Seilroom (1): Pulled into the Longest Terror

Want me to tell you an intriguing story? Most people think darkness is the opposite of light. No light means darkness. That's true enough. True as it is... it ain't just the absence of light that makes things dark. Even with the sun shining bright. Even with thousands of people right there nearby. The unidentified monster that appeared from the darkest spot that day dragged us—those of us in the realm of light—straight into the thickest blackness just by existing. What was that monster? Who knows. One thing's for damn sure: the mere fact that I noticed myself getting pulled into that darkness is the only reason I can sit here reminiscing about it now. Most folks back then probably didn't even realize they'd been yanked into the shadows. Why? 'Cause I was the sole survivor.

Sudden nonsense, huh? Hahaha. Not funny? Hahahahaha! This ain't funny? Oh, but it... kihehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!

Ah. Welcome. Heroes come to vanquish the terror that spreads darkness?

"Ugh, that last bit is straight-up repulsive every damn time."

I had no idea what the devs were going for with that intro, but having to watch this unskippable nightmare sequence for the umpteenth time? Short as it was, that fucking maniacal laugh at the end never got any less nauseating.

Like clockwork, I fired up my computer and launched the game the second it booted. The game in question? The turn-based roguelike RPG The Long Terror.

One day, an unidentified monster appeared out of nowhere, along with a freakish cult worshiping it. An out-of-the-way village vanished entirely, warped into some bizarre fortress. As time passed, people near the fortress started going insane or disappearing, and in proportion, horrific monsters began crawling out of the woodwork. Nations across the world—including that one—sent folks driven by justice, duty, greed, and all sorts of motives charging into the fortress. People started calling it a dungeon. Those who dove in and out were dubbed heroes, and the protagonist was one of the masses. Teaming up with like-minded heroes, he embarks on a grand adventure to conquer the dungeon and slay the terror at its core...

That was the world in a nutshell. At first, the lore hooked me hard—I pored over every story beat. But after 3,000+ hours and thousands of runs, plot points were just background noise. As a hardcore vet, I was obsessed with achievements, time attacks, self-imposed penalties—pushing the game into maniacal territory just to clear it. The game was brutally hard, unforgiving, and reliant on luck to the point of infamy, but if it clicked? It was pure time-melting magic.

My all-time favorite game. But even vetting out was wearing thin; I was scraping the barrel for fresh penalty-run ideas. Then, finally—the new DLC dropped!

Higher difficulties! New classes! Fresh dungeon types and monsters! New artifacts and items! Content galore.

Intro skipped, DLC enabled from the menu, start button hit.

"Oh."

There, at the bottom of the difficulty select: The Longest Terror, glowing with sinister promise.

"Holy shit, go time."

Let's see just how sadistic they made it to hype it like that in the trailer, devs.

"What the actual fuck. They're straight-up trying to scare me off."

No prior difficulty had a warning like this—just the modifier table. But this warning was bad enough; the modifiers? Looked like the devs gave up on balance midway through designing the "new" mode. Was this even meant to be beaten?

"Eh, that's what makes it impossible not to challenge."

The game was outright daring me not to try. Smashing through that pressure? That's the thrill, the vet's calling.

I blew past the warning and hit proceed.

"Going all-in on the scare tactics, huh."

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Reminded me of games that locked you out of easier modes during hardcore runs. A smirk escaped—why bother with double warnings when I'm diving in anyway? This game being nice?

No hesitation. Proceed.

And then.

"Buy it or fuck off! You're in my way!"

"Ah, y-yeah. Sorry."

Who the hell am I, and where the hell is this? I was about to tackle the DLC's hell mode... but now I'm in some shitty leather armor, strapped with a junk sword, getting chewed out by a foul-smelling thug. Buildings all wood? Everyone's foreign-looking? Clothes are ragged as hell?

Reeling, I slumped under a nearby tree. If I had to compare, it screamed medieval European hamlet—armed folks milling about. That asshole who'd yelled at me was now bowing and scraping to a dude in fancy plate armor, rubbing his hands. The armored guy nodded, tossed him some gold and silver coins.

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'Nah, no way. Did I doze off mid-game? Sure, I've sunk eons into this, but dreaming it up? Come on.'

At first, panic blinded me, but from afar... that shopkeep looked exactly like the one selling dungeon sundries. Especially after the plate guy stuffed his pack with lanterns, oil, herbs, bandages. Dead ringer.

'I'm losing it. Should've eased off the game.'

Even if it was a dream, who dreams up this grim world? Grim as the game was, it was fun from afar. Living it—even in sleep? Hard pass.

'Just wait it out; it'll end. If this is really a The Long Terror dream, starter cash should be here.'

Pockets: 4 gold, 9 silver.

"What? Starter gold nerfed?"

Previous stage gave 10 gold. This half-assed 4-and-9 screamed "lost a silver somewhere." Probably slashed to 5 gold originally. (10 gold = 100 silver = 1,000 copper, but coppers weren't used—like not bothering with dimes IRL.)

"Gotta find an inn."

Better than street-side; might as well ditch the armor and chill while waiting to wake.

"Welcome."

"One night."

"Solo?"

"Solo."

"5 silver."

"Here."

Dream or not, I channeled my inner merc vet. Innkeep eyed me like a moron, but money talks. I crashed on the rickety bed, mulling party comps till sleep took me.

Seilroom—the city closest to the dungeon but outside its blight—swelled as merchants flocked to hawk to the masses converging to raid it. (They'd later all be called heroes.) Dungeon delving was more horrific than any battlefield, but get-rich-quick dreamers kept coming, demand boomed, merchants multiplied. Prices gouged compared to other cities, but travel costs made it a bitter pill.

City folk fell into three camps: merchants, fresh-minted moth-fools chasing rumors, and mayflies. Noobs couldn't hack the prices; aces pushed deeper, never returned, or cashed out elsewhere. So I slotted as a moth-fool. In-game, tutorial would've walked through facilities, companion recruitment, management— the one and only kindness the game offered.

Why rehash Seilroom lore outta nowhere?...

I woke to a character stat screen floating in my face—and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the grim reality that I was still in this dingy inn room.

"...Gotta quit this game for real."

Edgy middle-school profile name from launch, full The Long Terror character sheet. Dream? Or not? Chaos reigned till another system log nuked it.

"What the hell is this?"

The Long Terror's tutorial was never like this—just forced facility clicks for tooltips, ending with a free first companion. But 'Yujin' as middle name? Failure = Han Yujin death? That's my real name.

Haha?

"Fuck?"

Sensibility screamed "dream, bullshit!" but reason knew better.

"What the fuck is going on?!"

I'd been dropped into the untouched nightmare of 'The Longest Terror'—the vilest top difficulty I'd never even attempted.