Chapter 3
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Translator: volt
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Savior
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Eleanor's memories of her mother were hazy.
She'd been told her father was a good man, so she just accepted it as fact. In truth, even the sense of longing had faded to a whisper.
Pathetically enough, the first memory that came to mind when thinking of her mother was the funeral. There was no need to say more.
Her mother being lowered into the coffin, gradually buried in the earth, the gravestone engraved with a cross battered by raindrops—it all remained vivid even now.
To this day, when she recalled her mother, the gravestone came to mind more clearly than her face.
And then, her father returning from seeing off the mourners, clutching that gravestone and weeping.
"D... Dad, are you crying?"
Eleanor had been young then, but seeing her father's face turn toward her, she dimly realized the truth.
She was the only one left to comfort him.
Her late mother was gone, and her brother, who had died as an infant, was no longer by his side.
Her father's face had brightened slightly at the sight of his young daughter.
Eleanor had smiled back at him then, holding back her tears and acting the part of a lively ten-year-old girl.
Responsibility.
That word had been etched deep into her heart at that moment.
It was the same when she first set foot on the unfamiliar American soil just last year.
When the colony fell into chaos from lack of food.
When her father left for England to procure supplies right after she gave birth to her first child.
...Even when her husband was struck down by an arrow from somewhere.
She never lost that sense of responsibility.
And that responsibility drew people to her.
She was only nineteen, a woman no less, yet people gathered around her. As the daughter of the governor, she made the decision.
"We're going to Croatoan Island! We'll wait for Father there! He will surely return, and the friendly natives there will take us in!"
But at the same time, she was only nineteen—a woman.
People had already lost faith that her father would return.
They departed on their own for the lands of the friendly Chesapeake tribe. Rather than waiting for her father's relief, they figured it was better to seek shelter with the amicable locals.
All that remained were a few who were close to her father John White, women without husbands... and her own one-year-old daughter Virginia.
Including herself, just thirty-four in total.
Out of 107, only thirty-four remained.
...No.
That thirty-four had stayed because of the words of a mere nineteen-year-old girl. Eleanor thought this way, steeling her hope amid despair.
And so, in 1588.
They set sail for Croatoan Island.
And amid that voyage, they encountered a storm and lost a few more.
Leaving thirty-two survivors.
Only thirty-two set foot on Croatoan Island.
There was no food.
Somehow, they had landed on the stretch of coast where no natives lived.
"Let's walk! We'll cross the forest to the native village! We'll all survive soon enough!"
She forced a smile as she said it... but honestly, there was no hope.
It was a long way to the native village, and the sick and starving group had no strength left to make it.
And even if they did reach it, there were problems. If they were lucky, they might get food and shelter while awaiting rescue—but what if communication failed?
All possibilities pointed to one outcome.
Death.
Still, Eleanor led the way first. She stepped into the swamps the men hesitated to enter, and even while holding her child, she built fires and shared hopeful tales with the group.
And when they had walked about halfway across the island.
Thud.
"U... urgh..."
"Damn it all! Mr. Hewett's twisted his ankle! Mr. Hewett, Mr. Hewett...!"
"I... I'm done for here... Everyone, go on without me... Haha."
"Eleanor, what do we do?"
The final moment had arrived.
One of the group could walk no further.
Virginia, cradled in Eleanor's arms, now slept all day long. So quiet it seemed she might die at any moment.
One by one, they were falling.
Eleanor sensed death here.
She had watched her roguish husband die before her eyes.
Beyond that, countless companions and friends had left her side. Some died, some betrayed her.
Times no nineteen-year-old girl could endure. Yet times she had to endure.
But... now it was impossible.
"Le... let's camp here for the night."
"Eleanor...?"
"Don't worry. Tomorrow, the kind natives will... come save us..."
"..."
"..."
Everyone saw through Eleanor's lie, but they all lay down without a word, collapsing in place.
This would be their end.
One by one, eyes closed, silence fell.
Were they all departing for the Lord's kingdom?
Yes... me too, now...
A surge.
...I have to go now?
"Ah... sob... hngh..."
I... I'm only nineteen.
The fear, sorrow, and aimless rage she thought she'd grown numb to while leading the group through horrors welled up.
No.
I don't want to die.
So she clawed at her throat and said.
"Pl... please... sa... save... me."
Anyone... please.
Just one more chance, God.
Please.
...
...
...
And then the miracle came.
"Where are you! Where is everyone!"
Someone shouted in fluent English, running toward them.
...In her blurring vision, the silhouette of a man appeared.
A mysterious... kind-faced man.
Not European-looking... but clad in strange, sturdy clothes that screamed robustness.
In one hand, he held a massive steel sword. Its blade gleamed sharply, as if forged for righteous judgment.
And in the other hand, a lantern... no.
The man held light itself in his hand.
Pure white light, like the sun! He shone it on the group, then whispered as if to himself.
"144,000... 144,000..."
(Rev 14:3) And they sing a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and the elders—no one could learn that song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth.
Ah.
Aah.
"Everyone's starving... I need to feed them quick..."
Grab.
Eleanor seized the man's wrist without thinking. With courage from who-knows-where, she said.
"An... angel, sir..."
"..."
"...Take me, or at least my child, to heaven."
Desperately.
"Please... to the Lord's side..."
With that, Eleanor's consciousness faded.
"144,000... 144,000..."
The money I spent buying that limited-edition package.
"One, two, three, four... thirty people..."
The number of people starving to death right in front of me.
"H-Hey! Everyone still alive?"
...They're alive, barely.
Starved to the point their stomachs stuck to their backs, one an infant, another with a leg injury, but miraculously hanging on to life.
"An... angel, sir... please..."
The woman who suddenly grabbed my wrist seems okay for now too.
For now.
Anyone could see they're one step from death.
"Eat this and open your eyes... Oh, how do you feed starving people this...! Melt it first at least! Yeah? Don't swallow whole, melt it!"
All I have is chocolate, so I tear open the wrappers and pop them into mouths one by one. They all twitch at the sudden sweetness.
Yes, melt it in your mouth. Slowly. Please live. Please...!
...Arghhh!
'Took a 144,000 hit for this package... 144,000 and it makes me go through this shit with people...?'
Tears are welling up for real. Now I get the overly detailed back cover and that cryptic intro on the game package.
-'O immortal one who transcends eras, a new world now calls for you.'
Fuck you, game narrator. Nobody says "New World" these days. So the people already living in the "New World" are all "New Humans" or what?
Anyway, so I've tripped into a failed colony on the American continent? In the crazy Elizabethan era, 400 years back!
Even a hood with kids playing with guns and fentanyl everywhere would be fine—just send me to 21st-century America. Back to modern times!
Humans can't live on grapes alone, and without advanced knowledge or allies, how do I even survive...
...Wait.
Game package.
As I poured the last chocolate milk into the mouth of the starving baby clutched by the young woman, I thought.
The thick catalog bundled with the game package has info.
The "somehow" detailed descriptions of Roanoke Colony and the surrounding area, maps, local resources, terrain explanations.
The "somehow" helpfully prepared timeline of historical events around that era, with equally detailed notes.
If that's for this moment...
If that info is my path to survival from now on...!
I snatched up my flashlight and machete, bolting back to my farm.
Seeing them stirring, they've passed the immediate crisis, but I haven't given them proper food yet. If I'm not letting them die, I need medicine and real meals right now.
Plus... no.
First, memorize every bit of that game catalog!
"We were... waiting..."
She saw the angel.
He vanished as he came, swinging his great sword.
And the sweet food he poured into her mouth—even melting it slowly brought strength surging back into her body.
"U... ugh..."
"Mrs. Dare? Are you coming to?"
Her heavy eyelids lifted. Her stiff limbs moved again.
Eleanor realized she had walked back from death's door. The others wore similar expressions.
"O-Oh, Eleanor...! I... I saw an angel! He said he came to save us!"
"Wasn't just me? An angel with a hazy glow and a sword put sweet fruit in our mouths..."
"Mrs. Dare? We all survived! We lived! Ha, haha!"
"..."
Eleanor Dare was still dazed.
After eating the sweet fruit he gave them, they had awakened from sleep-like death.
At first, she thought it a hallucination, but most of the group testified to seeing the same thing. It was certain.
He was an angel, or at least a righteous man sent by the Almighty Lord.
"What does it mean that we saw an angel here? An angel manifesting in non-European form, no less!
Doesn't it mean we should build a new colony on this land and spread the Gospel to the savages?"
"We're only thirty-two. How do we build a colony here?"
"Well, when Mrs. Dare's father returns, won't the scattered people gather again?"
"Right! We'll build a church right here, till the fields, live together...!"
"W-Wait a minute!"
But Eleanor had no choice but to calm the gathered people.
Whether what they met was an angel or some mysterious righteous man, excessive excitement was dangerous.
"Our immediate situation hasn't changed at all. The native village is still far, and one of us is injured besides."
"..."
"..."
Yes. Someone had to deliver the cold truth to those lost in baseless hope.
Had new food appeared? No.
Had the injured one miraculously healed? No.
Nothing had changed.
"Sigh... Still, the 'person' who helped us wasn't European, so probably a righteous native."
She took a step back, showing restraint to keep religious fervor from blinding reason.
"So that righteous native might bring his tribe to help us soon. He already gave us food for no reason. Then we don't have to abandon Mr. Hewett."
At the same time, Eleanor instilled another form of hope to keep morale from plummeting.
The leadership honed overcoming her father's absence led her to the best judgment.
"Th-That makes sense!"
"Good thing after all! Waiting here means hope will come somehow!"
...Yes. Need to cool their heads.
Thinking again, it's hard to call it an angel. Probably some local native noble...
"But he spoke English?"
"...Pardon?"
"And that mysterious outfit, the strange lantern in his hand—what was that?"
"..."
"And above all."
Chatty Margaret picked up scattered golden wrappers.
"No matter how I think, I doubt fruit with such shiny wrappers exists in the New World. What is this? Like silk, but gold outside, silver inside..."
"..."
...Why does that make more sense?
Come to think, how did he speak English so fluently? Learned from a passing Englishman? But we're the only "passing Englishmen" around! And it was too perfect for a few years' learning!
Ugh... headache. Eleanor's eyes still shimmered with the angel's mysterious light from before.
...No.
No matter what, it can't be a real angel. An angel suddenly appearing in non-European form? Too abrupt.
What angel... straight out of Revelation...
"...In 1587, John White's settlers arrive at Roanoke Island.
1588, Spanish Armada defeated by England, then John White, unable to sail during the war, finally returns to Roanoke in 1590..."
...What... uh... not warning of the future or anything...
"Soon, French Queen Mother Catherine de' Medici dies in 1589. Plague hits London 1592-1593... Oh, Descartes born 1596?
Shakespeare's around then? Romeo and Juliet in 1597... Ugh, don't need this crap... Ah, French Wars of Religion end 1598. Gotta remember that."
Rustle.
"...Ah, everyone's awake? How are you all feeling?"
...Huh.
The group tried to rise but slumped back down.
The 'angel' had returned.