Chapter 27: Government agencies.

At the end of the mist, the entrance gate of the ruins felt even more oppressive than Hill had imagined.

It was not the resplendent, gilded temple door described in legends, but a single colossal slab of black rock—seemingly hewn straight from the mountainside—towering ten meters high.

The surface was mottled with gray, moss-like mold; faint, eroded runes were sunken into the stone, blurred by the passage of countless years.

A stale, ancient odor rushed out—like the wind-dried carcass of some great beast—making Hill instinctively wrinkle her nose.

“This is the place.”

Marius raised his magical lantern; its pale light illuminated only a small patch at the very bottom of the door.

The scholar leaned in eagerly, heedless of the sticky residue on the rock, and traced the runes with gloved fingers.

“As expected… this is the architectural style of the Lost Era, the one history tried to erase. Captain Hill, it seems we’ve truly found something extraordinary.”

Hill did not reply; her attention was fixed entirely on the door.

“No keyhole, and no trace of magical fluctuation.”

She extended her unbound right hand and pushed against the stone.

“It appears to be a purely mechanical mechanism. Nia, any levers or pressure plates nearby?”

“Nothing, nyaa!”

Nia had already circled the entrance three times and came scampering back, covered in grime.

“Just mud and more rocks everywhere!”

“Then we’ll have to force it.”

Elisa stepped forward and rapped the door with her shield; it rang with a dull, heavy thud.

“It looks thick. I might be able to—”

“No need.”

Hill waved her off.

“Elisa, you need to conserve strength for whatever’s inside. Leave the brute force to me—this much weight shouldn’t be a problem.”

As a strength-type swordsman in her previous life, even in this young girl’s body, Hill’s mastery of explosive power remained at grandmaster level.

She took a deep breath, planted her feet firmly on the slick ground, leaned forward, and braced her left shoulder against the stone.

“Phyllis, I’m about to push. Could you maybe…”

Hill started to say “loosen up a little.”

With their fingers interlocked like this, the force might wrench painfully at their joined hands.

But Phyllis did not loosen her grip.

Instead, Hill felt a soft warmth press against her back.

Phyllis stepped forward, practically embracing her from behind, and extended her free hand to brace against the door as well.

“Together.”

Phyllis’s voice was right beside Hill’s ear; the warm, moist breath against her earlobe felt scalding in this frigid place.

“How could I let Hill push such a filthy rock all alone? Besides…”

She lifted their interlocked hands slightly; the golden chain glimmered as their tightly clasped fingers squeezed just a fraction harder.

“I can’t possibly stay too far away, can I?”

Hill paused, then gave a helpless smile.

Fair enough.

“Alright—on three. Three, two, one!”

They pushed in unison.

In truth, the seemingly delicate body behind Hill transmitted almost no real force.

What Hill felt was less “pushing the door” and more “leaning her entire weight against me.”

That soft, yielding contact inexplicably caused Hill’s tensed muscles to relax a fraction.

“Rumble rumble…”

A massive grinding of stone echoed.

After millennia of stillness, the door—under Hill’s explosive strength and Phyllis’s “assistance”—slowly cracked open just wide enough for the two of them to pass side by side.

A blast of stale, dust-choked air erupted from the gap.

“Cough cough…”

Hill instinctively held her breath but still inhaled a lungful.

The next instant, a clean, fragrant white handkerchief covered her mouth and nose.

“Don’t rush.”

Phyllis remained pressed against Hill’s back; one hand still locked tightly with Hill’s fingers, the other naturally circled around Hill’s neck to hold the handkerchief in place, filtering the air for her.

The posture was almost like being restrained from behind.

“The air here is dead.”

Phyllis rested her chin in the hollow of Hill’s shoulder; her voice came out muffled.

“Let me purify it before we go in.”

…

Inside the ruins stretched a deep, descending staircase.

“Light Orb.”

Marius cast an illumination spell.

The orb floated upward, illuminating a giant stone corridor five meters wide.

The walls were not ordinary masonry but covered in countless carved reliefs of humanoid figures writhing and screaming in agony.

They pressed together in endless ranks; their hollow eye sockets seemed to stare at every intruder.

“Uwaa… these statues are so creepy, nyaa…”

Nia shrank her neck. With her tether tied to her wrist, she could only move within five meters ahead—unable to retreat even if she wanted to.

Elisa brought up the rear, shield raised; sweat beaded on the hand gripping her sword as she eyed the eerie murals.

Only Hill walked steadily.

For some reason, the moment she stepped inside, a strange tremor rose from deep within her soul.

Not fear—more like an indescribable revulsion.

As though… she had encountered an old nemesis.

“Hill?”

Phyllis beside her seemed to notice the sudden stiffness in Hill’s muscles.

She stopped, gently shaking their joined hands.

The golden chain gave a faint clink.

“Are you cold?”

Phyllis ignored the horrifying carvings entirely.

Her eyes held only Hill.

She reached out to adjust Hill’s cloak tighter.

“No… it’s just that this place feels a little…”

Before Hill could finish, a very faint click sounded beneath her foot.

It wasn’t Nia.

It was Hill’s own boot pressing down on a slightly raised relief pattern in the floor tile.

“Watch out!”

Years of combat instinct set off every alarm in Hill’s brain.

A rush of wind came from overhead.

No time to look up and identify it.

Hill’s first reaction was to shove Phyllis aside and roll the other way.

Captain’s instinct—the iron rule of protecting the backline.

But her hand was locked.

That momentary tug prevented her from pushing Phyllis away—instead, she yanked Phyllis toward herself.

The next instant, everything went black.

Not because falling rocks struck her face.

But because a familiar citrus-scented white cloak suddenly enveloped her completely.

Phyllis did not retreat with Hill’s push.

Instead she dove forward into Hill’s arms.

She wrapped both arms tightly around Hill’s head and shoulders, exposing her own back fully to whatever danger was coming.

Bang!!!

A massive cloud of ancient dust and rubble crashed down.

It was a trap-triggered dust bag—an ancient non-lethal device meant to blind intruders.

Not a boulder, but thousands of years of compressed dust slammed into Phyllis’s back with a dull thud.

Phyllis let out a muffled grunt; her body shuddered violently.

Yet the arms holding Hill never loosened—not even by a millimeter.

Dust billowed everywhere.

“Cough cough cough! What the heck, nyaa!”

Nia flailed blindly ahead.

“Captain! Vice-Captain!”

Elisa panicked, ready to charge forward.

At the center of the cloud.

Hill was completely unscathed.

Her face was buried in the softness of Phyllis’s chest; her head was shielded by Phyllis’s hands. Not even much dust had touched her white leather armor.

And Phyllis…

Hill felt something land on her face.

A strand of Phyllis’s hair.

She lifted her head in a panic, struggling to break free of the suffocating embrace and check the situation.

“Phyllis? Are you alright? Where did it hit you?”

“…Mmn.”

Phyllis slowly raised her head.

Her once-pristine white travel cloak was now streaked with gray-black filth.

Golden hair dusted with grime—she looked utterly disheveled.

Yet her face showed no trace of panic or fear.

She was still smiling.

Though the smile was somewhat pale.

Phyllis did not immediately clean herself.

She released one hand, gently patted Hill’s perfectly clean head, then stroked Hill’s cheek.

“Thank goodness…”

Her voice was slightly hoarse, as though releasing a long-held breath.

“…Hill didn’t get dirty.”

Hill stared at the scene; her heart felt as though someone had viciously twisted it.

Something that heavy crashing down—and Phyllis’s first instinct wasn’t to dodge, wasn’t to defend herself, but to shield Hill beneath her like a mother kangaroo protecting her joey.

And her primary concern was… that Hill hadn’t gotten dirty?

“Are you an idiot?!”

Hill couldn’t hold back the shout; her voice trembled.

She forgot all decorum and reached directly to feel Phyllis’s back, checking for injuries.

“You should have thrown up a shield first! You’re a mage—why tank it with your body?!”

“There wasn’t time.”

Phyllis let Hill’s hands roam her back unchecked.

She watched Hill’s eyes redden with worry; a subtle spark of delight flickered in her own gaze.

“Besides… if I used a shield, the mana flare would have kicked up even more dust. You would have choked.”

She lied.

In truth, she had sensed the trap the moment they crossed the threshold.

Its trigger point, trajectory, weight—she had read it all in an instant.

“Don’t you dare do that again!”

After confirming there were no broken bones—only soft-tissue bruising—Hill exhaled slightly, though her tone remained stern.

“…If you get hurt, who’s going to heal me?”

“Mm. I’ll listen to Hill.”

Phyllis nodded obediently.

Then she turned away from the group and gracefully cast a cleaning spell.

Light flashed; every speck of dust vanished from her person. She was once again the immaculate saintess.

But in the brief moment the light flared—

Hill did not notice Phyllis cast an extremely cold glance forward.

That look was directed at Nia.

Though the trap had ultimately served her purpose, as scout, Nia’s failure to detect it was dereliction of duty.

“Let’s go.”

Phyllis finished cleaning, turned back, and once more took Hill’s hand.

“The road ahead is still long. Hold on tight—don’t get separated.”

“…”

Hill stared silently at the hand now interlocked with hers again.

This time, she no longer felt the chain as a restraint.

So she instinctively gripped back—harder than before—clenching Phyllis’s fingers tightly.

As though letting go would mean losing the only person in the world willing to use her own back to shield her from wind and rain.

In this chill, underground corridor, the golden chain still glimmered faintly.

But it was no longer merely a product of magic.

It had become the red thread Hill willingly tied around her own wrist.

Marius watched it all from the side, silently adjusting his monocle.

He said nothing, maintaining his silence.

Yet as an observer, he saw clearly.

In that instant when Phyllis shielded Hill with her body, he sensed no divine radiance from the nun.

What he felt was…

near-obsessive madness.

The kind of fanaticism that would spare no means—would even offer her own life—without the slightest hesitation to protect what belonged to her.

Was this… truly protection?