Chapter 181 : Chapter 181

More than sixty people had entered this place.

Now, only a little over a dozen remained.

Ryan ran through the numbers in his mind. He had seen them when they first entered the forest—the ones from the Eastern Region, the Southern Region, the Western Provinces, the Northern Region.

Those young men from humble backgrounds, their eyes bright, fascinated by everything they saw, drooling over the swords on the weapon racks in front of the supply tent. The sons and daughters of lesser noble houses, dressed neatly and carrying themselves with dignity, yet still a little shy whenever they smiled.

And those with real strength—people like Parker, Vincent, Vera, and Eleanor—each carrying thoughts and schemes of their own.

Now they were gone.

Dead in the forest. Dead in the marsh. Dead in those tunnels full of skeletons, of fire serpents, of traps. Dead behind that door.

Ryan lowered his eyes.

What did their deaths have to do with him?

They were game characters to begin with. A string of data. A collection of names. A set of character settings. No matter how many died, it should have been nothing more than a narrative necessity.

And yet—

He thought of that night.

Rock Bay City. The count’s residence. A small round table in the corner of the banquet hall. Allen sitting across from him, chattering away while gnawing on roast suckling pig, grease all over his mouth, his cheeks puffed out.

“I’m telling you, you need to be careful around Parker. Those Northern Region people look quiet, but they’re vicious underneath,” Allen had said, pointing his fork into the distance, nearly flicking grease onto Ryan’s sleeve. “And Vincent too. Those two are smiling tigers. Do not let that calm look fool you.”

He had drunk too much and ended up drawing that little secret sign on the table with his fork, his lines crooked and wavering as he explained, “This is a sign we kids in the Eastern Region used when we played hide-and-seek. When I was little, I hid inside a haystack and slept there all night, and nobody found me.”

They had talked about marrying into a noble family.

Allen had said, “If I could somehow get a noble young lady to take a liking to me, wouldn’t that make me rich?”

Ryan had replied, “Your face is only ordinary.”

Allen had not even gotten angry. Instead, he praised Ryan’s looks and said, “Just sitting there, with that bearing of yours, you look more like a noble young master than any of those actual noble young masters.”

It had only been the acquaintance of a single meal.

The sort of acquaintance where, if you ran into each other on the road later, you might nod in greeting, but you would not go out of your way to look each other up.

Yet now Ryan stood here, staring at that door, thinking about the way Allen had looked back at him just a moment ago, smiling with the corner of his mouth lifted, showing those white teeth, his eyes curving just as they always did.

And then he had walked into that darkness.

In a lifetime, a person shares many meals with many people. But some of them, once the meal is over, will never sit across from you again.

Ryan sighed softly and rubbed at his brow.

He felt he was being a little sentimental.

It was only a death. It was not as though he had never seen death before. Those torn apart by magic wolves, those ripped to pieces by monsters in the marsh, those who vanished in the tunnels without even leaving a corpse behind—he had seen plenty already.

He lowered his hand and walked over to where Lillian and Rex were sitting.

They sat beneath a stone pillar, backs to the wall. Lillian was hugging her knees with her head lowered, her long hair falling down to hide her face. Rex sat beside her with both hands resting on his knees, as though he did not know where else to put them.

Ryan sat down next to them.

The three of them stayed like that in silence, none of them speaking.

After a while, Lillian raised her head.

Her eyes were a little red, though she had not cried. She looked at Ryan, her lips moving slightly, as though she wanted to say something. Ryan did not hurry her. He simply waited.

“I asked around,” she said at last, her voice a little hoarse, as though something were lodged in her throat. “About this place.”

Ryan nodded.

“What they said was more or less the same as what Allen told you.” Lillian lowered her head and stared at her own hands. “The first ones to go in were Parker and his group. They entered through that door, and they came back out. Then they sent the next group in to scout.”

“The scouts died.”

“The group after that died too.”

“And this group now—” She did not finish the sentence.

Ryan did not pick it up.

Some things did not need to be said aloud. Anyone who understood would understand.

Lillian fell silent for a while, then lifted her head again.

“What are we going to do?” She looked at Ryan, and there was something strange in her eyes—not fear, but something deeper than fear. “How are we supposed to get out of this place?”

Ryan looked at her.

It was the first time he had ever examined her face from so close.

Lillian Rosedale, daughter of a count, had always carried herself at the academy like the perfect young noblewoman—chin raised, posture proud, words sharp, forever looking at everyone with a kind of disdain. But now she sat here with her hair in disarray, soot still on her face, her eyes red-rimmed, looking like a lost child.

She had never been a true genius.

To ordinary people, she was a genius—someone who could already wield intermediate ice magic at her age, and whose swordsmanship ranked high among her peers.

But here, in front of people like these—

Parker was one of the finest swordsmen of the younger generation in the Northern Region, someone who had already seen war at sixteen.

Vincent was one of the Third Prince’s trusted men, someone who played with politics and human hearts.

Vera was the Gale Duke’s adopted daughter, the most gifted wind mage of her generation in the entire Empire, already capable of high-tier magic at ten.

Eleanor was the Sword Duke’s daughter, a girl people had called a monster since childhood.

And what about her?

She was just someone who had been built up, through family resources, into the level of “fairly good.”

During the Whispering Forest Selection Tournament, Ryan had tossed Lillian and Rex those extra Runes. At the time, he had only done it casually. He had not wanted them to go to waste.

Who would have thought that those two would use those few Runes to coast into the top five and win a place in the ruins?

Lillian had been overjoyed that day.

When she went home afterward, her father had praised her for a long time.

Rex had also secured a place, which meant she could finally mention him before her father without shame.

“That big idiot from the Holden family also made it into the ruins,” she had said. “He barely qualifies as someone who needs my protection.”

The words had sounded disdainful, but deep down she had been delighted.

She had even gone out of her way to look up information on the Starfall Ruins, spending days preparing for this expedition.

And then what?

Then came this forest, these endless monsters, this hall that trapped them all, and that devouring door.

Some preparations take a long time to make, but fate never follows the course of preparation.

Forget boasting about this later—whether or not they could even get out alive was already a question.

Lillian lowered her head and buried her face against her knees. Her shoulders trembled, very lightly, so lightly it seemed she was afraid someone might notice.

Ryan sat beside her and said nothing.

He simply looked at the door, at the dark red light pulsing on and off.

Beside him, Rex hesitated for a moment. Then he raised his hand and gently rested it on Lillian’s head.

That hand was huge, its knuckles broad, scabs still crusted over the cuts on it. He stroked her hair carefully, one pass after another, slow and gentle, as though afraid of hurting her.

He did not speak.

He just kept stroking her hair, over and over again.