Chapter 5
The voyage by ship to Shehir was shorter than when I was sold into slavery.
We weren't traveling to another country; all we had to do was go from the bottom to the top, so it would have been strange for it to take long. And since this was a mid-range ship with insane bang for the buck, the trip was relatively short, too.
Anyway, after arriving in Shehir and resting for a day, I joined the others heading to Sargadis and boarded a pre-booked carriage.
“It’s convenient having the route planned out in advance.”
The man riding in the same carriage as me said that with a smile.
The enormous otherworldly carriage was so large you wondered whether horses could pull it, and it was basically this world's version of a train.
Since horses were incredibly strong and there was all kinds of magic, technology hadn't advanced, and carriages had simply grown larger instead.
“Yes. Since it goes nonstop all the way to Sargadis, you can conveniently kill time in the carriage.”
It was difficult for an individual to rent a carriage this large. The merchant company operating the ship I'd taken charged us for the carriage and included us in its trade caravan.
There was even a regular service from Ainheir, where Carmine University was located, to Sargadis, so I'd booked my ticket to match it.
My identity had already been verified in Ainheir, so I didn't need to hassle with gatekeepers.
Normally, having a proper identification card was enough to get through almost anywhere, but after living as a slave for three years because of an identification problem, there was no harm in being cautious.
Anyway, when I played along, the man said,
“Ah, you can speak casually with me. Please don't worry about me using honorifics. I've gotten used to speaking formally from working as a peddler.”
“If you insist that much, I'd be rude to refuse.”
“Hahaha! What a hearty fellow you are.”
The self-proclaimed peddler laughed loudly at how quickly I had switched to informal speech.
“Our carriage journey will last at least two days. It would be enough to drive anyone insane to say nothing and stare at the grasslands outside the window for that long. We should introduce ourselves now, before things get awkward, so we won't be bored.”
“Really? Coming from a peddler, those words carry extra weight.”
There had been people in the military who absolutely hated superiors or subordinates who didn't talk while on guard duty, and this guy seemed to be exactly that type.
“Haha. Don't get me started. A peddler's greatest enemies are bandits and monsters, but what we fear most is boredom. I've only just boarded the carriage, and I'm already getting restless.”
“I don't like boredom either. Ah, I'm Nord. My real name would be hard for you to pronounce, so call me by this name.”
“I'm Jorma Rubreo. Please call me Jorma.”
After introducing himself, Jorma turned his attention to the others.
There were two middle-aged men, one thin and one fat, and a man wearing a robe with its hood pulled over his head.
“You gentlemen over there should join the conversation, too. You may be fine now, but after a single day you'll be desperately bored.”
“…Zolf Darmic. The young fellow talks a lot.”
“What's wrong with that? I'm bored, so it's perfect. I'm Aron Jackfree. I'm on my way back home.”
The thin middle-aged man seemed about as quiet as his nearly bald head, while the potbellied man returning home had a name that sounded like something out of a pirate story.
Once the two had introduced themselves, my gaze naturally shifted to the robed man who hadn't answered.
He was wearing an incredibly suspicious black robe.
I'd run into him several times on the ship, and he had made me nervous every time. In every fantasy movie or comic I'd read or watched, sea voyages never passed without something happening. It was a cliché.
Kraken. Fish-men. Harpies. Sirens.
That was what made sea travel in the other world so frightening: you never knew when some bastard like that would appear and cause trouble.
But I couldn't help noticing the guy when he kept his hood on even while eating.
“I'm Semmus. I have no surname. I only have a given name.”
The man with his hood pulled low said that as he removed it.
His pronunciation sounded oddly like that of a Vietnamese migrant worker.
This wasn't a racist remark. His speech really did resemble that of Tuan, a migrant worker I'd seen while working part-time at a factory during college. I didn't know his real name. Semmus probably wasn't used to speaking Britannian.
Swish.
As expected, the hair beneath the robe's hood was bright red. Fuck, this bastard had a Mohawk. That was fucking cool.
“Ah, so you're an Ulsterian. Ulsterians don't have surnames.”
The peddler, Jorma, said that as if he were slightly flustered.
The Ulsterians were a people known as the descendants of an ancient civilization.
They were also the people that the Britannian bastards who thought they were civilized called one of the ‘Three Great Barbarians.’
In other words, they were among the victims of racial discrimination.
The Vikings were an invading nation, so they couldn't say much even if the countries they invaded hated them. But these Ulsterians lived quietly and were still subjected to subtle discrimination.
Even though I was also a victim of racial discrimination, perhaps because there was no contact between my country and theirs, no one had picked a fight with me over anything besides my skin color.
Ulsterians, on the other hand, could be cursed for three days and three nights over nothing but their hair color. That was because their peoples had been deeply entangled throughout history.
Could racism be a defining trait of humanity, even in another world?
Then again, red-haired Irish people had been discriminated against even on twenty-first-century Earth. I'd hardly ever seen a red-haired lead actor in Hollywood.
If white supremacy and imperialism ever flooded this world, wouldn't I become one of their main victims, too?
“Is something bothering you?”
Anyway, Semmus reacted irritably to Jorma's flustered attitude. It was the slightly cynical and sensitive response typical of someone who had suffered racial discrimination.
“Haha. Of course not. I've even taken trade caravans to Ulsterian settlements before. I was only surprised for a moment.”
As befitted a peddler, Jorma smoothly defused the situation.
“Britannia, Ulster, and even Kitai! This enormous carriage is practically a miniature racial melting pot! It looks like we won't be bored for the next two days!”
Because of my yellowish skin, I'd spent my life being treated as a Kitai, a fate I had never expected. Fuck, apparently I was Mongolian now.
I'm sorry, Mother and Father. Your son became a fantasy nomad in another world.
[…“Furnace”?]
Apparently not understanding the word Jorma had used, Semmus muttered in his own language. Thanks to my translation ability and my life as a graduate student, I understood his muttering without difficulty.
[“Furnace” means a smelting furnace. The thing used to melt iron.]
Since I hated racism, I kindly explained it to Semmus.
[…Hm?! Yellowie! Do you speak Erin?!]
Semmus's eyes widened at my fluent Ulsterian, and he whipped around to look at me. Unlike his awkward Britannian, his speech in his own language had a rather grandiose flair.
But who the fuck did this red bastard think he was, calling me Yellowie?
I'd gone out of my way to speak to him in his own language, and this victim of racial discrimination had the nerve to call me Yellowie.
They say that the people who discriminate against Asians the most in America are none other than Black people. This was exactly the same sort of thing.
Sure enough, there was a reason they were considered one of the Three Great Barbarians.
What a damn barbarian bastard. Since he was uneducated, he thought discrimination only counted when it was directed at him.
But I was too intimidated to complain openly, so I kept my mouth shut.
I'd heard that among the Three Great Barbarians, the Ulsterians were few in number but strongest as individuals.
That bastard might stab me in the gut just because I'd made fun of him for being a red bastard. I might end up unable to stand ever again!
[Yellowie. Did you learn the language of Erin from another descendant of Erin?]
[No. I just happened to have an opportunity to learn it.]
In keeping with what I'd heard about Ulsterians, Semmus referred to his people as the ‘descendants of Erin.’
Technically speaking, even the term Ulster was a name imposed at will by the so-called civilized bastards—including the Britannians.
[Either way, it's astonishing. I never imagined anyone besides a fellow descendant of Erin would speak Ulsterian. I'm impressed, Yellowie.]
[More people than you think can speak Erin. You simply haven't had the opportunity to meet them.]
That bastard kept pissing me off by saying “Yellowie” over and over.
Should I ask if I could punch him hard in the solar plexus? Since he was such a damn strong warrior, he might even give me permission while putting on a show of how tough he was. He had a Mohawk, after all.
[Do you also know how to write our script?]
[No, not that far.]
Of course I could, but I drew the line because I had no desire to become any closer to him.
The fact that he kept talking to me gave me the same feeling as an exploitative Korean boss who met another Korean in a foreign country.
That guy and I were both headed to Sargadis.
I had no desire to become friendly with him, then have him come looking for me and make a fuss every time something happened.
It was best to get close to migrant workers only to a reasonable degree, using one's judgment.
After Tuan the Vietnamese migrant worker had nearly ruined my final exam, I had learned that lesson painfully well.
“Huh. You can actually converse with that fellow in Ulsterian?”
The man who had heard Semmus and me chattering—fuck, what was his name again? Anyway, the fat middle-aged man said that as if he were impressed.
“Yes. I took an interest and learned a little.”
“Ahem. I see. Interest.”
The fat man gave an awkward cough.
What the fuck? Was he about to say something like, ‘The Ching-chong and Irish ginger are getting along just fine together~’?
“Hmm-hmm. Anyway, you said your name was Semmus?”
“That's right. My name is Semmus.”
“I'm asking because I'm genuinely curious.”
The fat man asked while coughing awkwardly.
“─Is it true that all Ulsterians, regardless of age or sex, walk around naked?”
What the fuck?
I was horrified by the completely out-of-nowhere question.
No, what the hell was wrong with this crazy old man? What kind of bullshit was he saying to the red bastards who were called barbarians even in this world of utter backwardness?
Archaeologically speaking, the statement was true. Records said that the Ulsterians who lived in the ancient land of Erin not only lived naked as a matter of course, but also hunted and fought completely nude.
But even so, when had that been? There was no way that culture could have survived to the present day….
“That's right. Descendant of Erin. Not weak. Don't wear clothes.”
Holy shit, it was true.
“I-is that really true? Even the women?”
“They don't. We, descendants of Erin, carry on Erin's will and pride.”
“Pride” was a difficult expression compared to his awkward speech. Had he learned that word separately because he thought he might have a use for it?
It was like how otaku could say “special move” or “secret technique” in Japanese but couldn't say “steamed flounder” in Japanese.
Anyway, the important point wasn't that the barbarian bastard had used a difficult word.
Amazingly, the Ulsterians didn't wear clothes.
We were all horrified by Semmus's outfit, even though he was wearing a robe.
“Fuck?”
This bastard had said he wasn't even a mage, yet he was wearing a long robe. Did that mean his dick was swinging beneath it? Thank fuck I hadn't sat beside him.
“Ahem. I've also visited an Ulsterian settlement on a trade caravan, and it's true that the people living there didn't wear clothes.”
Jorma cleared his throat as he changed the subject from the unwanted truth about the exhibitionist barbarians.
“It was definitely a tribe called the Descendants of the Land Lizard. They weren't very interested in the goods we sold, so we sold them wheat and alcohol and bought the hides and blood of the monsters they hunted…. Every time, I saw beautiful women who had become one with nature.”
Jorma's profession was peddler.
And a peddler was like an upgraded version of those bundle merchants—unique mobs that appeared in the subways of twenty-first-century Korea. They were a type of people whose passive skill was spinning tales to strangers and selling them goods.
As befitted a peddler, Jorma had a talent for capturing people's attention and interest with even the most ordinary stories.
“The male merchants in the market said all Ulsterian women were beautiful, and after seeing them for myself, I found it was true.”
This was also something I was hearing for the first time. My major was archaeology, not world history.
Even among Koreans who'd lived fifty years on Earth, many didn't know about Turkey's traditional culture. I was the same way. How often was I supposed to meet an Ulsterian that I'd have learned all their characteristics, too?
“Beautiful women with eyes wide enough to make you gape walked through the streets without a shred of clothing on them. Heh heh. It was truly a wonderful sight.”
“I-I see.”
Gulp.
The fat man swallowed as Jorma spun his tale. Semmus, the actual Ulsterian, was being left half ignored.
It was incredibly racist to exclude someone while talking about his own country. But honestly, I had no reason whatsoever to be interested in a naked, dick-swinging Mohawk warrior.
“S-so? Could outsiders enter?”
“Yes. They can.”
Jorma nodded at the fat man's question, but his expression was as sorrowful as a scholar who had heard that his country was doomed.
“However… based on what I've heard and experienced, I really wouldn't recommend visiting where the Ulsterians live.”
“What? Why on earth?”
The fat man was as shocked as if he'd heard that his country had fallen into ruin. He might already have been imagining himself visiting a nudist city someday.
“Yes. Unfortunately, that really is a shame….”
Jorma's mouth opened slowly.
I wasn't particularly interested, since it sounded like something about some remote African tribe, but the other two middle-aged men seemed to feel differently.
─Thump-thump.
The fat man was becoming captivated by the young man's storytelling, like seniors in a barracks listening to a new recruit who had spent time out in the world. Even the thin man in the corner of the carriage, who hadn't said a word, was listening while pretending not to.
That was when it happened.
─Screeeeeech!
─Hiiiiiiiiiigh!
The carriage we were riding in suddenly braked to a stop!
It was a sudden stop. When the carriage halted amid the horses' screams, the men inside collided with one another according to the law of inertia and cried out.
“Uuugh!!”
“Hrk?!”
“Gyaaaah!!”
I nearly crashed into the exhibitionist red bastard, so I was scared shitless. I used every ounce of strength in my body to brace myself in place.
I didn't want to rub against some naked bastard beneath a robe!
“Driver! What happened all of a sudden?!”
The thin man shouted. A small window leading to the driver's seat opened, and the driver stuck his head through it.
Rattle.
“Oh, honored passengers! I'm terribly sorry for stopping so suddenly!”
“Did something happen?”
“Ah! Nothing serious. They say kobolds came out because we're near the forest. Please wait a moment until our caravan's adventurers take care of them.”
A pack of trash mobs attacking a carriage. It was an event straight out of a textbook fantasy.
Still, even if I didn't do anything, the merchants would take care of it themselves. There was no reason for passengers to get off and fix a bus just because it had a flat tire.
“Monsters? I'll help.”
In an instant!
But when Semmus heard the driver, he abruptly sprang from his seat for no apparent reason. What the hell was wrong with this guy now?
“What? The passengers have paid, so you really don't need to go out there!”
The driver was flustered by Semmus's offer to join in. Since the caravan's adventurers were being paid to handle this, it was understandable that they would be caught off guard by a passenger volunteering to help.
“It doesn't matter. I haven't fought in too long during the voyage. Bad. My instincts get dull.”
Despite the driver's attempts to stop him, Semmus ignored him with a drawn-out “fuck off” before jumping out of the carriage. He was a downright barbaric bastard.
“Instincts, huh? That makes sense.”
But damn, the thin man accepted that too.
Maybe he was an adventurer as well, because he suddenly followed Semmus out of the carriage for no reason whatsoever.
“Ha, haha. What energetic fellows. We'll wait here until the situation settles down.”
With two members of the group suddenly gone, Jorma said that with an awkward laugh, looking at me as I sat there.
However, I looked outside the carriage and scratched my head.
“Hmm. No, since things have turned out this way, I think I'll go out, too.”
“Huh?”
“Well, Semmus aside, seeing the other gentleman do that made me a little curious. I may not look it, but I make my living by the sword, too.”
Once I became an adventurer, monster extermination would be something I had to do as routinely as eating. But now that I thought about it, I'd barely ever fought a monster myself.
“Y-you're going too, Mr. Nord?”
Jorma asked in a dazed voice, but perhaps this was a good opportunity for me as well.
“Yeah. How often do you get the chance to fight safely while surrounded by this many people?”
I boldly declared that I would join the dogpile and drew my sword.
─Shing.
The heavy feel of the sword at my waist was strangely thrilling when I gripped it. I'd used this sword a few times even during my years as a slave.
“Then I'm off.”
I gripped my sword and leaped out of the carriage.