Chapter 26: The Undertaker (4)
Chapter 26: The Undertaker (4)
Translation: Godtl
The Britannian vehicles powered by magical energy had a distinctly classic design.
The synchromesh performance was far from ideal, requiring double-clutching during gear shifts—a process during which Jurgen repeatedly stalled the engine.
Though he had a driver's license in his previous life, he had barely driven since arriving in this world.
"Miss Penelope, are you really alright?"
"I-I'm fine. I'm way steadier than you, aren't I?"
As a result, Penelope now gripped the steering wheel with furrowed brows, her focus unwavering.
"Quite unexpected, I must say. I didn't know you could drive, Miss Penelope."
"Honestly, I didn't either. Had I known I'd be the one driving, I would've just asked old man Ritz to do it..."
"Why the fuss? You haven't stalled even once. You're doing splendidly."
"Could you stop talking? I'm trying to concentrate here..."
The vehicle was already speeding toward the outskirts of Nortaris, heading straight for the old industrial district—specifically, the brewery complex.
The paved road lined with metasequoia trees on either side was undeniably picturesque.
Clunk!
"The closer we get to the brewery district, the quieter the roads become."
"Most small and mid-sized breweries went under after Polar Suns showed up. And after the Demon Realm cleanup, all the labor shifted there. They couldn't hold on. Ugh! My butt's killing me, seriously."
Though the scenery was peaceful and lovely, it wasn't quite ideal for a leisurely drive.
Who knew how long it had been since the road was last paved? The feeble suspension did nothing to cushion the jolts, sending every bump straight to their backsides.
"...Still, the car's nice. I've never ridden one this responsive before."
"Miss Serena tuned it, I heard. Seems she's as skilled as they say. By the way, it's nice to get some fresh air for once."
"Fresh air's good, but next time, make sure to take me with you. No matter how insane Brighton is, he won't try anything if I'm around."
"How reassuring, Miss Penelope."
Hmph. Penelope snorted and shot Jurgen a sidelong glance.
An outsider might not have noticed, but Jurgen recognized it—this was Penelope's habit when she was trying to hide her embarrassment.
Couldn't he see the corner of her mouth twitching?
"Speaking of which, how's your alchemy study coming along? I told you to ask if you hit any roadblocks."
"Uh, well... Haven't I been busy setting up the factory lately?"
"Don't tell me you just shelved the books and forgot about them?"
"Miss Penelope, books are meant to be shelved and left alone."
"Do you even realize what kind of books those are? First editions, signed by the author in person!"
"Alright, alright! I get it, so let me focus on the wheel!"
Petty bickering and idle chatter.
The engine's rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of a mechanical beast.
The vanishing point of the road, flanked by trees on either side.
The warm spring breeze gently brushing against their ears.
Perhaps it was the sheer beauty of the scenery.
Though her backside ached a little, Penelope found herself enjoying this drive.
If they could just keep going like this, she had a feeling that days full of simple joy awaited them.
Honestly, wasn't the business—no, the cutthroat struggles of high society—just a headache?
This wasn't the first time she'd felt tempted to compromise, her vision clouded by the harshness of reality.
Behind the indifferent mask she wore,
it was a tattered thought she'd chewed over thousands, tens of thousands of times.
"..."
Long-held emotions gnawed at a person.
Like deep scars no makeup could conceal,
a ragged version of Penelope—one steeped in inferiority and helplessness—always lingered in a corner of her heart.
No matter how well the business was going, no matter how smooth the sailing seemed.
Doubts chained together, hurling questions at her.
It's just beverages. Do you really think this will earn the family's approval?
Jurgen might be impressive, but he's nothing in the eyes of the Rosemore Count Family.
You know you can never go back to how things were with your sister.
Weren't you terrified when Brighton set the shop on fire?
Even if it's quiet now, who knows when the next attack will come?
Will you really be safe then?
Stop this nonsense. Just give up already.
'Penelope.'
Then—
'Honestly... you're utterly useless, aren't you?'
From somewhere, her sister Clarice's voice echoed.
"No."
It was always like this.
Whenever Penelope tried to run, these auditory hallucinations and illusions grabbed her by the ankle.
If she really fled, it would feel like proving her sister right—so she clung on stubbornly, enduring to this very day.
Penelope bit her lip so hard it turned deathly pale.
"Haah, and it was such a nice day too..."
"Hmm?"
"Never mind. Just talking to myself."
Whether fortunately or not, they had already neared their destination.
The brewery Serena had promised to sell at half price came into view.
A rusted, crookedly tilted signpost sharply severed Penelope's train of thought.
"Oooh..."
The brewery's condition was indeed as splendid as Serena had boasted.
Though untended ivy had formed dense clusters, the outer walls were solid brick and the pillars stood sturdy.
The glass windows, though grimy with accumulated filth, remained unbroken.
The space was far more expansive than the existing factory Jurgen had scouted.
"Quite to my liking."
"Looks like a dump to me. Just ruins."
"Even if we dismantle those machines and sell just the brass at market price, we'd recoup half the brewery's cost. We're deeply indebted to Miss Serena."
The most impressive feature was the collection of original equipment gathered at the factory's center.
Fermentation tanks, mixers, heating-cooling units, distillers—enough brewing equipment to refurbish and reuse.
"If you're thanking someone, thank me."
"I'm grateful to you too, Miss Penelope."
"Save it. I'm not about to kneel for your gratitude."
"No empty words—I mean this sincerely."
Since Penelope had joined his solitary cola enterprise, Jurgen had received unexpected assistance beyond his expectations.
She'd helped procure materials, and when funds for sugar ran short, she'd generously "invested" without hesitation.
She'd also aided in reverse-engineering the cola recipe and was the one who arranged its sale at the hotel.
Even accounting for cola's skyrocketing value after Bellaby's endorsement, without Penelope's distribution network, such profits would've been impossible.
After all, whether a "commoner" or a "Rosemore" sells it makes all the difference in brand value.
Come to think of it, wasn't this very factory sourced through Penelope's connection with Serena?
"Haven't you helped this much?"
Jurgen listed these facts to express his gratitude.
The usual Penelope would have preened—"Ha! What! Finally recognizing my greatness?"—but today...
"...I did it because it benefited me too. No need for special thanks."
She seemed oddly drained.
"Hmm..."
This wasn't entirely unprecedented.
Occasionally, she'd sink into this vague melancholy.
Once, Jurgen couldn't fathom why, but now he had an inkling.
The trail of successive failures dogging Penelope's footsteps,
and how society and her family had treated her because of it.
Proud as she was, she consciously avoided showing it, but sometimes the festering inside leaked through.
Having received so much help, wasn't it only human to return some favor?
"Miss Penelope, you mentioned being a 4th-Rank Alchemist before, correct?"
"Right."
Though Jurgen's own mastery was overwhelmingly beyond.
For her age, 4th Rank was hardly low—not genius, but certainly gifted.
The problem lay in the Rosemore Count Family's ancient alchemical lineage.
To wield their hereditary or proprietary magic—their "Unique Code"—one needed to reach 5th-Rank.
But Penelope had been expelled from the academy at 4th Rank,
stagnating, unable to breach her wall.
The books and notebooks she'd gifted him bore testament to her efforts.
This, no doubt, contributed significantly to her family's rejection.
Isn't it the same when the sole child of doctors fails medical school?
Here, Jurgen could help.
"I'd like to learn alchemy directly from you, Miss Penelope."
"From me? Directly?"
"Only if you're willing, of course. No pressure."
He'd nurture Penelope's growth as an alchemist.
Teaching others inherently restructures one's own knowledge.
Not even the God of Alchemy could elevate her rank for her, but while receiving her instruction, he could subtly drop clues to help her overcome that "wall."
'She might find it strange... but no matter.'
He was even considering revealing his true identity soon.
Their bond had deepened enough to share such secrets.
"Miss Penelope, you're quite the accomplished alchemist, aren't you? I thought if not now, when would I ever get another chance like this?"
Penelope, who had been about to nod absentmindedly, suddenly felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward.
That smile... she knew exactly what it meant.
"Hmm~ Are you trying to cheer me up because I was feeling down?"
"Nothing of the sort."
"That's exactly what it looks like. Suddenly praising me to high heaven like this."
"I said it's not."
"Really? You who once said I seemed talentless and whatnot now want to learn from me?"
"You still remember that...?"
"Of course. I never forget an insult. Well? Am I being a bother?"
Penelope, who had been playfully pressing closer with hands on hips while tilting her forehead forward, finally stepped back upon seeing Jurgen's wry smile.
"Fine, consider it charity. I'll teach you bit by bit starting tomorrow. My lessons are brutal, so prepare yourself."
"...Naturally."
I hope Miss Penelope won't jump out the window in shock when I eventually say, "Actually, I'm Han-bin Ainsworth."
Jurgen briefly wondered if revealing his identity would truly be for her benefit.
Well, having come this far, it's time to wrap up business matters.
"With the factory changed, we'll need to revise the proposal."
"The proposal? Didn't you leave it in the car?"
"I'll go fetch it."
"As you should. Did you think you could make your teacher do errands?"
Penelope watched intently as Jurgen walked out of the factory to retrieve the proposal.
Normally, once melancholy set in, she'd suffer from lingering headaches like smoldering embers.
Those stubborn migraines that neither her favorite baths nor the reluctant numbing of alcohol could easily shake off.
But now, as if by magic, she felt fine.
No more headaches.
"Well then..."
The reason was probably...
Because she wasn't alone anymore.
Her cheeks tingled inexplicably.
Her heels felt light as air.
"Stop dragging your feet! Run!"
This buoyant mood led her to shout loud enough to echo through the factory.
"Huh...?"
Penelope saw something flying diagonally toward Jurgen as he approached the car.
Time seemed to stretch into slow motion.
A single elongated diagonal line pierced through Jurgen and sent the "Caliburn Model J" flying into the air.
KABOOM!
Serena's beloved car exploded, scattering debris and flames.
The shockwave instantly spread through the factory, the delayed explosion sound following half a beat later.
What just happened?
An attack? Why? No—that's not what matters now.
Jurgen.
Jurgen was pierced by the projectile. Then immediately caught in the subsequent car explosion.
Her mind forcibly projected unimaginably horrific outcomes she couldn't bear to envision.
One second later.
"JURGEN!!!"
Penelope's scream bordered on a tearing shriek.
Pulling a wind feather from her palette, Penelope rode the gust conjured behind her and closed the distance in an instant.
Amid the blazing car wreckage, she saw Jurgen lifting himself halfway up.
The relief she felt upon confirming it wasn't the worst-case scenario was indescribable.
"Jurgen! Are you okay? Where are you hurt—"
"Nowhere. It missed me by luck."
"Are you serious? You're not some knight—!"
"Truly. Though I'll need new clothes."
Miraculously, Jurgen appeared unharmed.
At least outwardly—just some torn clothing and dirt stains from rolling on the ground.
As tension drained from her body, her legs nearly gave way, tears threatening to spill.
"Let me check properly. I can handle basic healing magic too."
Her fingertips trembled slightly as she gratefully examined Jurgen's condition.
"You... just what..."
She'd always thought him robust.
The way he effortlessly carried loads in the Demon Realm or moved heavy cola crates without strain.
She'd assumed it was practical, condensed muscle from manual labor.
But the torso revealed through torn clothing far exceeded Penelope's expectations in ruggedness.
This wasn't a body shaped by miscellaneous chores.
It looked professionally trained.
Yet in this moment, her gaze wasn't solely drawn to his physique.
The scars.
Jurgen's body was densely covered in scars.
The healed traces of lacerations, burns, penetrating wounds—injuries that had once covered his entire body.
"Miss Penelope, it's quite rude to stare so blatantly at another person's body."
At Jurgen's words, Penelope sucked in a sharp, meaningless breath.
"N-no, what are you...! I was just looking at your scars! Where on earth did you get these injuries from?!"
"That doesn't seem to be the important matter right now. It appears Brighton has played his trump card."
—Thud, thud.
Just then, a man emerged from the long shadows of the factory.
"Well, well. Not dead yet. How bothersome that you're still alive..."
A leather coat so worn its sheen had vanished, a crumpled beret, and a pitch-black mask.
A man entirely swathed in gloomy black attire.
"Now I'll have to kill the precious young lady too. What a nuisance."
But it wasn't just his clothing that was gloomy.
With every frivolous step, an aura of dense miasma and death clung to him.
Taking in his attire and the current situation, Penelope instantly recognized his identity.
Commonly known as 'The Undertaker.'
Combat rank: 5th-Rank Knight.
A notorious killer who shuttled between the Demon Realm and the city's underworld, burying countless souls in darkness.
She'd known there were connections between the mafia and outlaws, but...
Who would have imagined the Undertaker was Brighton's pawn?
"You must know there's no meaning in attacking me."
"Touched by your concern, miss? Worried about me?"
"I'll give you ten times more if you back off now. Go kill Brighton instead."
"Now that's a tempting offer. How about twenty times? I hate that pig bastard too."
"Glad we see eye to eye. I'll write you a check right now."
"You lack basics, miss. These matters require cash. Right here, right now."
Drawing the spear slanted across his back, the Undertaker advanced.
Despite his playful tone, there wasn't the slightest hint of compromise.
Penelope pulled out her palette with damp hands.
A miscalculation.
She'd grown complacent, thinking her bluff had worked due to the coincidental factory fire.
She never expected Brighton would make such an extreme move as to attack even Penelope.
The fact they'd ambushed her the moment she stepped into this deserted outskirts showed they'd been waiting for this opportunity.
"...Jurgen."
A 4th-Rank Alchemist versus a 5th-Rank Knight.
Though just one rank apart, the gap between them was an insurmountable wall.
"Didn't I tell you before? I have the strength to protect you."
The enormous wall that Penelope had spent her entire life failing to overcome.
"I'll handle this place. You go find old man Ritz and inform him of the situation. Tell him the Undertaker attacked me."
Jurgen, who had been staring intently at the Undertaker, shook his head at Penelope's words.
"I'll be staying here."
"This isn't the time for jokes. It's my mistake, so I'll take responsibility. There's no reason for you to get involved."
"Don't be so cold. Aren't we partners in fate?"
"Don't spout such nonsense...!"
As Penelope grew heated at Jurgen's stubbornness, she urgently stretched out one hand.
The Wind Quill melted in her palm, unfurling a barrier.
Instantly, the trajectory of the javelin flying toward them with vicious force was deflected.
"Hey now, don't leave me out of your little tête-à-tête."
"Guh...!"
"Speaking of which, commoner friend. Have we met before? Hmm... your face seems oddly familiar."
Ignoring the Undertaker's words, Jurgen patted Penelope's shoulder.
"Miss Penelope, why don't you show him your full power without holding back?"
"Be realistic—it's impossible. There's absolutely no way I can win with my current strength."
Jurgen couldn't possibly understand.
Just how grave the danger they were in truly was.
If the gap could be overcome so easily, she wouldn't have felt so powerless all this time.
She wouldn't have had to swallow endless frustration after frustration.
Reality wasn't like the movies.
The outcome was already decided.
Penelope would die because she underestimated Brighton's madness.
The Undertaker would effortlessly snap the resisting Penelope's neck, then hunt down and kill the fleeing Jurgen.
Their bodies would never be found. Though suspicion would point to Brighton, her family might even turn a blind eye to it all.
They might secretly rejoice that the disgrace had disappeared.
The half-wit who couldn't earn even a shred of trust from her own family.
The fool who never received anyone's faith.
That was Penelope.
Except for one person.
"I believe in you, Miss Penelope."
"Ha."
She was so furious she could die.
Now even her plan to buy as much time as possible before dying was ruined.
If he'd just run earlier, he could've gotten a hundred meters farther by now.
If Penelope lost here, Jurgen would die too.
"...You're an idiot."
That single word—"I believe in you"—somehow gave her the courage to fight.
"Hey, bring it on."
It was truly beyond comprehension.