CHAPTER 22: EREVALIS

Oliver and his classmates stood before the entrance to [Erevalis — The Obsidian Ruins].

He had imagined something out of a horror story—an ominous cave mouth, dripping with black mist, guarded by stone statues with glowing eyes. But reality was... nothing like that.

Instead, what stood before them looked closer to a museum plaza than a battlefield. Wide marble steps led up to the colossal gate, its surface engraved with runes that pulsed faintly with a dim, eternal glow. The area outside was lively, almost festive.

The plaza teemed with people. Adventurers of every kind were gathered—warriors with gleaming armor, mages wrapped in flowing robes, archers slinging bows across their backs. Some looked calm and experienced, others were loud and boastful, while a few looked nervous as if today was their first attempt. Knights of the kingdom stood at attention around the area, spears in hand, keeping order among the chaos.

What caught Oliver’s eye the most, however, was the reception desk to the side of the entrance. A row of attendants, dressed in matching uniforms, worked diligently. One of them, a woman with a professional smile and the kind of beauty that instantly caught attention, was carefully inspecting a party’s Status Plates before letting them pass.

"They’re recording who goes in and who comes out..." Oliver muttered under his breath.

Yes, that was exactly their role. Every entry and exit was logged—names, levels, classes, and party numbers—so that when someone didn’t return, the officials would know. It wasn’t out of kindness. It was to calculate death tolls and track the risks accurately. With the war against the demons drawing nearer, the kingdom could not afford unnecessary internal losses.

And yet, despite the grim reality, the atmosphere around the plaza was surprisingly cheerful.

Dozens of stalls lined the open square, shopkeepers calling out at the top of their lungs.

"Mana potions! Freshly brewed—stronger than guild stock!"

"Sharp blades for cheap! Don’t enter the ruins with dull steel, you’ll regret it!"

"Protective charms blessed by priests, only five silvers!"

The smell of roasted meat, baked bread, and spiced drinks mixed with the scent of oiled armor and burning torches. To Oliver, it looked less like the entrance to a deadly dungeon and more like a carnival.

"Wow..." one of his classmates whispered.

"It’s... not what I expected," another admitted.

Of course, for the locals, this was routine. Erevalis was not only a challenge for adventurers but also a hub of business. The kingdom had made sure of it. The nearby alleys had their share of crime—smugglers, illegal trades, and worse—but with war looming, even criminals were pressed into cooperation. The Adventurer Guild and the Kingdom had struck a temporary alliance: profits and survival first, disputes later.

Near the entrance stood another marketplace, this one more serious—an official trading post where adventurers exchanged treasures and resources gathered from within the ruins. Broken fragments of obsidian gear, rare crystals, ancient scrap metal—all could be traded here for coin, equipment, or favors.

As Oliver absorbed the sight, he realized something: this wasn’t just an entrance to a dungeon. It was a gateway economy. A place where lives were lost and fortunes were made, where reckless dreamers charged in seeking glory, and only a fraction returned.

Meanwhile, the class of summoned heroes looked utterly out of place. Their eyes darted around, wide with curiosity, some whispering to each other like children visiting a festival for the first time. A few even forgot themselves, gawking at flashy weapons or shiny trinkets on display.

In the middle of all this, Captain Samuel marched steadily toward the great gate, his armor clinking with each step. The students trailed after him instinctively, like a line of ducklings following their mother.

~~~~~

The inside of the dungeon was a complete contrast to the bustling plaza outside.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the air grew colder, heavier, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of stone untouched by sunlight for centuries. The five-meter-wide passage stretched before them, its walls carved with unnatural precision, smooth as though polished by invisible hands.

There were no torches, no lanterns, yet the entire tunnel was faintly lit. Green stones—smooth, crystalline, and embedded deep within the walls—glowed with a dim but steady radiance. They pulsed softly, almost like a heartbeat, casting long shadows against the stone floor. Oliver’s eyes lingered on them. So these must be the mana-lamps people outside were talking about... this whole place is alive.

Captain Samuel gave the signal, and the party shifted into formation as drilled beforehand. The vanguard raised shields, the second line prepared spears, and the rearguard mages quietly whispered their starting chants. Step by cautious step, they pressed forward, their boots echoing faintly in the oppressive silence.

For a time, nothing happened. Just the endless passage, turning and twisting, until at last they entered a wide chamber.

It was dome-shaped, the ceiling rising at least seven or eight meters overhead. Faint engravings covered the stone, patterns half-eroded by age yet still humming faintly with residual mana. The circular hall was unnervingly quiet—too quiet.

Then, it happened.

From narrow cracks and jagged holes in the walls, shapes began to stir.

Dozens of gray, shadowy forms slipped out, their claws scraping against stone. They were not rats, nor beasts one could mistake for simple vermin.

Samuel’s voice rang out instantly, calm yet commanding.

"Jason’s group—front! Everyone else, back as instructed! Stay in formation! These are Gnawlings. Lesser dungeon spawn. Fast and vicious, but weak if you keep formation. Don’t panic!"

The creatures scuttled forward on all fours before suddenly rising upright. Their bodies were wiry and lean, covered in patchy gray fur, but their limbs ended in long, jagged claws that sparked faintly with mana. Their faces bore elongated muzzles filled with sharp teeth, and glowing scarlet eyes glared with hunger. Most unsettling of all was their movement—unnatural, twitching, like marionettes pulled by invisible strings.

Oliver felt a chill run down his spine. Those things don’t move like animals... they move like they’re being guided by something else.

Jason stepped forward with his shield raised, Daniel beside him gripping his sword tightly. Amy, in their group, went pale at the sight of the creatures, her knuckles whitening as she held her staff. The Gnawlings’ eerie, jerky movements and snapping jaws gave them a disturbing, almost grotesque presence.

Still, training took over. Jason bellowed, "Hold steady!" and met the first lunge head-on, his shield ringing with the impact. Daniel’s sword flashed, cutting through the beast’s chest, though it howled even as it fell.

Behind them, two girls raised their voices in chant—Alice, her hands already glowing with gathered light magic, and Emma, her voice steady though her eyes trembled slightly. Beside them, Shizuka—the tiny, hyperactive loli of the group—was already halfway through her chant, energy sparking around her fingertips. For once, her usual playfulness was replaced by raw determination.

The battle had begun.