Confinement

Cold dread seeped into my bones.

The goddess's parting words lingered in the air, sharp and metallic like the scent of a butcher's blade.

Malice pooled on my skin like the freezing draft of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a morgue.

To think I could die so pointlessly just by having my identity exposed.

But...

The fact that I'm a reincarnator?

Well, as long as I don't get caught, it's fine.

I closed my eyes slowly, pulling myself together.

It wasn't exactly fair, but in a place like this, that level of restriction wasn't a dealbreaker.

Back in my past life when I played Velheim, I used to tear down entire guilds single-handedly when they tried to keep me in check.

Assuming this world was similar to the original Velheim, I could easily survive by leveraging my experience and knowledge as a top-ranked player.

I wrapped up my thoughts quickly and calmly surveyed my surroundings.

My trembling fingers and lips had stilled before I even realized it.

Now that things had come to this, my top priority was checking my status and assessing the situation.

Right on cue, a faint chime rang in my head, and the log window in the corner of my vision updated.

Ding!

Like the seasoned veteran I was, I quickly analyzed the situation.

First off, my body doesn't feel too strange... and my limbs seem perfectly intact, not severed or anything...

Oops. My hands and feet were tied.

Looks like I've been locked up somewhere.

And it was pitch black.

However, I wasn't blindfolded; I could make out faint, blurry shapes through the gloom.

“…….”

I calmly steadied my breathing.

As I inhaled slowly, salty, stale air flowed down my windpipe, and the pungent scent of rum filled my nasal passages.

From outside, I could hear the sound of splashing water accompanied by a heavy, tilting sway.

I was definitely locked in the lower deck hold of a ship.

...A tutorial starting with being confined on a ship. It's either 'Raid on the Mary Celeste' or 'Shipwreck in the Strait of Jabrolta.'

I pinpointed the scenario in an instant.

Given Velheim's nature, where early choices branched into entirely different paths, I was certain I was in one of these tutorial events.

And...

Could I use the status window as a light source?

I quietly summoned the status window. A blue light flared, but it seemed to exist only in my mind's eye; I couldn't use it to illuminate actual objects.

Well, no point dwelling on that. I gave up on that idea.

I closed and opened my eyes slowly. As my pupils dilated and adjusted to the dark, various objects began to resolve in my vision.

The faint silhouette of a door, broken oak barrels, a glinting glass bottle...

“Cough...! Found it.”

Tied hand and foot, I crawled over and grabbed the glass bottle.

Wrapping the bottle in my clothes to muffle the sound, I shattered it. The liquid inside spilled out, soaking my clothes.

I began sawing away at the ropes binding my limbs with a sharp shard of glass.

Scritch, scratch. I worked my wrists back and forth diligently, and the rope snapped with ease.

Good... that's one less thing to worry about...

I rubbed my newly freed limbs and stood up.

My wrists throbbed, likely from being bound for so long, but I forced myself to ignore it.

Since I still couldn't be entirely sure of the situation, my immediate priority was to get out of here and gather more information.

I listened closely to the noises outside the door. Confirming no one was nearby, I slowly pushed it open.

Creeeak...

Stepping out, a typical ship's cabin came into view.

Old ropes, broken ladders, and rotting fish lay strewn about haphazardly.

It really is the lower deck hold...

But this information alone wasn't enough to pinpoint the exact tutorial.

Both 'Raid on the Mary Celeste' and 'Shipwreck in the Strait of Jabrolta' started with the player locked in the hold.

“I'll have to head up to the deck to find out.”

I quickly composed myself and headed toward the ladder leading to the upper deck.

The ship was pitching more violently now, and urgent footsteps echoed from above, making my heart race.

If this really was the former of the two events, I was in deep—

Creak.

“……!!”

Just as I was about to slip out of the cabin, I felt a presence approaching from above.

As someone began climbing down the ladder, I let go and backed away.

Then, as an old man emerged, casting a dim lantern light, I realized one simple fact.

“There you are... you little rat...”

Ah.

I am going to die by this man's hand.

My body froze the moment I saw the old man's face.

A face I had seen dozens of times while playing Velheim.

You absolute piece of shit...!!

Curses welled up inside me reflexively.

Just how many times had I died to this bastard in the game?

Seeing him on a small monitor was merely unpleasant, but facing him in reality sent goosebumps of pure disgust down my spine.

The distinct stench of an unwashed medieval sailor, sleeves stiff and white with salt, and the oil lantern creaking with every tilt of the ship, casting ominous shadows across the hold...

At the same time, I realized exactly which episode I was in.

Talk about rotten luck.

Of all things, I had to land in the absolute worst tutorial.

'Raid on the Mary Celeste' was a tutorial that unfolded in an incredibly bleak and oppressive atmosphere.

It was widely considered by players to be one of the worst scenarios due to the psychological terror that tightened around you second by second.

But the most defining characteristic of this tutorial was...

Unsurvivable.

No matter how much you struggled, gritted your teeth, or utilized every tool at your disposal, you could not escape death.

Even if you somehow found a breakthrough and escaped your immediate plight, an even more horrific nightmare awaited.

It was an event similar to those hardcore game bosses designed to ruthlessly slaughter newbies right at the start to break their spirits.

It served as a harsh wake-up call, deeply engraving the sheer unfairness of Velheim into your mind before you could even begin exploring.

Therefore, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the standard strategy when getting this tutorial was to die quickly and reset with a new character.

But...

What happens if I die here right now...?

I was certain there would be no convenient reset like in a game.

Every sensation touching my skin screamed it.

If I died here, it was over.

While I hesitated in fear, Tyrosh spotted me and scanned me up and down.

“...Your hands and feet are free. Trying to escape, are we, slave?”

“Ugh...”

“Well, no matter. We need a sacrifice to appease the storm, so come quietly. The sea god is angry.”

Schwing.

The old man drew a sharp cutlass from his waist and stepped forward.

The blade gleamed gold in the darkness, reflecting the lantern light.

The cold aura radiating from its tip seemed to warn me against harboring any foolish ideas.

“Stay still, slave. Resist, and you'll lose an arm or two. Come quietly, and I'll make your death less painful.”

“...Damn it.”

The old man slowly closed the distance, blade pointed forward.

If I let myself be dragged away, I would be helplessly bound and subjected to a scripted death event.

To survive, I had to make a decision.

The moment my retreating steps hit the wall behind me, I realized what I had to do.

“...Allocate status points to Agility.”

“All of them.”

Following the system's notification, my muscles tightened slightly, and a sensation of lightness washed over my body.

I took a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stance on the swaying wooden planks.

Knowing I couldn't afford to have the inner side of my arms—where the major arteries ran—slashed, I raised my guard with the backs of my forearms facing outward. Tyrosh curled his lips into a smirk.

“So... you choose the bloody path, slave.”

“...It's not like I'm keeping my blood if I follow you quietly anyway.”

“True enough. I'm surprised by how fluent you've suddenly become... Guess you're not a brainless fish-head like the other slaves.”

In an instant, before he even finished speaking, Tyrosh grinned and swung his cutlass.

The slash was blindingly fast.

“Ugh...!”

I rolled across the floor, escaping the line of fire by a hair's breadth.

It was an attack I only managed to dodge because I had been watching his arm muscles like a hawk.

The blade sliced through the air with a terrifying whoosh, biting into the wooden wall before being wrenched free.

I scrambled to my feet on trembling legs.

If I had been even a second slower, I'd be dead...!

If I hadn't invested those points in Agility, or if I had hesitated for even a fraction of a second...

Shivers ran down my spine. As I backed away to create space, Tyrosh advanced, cutlass leveled at me.

“A shame.”

“D-Damn it...!”

I grabbed whatever my hand could reach and hurled it, but the old man simply tilted his head slightly, letting it sail past.

Tyrosh sneered.

“Fear is fine nourishment for the gods. Tremble more, sacrifice. The more you do, the sweeter your blood will taste... Heheh.”

“Y-You crazy, senile pervert...!”

“Curse me all you like, little lamb.”

Tyrosh swung his sword.

I barely managed to pull my body back to avoid it.

A flurry of consecutive strikes followed immediately, pressing the attack.

The curved blade lunged like a fishhook aiming to impale my limbs.

I twisted my body desperately, scrambling clumsily across the hold to escape the blade.

Balancing and running on a ship tossing violently was no easy feat, but I had no choice.

Blood trickled down my cheek, and my soles bled profusely from stepping on splinters, but I had no time to care.

Because Tyrosh, hot on my heels, was reaching for the back of my neck with a sadistic grin.

“Like hell... I'm letting you catch me!!”

Slash!

I slashed with the glass shard I had kept hidden in my palm. Tyrosh flinched as the glass sliced his hand.

“The rat was hiding its teeth.”

“Haaah... haah...”

“Tsk... annoying...”

In an instant, my vision flipped upside down.

A delayed surge of agony erupted from my abdomen and the back of my head.

Only when I found myself sprawled on the floor with Tyrosh looking down at me did I realize I had been kicked in the stomach.

I frantically scrambled to push myself up, but...

“Ugh?!”

Before I could even take a few steps, I faceplanted onto the wooden floor.

My foot had caught in the mesh of a discarded fishing net.

Tyrosh approached with a sneering, malicious grin.

Just as I was cornered like a fish caught in a net—

BOOM!

A massive wave slammed into the ship, launching my body into the air.

I was thrown against the wall by the impact, pain racking my entire body, but it saved me from being sliced in half.

While Tyrosh spat out curses in some dialect as he recovered from the shock, I desperately tore the net from my ankle and backed away, clutching my throbbing shoulder.

I prayed fervently that the impact had caused him to crack his head against a corner, but expecting such luck against a seasoned sailor was foolish.

“...Lucky bastard, aren't you, slave?”

“Haaah... haah...”

“But you won't get that lucky twice.”

Tyrosh wiped the smirk from his face and advanced, clearly intent on finishing me off this time.

I looked up at the slowly closing old man with eyes wide with terror.

I was terrified.

My body shook. A hiccup escaped my trembling throat.

Dread squeezed my heart.

My vision tunneled as the stench of death grew heavier by the second.

The weight of impending death pressed against my skin, slowly slicing into me like a spear tip.

If I just keep running, will he eventually give up?

Even though I knew that was impossible, I found myself trying to escape reality.

Goddammit...

No matter how much I ran inside this cramped ship, it would only end in death.

I took a slow, deep breath and stared the harsh reality in the face.

To survive, it was time to make another decision.

I whipped my trembling body into submission, forcing my retreating legs to halt.

I overcame the rising dread and stood tall.

I locked my eyes on the enemy before me.

Think calmly, Doran.

Even the sturdiest door will open if you keep knocking...

I desperately cross-referenced my memories with everything in my line of sight, searching for a path to survival.

Should I try to catch him off guard with conversation? Should I charge him like a madman?

Or maybe—

“...Found it.”

The one move to turn this entire situation around.

I just found it, you bastard.