The Reporting Ceremony (1)
Slap— Slap— As the waves parted beneath the hull, the soldiers lounged lazily across the deck, savoring the rare moment of leisure. They had stopped watching Patrick; after all, where could he possibly run in the middle of the open sea?
“Once the transfer’s done, we’re off duty, right?”
“That’s the plan. You heading out too?”
“Where else? Oh, that place the captain said he’d treat us to?”
Once their postures loosened, so did their tongues. Soldiers basking in the warm sunlight began smacking their lips at the thought of the drinking party awaiting them that evening.
“Still, what’s gotten into that cheapskate? Did he finally collect on some old debt or something?”
“Nah.” One soldier curled his thumb and forefinger into a circle. “He skimmed plenty off this job.”
“Who’s gonna slip money to a mere guard captain? We’re not knights.”
“Aigoo, you really don’t know how the world works. Look at this guy—family, money, connections, nothing. Why do you think someone like that ends up on a nothing island like this?”
Patrick’s ears perked up at the soldiers’ conversation. They were talking about him.
“If you’re unlucky, you get sent to places like this. What, you think there’s more to it?”
“Having no money or connections is unlucky enough. All the decent villages were already claimed by the sons of families who greased the village chiefs and captains!”
“Huh?”
“Why? You’ve heard how much trouble it was to assign the exile locations this time, right?”
“Yeah. There were quite a few mages involved.”
“Each territory had over a dozen exiles to deal with. Do you really think the big shots in the lord’s castle had time to inspect every single village themselves?”
“So our captain did it?”
“He knew how things would go from the start and made his moves early. Guy’s always had a sharp nose for that sort of thing. Thanks to him, we get free drinks, so who’s complaining?”
“Is that how it works?”
From his corner, Patrick cautiously spoke up.
“Excuse me, sirs. Might I ask something?”
“Hm? What’s on your mind, mage?”
“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but your conversation was so interesting I couldn’t help but listen.”
“Oh? Ahem, ahem!”
“Ah, I’m not blaming anyone. That’s just how the world works.”
The soldier who had been openly discussing his superior’s bribes relaxed at Patrick’s easygoing tone.
“I thought all mages were stiff and self-righteous. You’re different.”
“I’ve been eating humble pie at the Magic Tower for eight years already. By the way, from what you were saying, it sounds like exiles can sometimes switch locations?”
“That’s right. Things come up that require moving people around. Interested?”
“A little.”
“Got some money stashed away?”
“Money?”
“Changing an exile spot isn’t that hard, but it does cost. You need to grease quite a few palms.”
“Ah······!”
This damned “age of romance” apparently trusted human connections greased with “gifts” far more than any fair, computerized system. In short, most problems could be solved with the right present.
“Even the most generous gift won’t work for serious criminals, but for mages like you who only committed the crime of being annoying, a proper offering can keep you from ending up on an island like this.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course. That’s why rich and powerful people call their exile sentence a ‘long vacation.’”
The soldiers, delighted that a mage was politely listening to their chatter, chattered on in great detail.
So in summary, if you have money, you can change your exile location?
Caw, caw— The quiet island village drew closer, disturbed only by the occasional cry of seagulls and the absence of any other boats.
They said they’d provide a house, so I’ll check the situation first. If it’s impossible, I’ll save up money and leave!
I’ll show them the knowledge of a 21st-century civilized person! Ah, but first, I need to confirm where I’m living.
“See you in a month, mage! And just in case—don’t even think about leaving the island. If you do, you’ll be dragged off to the mines, and you won’t have any excuses then.”
“······Understood.”
“Take this. They at least provide the bare minimum supplies.”
“······Understood.”
Patrick and the soldiers arrived at the island. The soldiers pulled out a pre-drawn map, turned it this way and that, and set off to lead the way.
I had a bad feeling from the start.
Patrick had found it strange that they hadn’t passed any other houses on the way to the residence provided by the authorities. Then—
“This is a ruin.”
The gate groaned ominously. The stone wall was half-collapsed and no longer functional. The building itself looked ready to crumble in the next strong storm.
“I was the crazy one for expecting anything.”
This was a world where no one championed the human rights of criminals. Even among criminals, those with money and connections got better treatment, while someone like him—with neither—had been shoved off to an island village no merchant would even visit.
Honestly, giving a proper house to someone like me would be stranger.
Still, Patrick pushed the gate open with determination and stepped inside. The soldiers had already disappeared. He couldn’t stand there staring at the house forever.
Grumble—
His stomach was empty too. He’d only had a thin bowl of stew all day after rushing about since morning.
I probably won’t be getting even that from now on.
He checked the kitchen just in case, but found only a single rosemary pot someone had planted. Not a single edible potato in sight. The pouch the soldiers had given him contained only a pot, spoon, fork, a small kitchen knife, and a flint—nothing that could fill his stomach.
“Well, it’s fine! I saw where the beach was on the way here.”
Patrick remained optimistic. The old saying went that coastal villages at least never starved.
If I dig around, there’ll be clams and crabs. I’ve seen it on TV.
Even celebrities who looked like they’d never touched a drop of water could flip over rocks and find finger-sized crabs scuttling about. Why didn’t they ever think to pick up clams or crabs when complaining about having nothing to eat?
This is why TV is a problem. No realism, none at all!
His stomach kept growling, but a small spark of anticipation gave him a bit of energy.
“Today’s my first day as a natural man.”
His endlessly positive and optimistic personality shone once more. After walking for about twenty minutes, he reached the shore. The tide was out, revealing the wet sand.
Clack!
“Oh! There really are some!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Patrick flipped over a watermelon-sized rock nearby. Several fingernail-sized crabs scurried into hiding.
Alright. I’ll search a bit more, and if I really can’t find anything, I’ll catch those crabs and boil them. Once I fill my stomach, I can come back tomorrow morning and dig around again. Something will turn up.
Once he organized his thoughts, a sense of satisfaction washed over him.
Isn’t this my natural calling?
Maybe he should’ve started a YouTube channel as a hunting and gathering master. If he had, he might not have ended up with an overwork death.
“No point regretting the past. Focus on the present. Oh! Found something!”
He discovered a wooden bucket—either discarded or washed ashore. It was a bit broken and would leak if filled with water, but it could easily hold enough crabs or clams to carry home.
I look like I’ve lived here a while, don’t I?
With a broken wooden bucket in one hand and a wooden stick in the other, Patrick wandered the beach. Unfortunately, he looked exactly like a beggar, but since there were no mirrors or people around, it didn’t matter.
Whoosh!
Just as he was feeling proud of managing on his own, a sudden large wave splashed over his feet, as if to snap him out of it.
“Ugh, cold!”
Spring had arrived, yet the seawater remained freezing. Grumbling inwardly, Patrick shook out his only pair of shoes when his eyes suddenly lit up.
“Huh······? Huh······! Huh!”
Before him lay a conch—naturally grown and the size of an adult’s fist.
“Jackpot!”
He looked around and found three more of similar size. Four in total!
“I’m really good at this, aren’t I?”
Grinning and praising himself, Patrick gathered all four conches into the bucket. This would be enough for dinner. Given their size, even after cleaning out the innards, there would be plenty of meat.
Too bad there’s no chojang. Or soju.
Admiring the smooth shells, Patrick returned home with a light step. No matter how hungry he was, he knew shellfish had to be boiled before eating. With superhuman patience, he began boiling water.
“At least there’s a spring near the house. If I had to carry water every day······ Ugh! Horrifying, just horrifying!”
After ten minutes that felt like three hours, the water finally boiled. Patrick dropped all four cleaned conches into the pot.
Bubble, bubble.
“Hot! Hot hot!”
He placed the cooked conches on a flat rock he’d washed earlier to use as a cutting board and began removing the innards.
“Should I just eat them whole? Yeah! No one’s watching anyway. Might as well tear into them whole. That’s romantic, right?”
In this slightly uncivilized situation, the most appetizing meat was the kind you could eat bones and all—like in cartoons. Patrick skipped the fork and began tearing into the cooked conches whole.
“Maybe because they’re fresh from the sea. A bit bland, but still pretty good.”
The shells were smoother than the horned conches he used to eat at food stalls after overtime, but the taste seemed similar. The chewy, crunchy texture burst with savory flavor, and Patrick closed his eyes and twisted his body in delight.
“Wow, so this is what happiness feels like.”
After devouring all four in the blink of an eye, Patrick flopped down on the uncleaned floor. Stroking his full stomach with a satisfied smile, he drifted off to sleep without realizing it. The day had been exhausting.
After some time had passed—
“Ugh, urgh! Urk!”
Patrick woke from his sleep with sudden nausea.
“Huh? My body, why is my body······!”
Just as he tried to rush outside to vomit from the rising nausea, his head spun and his limbs went numb. He collapsed to the floor with a thud.
In that moment, one thought crossed his mind.
Why is this day so damn long?
At this point, couldn’t a day just pass like a decent human being?