Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Demigod (2)
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‘Come to think of it, this old coot... he’s been wandering around way more than usual over the past two weeks.’
Johan, who’d been impossible to spot for days on end without knowing what he was up to.
She hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, but now Yuri couldn’t shake the unease.
Ignoring Yuri’s subtly furrowing brow, Johan shouted toward the forest.
“Ralph, since you’re already out there, grab that thing and bring it back!”
Yuri doubted Ralph would even understand, but astonishingly, a voice echoed back from the woods.
“Damn it, you think I wanted to come here? You send me flying off, and now you’re making me run errands too!”
A booming, furious voice rang out, and soon after.
Thud—thud—.
The ground shook with heavy thumps from the forest.
Rustle rustle—.
A massive shadow emerged alongside.
“Couldn’t you have just brought it yourself from the start, old timer?”
“I was going to, but then I heard some lowlife cursing me out.”
“Ugh!”
Grumbling all the while, Ralph still did as told.
Perched on his shoulder was a massive, five-meter something-or-other.
Yuri stared at it, pondering.
‘Huh?’
What the hell was that?
‘A ferry boat?’
It sure looked like one.
The problem was, what was a ferry boat doing up in these mountains?
And...
‘Why does the ferry boat have a handle?’
A handle attached to the front of the ferry boat.
It looked just like the handle on a cart.
‘No way... seriously?!’
The realization hit Yuri like a jolt, making her tremble.
Thud—.
Ralph set down the handled ferry boat.
Johan hopped atop it with agile grace and flashed a sleazy grin as he yelled.
“Come on, it’s been a while—say hi to our reborn Bongbong!”
“......”
“What’re you standing around gawking for? Get your ass into your designated seat already!”
Johan pointed at the handle with his prosthetic leg.
Yuri’s expression soured even further.
“......”
About half a year ago, Bongbong had faithfully carried out its duty before meeting its end.
And now, staring at Bongbong’s dogshit reincarnation as a ferry boat with a handle, Yuri had just one thing to say.
“...Fuck this shit.”
* * *
It was a bizarre sight, but the ferry boat was descending the mountain.
And at a pretty good clip, too.
Muchi stared blankly at the receding ‘reborn Bongbong,’ then blinked and spoke up.
“But Grandpa.”
“Yeah?”
“How long do we have to stay in this cradle?”
“The Cradle’s entry date is usually around November 20th. Has been every year.”
“But it’s already September 20th!”
“Yep.”
“Then... how are we supposed to reach the Cradle in just two months from here? Ack?! Y-Yuri bro, doesn’t that mean you can’t get into the Cradle?!”
Muchi’s worry and questions were perfectly reasonable.
Even flying in a straight line from their location, it would take a solid eight months to reach the Cradle.
That was assuming they rode horses at full gallop the whole way.
So physically speaking, it seemed impossible for Johan and Yuri to arrive on time.
Ralph patted his head-bobbing grandson’s head with a smile.
“Muchi.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna go through a ton of stuff in life—tough times, happy times, sad times, you name it. The world’s full of all sorts of incidents and accidents.”
“Yeah!”
“But no matter what, in any situation! There’s one thing you must never forget.”
“What’s that?”
“Worrying about Johan Redner and that Yuri guy is just flushing your precious time down the toilet!”
“......”
“You’re better off washing your feet and hitting the hay than fretting over types like them—it’s a hundred, a thousand times better for your mental health! Yep! Damn straight! So you remember that! Got it?!”
Under his grandpa’s intense glare—demanding he never forget no matter what—Muchi found himself nodding without thinking.
* * *
Splash—.
The ferry boat, slicing swiftly through the current, gradually slowed as it reached the riverbank.
Inside lounged Johan Redner, the one-legged old man with a prosthetic, legs crossed as he reclined.
A fluffy blanket at his head, arms cradled behind it.
Humm—.
Johan whistled a tune with a long blade of grass between his teeth.
The grass swayed in time with his hum.
Splash—thud!
The moment the boat grounded on the soft sandy shore.
Johan’s eyes snapped open.
“That it for today?”
No sooner had he spoken than a pale hand rose from the boat’s rear.
Plop—.
A hand swollen from waterlogging.
The hand gripping the boat trembled as its owner finally emerged.
“Urgh......”
Soaked to the bone, just like his pruned hands, Yuri groaned and staggered onto the bank.
Crunch crunch—he trudged across the sand before collapsing flat.
“Hah—hah—.”
Yuri sprawled out, gasping ragged breaths.
It was November, with biting winds, and he’d just emerged from icy waters, but clad only in his underwear, Yuri didn’t care.
Steam rose steadily from his rock-solid, muscled frame, radiating heat nonstop.
‘The world’s spinning... the sky’s spinning.’
Was it just his imagination, or did the cloudless blue sky look yellow?
[We’ve dragged you along enough on land—it’s time to try it in the water, no?]
It had started with Johan’s demand to pull Bongbong through the water.
Of course, it wasn’t just to torment Yuri.
It was an extension of his training.
[Castles built on sand crumble easy. Better to build a solid foundation, even if it feels stifling now—it’ll let you leap higher later. Old-school wisdom, sure, but it’s stuck around this long for a reason.]
Yuri, just starting to grasp demon arts.
His talent had already let him seize mana flow, but Johan stressed the basics and assigned homework.
[A place where flow happens constantly, twisting wildly. And the easiest spot to sense changes in that flow. Where do you think? Water, obviously.]
Johan’s assignment was simple.
Read the water’s swift-changing flow, then learn to use it.
Vague as hell, but Yuri accepted without complaint.
The issue was...
[Wait... I don’t know how to swim.]
Yuri had never swum a stroke in his life.
And so began Yuri’s ordeal.
At first, he swam doggy paddle with a rope around his waist.
Best he could manage back then.
Even that nearly drowned him dozens of times before Johan fished him out.
So daily progress pulling Bongbong barely hit a few hundred meters.
But Yuri didn’t quit.
He’d puke up lungfuls of water till his gut emptied.
Puke, plunge back in, refill.
Fearless of drowning, Yuri dove in over and over, his swimming exploding in skill each time.
A week in, the dog paddler was gone—replaced by a Yuri who outswam any lifelong fisherman.
Another week later.
Yuri dimly realized.
What he’d seen as resistance was really him disrupting the natural flow.
With that insight, two more weeks passed.
Yuri melted seamlessly into the water’s flow.
‘Ah, so this is it...!’
He finally felt it.
The true waterways carved by the flow, and the mana swirling within.
From that moment, Yuri’s swimming transcended human limits.
The flow no longer hindered him.
It became an ally, propelling him faster, safer.
Yuri swam like a mythical mermaid.
But it required constant mana use—which was exhausting.
Hence the breaks on shore, zonked out like now.
‘Gonna... die. Is this... shit for humans?’
Tough as it was, Yuri was thrilled.
‘Still... I can feel the foundation building.’
No mere swimming.
Constant demon arts, seizing rapid flows—repeat.
His flow-sensing sharpened dramatically, naturally.
He’d endure any hardship for changes this tangible.
As Yuri’s lips curved in a small smile.
A sound wiped it clean.
“Yawwwn!”
Johan sprawled in Bongbong, yawning lazily.
Yuri grumbled at the sight.
“Living the dream, huh?”
Johan spent most days lounging like he’d fused with Bongbong.
Familiar now, but...
‘That smugness? Never gets old.’
Johan snorted at Yuri’s muttering.
“You clueless fool. Think lying here’s easy? While you battled water, I fought boredom.”
“......”
“So push harder. Make it whoosh! No fun like this! A man’s heart harbors a racing instinct! Wake mine up!”
“...You know I’m not doing this for your entertainment, right?”
“Pfft, boring. At this snail’s pace, when’ll we hit the Cradle?”
At Johan’s mutter, Yuri tossed a question like it just hit him.
“Oh yeah—when’s the Cradle cutoff?”
“Finally asking? Tsk tsk.”
“So when?”
“When else? The 20th this month.”
“Aha! The 20th this month. This month......”
Yuri nodded casually—then froze.
He blinked at Johan.
“...Say that again?”
“Dunno? What’d I say?”
“You said the 20th this month!”
“Got it right the first time—why ask again?”
“Fuck, repeating it’s no big deal—! Wait, no... that’s not the point! The 20th this month means......”
Yuri’s eyes shook violently.
He calculated in a flash and wailed in horror.
“Only... two weeks left?!”
Johan picked his ear at Yuri’s scream.
“Why the yelling?”
“How could I not? Why tell me now?!”
“Didn’t ask.”
Yuri’s fists trembled at Johan now picking his nose.
Barely containing his rage, Yuri gritted out.
“So... can we make the Cradle by next month?”
“If we hurry.”
“......”
“Keep dawdling like this, and no.”
“What happens if we miss entry day?”
“What do you mean? We don’t get in.”
Yuri eyed Johan’s nonchalant, it’s-not-my-problem vibe.
“Uh... can I just skip the Cradle?”
“Ha! You nuts? Blow a golden shot like that? I’d kill you myself.”
Yuri finally snapped.
“Then why act like it’s no big deal, you lunatic?!”
Screeching, Yuri dove back into the water.
His golden eyes flashed from Bongbong’s stern.
‘Damn old fart!’
Before, maybe—but now he dimly knew.
The Cradle was a must for anyone craving strength.
So Yuri wanted in more than Johan now.
‘Can’t give up now!’
Little time left? Cut sleep, push harder.
No quitting without trying.
Gritting his teeth, Yuri yelled.
“Hold on tight! I’ll awaken that racing instinct in your heart!”
His legs thrashed the water savagely.
Whoosh—.
A massive spray erupted behind Yuri.
The bow lurched up from the sudden acceleration.
Whoosh—.
Bongbong rocketed forward at insane speed.
Swoosh—.
Johan’s eyes widened at the wind whipping his ears, then split in a huge grin.
“Wooo! That’s it! Run wild, Bongbong!”
Johan’s ecstatic shout echoed long.
* * *
Lake Argo, in northern Niger Administrative District, ranks as the continent’s second-largest lake.
The river flowing out snakes south into the Dale River—lifeblood of the continent.
Hub of global logistics, the Dale.
Thus, routes from Lake Argo teemed with merchant ships bound downstream.
And one more thing.
Ships meant money moving—and inevitably, pirates swarming to claim it.
Elusive bandits prowling the rivers were a headache for local security chiefs.
Fearless on water, they strutted.
But even they feared one thing.
“Gasp?!”
“W-White Whale!”
The pirate captain commanding a hundred watched his panicking crew, grinding his teeth.
‘Damn—Spero Clan’s White Whale!’
He’d thought it a merchant ship—till the ‘white whale crest’ flag rose, flanked by two subs breaching.
His heart nearly stopped.
Legendary pirate Hayden Spero forsook the seas for rivers.
Turning from shadows to light, he founded Clan Spero, self-proclaimed guardian of the Dale, crushing pirates.
Spero elites mastered aquatic combat magic.
Even navy-fearing pirates dreaded Clan Spero.
Especially the subs—White Whales—terror incarnate, striking from below.
The captain was no exception.
“Move, move! Unless you wanna be fish food!”
“B-But Captain... it’s the White Whale! White Whale!”
“That’s why—shut up and move! Escape here, and ahead’s the whirlpool rapids! No White Whale can punch through those chasing us!”
“......?!”
“Got it? Go! We can shake ’em!”
“Y-Yes sir!”
At the captain’s roar, the crew scrambled; the pirate ship wheeled and fled.
First White Whale Captain Rachel Spero watched, sneering.
“Ha? Look at these idiots.”
Their thinking was obvious.
They figured rapids could shake a sub.
Not wrong.
For normal subs.
But Clan Spero’s proprietary White Whale? No normal sub.
“Pursue. Leave none alive.”
Boom—.
Short drumbeat, and the two White Whales surged.
No dive—just plowing waves.
Splash—.
Acceleration built; Rachel’s red hair whipped wildly.
She eyed the pirates with a chilling smile.
“Thinking they can flee with a White Whale behind.”
Confidence brimmed in her gaze.
For good reason.
The White Whale—pirate nightmare—also dubbed ‘world’s fastest ship.’
Splash—.
White foam trailed the pair at max speed.
The pirate ship loomed closer.
1,000m.
900m.
800m.
Rachel’s sneer deepened as distance shrank.
“No ship outruns a White Whale.”
Fleeing fools believing otherwise? Pathetic.
Down to 500m.
“Prepare to board.”
Crew tensed with bloodlust at her order.
Down to 400m.
Fwooooosh—.
An eerie sound from somewhere.
‘...What’s that?’
Rachel frowned, turning toward it.