Chapter 7
Chapter 7
If I’m going to survive anyway, might as well get carried a bit
A black mass had washed up onto the shore, pushed in by the waves.
At first, I thought it was just a clump of seaweed or wreckage from the ship.
But when I looked closer, it was a person.
A shape lying face-down, letting the tide roll over them, life or death impossible to tell at a glance.
I instinctively lowered my body behind a rock.
A person? Yeah, definitely a person. But… are they alive?
I ran the variable called “another human being” through my survival equation.
If they were alive, I might have to share food and water I already didn’t have enough of.
Should I just ignore them?
No. If that was Choi Do-hoon or one of his men, I had to kill them now.
And if they were dead… a corpse on a deserted island wasn’t necessarily useless.
Cannibalism was off the table, but from a biological standpoint, a human body had countless uses.
There were sharks in the sea, and who knew what else in the forest.
If you tied a corpse shallow in the water, the smell would attract large fish, crabs, lobsters—easy protein traps.
A premium bait for hunting food.
In organizations, when people said “throw him into the sea so the fish eat him,” this was the logic behind it.
And human bones could be useful tools.
Sharpened into fishhooks, arrowheads, or bone awls for piercing hides.
Harder than wood, and easier to shape.
“…And that backpack.”
As I got closer, I saw the black tactical bag strapped to the person’s back.
Waterproof, no doubt. Inside it might be emergency rations or a first-aid kit.
If he was dead, both the bag and everything else became mine.
A clean system upgrade with zero emotional cost.
If he was unconscious… that was slightly more annoying, but I could always grab the bag and leave.
Guilt? I’d thrown that away a long time ago.
I tightened my grip on my jackknife.
“Alright. Are you a gift, or a burden? Or something I have to kill? Prove your usefulness.”
I took a step forward, then stopped.
Risk management first.
The tactical backpack on my back.
In this place, it was the most valuable asset I had—and also the biggest target.
Whoever that was, I didn’t need to show all my cards.
If he was hostile, or just desperate enough to cling to me, my bag would be an easy prize.
I dug up the buried chocolate bar, shoved it back under the sand, then hid my backpack deeper in the bushes under the palm shade.
A flat stone on top as a marker.
I kept a fishing net, a bottle of water, and a chocolate bar on me. Knife in hand.
Then I moved.
Crunch, crunch.
I advanced across the sand as quietly as possible.
The closer I got, the clearer the shape became.
“Cough! Kheuk… haah…!”
Coughing. He’s alive.
Knife low, hand tight. One clean strike if needed.
If he was one of Choi Do-hoon’s men, that moment he turned his head would be his last.
But when I finally saw his back clearly—
He wasn’t one of them.
Black hair, not Korean. Tall limbs, unfamiliar build. A Western man.
He twisted weakly in the sand and looked up at me.
“…No… please…”
His voice was raw, like metal scraping.
Fear and hope mixed in his eyes as they darted between my face and the knife in my hand.
I scanned him again.
An unexpected variable.
But the backpack on his back looked heavy. Very heavy.
“No… no… please… don’t…”
So this is what I must look like to him. A Korean guy with a knife standing over him.
Yeah. That’s fair.
I relaxed slightly.
He wasn’t Choi Do-hoon’s man.
No reason to kill him immediately.
My mind started calculating again.
I could kill him and take the bag instantly. Or I could extract information first.
Killing now was a low-level move.
The bag was effectively already mine anyway.
Ten years of blade work had taught me this: efficiency comes first.
I took a step back and lowered the knife slightly.
“Ok, ok. Calm down.”
I softened my expression.
“I get it. You want to live.”
The man exhaled sharply and collapsed onto the sand as I stepped away.
Only then did I offer him water.
On a deserted island, showing mercy and providing water in the first encounter—
People tended to follow.
He took the bottle with trembling hands.
“Th… thank you.”
I didn’t respond. Just observed him.
Up close, he didn’t look like a typical castaway.
Functional clothing. Tactical backpack. Too prepared.
“What’s your name?”
“…Winston. My name is Winston.”
“Winston. You’re stranded?”
I spoke in English—smoothly.
Winston’s eyes widened.
The man who had moments ago been ready to die at my knife was now hearing fluent English from me.
His brain clearly stalled.
After a pause, he sat up slightly.
“No… not exactly. I’m a wilderness survival enthusiast. I was testing a new route and ran into a storm.”
He paused, then added:
“I used to be in the British SAS.”
SAS.
My thoughts stopped for a moment.
British SAS, survival hobbyist… that combination sounded familiar.
An unexpected jackpot.
A professional survivalist.
Someone with real field skills. Firecraft, shelter building, food sourcing, hunting.
Worth more than dozens of kilos of food.
My expression stayed calm, but something like interest sparked inside me.
Let’s get along, Brit.
I extended my hand.
“I’m Cheon Geom-seong. And welcome to this hell of an island.”
He stared at my hand for a moment, then shook it firmly.
Strong grip.
“Cheon… Geom-seong?”
“Just call me whatever.”
My eyes drifted toward his backpack.
“That bag looks pretty heavy. Mind if I take a look inside?”
Winston swallowed once.
Then slowly, he reached for the zipper.