Hendrick's Advice
Hendrick's counsel—false accusations of adultery, an uninhabited island, a shipwreck. It was like something straight out of a trashy tabloid novel. Must've been tough, ...if it's all true.
Hyejin listened quietly to his tale, finding plenty of intriguing bits. Not just for entertainment value, but across various matters.
"So, you found a shipwreck from a foreign land and saw a ghost there?"
"Not a mirage. A ghost."
"...Ah, right."
Ghost, ghost. Yeah, sure. If he hadn't jumped straight into tall tales of bluster or illusions—stuff that defied all reason—she might've taken it better. How to process this? She pondered deeply from every angle.
"Hey, don't interrupt. This is where it gets important. You might doubt the rest, but this part?"
Who did he think held the reins of this conversation? Still, she had no intention of reining in this childlike enthusiast spilling his story.
There were nagging details and suspicions aplenty, after all. She rested her hand on the armrest, propped her chin, and resumed listening intently.
Hendrick van Demer. Now a ghost, once a sailor from Seville on a Spanish merchant ship.
"By the looks of you, you probably grew up comfy in some fine Middle Kingdom house. But you'd best get your head straight now. Ship life ain't easy, and surviving on this deserted island won't be a picnic either. ...Especially right after we washed up here?"
About a decade and a half ago, he and his crew had set sail from the Philippines for trade with Japan when an unidentified storm wrecked them here. Proud of more time spent at sea than on land, he hadn't worried much at first. Folks mocked his homeland as faded glory now, but he believed his glorious, resilient motherland would rescue them.
But the first to find and board the wreck weren't rescuers—they were monsters.
"The beasts hate alkaline stuff instinctively, so they avoid the coast. The salt stench, see. But exceptions exist—if prey's around, they sniff it out. And once you face 'em, those dumb brutes charge headlong without a thought. Back in my prime, I took down a dozen solo, easy."
Bragging like a hero from legend, Hendrick boasted of battling monster raids unflinchingly, claiming he'd soloed several like the one just seen—all single-handed. Take it or leave it.
Strip away the bluster, and it was goldmine intel, so she listened closely instead of tuning out.
"Heard Middle Kingdom folk master cold weapons—slicing thrice in one stroke, firing razor sword winds. You? Total bunk, looks like!"
Typical sailor—rough-edged, hanging barbs on first meetings without hesitation.
Come to think of it, from Yujin's memories, there were siblings and warriors pulling off bizarre feats like that. But martial arts tied to bad memories for him, so he brushed it off with a light laugh.
More pressing lines caught his ear.
"...No, I'm Goryeo stock, I said."
"Goryeo, Middle Kingdom—same diff, ain't it?"
That stung oddly. Natural-born racist from ignorance? Couldn't just laugh it off.
"Then Seville and Catalonia are the same hood, right?"
"What? That's different!"
"How so?"
Nailed it. History wasn't his forte, but he'd heard Madrid vs. Barcelona riles Spaniards. Spot on.
Time for manners and history lessons! Hendrick blew up.
"That's exactly how I felt. I know those places are different too."
Golden rule attack—folks only get it when it hits home. Hendrick pondered, then...
"...My bad. Sorry."
He apologized straight up. Kinda threw him off—planned to tease more if stubborn. Hey, prejudice aside, a non-racist Westerner in this era? Top 0.01% material.
His attitude cooled tempers; apologies flowed, chat resumed normally. A little encouragement, and he spilled more eagerly: edible island plants, tree clusters, local monsters.
"Count yourself lucky. Grasping this ecosystem without sacrifice or toil? Pure fortune."
"...Haha."
Hendrick saw right through the probing info-grab, bragging anyway.
Probably a swell guy in life—if you ignored the irksome bits.
"...Dunno. Can't recall my end, aside from not escaping."
Memory fuzzy? Time passed, deathbed haze—maybe. But instinct screamed he was hiding something. Face stiffened noticeably on this topic, unlike casual chatter. He masked it poorly; impossible to ignore. Earthbound spirit—often painted villainous. Savior or not, suspect his motives? Attitude screamed helper, though.
"They've scented us; more coming. These weapons? Rusted junk. Prep defenses."
Judgment suspended for now. Any aid was vital.
"What should I do?"
"Hmm. Can't have a greenhorn craft cannons from scratch. Start simple, usable stuff. ...Up for it?"
Opportunity [Abandoned Shipwreck] Chapter 1: Hendrick's Advice
📍 Description: Hendrick, who battled pain and loneliness for ages, rejoices at the visitor's arrival. He wishes for your safe survival here.
🎁 Story Clear Condition: Raise Hendrick's favorability.
📍 Chapter 1 Clear Condition 2: Craft weapons per Hendrick's instructions (Bamboo Cannon 0 / 5)
*Refusal halts opportunity progress.
🎁 Reward: ??? YES / NO
Quest popped up—aha, he's the opportunity trigger. Hard to imagine one firing on a true deserted isle.
"My survival's on the line. With your help, I'll give it my all."
"Good lad. Survival abroad? Key is that fearless, proactive attitude."
Prime muscles in modern times, cursed flesh in murim without neigong. Choice? Eat the unpalatable.
Opportunity accepted.
Progressing Opportunity [Abandoned Shipwreck] story.
Ghost Sailor Hendrick's favorability +1. (6 / 100)
My eager reply tickled him; Hendrick guffawed, slapping my back heartily. No contact, like the handshake, but my back tingled. Hmm. Favorability with a bearded middle-aged dude? Wording's off, but whatever.
"Upper hold powder's probably decent. Less stable than new, but usable. Coastal but sunny—low humidity, well-sealed too."
Muttering cryptically, Hendrick issued orders.
"Need bamboo, vines. Dawn tomorrow, follow outer island path. All materials there."
Movement? Great, but fresh monster memories made forest jaunts iffy. Reading my worry, he nodded.
"Oops, late on key info. Those beasts hate sun—hide in deep woods by day."
Daytime? Safe outside central forest. Perfect. He hammered it home repeatedly, though once sufficed.
"Just in case—never curiosity into central forest, no matter what! ...Please."
Bittersweet expression on his hazy face. What happened? Curiosity piqued, but held back. He'd spill if needed. Nodded along to the nagging.
"How'd you wash up here?"
"Woke up here after waves knocked me out."
"Waves carried you here? Nah, too far even for rough seas. ...Or maybe? Charts fuzzy after ages."
"Dunno either."
Intruders flee to woods pre-dawn; hole up in deck cracks tonight, he said. Chatting wore on till deep night; exhausted body screamed for sleep.
Lying back...
"So anyway..."
Boredom overload? A bit more, he'd wind down.
"Couldn't take it, grabbed the bottle and stood—"
"...Yes?"
Endless ramble tested limits, like the wave ordeal. Not just chatty—master of rephrasing the same topic endlessly. Too much talker. No replies needed; he filled every gap, denying even a lie-down.
"In my heyday, roamed nations, undefeated against top fighters."
Outdated line elders avoid now. Shuddered through it. Solitary eons warped him? Death denial plus isolation—I'd crack. Pity hit, then irritation.
"Full force, smashed him—flew back ten yards easy!"
Bluster? Realistic numbers, dude. Yards? British unit? Hates Brits but inconsistent! Not just rebuttal urge—setting slip or gag bait? Maddening ambiguity. Brain-teased him endlessly, lips sealed. Backlash? Longer yapping, delayed sleep. Vicious cycle. Softened it.
"Hey, Hendrick. Know the time? You don't sleep, fine. I do. Need to."
Blinked, then...
"Ah, sorry."
Quick compliance—living vs. ghost gap dawned? Crusty sailor rep worried trouble, but smooth. Relief, finally sleep—
"But this part you need to hear—"
'Argh.'
Favor blocked rage; pure madness.