Chapter Twenty-Three – Whispers of the Past
The tremor passed, leaving behind an unsettling quiet. The people of Veldora stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear. Some clutched their chests as if their very souls had been shaken. Others began murmuring hurried prayers, seeking comfort in the divine.
Fern, adjusting her glasses, turned to Gilgamesh. "You felt that, didn't you?"
Gilgamesh's golden eyes remained fixed on the southern horizon. "It was not just a tremor. Something… ancient has awakened."
Stark swallowed hard. "Ancient? You mean, like, another one of you?"
Gilgamesh let out a soft, amused breath. "No. If it were like me, the world would be screaming in terror."
Stark blinked. "That doesn't make me feel any better."
Gilgamesh ignored the remark and turned toward the central square. The city guards had already begun organizing patrols, and messengers were rushing toward the castle to deliver the news to the ruling lord. The tension in the air was almost tangible.
A nearby merchant muttered, "First the mercenaries fail, and now this? It's an omen, I tell you."
Fern's sharp mind pieced together the information quickly. "We should investigate. If this is tied to what happened to those mercenaries, we need to understand what we're dealing with."
Gilgamesh gave her a sidelong glance, considering her words. Then, with a graceful step, he began walking toward the adventurers' guild.
"Where are you going?" Stark asked, hurrying after him.
Gilgamesh didn't slow his pace. "If there are any survivors from the mercenary group, they will be at the guild or in the healer's ward. I wish to hear their account firsthand."
Fern and Stark exchanged glances before following.
The guild hall was a grand structure, bustling with warriors, mages, and mercenaries discussing their latest quests. A large mission board occupied one side of the room, while tables filled the open floor, where adventurers shared stories over drinks.
At the far end of the hall, near a fireplace, a man sat alone. His arm was heavily bandaged, his armor battered and broken. A half-empty mug sat untouched before him. His face was hollow, his eyes distant.
Gilgamesh approached the man without hesitation. The moment he did, the air in the hall seemed to shift. The surrounding adventurers instinctively tensed, sensing something unnatural about him, though they could not name what.
The wounded mercenary barely reacted as Gilgamesh stood before him.
"You were there," Gilgamesh said calmly. "You saw it."
The man blinked, sluggishly lifting his gaze. "Who…?"
Gilgamesh's presence pressed down upon him like a silent force of nature. Not magic, not power—something more profound. It was the weight of an immortal's gaze, the pressure of countless millennia condensed into a single moment.
The mercenary shuddered. His breath quickened, and for the first time since returning, his voice broke.
"It wasn't a monster," he rasped. "It was something else. Something wrong."
Fern and Stark stiffened.
Gilgamesh remained impassive. "Explain."
The man swallowed hard. "We thought it was a beast terrorizing the trade routes. Standard contract, good pay. We tracked it to the ruins deep in the valley. But… the deeper we went, the more unnatural everything became. The air was thick, like wading through oil. And then we saw it."
He clenched his fists. "A shadow. A thing that wasn't there but was. It swallowed the light, bent reality. Our magic didn't work. Our blades did nothing. It… laughed at us."
A heavy silence fell over the table.
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes slightly. "A shadow that distorts reality?"
The mercenary nodded stiffly. "It wasn't a beast. It was a curse given form. It whispered to us. Told us we were already dead before we even began to fight."
Stark exhaled, his hand gripping his sword hilt instinctively. "That sounds absolutely horrifying."
Fern, meanwhile, had gone pale. "A manifestation of a curse that powerful… It would take an unfathomable amount of magic to create something like that."
Gilgamesh remained silent for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and began walking toward the exit.
"W-Wait!" Stark called after him. "Where are you going now?"
Gilgamesh did not slow. "To the ruins."
Fern hesitated. "Shouldn't we prepare first? We don't even know what it is yet."
Gilgamesh finally stopped at the doorway. Without turning, he spoke:
"I do not need to know what it is."
His golden eyes gleamed with an ancient understanding, something even he had not put into words.
"I only need to know that it should not exist."
And with that, he walked into the night.