CHAPTER 30: SANCTUARY OF THE FALLEN [1]

The students dragged their feet back into the palace courtyard, their uniforms stained with dirt, blood, and sweat. Their expressions were pale, eyes wide with the lingering terror of the dungeon. They had thought it would be a test, a proving ground where they could flaunt their newfound powers. Instead, it had been a nightmare.

The knights at the gate quickly moved in to receive them. One of them frowned as his gaze swept the group. He raised a hand.

"Hold. Count them."

Another knight began tallying the students one by one, his lips moving silently. After the final head was counted, his face stiffened.

"...Sir. One is missing."

The words hit the courtyard like a stone in water.

"What?"

"Missing? Who—?"

"Check again!"

The list was quickly pulled out and compared against the students present. Faces were checked, names called. Then, the truth was undeniable.

"It’s Oliver. The F-Class."

A heavy silence descended.

At first there was disbelief, then noise all at once.

"No way..."

"He was with us at the start—"

"You mean... he didn’t make it?"

The courtyard air turned heavy. Some tried to cover their fear with anger or bravado. Others lowered their heads, unwilling to look at each other.

Oliver might have been weak. He might have been ridiculed. But he was still one of them — a fellow Earthling, summoned from the same world, sitting beside them in the same classroom just weeks ago.

And now... he was gone.

It was supposed to be easy. That dungeon had been described as a beginner’s trial. A training ground. A place where they could shine and show their worth as chosen heroes. Instead, they had barely crawled out alive, one short in number.

Their minds flashed back to the monsters that had nearly killed them.

Those were the weak ones.

If they struggled this much now, what about the stronger creatures waiting deeper inside? What about the true horrors this world had in store for them?

If Oliver could die today... who would be next tomorrow?

The solemn expressions said it all.

Samuel, noticing the despair creeping into the group, quickly stepped forward, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Listen to me. Do not assume the worst. It is possible he was only separated in the dungeon paths. That place is large, easy to get lost in. He may have found another exit. Do not lose hope so quickly."

The words were meant to reassure, but his eyes flicked to the side, signaling one of the knights to run inside. The knight immediately departed, his boots clanging against the stone floor as he went to inform the royal mage of the incident.

The courtyard remained tense. Some students muttered prayers, others clenched their fists, while the so-called Bastard Trio wore masks of concern that fooled no one.

Moments later, Selene arrived, her staff clicking softly as she entered. Her expression was calm, eyes sharp as they scanned the students. Inside, her mind immediately turned to the implications.

(One of the otherworlders missing... This cannot cause doubt to spread. If the chosen begin to fear, it will hinder their growth. Which one was it?)

A knight bowed deeply. "My Lady. It is Oliver, the F-Class."

Selene’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Relief passed over her features so subtly it could have been mistaken for indifference.

(So, one of the weak ones. That is acceptable. If it had been an S-Class, the damage would be severe. Losing a pawn like him changes nothing. In fact, if sacrificing one such useless piece eases the path for a true talent, I would make that trade without hesitation.)

She raised her chin, her voice cold but measured. "Unfortunate. But such things are to be expected in real combat. He was weak. The dungeon does not forgive weakness."

The words stung. The students lowered their heads further. For them, this wasn’t just about Oliver’s strength. It was about the realization that one of them had already been lost — during what was supposed to be nothing more than a trial.

The one person who couldn’t stay silent was Evelyn. She stepped forward, her face pale, voice tight with anger.

"Oliver is still one of my students! You cannot dismiss his life so easily. Weak or not, he is human — he is ours. We cannot leave him behind."

Selene turned her gaze lazily toward her, almost as if the teacher’s words were a nuisance. "Miss Evelyn, you are letting emotion cloud your judgment. The boy is most likely dead. Sending another party into danger for a body is wasteful."

"I will not accept that!" Evelyn’s voice rang through the courtyard, silencing the mutters around them. "You summoned these children. You are responsible for them. If one life is treated as disposable, then what faith do you expect the others to have in this kingdom? I demand a search party."

The knights exchanged uneasy glances. The students, already shaken, clung to Evelyn’s words. She was the only one voicing what they felt deep down.

Selene stared at her for a long moment, then finally exhaled softly, tapping her staff once against the stone. "Very well. To ease your concerns, a unit of knights will be dispatched. But you would do well not to place your hopes too high. If he still breathes, it is by miracle alone."

Evelyn’s fists trembled at her sides, but she said nothing more.

Darkness.

That was the first thing Oliver felt — a suffocating, heavy darkness pressing down on him. His body throbbed with pain, every bone feeling as if it had been rattled loose. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

The faint blue glow of moss clinging to jagged walls came into focus. He was lying on damp stone, dust clinging to his skin, his limbs screaming in protest with every tiny movement.

"...Urgh... Where...?" His throat was dry, his voice cracked.

The memory hit him like a hammer — the strange runes, the chant, the blinding light, and then the fall. He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave way and he collapsed back onto the ground.

Pain seared through his left shoulder. He reached up, wincing, and his fingers came back sticky with blood. A gash. Not deep enough to kill him, but deep enough to weaken him. His legs felt bruised, one ankle twisted awkwardly.

(Shit... I’m alive... barely...)

For a while, he just lay there, forcing himself to breathe steadily. The air was cold and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang that made his skin prickle. This wasn’t the same dungeon floor he had been on. This was somewhere much, much deeper.

Finally, he managed to sit up against the wall, teeth clenched against the throbbing in his body. His eyes scanned his surroundings. The chamber he was in was massive, the ceiling lost in shadow. Strange symbols lined the walls, glowing faintly like veins of light.

He swallowed. His [Language Comprehension] flickered in his mind the moment his gaze lingered on the runes. They weren’t random markings. They were words. Ancient words.

"...’Sanctuary of the Fallen... Sealed Pathway...’" he whispered, reading aloud as if the dungeon itself had left a warning behind.