Seeing the ghosts revert to their soulless state, Hope and Erza—no longer in the mood—headed straight back to the inn.
When they arrived, Old Book, the dig-team leader Derrick, and the innkeeper were anxiously waiting at the door; the moment the pair appeared, all three rushed forward.
"Was that racket just now your doing?"
the proprietor demanded, voice trembling—ever since the ghosts had haunted Twilight Town for decades they had only ever drifted aimlessly, never before moving in such an organized fashion.
They settled into the lounge on the ground floor, sipping the hot tea the landlord had prepared. Hope gave a terse account of what had happened while Erza sat silent, fingers absently circling the rim of her cup.
"Irene…"
At the name Old Book's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "You're certain the ancient queen's name was Irene?"
Hope nodded; though he couldn't understand the ghosts' tongue, he trusted Erza's translation.
The instant the answer came, Old Book hurried to his room, returned clutching an ancient tome, and exclaimed, "If I'm right, that Queen Irene was the ruler of the 'Holy Dragon Kingdom' Dragunov four centuries ago."
Hearing this, the excavation chief Derrick paled. "Then the ancient ruins in the forest must be what's left of Dragunov Country!"
Hope and the innkeeper exchanged blank looks—too unlettered to follow. Erza cut the excited scholars off. "Was Dragunov supposed to be famous?"
Old Book shook his head. "No, the realm was tiny; it earned its footnote in history only because of Queen Irene."
"You've heard of the great war between humans and dragons four hundred years ago?"
"Back then humanity stood no chance until 'Dragon-Slayer' magic appeared and turned the tide."
Hope already saw where this was going. "So the birth of 'Dragon-Slayer' magic is tied to Queen Irene?"
Old Book clapped his hands. "Exactly. Irene created it; that's how we humans snatched victory."
According to him, Irene, mother of all Dragon Slayer Mages, was a mighty Mage and a queen who loved her subjects as her own children.
Yet after humanity's triumph Dragunov suddenly sealed its borders—no citizen could leave, no outsider could enter.
This lasted only three years, then the kingdom vanished overnight.
The Magic Council and neighboring realms rushed to investigate, only to find every trace of Dragunov had disappeared in a single night.
The event caused an uproar, but internal human wars over territory quickly buried it in forgetfulness.
Old Book rattled on, yet nothing more about Irene survived; she and her realm faded from memory.
Hope could now place Irene's betrayal at about the time Dragunov sealed itself away.
If the ruins in the forest truly are the lost kingdom from four centuries ago, those ghosts must be its former citizens.
A beloved queen betrayed by courtiers and people—no wonder Dragunov was doomed.
How much of the ghosts' remorse is genuine?
Do they even linger because they feel guilt toward Irene?
Recalling the unseen force controlling them, Hope stared at the eerie blood-red sky. Perhaps the forest ruins would yield answers… The next day.
After breakfast at the inn the group reached the fringe of the Ruin Forest.
At the entrance a cold, damp breath hit them; towering ancient trees knitted their branches, blocking most sunlight and plunging the woods into gloom.
Silence reigned—not the peaceful kind, but the suffocating hush of something watching from the dark.
Had he not known the ghosts had retreated here, Hope would have started chopping trees just to stop the spook-show.
"We're ready, you two."
Team leader Derrick finished the head-count and showed Hope and Erza a crude map sketched on their previous foray.
Erza took the chart, eyeing the jittery scholars. "Let's move. Stay close to Hope and me."
With that warning she led the party inside.
The instant they stepped beneath the boughs the light dimmed and the air chilled.
Underfoot lay a carpet of leaf-litter centuries thick; it yielded with a soft rustle that sounded deafening in the hush.
Bringing up the rear, Hope quietly released a thread of mana sense. Thanks to the ghosts, not a single beast—indeed, not even an insect—remained in the wood.
No predators, no mosquitoes, no rats, no ants.
Aside from the rough footing the trek went smoothly. Soon broken foundations, toppled pillars, and moss-clad statues emerged, hinting at the ancient kingdom's outline.
After another hour the group reached the forest's heart.
Before them sprawled the vast wreck of a royal capital.
Rib-like walls lay tumbled in the weeds; wind sighed through holes in the stone, while vines strangled blocks that still bore faded reliefs.
Old Book hurried to a collapsed rampart where, with several Archaeological Team Members, he unearthed a slab carved with a simple sigil.
"Just as I thought—the vanished kingdom of Dragunov." He beamed, comparing the emblem to the one in his codex.
Yet Chief Derrick felt no joy; last time his team had reached this very spot they'd met monsters.
And what you fear always finds you.
"ROOOAR—!!"
A savage roar erupted from the depths of the ruins; the ground trembled and a crushing tide of mana rolled outward.
Heavy footfalls thundered closer, and a towering silhouette loomed into view.
Hope squinted: an armored human?
The figure was encased in black steel laced with sinister crimson runes; across its shoulder rested a greatsword blackened by untold blood.
Only the face was exposed—nose sliced off, mouth shredded, ears torn away, eye-sockets replaced by twin pits of blue ghost-fire—an image of horror.
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