30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?!-Chapter 212: The Knights’ Night Out (6)

It seemed that mysticism truly was a symbol of faith in this world.

The moment vague evidence like sorcery and prophecy was presented, even the notoriously skeptical knights of Galahad accepted it without question and followed along.

It was something Ihan struggled to understand emotionally, but...

This unexpected team had formed. Normally, he should have been hesitant about it, but less than ten minutes in, he had to admit—

...These guys are insane.

As much as he hated to admit it, if this were a group project, and these were his teammates, he couldn’t ask for a better lineup.

They were the kind of diligent team members you’d be lucky to find once in a century.

“The records Lionel has gathered over the past few centuries indicate that the <Sacred Vault> where the holy relics are stored is an interdimensional space, created by a grand divine spell performed by tens of thousands of priests.”

“You managed to find that out?”

“Lionel possesses a wealth of ancient texts. Our scholars had a hard time piecing it together.”

“So, you found out in a way similar to us. Then, do you know the location? Do you have a key?”

“We pinpointed the location, but we don’t know about a key. But that’s fortunate in a way—because we have Fanged Wolf’s Third Eye.”

“...Damn, you know a lot.”

“Haha, the witch doctor told me.”

Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freewebnσvel.cøm.

“When I return to my family, I’ll make sure to raise Lionel’s security threat level by two tiers.”

“Oho, terrifying.”

Ihan didn’t have to do anything.

These guys were handling everything on their own, beating the drum and playing the cymbals all by themselves.

Is this what it feels like to be a newbie tagging along behind high-level players?

Dodging the enraged priests and nuns, finding the right paths, and tracking down the relic—there was nothing Ihan had to do.

Their personalities were terrible, but damn, were they competent.

...If only they didn’t make him want to develop an ulcer or start a fight every now and then.

If not for their personalities, they’d be some of the most incredible assets imaginable. But their personalities were so bad that they completely overshadowed their strengths.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“You gave me a weird look just now.”

“Come on, these are my eyes. Can’t I look wherever I want?”

“Hmmm.”

“......”

...Sharp bastard.

With that Third Eye ability of his—some supernatural form of perception—his instincts were sharper than a damn ghost’s.

Guess I can’t even insult him in my head.

Scary guy.

“You’re lost in thought again. If you have time to think about nonsense, help us search.”

“Search?”

“You heard earlier, didn’t you? The Sacred Vault is an interdimensional space. It exists within the sanctuary, yet it doesn’t exist in a physical sense. And we need to find it.”

“Didn’t that guy say he knew where it was?”

“He does. Roughly. He only knows that it should be somewhere around this hill.”

“That’s... pretty vague.”

The sanctuary was a fortress built into the mountains.

Aside from the temple structures, there were forests, hills, and cliffs all around.

Think of it like a monastery built atop a mountain.

The temple itself occupied less than 40% of the land. The rest was a natural habitat filled with vegetation and wildlife.

So, when Maximus pointed at a hill and said the vault was somewhere around there, it was understandable why Ihan felt overwhelmed.

How the hell are we supposed to search this entire place?

“It’s gonna take forever.”

“Apologies. I thought it would be easy once we found the hill, but it’s much bigger than I expected. Haha.”

“...That’s your excuse?”

Maximus and Raq started bickering again.

From the moment they met, Ihan had noticed—they didn’t seem to get along too well.

Especially Maximus. That guy seemed to be extra combative when dealing with Raq.

Maybe Lionel and Galahad were natural enemies?

“Not that I care about your rivalry, but... an unnatural location, huh? Hm, I think I found it.”

“??”

“...What?”

At Ihan’s casual remark, the two of them froze in disbelief.

How could he possibly find the entrance so quickly in this vast area?

But Ihan simply pointed.

“There. That tree. Looks like the entrance.”

“......?”

They tilted their heads in confusion at his certainty, but Ihan just shrugged.

“Go check.”

“......”

Without hesitation, Raq sprinted toward the young sapling Ihan had pointed at, moving as lightly as a flying squirrel.

And within less than a minute—

“......You bastard. How the hell did you know?”

He had found it.

Raq looked utterly dumbfounded as he turned back toward Ihan.

Ihan smirked and asked, “Ever heard of echolocation?”

“??”

“If not, don’t worry about it.”

It wasn’t worth explaining.

What mattered was—

“The important thing is that we found it.”

As long as the results were good, who cares about the process?

***

Galahad had long sought to internalize mysticism the same way one would a martial art or sword technique.

They had spent generations refining it into a form of combat discipline, calling it Mystic Techniques (神祕技藝).

Mastering even one of these techniques was enough to be considered a genius. In all of Galahad’s history, no one had ever mastered more than two.

That’s how absurdly difficult they were.

Yet, in the current era, there existed a knight who not only mastered over seven of these impossibly complex Mystic Techniques but also developed an entirely unique one of his own.

That knight was none other than—

“Oh? Your eyes actually turn red?”

“That’s gotta be useful at night.”

“...Shut up, you damn ruffians.”

Raq de Duron.

The current champion of Galahad.

The Third Eye was a composite technique, built upon five of the seven Mystic Techniques he had mastered.

It granted him the ability to perceive an opponent’s power, detect spatial distortions, and even dismantle magic.

Of course, since Raq was the only knight to ever successfully master the Third Eye, its full capabilities remained largely unknown.

Just possessing such an ability was already an impressive feat. But Raq had gone a step further—he had mastered the practical applications of it.

Click.

“There’s an ancient sacred spell woven into this, but that’s fortunate. Dispelling it won’t be too difficult.”

“What’s that?”

“An artifact created by the combined efforts of my family’s mages and shamans. It’s a tool specialized for breaking mystical barriers.”

“...That thing looks like a burglar’s lockpicking tool.”

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my bad.”

“...Just keep your mouth shut and don’t distract me.”

The tool in Raq’s hands moved swiftly.

A layman might call it a lockpick, while a scholar might refer to it as a device for Seal Breaking (解錠術).

Whatever the case, only someone with an advanced understanding of both sorcery and sacred arts could wield it properly.

It was an intricate, almost mesmerizing display of skill.

A goddamn magic show.

‘He’s got talent, I’ll give him that.’

But to an outsider with no understanding of magic, it was all just a confusing spectacle.

It looked impressive, but Ihan had no clue what the hell was actually happening.

One thing was clear, though—without Raq, he never would’ve been able to access this entrance, no matter how easily he had found it.

So this is why adventurer parties always have a rogue?

Certain jobs were just mandatory when infiltrating places like this.

As he watched the work unfold with the same idle fascination one had while staring at a fire—

“Hm. This feels... ominous.”

“...Suddenly?”

“Oh. Apologies, friend. I have a habit of thinking out loud.”

“Stop calling me friend, for the love of god.”

“Haha, a friend is a friend.”

“...Fuck off.”

Ihan shot Maximus a sharp glance.

What was ominous about this?

“Hmm... Doesn’t this all seem too easy?”

“......”

“Ah, I see you agree already.”

“...I hate that I’m thinking the same thing as you, but... now that I consider it, things going smoothly isn’t exactly a good thing.”

His fingertips tingled.

It wasn’t the kind of pain that came from a wound.

It was something else—an ache born from experience, like a phantom pain from past traumas.

Has anything in my life ever gone smoothly?

They say to always test a bridge before crossing it.

But that was just a saying—no one actually tested a bridge before walking on it.

Because bridges don’t just collapse under your feet.

...Except in Ihan’s life, they did.

He had spent his entire existence testing every bridge he crossed, yet he had still suffered countless disasters.

Every time he thought he had crossed safely, there was always another crisis waiting for him.

So now—

Just as Maximus had pointed out, things going smoothly felt wrong.

There’s no way something I’m involved in will ever go this smoothly.

It was an unshakable belief.

Ihan had absolute confidence that luck was never on his side.

With that thought in mind, he began fastening the weapons he had looted from the half-demons—a pair of swords, three daggers, and a small buckler.

As if his life depended on them.

“This is some bullshit.”

Raq shot him an irritated glance, clearly unimpressed by his attitude.

“Are you seriously jinxing us right now?”

But Ihan was dead serious.

“Get your weapons ready. The moment we step in, something’s gonna go wrong.”

“......”

“Just trust me, damn it.”

“Haha, brother, if you’re that sure, then why enter at all? We could just turn back.”

“...Stop calling me brother. First friend, now brother?”

Maximus’s sudden question.

He seemed genuinely curious—if Ihan was convinced that danger awaited them, why not just leave?

Ihan found the brother thing annoying, but he answered seriously.

“Even if we avoid trouble now, sooner or later, we’ll have to deal with it anyway. There’s no point in running.”

“......”

“...Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Haha, brother, it is a shame you were not born in the North! Choosing to fight rather than flee for temporary comfort—that is exactly how a true warrior should be! You are as North-born as they come...!”

“......”

Why did it feel like, even though he was being praised, he was actually being insulted?

Coming from this guy, being called ‘Northern’ feels like a fucking slur...

It was an incredibly unpleasant moment.

Ihan was about to respond, but—

Fwoooosh!

A sudden burst of light erupted before them.

At that moment, conversation became meaningless.

“Hurry in. I can hold this open for five seconds.”

“...A little warning next time, asshole.”

Muttering a complaint, Ihan lunged forward.

Without hesitation.

And then—

*

"—Ihan, you sure you wanna go career military?"

...Regret hit him almost immediately.

"......."

"Kid, think it through again. There's nothing good about signing on long-term!"

"...D-Dokgo hyung?"

"Hyung? Listen here, brat. I don’t care if you're about to discharge soon, but calling me hyung in the army? Really?"

"Wait, seriously? Dokgo hyung? Dokgo Gupae?"

"...I told you not to say my full name!"

"...Holy shit, it's really you."

Ihan blinked, scanning his surroundings.

No bed. Just a sea of yellow linoleum flooring where soldiers had to huddle together to sleep. Rusty, beat-up lockers, barely holding themselves together. Military-issued water bottles that had probably been around since the Korean War, and supplies that looked like they belonged in a museum.

And then...

‘Huh. So this guy actually had hair back then...’

Dokgo Gupae.

A name that sounded like it belonged to a legendary swordsman, like someone who’d wield a technique called Dokgo’s Nine Slashes.

But in reality? The man could barely cook instant ramen, let alone swing a sword.

Ihan stared blankly at his old superior.

He had prepared for disaster.

He had braced himself for every kind of crisis.

But...

‘Wait. Am I really back in the army as a goddamn sergeant?’

Shudder.

He could fight through hundreds—hell, even thousands of monsters without flinching.

But this?

Spending two more years as a regular soldier would’ve been fine.

But doing it all over again as a sergeant?

Absolutely. Fucking. Not.