Vol3 Chapter 34 What the hell is that.

Amos disappeared into the darkness.

His footsteps gradually became quieter.

Then even the echoes faded.

He continued forward.

His hand lingered near his sword as his gaze swept the corridor with measured precision. Left. Right. Ceiling. Floor. Behind. Nothing slipped past his notice. The passage was so narrow that anything large would have trouble passing without leaving a trace, meaning whatever might be hiding here had to be small—

or smart enough to stay invisible.

Neither possibility was comforting.

Amos slowed.

He crouched next to the trail of blood. Two drops. Then another. He touched one with a gloved finger—still a little wet. His face tightened.

This is new.

He studied the trail. The blood led deeper into the ruins, but there were no footprints, no drag marks, no broken weapons, no dropped gear. Odd. If someone had been hurt badly enough to lose this much blood, there should have been other signs.

Unless—

Amos glanced at the wall, catching a faint scrape along the stone, then another, both at about shoulder height. His eyes traced the marks as they stretched down the corridor.

Something was carrying them.

His grip on the sword tightened slightly as he rose to his feet and moved on. This time, his pace was slower, each step measured and purposeful. Hugging the wall, he steered clear of the corridor’s center, eyes scanning for pressure plates, magical traps, hidden mechanisms, or any subtle shifts in the stonework.

An S-rank ruin environment itself could kill an adventurer.

Soon, he reached an intersection with three corridors and came to a halt. The left passage was coated in undisturbed dust, as was the right. But down the center, there was a faint footprint. Amos crouched to inspect it—a human boot print. He gauged its size, then spotted another, and another.

Several people had passed through here.

He examined the impressions carefully.

At least four individuals.

The missing team maybe?

Possibly.

Amos followed the trail until, after several minutes, he came upon a massive stone door, half-open, with blood staining the bottom edge. He stopped, eyes narrowing, and chose not to step inside right away. Instead, he studied the doorway carefully.

He extended a small amount of mana toward the stone.

Nothing.

He waited.

Still, nothing.

Finally, he placed a hand on the door.

He pushed.

Grrrrrrrrk.

The massive stone door moved.

Amos stepped through, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The chamber was vast—far larger than the narrow corridor had implied. Ancient pillars toward a ceiling lost in shadow, while broken statues lined the walls like silent sentinels. In the center of the room lay a scattered pile of equipment.

Amos stopped.

His gaze moved across it.

Backpacks.

Weapons.

Empty potion bottles.

A torn cloak.

A broken shield.

He recognized the insignia.

The Adventurer's Guild.

Amos's expression became even more serious.

"This belongs to the A-rank team..."

He approached carefully.

One step at a time.

He examined the equipment without touching it.

The weapons showed no rust, left behind only recently. The shield lay split almost perfectly down the middle—not shattered by brute force but sliced clean through. Amos crouched beside it. He ran his eyes along the wound.

A clean edge.

Extremely sharp.

His eyes narrowed.

Sword?

No.

The angle was wrong.

Claw?

Possibly.

The material had been sliced, not torn. He scanned the chamber once more. No bodies. No monster remains. No evidence of a long fight. Just equipment left behind. Somehow, that felt even worse.

Amos rose slowly, sensing that something had significant occurred. Whatever it was, it had been strong enough to make a seasoned A-rank team leave their gear behind. And whatever drove them on, it forced them deeper into the unknown. His gaze drifted toward the far end of the chamber.

Another doorway stood open, a thin trail of blood leading toward it. Amos stared for several seconds before he heard something.

Tap.

He turned his head toward the noise.

Nothing.

He stayed still, waiting.

Tap.

From above, Amos slowly lifted his gaze. Nothing stirred between the pillars. He stayed perfectly still, his breathing steadying as mana flowed through him. His senses stretched outward. Still, nothing.

Then—

Tap.

Behind him.

Amos turned instantly.

The entrance was empty.

His eyes narrowed.

It's moving.

He didn’t draw his sword, knowing the sound would give him away. Instead, he lowered his center of gravity, his right hand resting near the hilt while his left opened slightly, ready to cast a spell. His eyes swept the chamber once more.

One pillar. Two. Three. Nothing. Then he saw it—a tiny speck of dust drifting down from the ceiling. Amos’s gaze tracked its slow descent, and his expression shifted. Not fear, but recognition.

Above.

He moved.

BOOM!

Something came crashing down where he’d just been. Stone splintered apart, and a cloud of dust burst through the chamber.

Amos slid several meters across the floor before quickly regaining his footing. He didn’t make a move, just stood there watching as the dust slowly settled. In the center of the chamber, something stood waiting.

Amos's eyes narrowed.

It wasn’t human, but it wasn’t a typical monster either—at least not one he knew. Its body was unnervingly thin, with long limbs and pale, stone-like skin. There was no armor, no weapon, nothing obvious to mark it as dangerous, yet something about it felt deeply wrong. Its head slowly tilted toward him.

 What the hell is that?!

Amos didn't move.

The creature didn’t move either. For several seconds, they just stared at each other. Amos observed its posture, its limbs, its breathing—and its mana. Nothing. There was almost no trace of a mana signature. Something that fast should have radiated some kind of magical presence, yet he couldn’t feel a thing.

Either it's suppressing its mana...

His eyes shifted slightly.

...or it doesn't use mana.

The creature twitched a single finger. Amos’s eyes tracked the motion. A thin crack snaked across the stone floor. His pupils narrowed. The creature hadn’t touched the ground but something had. Amos shifted to the side.

SHIIIIING!

A razor-thin line tore through the floor where his foot had been.

Amos’s face turned ice-cold as the creature vanished. His gaze shot upward—too late. He lifted his arm.

CLANG!

Something slammed into his armor, forcing him to slide backward. Amos dug his heel into the floor, leaving a deep groove beneath his boots. Glancing down, he saw a thin cut scoring the metal. His eyes narrowed—another inch and it would have pierced through. He looked up at the creature, standing several meters away, silently watching. With a steady breath, Amos finally drew his sword.

SHING.

The sound echoed through the chamber as his stance shifted. His eyes locked on the creature, which remained still and silent. Amos eased his sword down slightly, his gaze never leaving its every subtle movement.

"I'll figure you out first."

The creature moved.

So did Amos.

BOOM!