A Furnace of Races
The sea route from Shehir to Sargadis was shorter than when I had been sold off as a slave. After all, we weren’t crossing into another country—we were simply heading upward from the south. It would have been stranger if the trip had taken longer. The ship was a mid-to-low-end vessel with decent cost-performance, so the relatively short voyage made sense. Anyway, after arriving in Shehir and resting for a day, those of us bound for Sargadis gathered and boarded a pre-arranged carriage.
“The route is already set, so traveling is quite convenient,” said the man sharing my carriage, smiling faintly.
The massive otherworldly carriage—large enough that it seemed questionable whether horses could pull it—functioned like this world’s version of a train. The horses were absurdly strong, and with various magics in play, technology hadn’t advanced much; only the carriages had grown larger.
“Yes. It’s nonstop all the way to Sargadis. The fact that you can just kill time inside the carriage is convenient enough.”
Carriages this large were difficult for individuals to rent. This one was arranged by the trading company that operated the ship I had arrived on—they collected carriage fees and included passengers in their convoys. There was even a regular service running from Ainhir, where Carmine University was located, straight to Sargadis, so I had purchased my ticket accordingly. My identity had already been verified back in Ainhir, so there was no need to argue with gatekeepers. Normally, a proper identification document was enough to pass through most places, but after spending three years as a slave because of an ID issue, being cautious never hurt.
After I agreed, the man spoke again.
“Ah, you can speak casually with me. Don’t worry about me using formal speech. It’s just a habit from working as a traveling merchant.”
“If you say that, refusing would go against my charm.”
“Hahaha! You’re quite the straightforward fellow.”
The self-proclaimed merchant burst into hearty laughter at how quickly I dropped the formalities.
“This carriage journey will last at least two days. Staring out at the grasslands in silence the whole time is a sure way to go mad. So before things get awkward, we should exchange names—then boredom won’t be an issue.”
“Really? Coming from a merchant, those words carry weight.”
In the military, there were always seniors or juniors who hated it when people stayed silent during guard duty. This guy seemed exactly that type.
“Haha. Don’t even mention it. What traveling merchants hate most are bandits and monsters, but what they fear most is boredom. Just sitting in this carriage already makes me feel restless.”
“I’m not fond of boredom either. Ah, I’m Nord. My real name would be hard to pronounce, so just call me that.”
“I am Jorma Lubreo. Please call me Jorma.”
After introductions, Jorma glanced at the others. There were two middle-aged men—one thin, one plump—and a man wrapped in a robe.
“Why don’t the rest of you join the conversation as well? It might be fine now, but after a day you’ll all be terribly bored.”
“…Zolf Darmic. The young one sure talks a lot.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s good for passing the time. I’m Aron Jackfree. Heading back to my hometown.”
The thin man seemed as quiet as his receding hairline suggested, while the pot-bellied man returning home had a name that sounded like a pirate’s. After they finished, my gaze naturally drifted to the robed man who hadn’t spoken.
He wore a suspiciously long black robe. I had seen him several times on the ship, and each time it made me uneasy. In every fantasy movie or comic I had read or watched, sea voyages never passed without incident—that was the cliché. Krakens. Mermen. Harpies. Sirens. The fear of otherworldly sea travel came from wondering when those damned bastards would appear and cause trouble. Yet this guy kept his hood up even while eating, and it bothered me every time.
“I am Semmus. No surname. Only a name.”
The man pulled back his hood as he spoke. His pronunciation sounded like a Vietnamese migrant worker. Not a racist remark—just that his speech pattern reminded me of a factory part-timer named Tuan (real name unknown) I had met during my college days. He probably wasn’t fluent in Britannia.
Swish.
As expected, beneath the hood was bright red hair. Shit, this guy’s got a mohawk. Damn, that’s cool.
“Ah, so you’re an Ulsterian. Ulsterians don’t have surnames,” Jorma said, looking somewhat flustered.
The Ulsterians were a race said to be descendants of an ancient civilization, yet also labeled one of the “Three Great Barbarian Tribes” by the Britannians who considered themselves civilized. In other words, they were victims of racial discrimination. Vikings, being invaders, couldn’t complain when victim nations hated them, but the Ulsterians lived quietly and still faced subtle prejudice. Even among discrimination victims, my case was different—there was no direct national contact, so aside from skin color, no one really picked fights with me. But Ulsterians could be insulted for three days and nights just because of their hair color. Perhaps racial discrimination was simply a universal human trait, even in another world. After all, even on 21st-century Earth, red-haired Irish people faced discrimination. I had rarely seen a redhead as the lead in Hollywood films. If white supremacy and imperialism ever flooded this world too, I might become a primary victim.
“Got a problem?”
Semmus reacted sharply to Jorma’s flustered tone—the cynical, sensitive response typical of discrimination victims.
“Haha. Of course not. I’ve even done business in an Ulsterian village before. I was just surprised for a moment.”
Yet Jorma, true to his merchant nature, smoothly defused the situation.
“Britannia, Ulster, and even Kitai! This grand carriage is truly a small melting pot of races! Well, we certainly won’t be bored for the next two days!”
Because of my yellow skin, I was forced to live as a Kitai—an Asian. Damn, they’re calling me a Mongol now. Sorry, Mom and Dad. Your son has become a fantasy nomad in another world.
[…“Furnace”?]
Semmus muttered in his native tongue, apparently not understanding the word Jorma had used. Thanks to my translation ability and graduate student experience, I understood him easily.
[“Furnace” means a smelting furnace. The thing used to melt iron.]
Hating racial discrimination, I kindly explained for Semmus’s sake.
[…Hm?! Yellowy! You know the Erin tongue?!]
Semmus’s eyes widened at my fluent Ulster speech, and he whipped his head toward me. Unlike his awkward Britannia, his native tongue carried a certain swagger. But who the hell was this redheaded bastard calling Yellowy? I went out of my way to speak his language, and the discrimination victim repays me by calling me Yellowy. They say the people who discriminate most against Asians in America are Black people—and this was exactly that. No wonder they were labeled one of the Three Great Barbarian Tribes for no reason. Damn barbarian bastard. They only understood discrimination when it happened to them, but couldn’t learn otherwise. Still, openly calling him out felt risky, so I stayed silent. Among the Three Great Barbarian Tribes, the Ulsterians were few in number but said to be the strongest individually. If this guy got pissed about being called a redhead, he might stab me in the gut. I’d never stand again!
[Yellowy. Did you learn to speak from another descendant of Erin?]
[No. I just happened to have the chance to learn.]
True to the rumors about Ulsterians, Semmus referred to his people as “descendants of Erin.” Of course, the term “Ulster” itself was a name arbitrarily given by the self-proclaimed civilized folk, including the Britannians. [Either way, it’s surprising. To think someone besides another descendant of Erin speaks the Ulster tongue. Impressive, Yellowy.]
[More people can speak Erin than you’d think. You just haven’t had the chance to meet them.]
The bastard kept calling me Yellowy, getting on my nerves. Should I just ask if I can punch him in the solar plexus? He might act all tough and say it’s fine because he’s such a strong warrior. His head was already a mohawk, after all.
[Can you read our script as well?]
[No. Not that far.]
Of course I could, but I drew the line—I didn’t want to get any closer. The way he kept talking to me gave off the vibe of a shady Korean boss who latches onto another Korean abroad. We were both heading to the same Sargadis. If we got friendly, he’d come running to me every time something happened, whining about this and that. I wanted no part of that. Getting close to migrant workers was best done in moderation. After nearly ruining my final exams because of Tuan’s constant pestering, I had learned that lesson painfully.
“Whoa. You can actually converse with him in Ulsterian?”
The plump man—shit, what was his name again?—spoke with admiration after overhearing us.
“Well, yeah. I got interested and picked up a bit.”
“Ahem. I see. Interest, huh.”
The plump man coughed awkwardly. What the hell? Was he thinking something like “The yellow and the Irish ginger are getting along nicely”? The words were right at the tip of my tongue.
“Ahem. By the way, you said Semmus?”
“Correct. My name is Semmus.”
“I’m really curious about something.”
The plump man cleared his throat and asked,
“—Is it true that Ulsterians, regardless of age or gender, walk around completely naked?”
What the fuck? I was shocked by the sudden question. This crazy old man—what the hell is he saying to the redheads who are called barbarians even in this primitive world? Archaeologically, he wasn’t wrong. Ancient records showed that the Ulsterians who lived in the land called Erin went naked as a matter of course, even hunting and fighting bare. But that was ages ago. There was no way such a culture still existed today…
“Correct. Descendants of Erin. We are not weak. We do not wear clothes.”
Holy shit, it’s real.
“R-really? Even the women don’t wear anything?”
“They do not. We carry on the will and pride of Erin.”
Pride. That was a difficult word for someone who spoke so brokenly. Had he memorized it specifically because he thought he might need it? It reminded me of otaku who could say “finishing move” or “secret technique” in Japanese but couldn’t say “steamed flounder.” Anyway, the fact that the barbarian used a difficult word wasn’t important right now. Amazingly, Ulsterians apparently didn’t wear clothes. We all stared in horror at Semmus’s robed figure.
“What the fuck?”
This bastard—why’s he wearing such a long robe when he’s not even a mage? Did that mean he was swinging free underneath? Good thing I didn’t sit next to him.
“Ahem. I’ve also visited an Ulsterian settlement on a trading trip, and indeed, the people living there wore no clothes.”
Jorma coughed and changed the subject after learning the unwanted truth about the exhibitionist barbarians.
“They were a tribe called the descendants of the land lizard. They weren’t very interested in the goods we sold, so we traded wheat and alcohol for monster hides and blood they had hunted… and each time, we saw beautiful women who had become one with nature.”
Jorma’s job was that of a traveling merchant. And traveling merchants were like an upgraded version of the unique mobs called street vendors who appeared in Seoul’s subways in 21st-century Korea. Their passive skill was the ability to spin tales and sell things to complete strangers. True to his profession, Jorma had the talent to draw people’s attention even with casual stories.
“Male merchants in the marketplace say all Ulsterian women are beauties, and seeing them in person, it was true.”
This was news to me too. My major was archaeology, not world history. Even among old people who had lived fifty years on Earth, there were plenty of Koreans who didn’t know Turkish traditional culture. I was the same. How often would I meet an Ulsterian? Why would I memorize their characteristics?
“Seeing such stunningly beautiful women walking the streets wearing nothing but a single thread… hehehe. It was truly a sight to behold.”
“I-is that so.”
Gulp.
The plump man swallowed hard at Jorma’s tale. Meanwhile, the actual Ulsterian, Semmus, was half-ignored. It was quite discriminatory how he got left out while they talked about his own people. But honestly, there was no reason to pay attention to a mohawk warrior with his dick swinging around.
“So, uh… can outsiders enter?”
“Yes. Of course they can.”
Jorma nodded at the plump man’s question, but his expression was as sorrowful as a scholar who had lost his country.
“However… from what I’ve heard and experienced, I wouldn’t particularly recommend visiting the places where Ulsterians live.”
“What? Why on earth not?”
The plump man looked as shocked as if he had heard his nation was doomed. He had probably been imagining himself visiting Nudist City someday.
“Yes. It’s truly a shame, but…”
Jorma’s mouth opened slowly. I felt nothing—it was like hearing about some remote African tribe—but the other two men were different.
—Thump, thump.
The plump man was completely captivated by the young merchant’s storytelling, like a senior listening to a new recruit’s tales from a night out. Even the skinny man in the corner, who hadn’t said a word, was pretending not to listen while perking up his ears.
Then it happened.
—Screeeech!
—Neighhhh!
The carriage we were riding suddenly came to an abrupt stop! The sudden halt, accompanied by the horses’ cries, sent the men inside crashing into each other as they screamed.
“Uwaaagh!!”
“Hurk?!”
“Gyaaaaah!!”
I nearly slammed into the exhibitionist redhead and nearly had a heart attack. I used every ounce of muscle strength to stay in place. No way in hell am I bumping into a naked guy under a robe!
“Driver! What’s going on all of a sudden?!”
The skinny man shouted. The small window to the driver’s seat opened, and the driver poked his head in.
Creak!
“My apologies, dear passengers! I’m sorry for the sudden stop!”
“Did something happen?”
“Ah! It’s nothing serious. We’re near a forest, and apparently kobolds appeared. Please wait a moment while our caravan’s adventurers take care of them.”
A mob of monsters attacking the carriage. It was the very definition of a fantasy event. But even if I didn’t get involved, the merchants would handle it themselves. There was no reason for passengers to get out and fix a flat tire on a bus.
“Monsters? I’ll help too.”
Whoosh!
But upon hearing the driver’s words, Semmus suddenly stood up without a second thought. Damn it, what’s wrong with this guy now?
“Pardon? There’s no need for you guests to trouble yourselves—you’ve already paid!”
The driver was flustered by Semmus’s participation. After all, they were being paid to do this job; having a passenger insist on helping was bound to surprise them.
“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t fight at all while on the ship. Not good. My senses are dulling.”
Despite the driver’s protests, Semmus told him to fuck off in a long-winded way and leaped out of the carriage. He was such a barbaric bastard.
“Senses, huh. That’s not wrong either.”
But shit, even the skinny old man was convinced. That guy must have been an adventurer too, because he suddenly followed Semmus and dashed out of the carriage.
“Ha, hahaha. They’re quite energetic. We’ll just wait here until the situation settles.”
Jorma laughed awkwardly, now that two of our group had left. He was looking at me, still seated.
But I glanced outside the carriage and scratched my head.
“Hmm. Well, since it’s come to this, I might as well go out too.”
“Pardon?”
“Semmus aside, seeing the other guy do that made me a bit curious. I may not look it, but I make my living with a sword too.”
After becoming an adventurer, fighting monsters was supposed to be routine, but thinking about it, I had barely ever killed monsters myself.
“M-Mister Nord, you’re going too?”
Jorma asked in a flustered voice. But maybe this was a good opportunity for me as well.
“Yeah. How often do you get the chance to fight safely surrounded by this many people?”
I boldly declared to the surprised merchant that I was going to join the dogpile and drew my sword.
—Shing.
The weight of the sword at my waist felt strangely thrilling. It was a blade I had used a few times even during my slave days.
“Well then, I’ll be back.”
Sword in hand, I threw myself out of the carriage.