Traces of a Lost Girl
Aiming his victor gun toward the depths, he advanced cautiously, ever wary of his surroundings. He'd only heard that the area was dangerous, with no details on what unknown entities or threats lurked there, so he was wound tight with tension.
The forest entrance he'd pushed into wasn't all that different from the rest of the island—at least, not yet. Thank goodness for small mercies, or maybe it was just his worries getting ahead of him.
Here and there on what looked like a main path trodden by monsters, he spotted scratches and gouges from claws and talons, as if the beasts had fought among themselves. But he didn't fret too much.
It wasn't baseless bravado. It stemmed from that line about ecosystem collapse he'd seen during the wild boar hunt. If their ecosystem was crumbling, it stood to reason their numbers had thinned out drastically. And the biggest reason for that? No doubt the sub-quest where the island's monsters had swarmed the beach one after another to get at him.
Of course, if he ran into something his victor gun couldn't handle—like another wild boar—he'd have to bolt for his life. But the odds of that were slim. Any smart beast would've seen what happened to its kin; no ordinary critter would have the guts to charge in.
Two potential issues came to mind.
First and foremost: the one monster reigning over this island. A boss monster, stronger than the wild boar—overwhelmingly so. At minimum, a field boss-level brute.
His victor gun wouldn't even scratch it. Hell, he wasn't even sure the Sage Cannon could take it down.
Still, he pressed on despite knowing the risks. There was a reason.
The system had drilled it into him time and again: this was a game world. Case in point—the safe zones. No matter the situation, monsters never even thought to invade them.
He'd run experiments at the border between a newly designated safe path and the still-dangerous northern cliffs.
How absolute was the system's influence?
'Scared?'
Unarmed, dressed in casual clothes, he'd taunted the monsters. Even if they couldn't understand the words, they got the intent—they came charging in fury, eyes murderous. But they never crossed the safe zone barrier.
Based on that, the boss monster probably couldn't stray far from the system's rules either.
Bosses, or field bosses, rarely ventured beyond their territories. From what he knew so far, its range probably maxed out at this entrance.
That's why he'd minimized his gear for a quick getaway if needed, picking weapons he could ditch without regret.
With that peace of mind, he began scouting the surroundings bit by bit.
The forest hadn't seen human hands in ages; it was choked with underbrush.
In this mess, spotting anything would be a miracle unless it stuck out like a sore thumb.
He rummaged for a good while but found nothing unusual.
Sighing, he figured today was a bust, a pang of regret settling in.
'One last check down that inner path?'
The sun was dipping low— venturing deeper meant serious risk. But regret won out; just a bit more, he told himself, stepping further in.
"...What the hell is this?"
Just like his first impression, the dense foliage hid everything well. Nothing jumped out unless it was blatantly out of place. So when something did catch his eye, it grabbed his attention instantly. He hurried over and picked it up.
◈ A rabbit doll found on a forest path long forsaken by humans. It helped its owner endure harsh days at sea, but in a moment of crisis, it lost her—and has been waiting ever since.
"A rabbit doll?"
Faded and frayed beyond recognition, its shape was ruined—but the long ears and stubby tail hinted at its original form.
A rabbit doll. Something no natural force could produce here. And given its purpose, it screamed child more than adult.
With "her" in the description, the owner was likely a little girl.
"Why the hell is something like this abandoned here?"
He'd never lived a sailor's life in this era, but cramming kids onto cramped, rickety ships crossing continents? Unlikely. Especially a girl—not in common sense, or even reality.
A nagging unease made him scan closer. Amid the brush, another anomaly caught his eye.
◈ A bronze hairpin faded to green. Something is engraved on one side, but corrosion obscures it.
This time, a hairpin.
Patina coated the old bronze. He tried scraping it lightly, but it wouldn't budge.
How to handle this?
Human traces—no, a little girl's—meant he couldn't just walk away.
But time marched on, the sun nearing sunset, his mind a whirlwind.
"Kieeeek!"
Suddenly, a colossal, grotesque roar shattered the forest's silence—nothing like the prior monsters.
That had to be the one he'd heard about.
"Time to head back."
Lingering meant trouble. He tucked the doll and hairpin away and bolted.
[How's the logging going?]
Hendrick greeted his return from the forest entrance warmly. Yujin forced an unnatural smile and replied.
"Oh, uh, no. The trees are too tough, and the vines are way too thick—barely making progress."
[Everything's got its tricks, lad. I know you're strong, but brute force won't cut it every time!]
Classic Hendrick rambling. Yujin hid his turmoil, striving for normal chatter.
[Ask away if you've got questions. I'll share what I know.]
"...Speaking of, I've got one. How do you restore rusted bronze?"
[Trouble with the axe? Damn, that's basic—I must've skipped it. Well, you see...]
With Hendrick off on a tangent, Yujin sorted his thoughts.
To end the fateful encounter, he needed answers.
Just starting intel-gathering, everything felt precarious. The one with answers stood right there—his mentor—but wouldn't spill easily. Yujin had to dig them out.
"Hendrick, if I build a raft and leave, what happens to you after?"
[Well, I'd be alone again, obviously. A dead man can't cling to the living, now can he?]
Hendrick had pondered it before.
His expression held regret for parting good company, not negativity.
"A raft's no match for the Hwello Fun for sailing, right?"
[Comparing a raft to a galleon? That stings a sailor's pride. I know you don't mean it, though.]
Normally, he'd dodge Hendrick's glory-day tales the second they started. Not today—he leaned in.
"Is ship life tough? Mine'll be more drifting than sailing, but stories might help."
[It was fun. Hard, sure, but that sense of achievement... Crossing oceans, hitting ports in different nations—nothing like it.]
"Makes sense. Tough work, so crews were all adult men, huh?"
[What kinda obvious question is that? Ships are sacred—no room for women...!]
Hendrick sounded annoyed at the "dumb" question, but suddenly clamped his mouth, flustered.
"Hendrick, you look pale. You okay?"
[Fine. Need a rest—don't mind me, get back to work.]
Yujin knew he was a good guy, so probing like this felt shitty. But the reaction deepened his suspicions.
—That night,
The sternmost cabin of the wrecked Hwello Fun. Normally, he'd crash on his rag-pile "bed" instead of the hammock. Not tonight—work awaited.
He slipped out to the beachside workshop.
En route, he reviewed Hendrick's advice, mentally prepping.
By moonlight, he pulled the hairpin, wiping patina with a damp white cloth. Using a thin bamboo splinter to avoid damage, he scraped gently. Verdigris flaked off.
Delicate work revealed the engraving bit by bit.
Lisbet Van Demer.
It emerged intact.
"Lisbet... van Demer..."
He didn't know Spanish well, but the names rang familiar.
Van Demer—Hendrick's surname, his ghostly mentor.
Did he have a daughter? Then why was her stuff in the island's heart-forest? Why hide her?
He'd asked about family before; Hendrick said none.
Did that mean death?
"Too little info."
Imagination looped nowhere.
He needed more.
"Tomorrow, I go all-in exploring."
Clash with Hendrick be damned—he had to know why he blocked that place so hard.
He checked his weapons, led by the Sage Cannon, then turned in early for tomorrow.
His dead body felt no tremors.
At the forest entrance, the ghost stared sadly, lost in dark thoughts. His proud disciple—the dream he'd never realized. At least this patched one regret.
Yet his face stayed grim.
His original sin was too vast.
[...Sorry. It's all my fault. ...But you were wrong too! ...No, my fault. ...But you shouldn't have! ...No. All me.]
Sobbing, snarling, laughing, raging alone—he looked grotesque.
[I'm not wrong. It's all that bitch's fault! If only... oh God, please!]
It looped endlessly.
But now, unlike when his haunt was confined, here—perilously near that "incident"—his negativity swelled relentlessly.
[Lisbet... oh, my Lisbet.]
The ghostly sailor's lament droned till dawn.