The brisk morning air was laced with the faint scent of dew, and the only sounds were the distant calls of familiars from the training fields. Most students were still in their rooms, either catching up on sleep or preparing for another day of classes.
Sang-hoon emerged from his dormitory, his leather satchel packed with supplies.
But Sang-hoon wasn't heading to class. He was venturing into the depths of the forest, to a place he'd only heard about in his past life as a gamer.
"Kaelith," he whispered, glancing at the small dragon perched on his shoulder. "Today's going to be a challenge. Ready?"
Kaelith let out a low, confident growl, his tail flicking with excitement.
Preparations for the Journey
The night before, Sang-hoon had carefully laid out his plans. Though he was confident in the hidden dungeon's existence—having found it in his fifteenth playthrough of Realm of Taiming—this wasn't a game anymore. One wrong move could cost him his life.
First, he raided the academy's armory. Under the pretext of needing better gear for advanced training, he secured a reinforced short spear and a small, round shield.
Both were infused with low-grade mana, enough to resist basic magical attacks.
The armory manager had raised an eyebrow at his request, but Sang-hoon's status as a Gold Class student gave him some leeway.
Next, he visited the alchemy lab, a dimly lit room filled with shelves of glass vials and herbs. He managed to trade a few favors for mana potions and an anti-venom concoction—just in case.
Finally, he spent hours in the library, poring over old maps and historical texts.
While most of the material barely mentioned the forest, a few passages hinted at the founder's eccentricities. One book described his fascination with tests of character, particularly those designed to push individuals to their limits.
"Tests, huh?" Sang-hoon muttered, flipping through another page. "Let's hope I remember enough to pass them."
Kaelith, sitting on the table, chirped as if to say, You'll manage.
The forest was denser than Sang-hoon remembered from the game.
Towering trees stretched high above, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy. Sunlight filtered through in scattered beams, casting an ethereal glow on the moss-covered ground.
Sang-hoon moved cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his spear. The forest wasn't just a backdrop; it was a living, breathing entity filled with dangers. He remembered the random encounters in the game—packs of mana wolves, territorial Spriggans, and even the occasional rogue familiar.
Kaelith was alert, his head swiveling at every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig.
After nearly an hour of trekking, they reached the clearing. Sang-hoon's heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the statue of the academy's founder. It was just as he remembered: a towering figure carved from stone, holding a sword in one hand and a scroll in the other.
The statue was weathered, vines creeping up its sides and moss covering parts of its base. But it still exuded an aura of authority, as if daring anyone to uncover its secrets.
"Found you," Sang-hoon muttered.
He knelt at the base of the statue, brushing away dirt and foliage. His fingers traced the faint inscription carved into the stone:
"The worthy shall descend where the unworthy dare not tread."
Sang-hoon smiled, the words sparking memories of his time playing the game. "Just like before," he murmured.
He placed one hand on the statue's sword and the other on the scroll. With a firm press on the sword and a counterclockwise twist of the scroll, a soft click echoed through the clearing.
The ground trembled. Slowly, the statue shifted, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward. Cold air wafted up from the depths, carrying the faint scent of earth and decay.
Kaelith chirped nervously, his claws digging into Sang-hoon's shoulder.
"Don't worry," Sang-hoon said, though his own heart was racing. "We've got this."
The staircase seemed to stretch endlessly, each step plunging them deeper into darkness. Torches along the walls flickered to life as they passed, casting eerie shadows that danced with their movements.
The air grew colder with every step. Sang-hoon's breath fogged in the dim light, and he tightened his grip on his sword.
At the bottom, they entered a grand chamber. The walls were adorned with murals depicting scenes from the academy's history—battles, treaties, and moments of triumph. At the center of the room stood a spectral figure, his form shimmering faintly in the torchlight.
He was tall and regal, clad in armor that seemed to shift between solid and ethereal. His eyes glowed with an intense light, and his presence filled the room with a palpable sense of power.
"Welcome," the figure said, his voice resonating like a distant echo. "I am Count Arvendale, guardian of this trial."
Sang-hoon straightened, his nerves steady. "I know who you are. And I know why I'm here."
Arvendale's eyes narrowed. "Do you, now? Then you must also know the price of failure."
"I do," Sang-hoon replied.
The count studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Let the trial begin."
The room darkened as the murals seemed to come alive. Shadows coalesced into humanoid forms, each armed with spectral weapons that shimmered with a ghostly light.
"You must face them," Arvendale said. "Prove your strength and resolve, or be consumed by the void."
The first wave of enemies advanced. Sang-hoon drew his spear, his movements fluid as he dodged the initial strikes. Kaelith leapt from his shoulder, unleashing a volley of fireballs that lit up the chamber.
The battle was intense. Sang-hoon relied on his training, his upgraded attributes giving him an edge. He ducked, parried, and counterattacked with precision, his spear cutting through the spectral figures.
"Kaelith, focus on the archers!" he shouted, deflecting a strike from a shadow warrior.
The dragon obeyed, targeting the ranged enemies with bursts of flame.
The second wave was more challenging. The shadows moved faster, their strikes more coordinated. Sang-hoon was forced to adapt, using his shield to block incoming blows while searching for openings.
As the trial wore on, his movements became more deliberate, his attacks more calculated. He relied on every ounce of knowledge from his time in the game, using techniques he had perfected over countless playthroughs.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last shadow dissolved into mist.
"Well done," Arvendale said, his voice tinged with approval. "But your trial is not yet complete."
The count raised his hand, and a glowing orb appeared before Sang-hoon. It pulsed with raw energy, its light casting long shadows across the chamber.
"This is a fragment of my soul," Arvendale explained. "If you wish to claim the legacy of the founder, you must bond with it. But be warned: doing so will bind us forever. My memories, my burdens, and my enemies will become yours."
Sang-hoon hesitated. He knew the risks—knew that in the game, this decision shaped the protagonist's path. But he also knew the rewards: enhanced attributes, unique skills, and knowledge that could tip the balance in any confrontation.
"I accept," he said, his voice steady.
The orb floated toward him. As it touched his chest, a searing pain erupted, spreading through his body like wildfire. He gasped, falling to his knees as images flooded his mind: ancient battles, political intrigue, and secrets buried deep within the academy's history.
When the pain subsided, Sang-hoon rose, his breathing ragged but his resolve unshaken.
"You have proven yourself," Arvendale said, his form fading. "May my legacy guide you to greatness."
Elsewhere, in a concealed chamber beneath the academy, two figures stood around a table covered in maps and documents.
"The barriers are weaker than we anticipated," one said, their voice sharp and commanding.
"Good," replied the other, their tone cold and calculating. "The attack must happen soon. We can't risk the academy discovering our plans."
"And the students?"
"Collateral damage," the second figure said with a dismissive wave. "Our goal is the vault. Nothing else matters."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby torch.
"Prepare the forces," the first figure said finally. "We move at dawn."
The shadows around them deepened, the flickering light swallowed by an oppressive darkness.
Sang-hoon emerged from the forest as the sun dipped below the horizon. He was exhausted but alive, his body carrying the weight of Count Arvendale's legacy.
As he gazed back at the towering trees, a quiet determination settled over him.