As Gawain led his small team deeper into the Dark Mountains, the landscape grew increasingly rugged. The terrain was littered with rocky outcrops, and the air was thick with mist that clung to the dense, twisted forests and steep valleys around them. Guided by memories from his former life, Gawain's path took them toward a site he recalled vividly—a place containing the remnants of an ancient civilization, long hidden and untouched for centuries.
The ruins they sought lay close to the camp they had established. Embedded in the mountain's northern slope, much of the structure was hidden within the stone itself, with only parts of it visible along the cliff face hundreds of meters above ground. In theory, they could have seen portions of the ruins by looking up at the peaks, but the passage of time had erased much of the visible history. Layers of vines and dense mountain vegetation cloaked the cliffside, hiding the ancient stones. Furthermore, centuries of erosion and collapse had left the exposed sections barely recognizable. Even the sharpest-eyed hunter would struggle to detect anything unusual amid the vegetation from the camp below.
Once the camp was secured, Gawain and his team—Rebecca, Amber, and Sir Byron—set off toward the mountain. While years of natural change had reshaped the surrounding landscape, Gawain was confident in his memory. Relying on satellite views and maps that lingered in his mind, he guided the group with purpose and precision.
Amber, ever the skeptic, looked around warily. "So… you're taking us into the Dark Mountains with just four people to search for treasure? Doesn't that seem a bit, you know… risky?"
Gawain glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "What would you suggest instead?"
Amber made a sweeping gesture with her hands. "Ideally, we'd have an entourage—a few hundred guards, a squad of master rangers and druids, knights clearing the way, mages supporting from the rear, and at least one master-level rogue like me to handle traps. That's the standard treasure-hunting setup, right?"
Gawain chuckled. "Standard? There's no 'standard' for a treasure-seeking team. What treasure-hunting party would field a full military regiment?"
Amber shrugged. "All right, maybe I exaggerated a bit. But this *is* the Dark Mountains—the place where every 800 meters, there's supposed to be a demon lord or something. And you've brought just three people—one of whom only knows how to throw fireballs."
Rebecca bristled at the jab and lifted her staff. "Want a demonstration of how effective Cecil fireballs can be?"
Gawain, sighing, intervened. "Amber, you're going to get yourself into trouble with that mouth. Where did you even get the idea that there's a demon lord every 800 meters? That's just folklore, stories made to scare children. If there were that many demon lords, they'd have overtaken Ansu a long time ago."
He shifted his gaze to the winding mountain path ahead, guiding the group onward. "The Dark Mountains *are* dangerous, but people have exaggerated the risks. Back in the Gondor Empire's time, this range was a northern mountain chain known as the 'Gilded Mountains' due to its rich mineral deposits. It wasn't until after the magical cataclysm that the southern slopes, now home to the Black Forest, earned the range its current name. The elemental storm that swept through left the southern face corrupted and dangerous, which ultimately led to the name 'Dark Mountains.'"
He explained as they climbed, his voice steady. Some of his knowledge came from personal memories; other parts were based on recent studies and observations he had made.
"The Black Forest on the other side of the range is indeed dangerous, but it's isolated to the southern slope. This mountain range acts as a natural barrier, shielding the northern side from the chaotic energies drifting from the Gondor Wasteland. Nearly all the mutated creatures in the Black Forest depend on chaotic mana to survive. They rarely venture north of the ridgeline, as this northern side is essentially a safe zone."
As they moved forward, they encountered sporadic vegetation, with hardy mountain plants and thick vines occasionally blocking their path. Over time, these plants had absorbed trace amounts of "elemental winds" drifting from the south—winds tainted by magic and chaos. As a result, the plants appeared twisted and unnaturally robust, adding to the region's reputation for danger.
Gawain, however, knew these plants posed no real threat. While their appearance was ominous, they were essentially harmless. The so-called adventurers who returned to town boasting of their perilous journeys had likely encountered nothing more than these harmless plants and exaggerated the danger.
He was certain of his assessment, not merely from memory or hearsay, but from a satellite image he had retained from a decade ago. Comparing it to the present landscape, he could tell that the northern region had long been safe.
"People's fear of this place stems from two main sources," Gawain explained, cutting away some obstructing vines as he spoke. "First, there's the lingering fear of the Gondor Wasteland. The elven-built Sentry Towers and Great Wall contain most of the wasteland's chaos, but the magical barrier only blocks about seventy to eighty percent of the corrupted mana. What seeps through has always threatened the borderlands. Although the magical tide has now subsided, centuries of anxiety and fear persist. These fears are ingrained, even forming part of the local culture after hundreds of years."
Rebecca nodded, listening intently, while Amber seemed intrigued by the reasoning.
"The second reason," Gawain continued, "is the fear of the unknown."
Amber raised an eyebrow, curious. "The unknown?"
"Precisely. How many years has it been since Ansu ceased all southern expansion?"
Rebecca answered promptly, "Over two centuries since the cessation order, and a hundred years since the last frontier settlements were abandoned."
Gawain nodded approvingly. "Exactly. For a full century, this region has been deemed a forbidden zone. Other than a few self-styled adventurers, no one has dared to come close. People rely on old tales and hearsay for information about this place, and the result is an irrational fear. How could they not fear what they cannot see or understand?"
Amber exhaled, letting out a relieved sigh. "So, all those scary stories about the Dark Mountains are just that—stories? We're actually safe here?"
Gawain paused, then leaned in with a mock-serious expression. "Actually, I lied. This place is every bit as dangerous as they say. And yes, there's a demon lord every 800 meters."
Amber let out a startled yelp, stepping back instinctively.
Gawain chuckled at her reaction, shaking his head. "So much for a 'master thief.'" He then pointed toward a fallen tree blocking their path. "Rebecca, here's your chance to put that fireball of yours to good use. Clear the way. If I remember correctly, we're almost there."
Eager to demonstrate her skills, Rebecca raised her staff, conjuring a fireball that flew directly at the decaying trunk. With a resounding blast, the tree split in two, rolling down the slope and leaving the path open.
As the dust settled, a hidden clearing stretched out before them.
The ground looked deliberately leveled, with smooth stone formations bordering the open space. Massive stone arches and remnants of ancient walls were embedded within the cliff face, giving the impression of a once-grand fortress now half-swallowed by the mountain itself.
The structure exuded an aura of timelessness, as though it had been designed to endure through the ages. It was likely that the main foundations were hidden within the mountain, with only a fraction of the structure visible from the outside.
Amber, Rebecca, and Sir Byron, who had been vigilant throughout the journey, gazed at the sight in awe.
"This place…" Rebecca murmured, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's as if we've stepped into another time."
Gawain, meanwhile, had his gaze fixed on a pile of rubble near one of the arches. Embedded in the stone debris was a heavily corroded sword, its original form nearly unrecognizable.
Beside the rubble, he noticed faint carvings etched deeply into the rock: "16th Company. Here rests Kor."
Rebecca's voice broke the silence. "What… is this?"
Gawain's voice was somber as he replied, "When we crossed the Whitewater River all those years ago, the 16th Company stayed behind to cover our retreat. None of them survived. This soldier must have been one of the last, retreating here when escape became impossible. At that time, the magical tide was in full force, and the Dark Mountains were consumed by chaos. I'd hoped to return and give them a proper burial, but by the time the tide receded, no one remembered this place."
Sir Byron, moved by the story, lowered his sword in a gesture of respect and bowed solemnly to the humble grave. The fallen soldier had at least found rest; the one who had marked this spot, however, had left no trace of their own.
Gawain took a quiet moment, then placed a small stone atop the cairn as a sign of respect. "Rest well, my friend. The others made it out safely."
In that moment, he felt truly connected to the memory of Gawain Cecil, and it was as if he were speaking as the man himself rather than an outsider in borrowed form.
After paying his respects, Gawain turned toward a stone archway nearby. "Come
I'll show you what your ancestors left behind."
They followed him, descending through the arch and into the darkness beyond. Strange carvings lined the walls of the corridor, illuminated only by the torches they carried. These carvings depicted scenes of battles, mythical beasts, and figures wielding powerful magic—glimpses of a civilization that had once thrived here.
The passage led them to a vast underground chamber filled with relics of the past. Chests lay scattered, some filled with ancient coins, others with weapons and artifacts, neatly arranged along stone shelves. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of history, and each item seemed to whisper tales of an era long gone.
Rebecca gazed around in awe, her voice hushed. "This… this is incredible. Imagine what we could learn from all this."
Gawain offered a slight smile, though his focus remained sharp. These artifacts were not just remnants of history; they represented a future for his family and their new territory.
Moving further into the chamber, Gawain's eyes were drawn to a large stone tablet set against the wall. The tablet depicted a detailed map of the mountain region, showing old paths, natural resources, and hidden landmarks. It was a treasure map in its own right, but one that showed the potential for rebuilding rather than mere riches.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he turned to his companions. "This map is the key. With it, we can map out our new territory, locate resources, and restore what we've lost."
Sir Byron, who had been standing guard by the entrance, nodded with a sense of relief. "It seems we've found more than we bargained for."
Amber, still slightly overwhelmed, chuckled. "The old man sure knows how to pick a treasure hunt."
As they began gathering the most valuable relics, Gawain's thoughts turned to the future. The survival of the Cecil family—and possibly the stability of the kingdom itself—would hinge on reviving the knowledge preserved within these relics.
They left the ruins as dawn broke, their path illuminated by both the sunlight and their new sense of purpose. For the first time, Gawain felt certain that he had found not only remnants of the past but also the tools necessary to shape a new era.