From the Beginning, From the Very Beginning...
Parm Wirson stroked his mask, lost in thought.
"...Is it hard to explain from the beginning?"
"Well, because every scholar sees the start of 'history' a little differently. And if you go beyond simple history to perspectives from races, cities, and tribes?"
Parm, who had been sitting in his chair, suddenly stood and began pacing the infirmary with heavy footsteps.
"Right now, in the Sun Temple of 'Siol' where we're headed, they'd say their own creation myth marks the beginning of history. That the world was nothing but endless winter until the Sun Temple was built, bringing warmth, spring, summer, and civilization. That's their genesis."
Jin-cheol's gaze followed Parm as he paced the room.
"If you ask the Olrog armored nomads wandering the far northwestern wasteland where history began? They'd tell you about the first armored tank, Kapchaku, and its master Tolkan, who led them from lands toxic to breathe. Of course, you'd have to prove yourself a warrior first just to earn the conversation."
Parm spun around to face Jin-cheol.
"You've met the black-footed Kampoeni on this ship, right?"
"Ah, yeah. Haven't talked to them, though..."
"They have their creation myth too. Long ago, when black-footed Kampoeni didn't even know they could walk on two legs, a mythical superhuman with black feet taught them to walk and fight with weapons. The black-footed superhuman—they believe that figure will return someday."
By then, Jin-cheol's expression had gone a bit blank. But Parm seemed absorbed in his tale and pressed on.
"Myths and superhumans! The Lavitos in the east, endlessly warring over countless territories? Unlike typical myths, theirs are endlessly reproduced and modified to suit their needs. And at the end, there's always a 'general' claiming to be the superhuman who'll end the chaos. The only common thread in their myths is the evil god Marx."
"..."
Parm didn't seem to notice Jin-cheol's dazed look. Like a professor fired up in a lecture hall, he raised his voice.
"Then there are Esai who worship the goddess of vengeance and justice, the Mother of Revenge. Their myth pegs history's start to when she exacted the first vengeance and enforced justice. Some scholars don't dismiss this as mere myth. They see the goddess's revenge not as emotional catharsis, but as 'implementing justice.'"
"...What about the Baika?"
Parm raised a finger as if it were a perfectly timed question.
"We have our creation myth too. In the beginning, there was the primordial nautilus. From between its shells emerged the first Baika. And he had two siblings—Esai and Olrog. We Baika are the nautilus's firstborn, thus superior. Something like that."
He clenched his fist.
"But now, only a few diehard fundamentalists believe it. Any properly educated, civilized Baika knows you can't explain this world with such irrational myths. Though there are more unknowns than knowns, the current consensus in Baika academia is that even those mysteries will yield to reason..."
But his passionate demeanor flipped in an instant. With a voice laced with worry, disgust, anger, and fear, he said,
"...Yet there are those who pervert that reason. They claim that after centuries, millennia of history, only we Baika followed reason's call—so only Baika can enlighten and lead the other races. Spouting nonsense about the 'Baika Burden' or whatever... idiots."
He shook his head to shake off the gloom and turned back to Jin-cheol.
"That's another story. So, see how complicated it is to explain 'from the beginning'?"
Jin-cheol blinked. Yeah, fuck, it's goddamn complicated. Got it.
"...You mentioned centuries, millennia of history. So excluding myths, the Baika have recorded history, right?"
"Even we Baika can't easily separate myth from history the farther back you go. Records or not, time changes interpretations and understanding—it's inevitable. So how about starting with what's commonly called the Forgotten Empire?"
"When was that?"
Parm stood straight, fiddling with his mask.
"Conservatively, about 3,800 years ago. Generously, 5,000."
"..."
Jin-cheol's lips trembled slightly. Fuck, what the hell is this guy saying?
"What about before that?"
"History before the Forgotten Empire? That's tricky too. Some traditions speak of extreme chaos before the Empire pacified it. Others, of an age when gods walked the earth before that chaos. The true mythic era."
"Mythic era?"
Parm fiddled with his mask again and resumed pacing. He apparently had a habit of walking when deep in thought.
"The mythic era. When celestial gods dwelt on earth. Gesturing to form rivers and mountains, chanting words to set stars in the night sky. An era all myths claim truly lived and breathed. Baika scholars can't even define it properly—no data. So some dismiss it as just the barbaric age. I partly agree."
Fuck, that's straight-up myth too. Jin-cheol felt his head heating up as he said,
"...So the Forgotten Empire is the oldest known nation?"
"As far as we've uncovered, yes. They were astonishing. Their artifacts still turn up everywhere, actively used. Their tech defies our current understanding. And countless secrets remain hidden worldwide."
Jin-cheol rubbed his eyes. Yeah, fuck, tons of crazy tech. The superhighways, ear patches for translation, underground smart farms under giant trees...
"...Fuck. What the hell is all this? My head's gonna explode."
Was the Forgotten Empire the era Jin-cheol lived in? Did that mean he'd leaped at least 3,800 to 5,000 years? Did he hit a wormhole falling into that lab basement? Then what was this isekai protagonist body? No, wait—what about the others? Not the fluffy bipeds, reckless gorillas, or fish-eyed mermen gentlemen—what about real 'people'?
Suddenly, he recalled Captain Kim Sang-cheol grabbing his hand as he fell. He'd told that guy to spin the postwar reconstruction bullshit...
"...So how did that Forgotten Empire fall?"
"Its downfall? Theories, documents, testimonies—a chaotic mess. What’s clear: they drowned in unforgivable debauchery and sin, breeding mutual hatred that sparked civil war. And ended in ruin."
"What kind of debauchery and sin?"
"Unclear. No document spells it out precisely."
"..."
Jin-cheol couldn't find words. Debauchery and sin. Civil war. Ruin. And only near-humans left? Fuck, this ain't Planet of the Apes.
But the tale of self-destruction through hatred stirred less "Humans wouldn't be that stupid" and more "So that's how it went down." Maybe from seeing humanity's depths in war. No, humans could self-destruct like that. But then what were these races filling the world? Evolution didn't happen in millennia. And waking by the river? No teleport. There was groundwater. That underground lake—he saw it last. If its waters led outside... No. Then this healthy body? Millennia would mummify even long-lived turtles or Greenland sharks. Humans don't live that long. Must be isekai. Then getting shot in the chest and surviving with just skin-deep wounds makes sense?
"Fuck..."
Parm watched Jin-cheol clawing at his hair with calm eyes.
Jin-cheol snapped to the gaze and looked up.
"Uh... sudden, but have you really never seen someone like me?"
Parm nodded.
"Esai-like features but Olrog height, round ears, pale blue skin, black hair, black eyes. Sorry, as I said before, never."
"What about the Forgotten Empire era? What'd they say people looked like?"
Parm's eyes gleamed with interest.
"Hard to say. Everyone claims differently. Like the myths I mentioned—each insists their race ruled the Empire. Esai because they handle artifacts best. Lavito claim flight tech. Baika point to ships, navigation, high knowledge remnants."
Nothing solid, huh. Jin-cheol sighed naturally.
Parm eyed him damply before continuing.
"Looking for your kin?"
"...Yeah."
"Then Siol's a good choice."
"Why?"
"Sun Temple and its seven guardian families dominate the elite there. But merchants? Baika. Even Kampoeni councilors. No single race rules. What does that imply?"
Jin-cheol pondered, then ventured cautiously,
"...Less racial bias, more info available?"
Parm's eyes curved in a smile.
"Exactly. Siol brands itself a free trade city—races from everywhere gather. Overwhelming info hub. Filtering truth's the hard part, though. Wise as ever, Jin-cheol."
Jin-cheol gave a wry smile at the praise. First time hearing that.
"How'd you get separated from your kin?"
"Ah, well... long story. Hard to talk about."
Parm nodded.
"Won't pry then. Oh, when you talk to Captain Romuto later, best not reveal too much."
"Why?"
"He'll exploit any edge over you. As I said, he'll sniff out ways to leverage Atukai tribe favor. Be cautious."
Jin-cheol chuckled amid his swirling thoughts.
"Don't like the captain, huh?"
"...If I must say, no. He embodies prejudices other races hold against Baika."
"Like?"
"Calculating, ruthless, shoves biased standards at others without hesitation. The type I despise."
"You're the ship's doctor. Safe to trash the captain?"
Parm closed his eyes, stroking his mask.
"Hate's hate. Fire me if he doesn't like it."
"Haha."
Glad my first Baika buddy's you. Jin-cheol leaned back, sighing and rubbing his temples.
Parm cracked one eye at him, then clapped sharply.
Meeting Jin-cheol's gaze, he opened both eyes.
"That's enough for today. Time for dinner."
"More Baika food?"
"Heard good fish came in this morning. Try it, Jin-cheol. You scarfed it last time."
"...Later."
Later. After I find soy sauce.
*
"Buuuurp."
Jin-cheol flopped onto the bed, belching hugely. He'd ended up eating Baika sushi after all. Luckily, the fresh fish claim wasn't bullshit—it went down okay.
"Why's fish gotta be so goddamn oily? Definitely not tuna."
Stuffed full, his pre-dinner worries felt trivial. Alive, fed— what was there to sweat?
"...Fuck that, plenty to worry about. What the hell happened?"
He covered his face with his hands lying down. Was the Forgotten Empire really his time? Over 3,000 years leaped? Absurd.
He wished something would pop up explaining his situation. Y'know, the usual—stats, skills, quest windows. Smooth for protagonists and readers alike.
He flung his hands up, yelling,
"Status! Quest! Stats!"
Nothing, predictably. Jin-cheol giggled like a maniac.
Wrong method? Maybe close eyes, dive into inner self.
He squeezed them shut, calling desperately. Nada.
"...Head to the city, search for humans first. If this is Earth and people fucked up postwar, self-destructing despite it all..."
Then what? Any humans left?
"Fuck if I know..."
Just a drafted grunt here...
Fatigue crashed in. Baika merchant ship, day two. Lots happened: learned from Parm, fistfight with Esai pricks, history clues. But equal headaches.
Everything gained aboard seemed headache fuel.
Last night's nightmare? Probably that anxiety.
"...Dunno..."
Jin-cheol's mind sank swiftly into sleep. His body, healthier than ever across ten millennia, dragged his weary spirit under for recovery.
But then—weeee-oooong!—a siren wailed shipwide.
Jin-cheol's eyes snapped open. Reflexively bolting up, his hand groped for a rifle. Nothing. Instinct grabbed the fish knife under the pillow instead.
In the dim room's center, the white blade shing-ed out.
"...What the?"
The siren wailed on.
Jin-cheol rolled his eyes, assessing. Why the siren? Obvious—danger. The shrill peal screamed "Wake up and move!" to everyone aboard.
That far, he vaulted from bed, flung open the cabin door—one fluid motion.
Narrow corridor. He sheathed the knife and ran. Deck in seconds.
Up top, frantic workers dashed about. He spotted the siren's cause.
"...What the fuck is that."
An airship. Half the Baika ship's size. Its underbelly cargo bay yawned open, four rope ladders dangling.
Figures prepped to descend—Esai and Olrog mixed. In their hands: rifles or machine guns, to Jin-cheol's eye.
Gawking in disbelief amid the chaos, he heard a black-footed Kampoeni shriek in panic,
"Pirates!"
Wait, pirates in the sky? Air pirates or what?