Backstory #026: The Ancient Shelter
There was one ruin. An extremely old and dilapidated shelter built several thousand years ago. It had never been fated to become the isolated place it was now. But at some point the era shifted violently, and the shelter paid the price for failing to read the signs, twisting into something else entirely.
Of course, it had not been completely forgotten. The elf village nearby was well aware of the ruin’s existence. The only unfortunate part was that they no longer knew its original purpose. To them, it was merely a remnant of the old world, a fragment of mystery. An alien place. A dangerous place.
In truth, that was the perfectly normal reaction. It was so deep and ancient that no one could predict what hazards might linger inside, and the testimonies of those who had entered only reinforced that fear. Occasionally some reckless children would slip in, but they either lost their lives in tragic accidents or barely crawled back out, adding fresh layers to the ruin’s fearsome reputation.
That was why the Far North Elves who lived in the village had worked hard to ban entry to the ruins. At least until the day when humans belonging to the “government” arrived from the distant south, dragging vehicles that belonged in warmer climates across a land that was nothing but ice.
“Hey, little friend! We’re planning to lay tracks through here. If the village chief or clan elder is around, could you fetch them for me?”
“I am the clan leader… Wait, little friend? You son of a bitch, how many thousands of years old do you think I am?”
The visitors from another world were surprisingly fluent in the language of the Far North Elves. It was extremely suspicious, yet the vehicles did not carry humans alone. Members of other tribes rode with them, and they brought important news.
A council of elders—the most influential leaders from the northernmost reaches—had gathered. They had decided to participate in the new government.
A new government to succeed the one that had crumbled long ago in the wake of decline. The fact that its core was a government from another world left a bitter taste. There was nothing strange about the idea that it might one day turn its blades against them.
Yet the government promised safety. Through negotiations with the elders, it even guaranteed equal rights and addressed the chronic problem of food supply.
Eating and surviving mattered even in a world that was not Earth. All the more so in a place like the northern end, where self-sufficiency was brutally difficult. The terms were simply too good to refuse.
In the end, they had no choice but to accept.
With that, government support flowed into the village, and every trace of its former self began to disappear. Wooden houses vanished, replaced by structures of brick and insulation. The muddy dirt paths were cleared and remade with anti-slip enchantments. The makeshift station that had resembled a bus stop became a proper train station where one could at least escape the wind.
“Why does this strange land smell like Gangwon and Hamgyong provinces?”
Some complained that it felt like the government had copy-pasted a rural Korean village and demanded they at least give it some local character. But there was neither enough time nor budget to preserve and coexist with the original culture, so the objections were ignored.
“Excuse me, village chief. I heard there’s an old ruin behind the village?”
Still, they had not completely abandoned cultural matters. Rather than another massive civil engineering project, a relatively modest initiative began.
“Yes, there is one. Why do you ask?”
“We were thinking of repurposing it as a local tourist site. Would that be all right?”
“Pardon?”
As was typical of this damned government, they were dumping the budget into the strangest possible place. Opposition would have been proper, yet the villagers agreed the moment they heard the nuisance would be transformed. A ruin that tourists would visit was far preferable to a labyrinth where five people entered and four vanished, or two went in and three crawled back out.
After the hard work of military hunters and those affiliated with public enterprises, the ruins were reborn. The death trap had become a museum where history and artifacts were carefully catalogued.
Naturally, the once-empty village began to bustle with visitors, and its appearance changed at an even faster pace. It was the moment they learned that nothing was sweeter than capital, and the moment their quality of life took another leap forward.
But one day an incident occurred that dampened the cheerful mood.
“Everyone grab your gear and move! Now!”
“Hunters…? Has something happened?”
“Yes. We’ve received a report that a hidden chamber and a gate have been discovered on the lowest floor of the ruins.”
A gate had been found inside a hidden room. Everyone evacuated, and hunters were dispatched at the request of the Hunter Committee—formerly known as the Hunter Association.
It should have been shocking. Yet it wasn’t. They had seen far too many gates. Everyone simply felt relieved and went on with their usual routines.
Until the next order came.
“Set up the tents and unload the supplies! All hunters, prepare for entry!”
“…? May I ask who you are?”
“We’re from the Dimensional Order Department of the Republic of Korea Government.”
People radiating an overwhelmingly oppressive aura. Central government officials and elite hunters had arrived in force.
Soon afterward, a throng of students came sprinting down the mountain, and the gravity of the situation became obvious. Something had gone terribly wrong. Otherwise these people—who normally had no reason to be here—would never have gathered in such numbers.
“The Dimensional Order Department? The central agency responsible for hunters and gates? What… exactly is going on here?”
“The dungeon gate subjugation failed. Several students also failed to evacuate in time.”
“Dear gods.”
Failed raid. Escalating gate danger. A collapsing ruin. Trapped students. The moment the news reached them, the central government had moved directly.
They began urgently excavating the ruined structure. Their determination was fierce, but the ruins were so deep that progress was agonizingly slow. Even after the embargo lifted, articles appeared, and public opinion swelled, the situation remained unchanged. They were simply digging holes with no real advancement.
By the time fifty hours had passed, almost no one still held hope. It was far too long for a single student to endure alone.
According to those who had fled, the only surviving hunter was the one telling the story. It was impossible for those trapped below to expect help from other hunters. They had beverages for water, but food was critically insufficient. Even if they held on, the chance of timely rescue was nonexistent. To make matters worse, a blizzard struck during the rescue operation, forcing a temporary withdrawal.
Just in case, they scanned for biological signs with magic before pulling out. No human traces appeared anywhere in the upper layers. Either the missing had died long ago, or they were somewhere in the middle or lower levels. There was no hope either way. Realistically, only corpses remained.
As the situation spiraled to this point, the families of the missing teetered on the edge of madness. In the end, some even declared they would conduct the rescue themselves.
With urgency rising, more personnel were assigned to the operation. Naturally, safety and efficiency concerns meant they would resume only after the blizzard passed.
And so the next morning arrived, the deadline looming.
To the families who had spent the night in sleepless anxiety, a single piece of news was delivered.
“The kids went all the way to the lowest floor, beat the boss, broke through the gate, escaped on their own, crossed the mountain, and walked to the station?”
“???”
What the hell was this nonsense? A string of impossible words. A sequence of actions that made one doubt their own ears.
But when they rushed to the hospital after hearing the two had been transported there, the nonsense had become truth. Somehow, they had really survived.
Of course, having endured extreme conditions, the physical state of both was quite poor.
“Sian…?”
“I’d like to sleep like a log, so I’d really appreciate it if you could load me up with painkillers.”
After that short exchange, they were taken to the operating table. Once surgery was over, they fell into deep sleep in the hospital room.
It felt almost anticlimactic, but unlike everyone’s worst fears, everything had ended smoothly and safely. Both Kang Sian and Cheon Mari were incredibly fortunate.
“……”
“……”
Still, for the families it was slightly absurd. They had worried themselves sick, yet the children had returned alive on their own and even looked mentally intact.
Naturally, people outside the family felt similar emotions. The community users in particular.
Perhaps. Maybe. In the end, their reaction was simply in a slightly different direction from that of the families.