are entering.”

The darkness did not respond.

They stepped inside.

The temperature dropped immediately.

The walls were not crumbling like the exterior ruins. These were different. Perfectly engineered stone blocks aligned with unsettling precision. Not a crack misplaced. Not an uneven corner. Whoever built this had not rushed.

Old fire torches hung evenly spaced along the walls, iron brackets still intact though blackened by age. The corridor stretched forward in a straight line before fading into shadow.

Their footsteps echoed in a hollow rhythm.

Kaelo tilted his head toward the torches.

“Should we light them?”

Elias did not even slow.

“We should not. They can consume oxygen. We do not know how much air is inside.”

Kaelo frowned.

“Then why were they placed here?”

Elias glanced back.

“Things change with time, idiot. Why take unnecessary risk?”

Kaelo muttered under his breath.

“You talk like Basil.”

He glanced toward the entrance.

“I think Basil and Artem are coming back too. I want to know what that blast was about.”

Elias snapped.

“You talk too much. Learn something from this brat.”

He pointed toward Miles.

Kaelo scoffed.

“Learn from him? What do you think I am, a school boy?”

Before Elias could respond, one of the men ahead shouted.

“Look. There is a rack on the side. There is a chest on it.”

Everyone’s beams shifted.

Against the wall, mounted slightly above ground level, sat a stone rack. Upon it rested a small wooden chest, surprisingly preserved.

Greed flickered in the man’s eyes.

“I will check it.”

“Wait—” Elias started.

But the man had already stepped forward.

His boot pressed against the floor directly beneath the rack.

There was a sharp mechanical click.

The stone slab beneath him dropped.

It did not crack.

It did not break.

It simply sank.

The man vanished.

His scream tore through the corridor.

A long, desperate scream.

It echoed downward, growing thinner.

Then…

A distant, sickening impact.

Silence.

No one moved.

Kaelo’s mouth hung open.

“It… what the hell… it… it is so deep.”

Elias’s face drained of color for a brief second before discipline returned.

“Watch your steps. Away from the walls.”

Men instinctively pulled inward, forming a tighter cluster in the center of the corridor.

Hilda covered her mouth.

One of Kaelo’s men whispered.

“How far did he fall?”

The monk closed his eyes briefly.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

Elias stepped cautiously toward the edge of the opening, careful to avoid pressure on the surrounding stone.

He aimed his headlight downward.

The beam disappeared into blackness.

It did not hit a visible bottom.

It simply dissolved.

Monk stepped beside him.

“What is inside?”

Elias swallowed.

“Hell.”

The word echoed more truthfully than he intended.

A faint draft rose from the pit.

Cold.

Carrying something metallic.

Or organic.

No one could tell.

Behind them, the corridor felt narrower now.

Alive.

Watching.

Elias straightened.

“No one touches anything. There are traps.”

The weight of that realization settled over the group like a second ceiling.

And deeper ahead, the darkness seemed to stretch further than it had a moment ago.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep