Chapter 40
He slipped his hand into his pocket out of habit, checking his belongings first.
Damn...
His clothes were the same, but his smartphone—the modern man's essential—was missing. Had he left it on the table next to that tropical fruit juice when he dozed off?
Hmm. Not a big deal, I guess.
Without phone signal or internet, it was useless anyway. And even if he snapped photos, he couldn't take them back to reality.
Thud, thud.
He couldn't just linger on this endless grassland dotted only with grass, so he headed blindly toward the distant village.
I wonder if the language works here...?
Worries flooded in before he'd even met anyone, but there was no helping it. This was undoubtedly a completely different world.
Those round, plump bizarre creatures popping up frequently amid the grass didn't exist on Earth, after all.
"Molrang?"
The steamed-bun-shaped, translucent pink jelly jiggled softly.
"What's your name?"
"Molrang!"
"...Sorry. That was a dumb question."
"Molrang molrang~"
If a mouthless creature could answer, that would be the real freak show. It didn't even have ears, so who knew if it truly understood him.
"......"
"Molrang."
"...What're you doing?"
The unidentified alien lifeform trailing after him like a puppy was getting on his nerves.
"Jeez."
Bored of the endless walking, he reached out toward the creature.
It won't melt my hand on contact or swallow me whole, right...?
A twinge of anxiety hit him, but he steeled himself with simple logic: if he died, he'd just wake up.
"Molrang~"
"Whoa! It really is squishy!"
The texture was so addictive, he could've fiddled with it all day. Clutching the alien gently, he kept walking—
Whoosh!
Pure luck saved him. An ear-splitting whistle ripped past, and blood trickled from his right ear down his cheek.
Arrow!
No time to assess or think. It had nearly pierced his skull!
He hunched low and bolted.
"Gah?!"
Arrows rained down in volleys, arcing through the air. Dodging the shower entirely was impossible, he judged. So,
"Molrang?!"
"Sorry!"
He hoisted the creature in his arms as a shield over his head.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
His shoulders and back burned with pain, but no time to check the damage.
This is bad.
Running forever would get him caught eventually. But unarmed as he was, what could he do?
"Molrang molrang!"
"...Please!"
"Molrang?!"
He hurled the creature straight up as a decoy shield.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
There—the attackers' arrows reacted, flying toward it.
That way.
He pinpointed the enemies' position from the arrows' origin.
Thud.
"Molrang...!"
"Sorry."
Catching the falling creature to shield his head again, he sprinted away from the attackers.
It veered him slightly off from the village, but he couldn't just die to unknown assailants.
And he had one thing going for him.
Stamina? I've got that in spades!
Blood from his wounds left a trail, ruling out hiding. He'd have to run them ragged till they gave up.
But...
"Ack!"
A wildcard: an unpaved road slicing through the concealing brush.
Crossing was easy, but he'd be fully exposed until he reached the brush on the other side.
Still gotta go.
No time to hesitate. Compared to that magic boy who couldn't even run, arrows from afar were a cakewalk.
Bracing for death, he stepped forward—
"Gasp!"
He froze, sucking in a sharp breath.
Clatter clatter.
A group of locals—guarding a lavish carriage in their midst—blocked his path.
Should I ask for help?
Then, a man who'd locked eyes with him yanked the reins of his snow-white horse, turning toward him. His black hair contrasted his pale skin, but his sturdy build and chiseled jaw screamed "handsome" to anyone.
Clatter clatter.
Riding up, the man spoke.
"Who attacked you?"
"Huh?"
His native tongue? A huge relief—he'd braced for gibberish alien speak. One worry down.
"No need to fear now. I am of the Chimac Earl family..."
Misreading his relieved expression, the man began introducing himself, but
"Captain! Ambush!"
"Shields up! Rally to the carriage!"
"Form ranks!"
Arrows poured toward the carriage and guards like rain.
Thud, thud, thud...
Most pinged off iron shields and armor, but the horses pulling the carriage weren't so lucky.
"Neighhh~?!"
"Whinny~?!"
Innocent beasts crumpled one after another.
And him too: "Whoa?!"
"Molrang?!"
Shielding with the creature, he ran.
Small mercy: arrows focused on the carriage, so the threat lessened as he pulled away—
Rumble rumble!
Hooves shook the earth as suspicious cavalry kicked up dust, closing fast.
"They're charging!"
"Molrang!"
His stamina earned him the "nuclear sub" nickname, but he wasn't outrunning horses. Caught? Dead meat. Those blades weren't for show.
Whoosh.
He whipped around, bolting back toward the carriage.
"Help!"
"Molrang!"
Self-defense classes first thing when I wake up.
"This way!"
The man who'd spoken first pointed under the carriage. Hide there.
"Give me a weapon—I'll fight too!"
"We appreciate the spirit. Hide, now."
"...Got it."
No reckless heroics here—he dove under as ordered.
"Slide over here."
"Hey?"
The coachman was already there.
"Whoa! You're bleeding bad. You holding up?"
"Kinda dizzy."
"Hang in there—just a bit longer. The Earl family's brave knights and soldiers will handle it!"
"Okay."
Pathetic, sprawled under the carriage.
"Molrang..."
"Worried about me? I'm fine."
"Molrang molrang~"
In a rule-of-law society, relying on protection wasn't shameful. He wasn't a soldier. No need to fight. He'd never volunteered for dangerous dream dives anyway...
I let my guard down thinking it was autism.
Never dreamed he'd enter the dream of an awake patient.
...Wait, that didn't sound right?
As regrets swirled, the groups finally clashed.
"Protect the carriage!"
"For Chimac Earl family!"
"Chimac! Eternal!"
"Chimac! Chimac! Chimac!"
Boom! Crash!
Under the carriage, blind to the action, but tumbling bodies and dust-choked screams chilled him.
"Gack?!"
"Agh~?!"
Severed limbs sprayed blood; crushed skulls smacked the dirt.
Too damn real!
A dream this brutal? Movies censored gore for sales; dreams didn't care.
At least
"Retreat! Retreat!"
"Didn't expect this strength..."
"Run—gurk?!"
The attackers broke, ending it quick.
"Yaaay!"
"Long live Chimac Earl family!"
"We won!"
"Chimac! Chimac! Chimac!"
Safe now, he crawled out.
"Ah..."
Instant regret.
That's the victors' look?
Cheers hid raw relief at surviving.
"Quiet! Gather the bodies, rescue survivors—move!"
"Yes sir!"
Commands snapped order: allies buried respectfully after looting; enemies decapitated, heads kept, bodies dumped in brush.
Heads why? The coachman caught his puzzled look.
"To identify Chimac challengers for revenge."
"But they're dead?"
"They've got parents who birthed them."
"......"
His casual tone about family genocide made him shudder.
"Show me the wounds."
"Sure."
He bared the arrow hits without protest.
"Damn... Running with them lodged tore the wounds wider. Not screaming in pain?"
"Still manageable."
"Impressive endurance. Must hurt like hell."
"......"
He'd died before—knew "hellish" wasn't that bad.
"Bite this stick. Don't look."
"...Kinda scary."
"Gonna pull the arrows. Brace."
"Mm... Ngh?!"
The coachman sliced out the arrowheads with a dagger, doused with booze, bound tight.
Whoa!
Cold sweat now—he'd nearly howled.
"No anesthetic, no screams..."
"It hurt!"
He spat the stick, protesting.
"Rough?"
"Yeah..."
Exhaustion crashed in. Why suffer this?
"Ride up top. We'll drop you at the nearest village."
"I'm good."
"Knight's orders. You got hit by our stalkers—least we can do."
"Then..."
Blood loss? Tension snap? Drowsiness hit hard.
"Don't fall off."
"Got it."
The patched carriage rolled out on enemy horses.
* * *
Not a village— he'd overestimated medieval scale.
This is a city...?
The proud coachman explained: heart of a top-five noble, Chimac Earl's estate. Like a metro with the governor's mansion.
"Halt. Clean up here first."
"Yes, sir."
"Park the carriage."
The handsome first-speaker was the eldest son of knights guarding Chimac, strongest around.
Why stop?
He asked the coachman.
"What're we fixing?"
"Look at us. Citizens would freak."
"Ah..."
Victory, sure, but blood-and-dust-covered, they looked like routed survivors.
"Hold on."
Coachman pulled towels, clean clothes from his bag. One set. Two.
No mistake.
"Me too?"
"Yes. Change."
"But money..."
Felt pushy.
"No charge for ambush victims who lost gear. Chimac isn't stingy. Cheap stuff anyway."
"Thanks, then."
Open-air changing irked, but not the time. Plus,
Whoa, those bodies...
Armor hid it: all bear-punching musclemen. Coachman average.
...Him? Swimmer, but muscleless.
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Noble?"
Coachman eyed his underwear; he waved it off.
"Nah. Nobles don't wander risky solo."
"Hmm. My bad."
Spiffed up, they rolled on.
Clatter clatter.
Chimac's roaring-cock banner fluttered as they passed walls, streets, grand plaza.
That it?
Towering stone at river-crossed center. Cute vs. modern skyscrapers, but biggest, flashiest here.
"The great Chimac Earl family's fourth daughter, Lady Anjilina Chimac, returns! Open the gates."
Creeeak—they passed grand doors, lovely gardens.
Can I tag along?
Gawking, he followed by accident.
Thud.
Carriage halted at entrance; door opened. Silver-haired beauty in flowing white dress stepped down.
Silver curls, porcelain skin, doe eyes, pert nose, plump pink lips...
"Ah!"
First sight, yet instant recognition.
The cover girl!
The autistic girl's treasured novel I Became the Youngest Daughter of the Count Family's heroine.
2D-to-3D gap, but unmistakably her.
"Beautiful, eh?"
"Y-yeah."
"Don't stare too hard. Suitors after Anjilina are all big shots."
"Got it."
Unneeded advice. Pretty, sure, but why crush on dream-fiction vanishing on wakeup? No time anyway.
He was dead serious.
If not the count's youngest, where's she at?
Like Choi Kang-min's magic boy shift, he'd assumed she was the protagonist.
Wrong look entirely! Finding one autistic patient in this vast world? Darkness loomed.