Chapter 57
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 57
Blood sprayed across his vision, but Peter ignored it, ripping the necklace from the man’s throat with all his strength. A golden key hung from the heavy chain. Clutching it in his fist, Peter whispered, “That leaves just one of you disgusting wolf pups who knows my face.”
“…”
“Your wife.”
Even as he lay dying, the man with the pierced throat twisted his lips into a smirk. A sound like leaking air cut through the howling wind, piercing Peter’s ears. It was a final, soundless taunt. With the flashing lightning, the black clouds blanketing the sky, and the furious waves crashing as if to capsize the ship, how the hell do you think you’ll get out of this alive?
Peter kicked the man hard in the head as he struggled to move his lips. With his last ounce of strength, the man’s hand twitched, his fingers straining for his sword, but the light in his eyes vanished before they could reach the hilt.
Seawater crashed over the deck, washing the crimson blood from the dead Wolf before the tide dragged his corpse into the depths.
Peter headed for the wheelhouse. He stepped over the bodies of slain Wolves and grabbed the helm, only for it to spin uselessly in his hands. At the same time, the ship began to tilt, sinking fast. The damn bastards, realizing their defeat was imminent, must have not only destroyed the ship’s controls but also punched a hole in the hull. They’d planned to drag the traitor down with them.
Peter ground his teeth and spun around.
He ran across the lurching deck without stumbling, making for the stern. Fortunately, the lifeboat was still there. They must have deemed it impossible to row away on a sea with waves the size of houses and decided to spend their energy scuttling the ship instead.
Peter shoved the key into a pocket sewn on the inside of his jacket. He buttoned it, checked that there were no tears, and climbed into the lifeboat. When he yanked the release lever with all his might, a latch clanked open, and the churning black sea raged before him. The boat slid down into the water, and he gripped the oars with a vengeance.
“You think I’m going to die here?”
He crested one mountain-like wave after another. With no sense of direction, he rowed with the singular thought of escaping the storm clouds overhead, driven by the sole purpose of survival.
Survive.
I will survive, no matter what, and stand at the pinnacle of everything.
After crossing countless mountains of water, he looked up to see the shadow of a colossal wave crashing down upon him. It was the last thing he remembered.
The next moment, he was lying in a strange place.
He saw a peculiar ceiling where curved timbers interlocked like a rib cage. For a cabin, it was remarkably elaborate and luxurious. The ceiling wasn't the only oddity. The window was covered not with glass but with white paper, and it had sliding panels instead of curtains.
His mind was a blank slate.
Feeling as if he were in a vivid dream, he slowly sat up. A heavy quilt that had been covering him slid off his shoulders. Even the quilt was unusual—it was incredibly thick, with its corners wrapped in white cloth. He wasn't on a bed, but on the floor, where an even thicker quilt was spread out beneath him.
“What in the world…”
He frowned, clutching his head as he tried to piece together what had happened.
With a clatter, the door opened. He whipped his head around to see a figure silhouetted against the bright sunlight. Peter shot to his feet, his hand reflexively going to his waist for a weapon. Just then, the person who had opened the door stepped into the room with a wide smile.
Peter instinctively sized her up.
She was a middle-aged woman with black eyes and tanned skin. Two deep wrinkles were etched into her forehead, and he noticed two missing teeth on the lower right side of her mouth. Her black hair was streaked with white, twisted into a round bun, and fastened with what looked like a thick pin. She wore a loose top that fell from just below her chest and an ankle-length skirt.
The woman began speaking in a language he couldn’t understand at all.
“…What is she saying?”
Even as he muttered with a frown, she continued to chatter away, circling him several times.
Could she be one of the Wolves’ lackeys, sent to kill me? No. I killed all of them but one.
“…”
Peter’s eyes narrowed.
That’s right. I killed them all.
He had escaped the ship bound for Luxen. He had slaughtered them, taken a lifeboat, and rowed through a sea of surging waves…
“The key.”
He patted his chest. He had definitely been wearing his jacket, and he’d put the key in the inner pocket.
He frantically checked his body. He was dressed in unfamiliar white clothes—a top similar in style to the woman’s and a pair of loose pants—but there were no pockets anywhere. A cold wave of crisis washed over him, making the hair on his neck stand on end. He was about to tear the room apart.
The middle-aged woman said something incomprehensible, gesturing as if to tell him to sit down or wait. She pointed to his clothes, then to herself.
“You have my clothes?”
There was no way she could have understood him, yet she smiled and nodded repeatedly. Then, from a wooden chest on one side of the room, she pulled out his jacket and trousers. He couldn't understand a single word she was saying.
Peter snatched the clothes from her and plunged his hand into the jacket’s inner pocket.
“…”
He gripped it tightly. The solid weight of the key in his palm sent a wave of relief through him, and the tension drained from his body in an instant.
Just then, someone poked their head through the open door. It was a man with a strange hairstyle, all his hair pulled up and tied in a knot at the crown of his head. He and the woman exchanged a few words. The man glanced behind him and hurried away, and the woman rushed out after him.
Peter stared through the wide-open doorway for a moment before following them. The door led directly outside, but to a raised wooden veranda, a step above the ground. The man and woman had already put on shoes, stepped down into the yard, and were bowing deeply to someone.
His gaze naturally shifted to the person they were greeting.
It was a man.
A middle-aged man with blue robes that reached his knees, a peculiar black hat, and a black beard stood with his chest puffed out, staring intently at him. He was clearly of a different status than the other two. It wasn't just his clothes; the aura he exuded was anything but ordinary.
Just then, another man standing beside him barked angrily at Peter. The woman glanced at Peter and said something. Since he couldn't understand the language, he had no idea why the man was angry or what the woman was reporting. Frustrated, he was about to resort to gestures.
“You. Do you understand this language?”
“…!”
The pronunciation and accent were strange, but it was unmistakably Norfolk Common Language.
Peter turned to the man in blue and nodded eagerly.
“I understand.”
Now that he had found someone he could communicate with, the questions he was desperate to ask burst out.
“What happened? Where is this place?”
“I am the one who should be asking what happened. As for where you are, this is Danguk.”
“…Danguk?”
“A place called Yongcheon, in Danguk.”
“Yongcheon… in Danguk…”
“A week ago, my household found you adrift at sea. Your clothes and belongings have been kept safe. You should confirm everything is there.”
“…”
“Now, it is my turn to ask.”
“…”
“Who are you, and where are you from?”
A powerful energy emanated from the man. Peter reflexively gave the name of the last Wolf he had killed.
“…James Wittgenstein. I am from the Kingdom of Luxen.”
“…”
A brief silence fell, broken by the man who had been angry earlier. He shouted something again, and Peter pointed at him.
“What is he saying?”
“He is telling you to come down. As I am the master of this house and you are a guest, our customs dictate that you should stand before me.”
But the man turned, as if he had no intention of forcing a foreigner to follow their ways. “You may stay here until you have recovered.”
Just then, the woman said something else, and Peter asked again.
“What is she saying?”
The man paused, glancing from the middle-aged woman to Peter before speaking.
“She says you are quite handsome for a man.”
“…”
“She means no harm by it, so do not take offense. She will be seeing to your meals while you are here, so treat her with respect.”
With those words, he walked away. Peter’s gaze followed him.
It was only then that Peter got a proper look at the wooden gate that rose high above the surrounding wall. And it was only then that he realized someone was hiding just behind it. The hem of a light green skirt peeked out from beyond the doorframe, and a long shadow stretched across the opposite side.
Just as the man in blue passed through the gate, he paused and looked to his right.
In that instant, Peter knew that the person beyond the frame was someone incredibly important to him.
The man’s stern profile softened into a gentle expression. Though it was just a glimpse from the side, the entire atmosphere around him had changed. He said something to the hidden person before turning left and walking out of sight.
The rectangular doorframe was like the border of a canvas. In a few steps, the man in blue vanished from the painting. And into the empty space he left, a woman in a light green skirt stepped into view.
First, he saw the light green skirt and a pale yellow top, and then her white face, turned toward him. Though she was some distance away, Peter could clearly see the curiosity in her expression.