Chapter 307
Chapter 307
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Can One Who Has Seen the End of the World Plant an Apple Tree? (12)
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The next morning. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, Rakshasha decided to take the ship that had brought her here back to the destination first, departing alongside the Shadow of the Moon’s vessel. The Professor explained the rough schedule and plan to the captain and crew, telling them they were heading to the largest tribe in the desert, ruled by a man named Kauladi.
He figured they’d show some reluctance since it involved meddling in intertribal warfare, but surprisingly, they agreed readily, so he asked why.
“We’re sailors to the end, no matter what happens. We’ve got to stick with our voyage.”
“What if I’m walking right into danger on my own two feet? Why?”
“Oh, come on, that’s obvious! The Sun God hates nothing more than someone jumping ship. If the situation changes and someone gets off at this oasis while others sail an empty vessel into the desert, those who left will just scramble to fill the voids and die trying, won’t they? Any sailor worth his salt knows that’s the ultimate taboo. If we head back without you, the baron won’t pay us anyway, and we’ll all starve or end up on the streets. What choice do we have?”
“Exactly. If someone tries to sneak off alone, we beat the tar out of them and tie them to the prow—we finish the voyage together, come hell or high water. But... we don’t have anyone strong enough among the crew to tie you down, so we’re stuck going along. Happens all the time; we’re used to it.”
“...So, even if they break that taboo, does bad luck really catch up to them? Jumping ship?”
“Nah? Traitors just end up dying in some unlucky way, or so they say.”
“I’ve seen it! A guy who bailed mid-voyage after a big score—came back to find him in a grave!”
Anyway, that was the situation. At least he didn’t have to worry about arranging a return ship later. Turns out, sailing the desert meant crossing these territorial disputes all the time, so it wasn’t that rare. Might as well make it their destination.
Yawn~
“Ugh... Anyway, that’s how we ended up... getting dragged into this... intertribal territory spat in the desert... yawn. You get the gist, right? The crew and captain are all desert folk anyway?”
“Ahem. Well...”
“Ahem, hem!”
“I get that... but we can see you had a good time, so tone it down in front of us. We’ve all got wives and lovers back home we miss.”
“No, it’s not that I’m sleepy from...”
“Hey, no need to hide it. We’re men too, aren’t we? We get it. You look short on sleep—go rest in your cabin. The realm of the Twelve Steps’ Ruler, Kauladi... shouldn’t be too far now.”
It really wasn’t that.
He was short on sleep, true. After briefing Rakshasha on the desert situation and agreeing to fight on her side in exchange for an introduction to the desert kingdom’s heirs, she’d dragged him into her tent.
“No, Rakshasha. This isn’t what we talked about...”
“Oh my~ How naughty. That’s not what I meant at all? But after acting all lovey-dovey in front of everyone, if you set up a separate bed... what will people think? Just so you know, in the desert, a woman abandoned by a man doesn’t fare well. Same for a man who ditches a woman. You’ll leave under a false identity, but I have to stay here. If I get labeled like that... as a woman, it’d be a sad, painful future, don’t you think?”
“But...”
“I believe you’re not the kind of bad man who’d leave a maiden with no one to claim her stuck with such a scary label? So, come on in. We hugged tight like this at the Tobrun inn before, remember? Nothing happened—just held hands. Honestly, I was hurt.”
“Fine, fine! Just don’t cling—argh!”
“Mmm~ So warm~”
Did Rakshasha think he was some paragon of endurance? Back in Tobrun, he’d just logged out casually outside, crawling into the inn—a safe zone where auto-logout worked. With no player present, even if she’d done anything while he slept beside her, his character just snoozed.
But now? He was more alert than ever.
“...Hide. What are you doing there?”
[Uh? Oh. Last night’s 6 hours with eyes wide open. This dinosaur-sized memory—figuring out where to store it.]
“...Delete it, please.”
“Nope. Lowers blood pressure from oxygen deprivation. Super effective.”
“No.”
Seriously, not a single second of rest. Rakshasha tossed and turned even in sleep—what was she doing? And her clothes, so thin... ugh.
“Becoming a water mage was a stroke of luck.”
[Precisely, thanks to my ability to control your blood.]
If this happened again, he’d get sedatives from Ottoman. For her or himself.
...Honestly, even if he was dense, he knew Rakshasha’s intentions by now. Just as she’d said—to steal back his heart.
Grateful, sure... but no meant no.
Worst case, like she said—if order mattered, at least Dana first...
[Oh.]
“Oh.”
[Ohhh.]
“Oh...”
[OHOHOHOHO!!! Youuuu!!!]
“Wha—argh!”
[Playboy! Going for both hands full, eh? Damn right, that’s my dad! Awesome!]
The sudden thought jolted Hide upright. Clutching armfuls of memory orbs in his monstrous form, he hurled them wildly. Pre-sorted, no doubt—Rakshasha’s teasing poses and last night’s clinging memories flooded his mind.
“Unconscious slip. Forget it. Please forget!”
[Mmm~ Been a while since I showed my face. Vocal cords sucked before, but ahh~ I wanna talk! The king’s ears are bunny ears~ Bad boys don’t hesitate~]
“Teacher! Please!”
[Mmm~ Step out, and it’s 3 days autonomous activity. Lots I wanna try.]
“...12 hours.”
[48! No less!]
“One day! Damn it, full day! Cut me some slack!”
He’d lost it. What was he thinking—order, sequence—what insane bullshit...!
[Makes sense, though?]
“It shouldn’t!!! You bastard!!!”
No denying it now—Hide knew the thought.
If this guy popped out yelling [Prof. Park. Actually. Thinks. Like this.], the chat room lurkers would explode, Dana would explode, his life would explode.
“Hey! Hey! Saladin! Saladin! ...Professor!”
“Uh, y-yes?”
“You asked to be called by alias, but if you don’t respond, it’s pointless, right? Sleepy? Go crash already. Ship’s ready to sail, but you’re zoning out on deck holding us up.”
“Yes... Thanks, then...”
Sleep. Sleep deprivation spawning delusions. Not just pulling an all-nighter—every nerve on edge, wide-eyed vigil.
[Just nerves on edge?]
“Damn it, next World Tree meet, I’ll beg extraction!”
[Ebebebhebhebe-]
Ultimately, the Professor—nerves frayed all night—succumbed to sleep the moment he hit the cabin.
“Sail ho! Destination: Giant’s Twelve Steps! Third footprint!”
“Yo-ho!”
“Yo-ho!”
“Yo-ho!”
“Yo-ho!”
As the Professor dozed, the ship swelled its sails, charging toward the desert.
On the rocking vessel amid sand dunes, the sleeping Professor dreamed. Lounging on his shabby sofa, one arm around Rakshasha, the other Dana, drifting off.
“Darling~”
“Professor~”
“Heh, hehe... Kraaak!”
Just as the mood sweetened, Rakshasha’s sharp dagger pierced his chest; Dana yanked, plugged the login cord, electrocuting him to death—laughing all the while.
****
Swoosh—thwack! Swoosh—crack!
“That’s why Saladin ain’t just any name. Back in the ancient desert kingdom, it was for the king’s guardians. We’d flip if a normie used it, but we saw your prowess with our own eyes—fits you, so we let it slide.”
“...”
“Hmm. Saladin. Dead? Saladin, Sir Saladin?”
Thud—thud—
Lookout Naruka shook him awake, stunned that slapping a cheek could sound so crisp.
“Gaaah—guhhuuuh—”
Voyage day 6. Weather: Murderously clear.
Two days post-oasis village. Ship still rocking. Notum adapted somewhat, but the elf lady clung to her bucket.
“Gruuuuh, Captaaain... Thiiiis suuuuucks...?”
“Eh, let’s see. Compared to my sailor-tanned skin... still kinda pale, yeah? Too white for Saladin, I’d say?”
“Fuuuuck... bleh...”
Wronged for nothing, I dangled from the mast, facing the killer sun.
Why? Crew got my ID and new name—loved it over Saint or Professor, but raised questions.
“Saladin... Suits a guy like him, but for a desert man, awful pale, no?”
“Huh? Oh, they say a voyage tans you good?”
“Dunno? We wrap up tight, slather palm oil for protection—even after 15+ years, can he catch up in days? Guy’s dead if his identity slips; can’t half-ass it.”
“Uh... true?”
“Saladin, you peeled that sand-burnt skin like a molt last time. Can do it anytime?”
“Yeah? Not shedding—new flesh sprouts underneath?”
“Fair. Dove into the sand sea, walked out fine. Alright then. Follow me. Ship’s fine without you unless big trouble. Let’s get that Saladin look first. I’ll tell the captain.”
The navigator, squinting at my badge and face, grinned at his solution—led me to the central mast’s lookout.
Then stripped me to undies and tied me to the mast.
“Best go full nude, really. If you wash and flash pale ass—”
“No way, you perv! My pride won’t allow!”
“Tch. Fine. Say when you’re dying—I’ll lower you for water, then re-hoist.”
Thus, under lookout guidance—while chat’s Deer dude griped ‘service lacking’—I ended up dangling.
I knew the name-body mismatch; Rakshasha mentioned it pre-departure on Shadow of the Moon. Agreed to tan.
“Gaaaah—gaaaah—”
“Yo-ho—dead yet?”
“Gack—gulk—gaaaah—”
“Naruka—don’t let him die—”
“He’s stiiiill aliiiive—”
“...Still kicking?”
“Lordy. They say outer god’s apostle got nine lives.”
“Almost there. Make it in time?”
“That’s why he’s hanging tough.”
“Manly.”
“Damn straight! No other Saladin!”
“Gaaaaaaah—”
But I never dreamed it’d take this long. Egg on sunny mast? Shell peels, yolk sticks sizzled. Figured half-day suffering for stylish tan.
“H-Hide... regen... power...”
[Gripping it root-deep. Max suppression. Unchecked, mutated cells replace all—back to original. Still pretty toasty; hang in.]
“Fuuuuck...”
Regen. That damn regen.
First hour: roasting alive. Skin blistered red, peeling—not bronzed like crew, but lightly cooked.
Past threshold: body auto-sheds damaged cells, regenerates originals.
En route, faint tan faded with recovery—paler than pre-hang, drawing crew’s envious stares.
Ship sped on. Desert ship zipped like an arrow—near Rakshasha’s rendezvous.
This’d make me pale outsider with desert name. Max regen suppress, dangle till done.
“Gaaaah—gaaaah—”
How much longer naked on mast?
“Mmm... Looks about right?”
“Huuuh, uuuuh, huuuuh...”
“Hm? Saladin saying something?”
“Huuu... waa... heeheehaa...”
“Huuu... waa... water? Begging for water?”
Shiver-shiver-shiver—
Lookout compared his arm to my face like litmus paper. Finally passed—Professor endured raw torture sans regen, lowered.
“Aw, overtoasted.”
“Idiot. Shoulda been even. Compare to your lookout bake? Darker than us.”
“Eh. He goes pale if idle—sear him good, right?”
“True enough.”
Gulp-gulp-gulp-gulp!
‘Damn bastards, damn bastards, damn bastards!’
Crew eyed steam-rising undie-clad Professor like exotic beast. He chugged the tastiest water ever, cursing. Pain-hardened vet, but raw desiccation? Top agony tier. As water mage, extra ineffable misery.
[Good tan though. Regen-tan layered? Not charcoaled—real desert folk bronze.]
“Ugh... decent now?”
[Yeah. Like big bald slave from old Egypt flick. Iron chains, perfection.]
“Ugh... games make you do everything...”
Thus—after ordeal that’d kill normies fivefold—Professor got Saladin bod; crew realized mid-watch he was more badass than thought.
“Halt!”
“Furl sails! This is the domain of great desert kingdom heir, Kauladin palm Mosad! State identity—submit to inspection!”
The ship finally reached destination: Giant’s Twelve Steps oasis cluster.
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