Chapter 4
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: volt
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Immortal (Revised)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Thud thud thud thud.
Thump.
Phew... Gathering food for thirty people plus medicine was no joke with my stamina. I barely managed it dragging a handcart and a shoulder pole.
"...Ah, you're all awake? How are you feeling?"
"..."
"..."
What the hell?
Why isn't anyone responding?
Are they too unfamiliar with me?
Or is it racial discrimination because I'm not white?
Figures—these folks' descendants didn't Brexit for nothing.
Vile English bastards. Even so, this is how they repay their lifesaver? Black-haired beasts shouldn't be taken in, after all.
As my expression hardened just a bit... the atmosphere suddenly chilled to an awkward degree.
"..."
"..."
"..."
What is this really?
The racists exchanged glances among themselves, traded hand signals and nods, and then one stepped forward.
She looked like the group's leader... Huh?
She's a young woman about my age. Interesting. There are plenty who look older than her. Why her? Nobility?
As I stared at her in bewilderment, she suddenly bowed deeply and greeted me...
"Th-th-th-thank... you..."
"..."
...Is that a greeting?
"Th-th-th-thank... you..."
"Please, calm down."
"...Yes."
"Take deep breaths too."
"Hoo. Hah. Hoo. Hah."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...Is there anything else you'd like to say?"
"..."
She's nervous, huh?
Makes sense—running into an armed adult male in unknown lands. Especially with kids and wounded among them. Plus, I'm dressed like some alien.
I waved my hand to reassure the woman before me.
"Relax. I have no intention of harming you. I just brought some food since you looked starved."
"..."
"Gorging on normal food when you're this hungry isn't wise, so I brought 'this' instead."
I handed her a bundle of canned drinks that doubled as simple meals for patients.
"...Huh? Ah. Yes."
I thought her tension was easing, but no. Everyone's eyes just glazed over.
"Pull the tab on top to open and drink the contents. Got it?"
"...Y-yes, I understand."
"Use those for now instead of a meal... And here's some lightweight cloth. You can make tents with it."
"Cl-cloth?"
"Yes. And bandages and splints for the injured leg over there..."
"..."
"...There, all set. Any questions?"
"Th-thank... you..."
"I'll head back then."
"Yes..."
"Oh, just in case."
Shing.
I drew my machete.
I helped the poor things, but there are thirty of them.
Thirty starved strangers who've met an outsider.
They could turn raiders, so better be prepared.
"...Please don't follow 'us' (We). 'Us' (We) have our own circumstances."
"..."
"..."
"That's all."
...Did it work?
They all looked frozen solid, so yeah.
Good. I hid that I'm alone and showed I have power, so immediate safety's secured.
Just help them for another three days or so...
"M-my name is Eleanor! Eleanor Dare!"
"..."
Huh? Sudden introduction?
Should I give mine?
"...Pleased to meet you, Eleanor."
Nah, no need.
I brushed it off casually, turned, and accepted her greeting.
I deliberately took a roundabout route home to hide the path.
Thud.
'...Wh-what was that? That conversation just now?'
Breathing was hard.
If God asked for the most terrifying, tense moment of my life, it'd be that one.
"Plague in London! That's a few years from now!"
"Wh-when has London not had plague? He might've guessed..."
"Then what's that about the French queen mother dying next year?"
We'd heard a 'prophecy.'
"Is that the issue?! Governor White might not return till 1590!"
"What on earth did the angel foretell...?"
Suddenly, people knelt, crossed themselves, prayed—the area buzzed chaotically.
It was noisy, but Eleanor didn't care about London plagues or French war ends.
One thing mattered to her.
It's 1588 now.
-"In 1588, after Spain's Invincible Armada loses to England, John White—who couldn't sail during the war—finally returns to Roanoke in 1590..."
Her father-in-law, expected back soon... delayed two more years?
Because of war with Spain?
Eleanor wanted to cry, but...
Turning, thirty people stared her way.
She couldn't panic or break down. If she did, they'd all crumble.
She forced her trembling lips into a smile.
"Father's alive— that's great... right? He said he'd definitely return!
Plus, friendly folks sharing food and tent cloth!"
Those two were positives, at least.
As Eleanor rallied, the panicking group's mood calmed; rationality returned, murmurs starting.
"He didn't seem like an angel, no matter how you look."
"But not like local savages either..."
"He spoke better English than the savages we lived with. Right?"
Yes.
His actions were too 'human' for an angel.
Worrying for her group, checking attitudes, carrying loads one by one—not transcendent. But...
"Did you hear?"
Voices hushed naturally.
Many were poor, so a 'noble' voice drew eyes.
Sprained-ankle lawyer Thomas Hewett spoke to Eleanor Dare.
"He called himself 'We'—like a king."
Yes.
Eleanor had been too scared to even speak then.
"Different build from local savages. About six feet tall, pale face—not used to hard labor."
"Right, Mr. Hewett! I heard Mongols or Chinese look like that..."
"Probably some very noble Eastern lord, Mrs. Dare. Why alone here...?"
"Explorer? Or exiled...?"
"Hold on."
Someone interrupted. Eleanor turned—goldsmith William Brown.
Holding the drink from the mystery Eastern prince-or-whatever, eyes wide, hands shaking.
"What's wrong, Mr. Brown?"
Eleanor asked anxiously; he replied.
"This drink container—don't throw it away. Everyone, gather them!"
"Why suddenly? Just tin cans..."
"Not tin. Why no rust holding liquid?"
"...?"
Lighter than iron.
Strong as iron.
No rust.
"What is this stuff?"
"...!"
Friendly savage (x).
Eastern prince-or-something (o).
Angel (......???)
Eleanor didn't sleep that night.
The next day, I prepared to visit the English again. Grab weapons, meds, bandages, simple foods—done.
I packed thirty canned simple meals from the fridge into a box, opened the cabinet for painkillers and bandages for the wounded...
"Painkillers... Huh?"
Why are they full? I gave some to the English yesterday.
...Miscount? Stuffed what I needed into my backpack anyway.
Back at the English camp, everyone looked hollow-eyed, bags under them.
After feeding them good stuff, they pulled an all-nighter? What for?
I offered a box of simple meals; Eleanor stepped up like yesterday, bowing.
"Th-thank you..."
"Stay put for now. With wounded, moving rashly could be bad."
"I... here..."
"What is it, Mrs. Dare?"
Trembling, Eleanor offered a pouch.
"...Thought all night. Us having these doesn't feel right..."
"..."
Empty cans.
"Can't dispose properly, so returning them seems best..."
I was shocked.
At their character.
"Thanks for saving us..."
'Thanks for the save, but clean up your trash.'
Pirate nation subjects—zero conscience left.
"...Got it."
I gathered the cloth-wrapped empties with a sigh. Fine. Useful for recycling someday.
Like yesterday, I warned with implied threat, circled home. Erased footprints and traces—they won't find it.
...Is this right?
"Sigh. Can't believe I'm slaving away sweating for racist English pricks two days running." Pitiful.
But unlike them, I'm 'civilized'—can't let people die. Bear the yellow man's burden, Kim Isang...!
Enough nonsense.
Heading to the front door, I glanced at the farm—grapes nearing harvest. What to do with them alone? Where to use harvested ones?
...Worries galore.
Home, I crashed exhausted on bed, poring over the Immortal Order: Origin catalog. Eleanor Dare's name... there.
"John White's daughter-in-law, bore first English New World baby Virginia Dare... Ah, the kid she held was her daughter? Looks young to have a child."
Fair enough, 16th century.
Resting my weary body, I glared at the back cover promo—now suspicious.
-'First full Korean localization in the series!'
...Yeah, explains conversing fine with 16th-century English.
Trip whole farm with people, no translation cheat? I'd rewrite history, prevent Hwang Sook Soft from existing.
-'Immortal, will you become pioneer of the New World amid infinite blessings? Or slave to fate?'
Even mundane 'Korean localization' felt ominous. Deep meaning here?
Why keep calling me Immortal?
Infinite blessings what?
...Whatever. Bastards who tripped me pre-Imjin War won't explain nicely.
Struggling through the catalog, time passed midnight.
Hauling tired my morning-person rhythm. Couldn't sleep, so up for a wash.
"...Right. Prep tomorrow's shares first."
Grabbed thirty cans from fridge to bag, opened cabinet—new bandages, meds. I stock and check meds usually, plenty...
...Huh?
"What... Why full again today?"
Bandages full. Painkiller box too.
Should be missing yesterday and today's worth.
Whoosh.
Oh crap, washed up but forgot to turn off the tap...
...Huh?
Trip to wild 16th-century North America, yet clean water flows from faucet?
The bandages and meds I gave out refilled?
"..."
'Infinite blessings.'
Checked fridge again. Simple meals didn't refill.
Thought back—cooked rice, sides yesterday; staples didn't refill.
'Food doesn't?'
Guess, but probably right.
Simple meals shared didn't refill.
Oh yeah, yesterday.
Batteries died, so no flashlight today.
My fingertips trembled.
No way. Nah.
Opened shoebox drawer for spare batteries.
-'Strong, long-lasting Ener<x>izer!'
Full.
"..."
Next day, I used up all the batteries.
Poured warehouse gasoline to burn.
Wasted house resources except food. Smashed seldom-used robot vac deliberately.
Midnight passed—all restored.
"..."
Universal language cheat.
Plus resource cheat, maybe.
Overwhelmed, I stood before bathroom mirror. Shaving, chin full of cream (infinite duplicate).
Deep breaths... Shout.
"Status window!"
...
"System! Status!"
...
Silent. Embarrassing if someone saw.
Why give all but the important one?
Sighed, resumed shaving. Cleared stubble, philtrum had small cut.
"Ow, always nick when pissed."
Wiped blood quick, stuck band-aid. It'll duplicate past midnight anyway.
Back to sleep soon.
...Yeah. Ridiculous, but reassuring now.
Modern life minus internet feasible.
No grape farm ruin from water shortage.
...
...
...Still, one more cheat? Not status, but mind reading or SSS swordsmanship?
Eh, whatever.
This enough—grateful.
And so Kim Isang slapped a band-aid on his philtrum cut and slept.
Beneath it, so subtly Kim Isang—now asleep—wouldn't notice.
The wound healed.
No scar; gone in seconds.
From his left-on computer, a small voice sounded.
'Immortal, will you become the pioneer of the New World? Or a slave to fate?'
'Immortal.'
'...Immortal.'