Chapter 13

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The man walks. He walks slowly, a sword still embedded in his chest. He walks toward the terrified English colonists and the native people.

In the silence, the Spanish soldiers part for him, making a path. Some seem mesmerized, following in his wake, while others fall to their knees. A Spanish soldier, who has collapsed as if struck down, speaks.

“L-Lord… Lord… forgive us… f-forgive us…!”

The man’s indifferent, transcendent gaze sweeps over him, and the soldier shudders as if struck by lightning, then faints.

“Lord, our sins against you are many. Please, forgive these sinners, these ignorant sinners…!”

“And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us… and lead us not into temptation…”

The Spaniards wail, trying to touch even the hem of his garment. When the newly regenerated fingers brush against one man’s face, he weeps like a baby.

“Lord, Lord…! Please, please!”

“Uwaaaah…!”

But the man only offers them fleeting glances, saying nothing more. He walks silently, one step at a time, toward the English. The Spaniards, while trying not to obstruct his path, flock to him as desperately as children crying for their mother.

But where there are believers, there will always be a nonbeliever.

“A-a-are you all mad? That half-breed Indio is the L-L-Lord! And the Lord is taking the side of the English! Mierda, that’s impossible!”

A nonbeliever staggers forward, approaching the man. At his hate-filled shout, everyone’s gaze turns cold, but the one who stops them from striking the man down…

“Stop.”

…is the man himself.

“KYAAAAAAAK!”

At the man’s command, everyone hesitates. In that moment, the nonbeliever finally draws a sword from his belt and swings it at him. At the same time, the man starts the chainsaw in his hand and thrusts its blade directly into the nonbeliever’s neck.

BZZZZZZT!

The super-hardened teeth of the chainsaw grind against the Toledo steel breastplate, sending sparks flying in every direction.

“…”

“…”

“…”

It is over in an instant. The nonbeliever’s flesh and blood are turned to pulp, and he collapses.

Thump.

The man looks at the fallen corpse, then slowly, he pulls the sword from his own chest. He thrusts it into the dirt and looks around.

“…Are you afraid of me?”

At his words, everyone flinches. Not just the Spaniards gathered nearby, but the English, and even the native people who do not believe in Christianity. And only then do they realize.

The words the man just spoke were understood by everyone present. To the Spanish, it was as if he had whispered in Spanish; to the English, as if he had spoken softly in English; and to the Algonquian, as if he had murmured gently in their own tongue.

“G-good heavens…”

The last shred of possibility that the miracle before them was a falsehood vanishes. And so, the surviving Spaniards cling to the one who has manifested before them with even greater fervor, even greater desperation.

“That is… enough.”

And at that single command, they scatter in all directions as if light were driving out darkness. Yet still they weep, begging him not to abandon them.

The man watches them for a long time before approaching Eleanor first. Eleanor, who had been kneeling, sees his chest through the torn fabric of his clothes.

A chest that is white and clean, without a single scar.

“Ah, ah… I dare to beg your forgiveness for my rudeness until now…”

“You have never been rude to me, Eleanor.”

Ah.

His voice reaches me.

Eleanor looks at the ground and weeps uncontrollably. The man wipes away her tears, helps her to her feet, and speaks.

“Those people…”

“Th-the Spanish people, you mean?”

“…Help those people. Gather the injured, wash them clean, and bring them to the farm hut. I will take care of the rest.”

“B-b-but, just now they tried to kill you…”

“Eleanor, I have told you before.”

“…”

“If one must find a reason to save another person, isn’t that too sad?”

“…Ah, ahh.”

“Save them, Eleanor. Just as I saved all of you.”

“I-I will help!”

“Me too!”

While Eleanor holds the man’s hand and weeps, others rise first and move toward the Spanish. They willingly take the arms and shoulders of the enemies who, just moments ago, they were trying to kill, and help them up.

And then, another man approaches, still kneeling.

“Mr. Hewitt?”

“Yes, it is I. A sinful lawyer, before you…”

“Calm yourself.”

“How, how can I possibly be calm now?”

“…”

“…”

The lawyer, Thomas Hewitt, falls silent, his body trembling as he forces himself to stand. He then walks toward the spot where the excavator was just spewing smoke. The man follows him. On his way, Hewitt carefully picks up the sword that had been thrust into the dirt, the sword that had pierced the man’s heart. He approaches the soldier still trapped between the fence and the excavator and asks.

“What is your name?”

It was the most trivial of questions, but at the question, the soldier weeps.

“…Ró-Rómulo, from Seville…”

At his words, Hewitt nods solemnly and raises the sword.

“…This holy sword belonged to Rómulo of Seville.”

He then takes the scabbard from the soldier’s belt, sheathes the sword, and offers it to the man.

“And… now it is yours.”

“…What are you doing?”

“This place is now a holy site, and this sword is a holy relic. Some among us may become saints, and this sacred story will be told for all time.”

Hewitt’s eyes shone as he knelt once more.

“Therefore, I will ensure that not a single detail of this moment is forgotten. Not that sword, nor the name of the one who held it.”

“…”

At Hewitt’s emotional words, the man simply wipes the dying Rómulo’s eyes.

“Do not weep.”

“My… sins…”

“Your sins will be judged by the Lord in Heaven. Are you afraid of the Lord?”

“…Ah!”

“Do not be afraid.”

The man took Rómulo’s hand.

“I will stay by your side.”

“…”

“…”

Rómulo’s tears flowed as he closed his eyes. He would never open them again. But he looked… very much at peace.

And finally…

“I-I, I did not know it was like this…”

Manteo, his head bowed, slowly approaches and collapses to his knees. The other natives who followed him also do not dare to raise their heads in fear.

“I repent…! Yes! I was only baptized, but I did not truly believe in You! I believed we had lived well for generations, even without believing in the great spirit the Europeans speak of. But…”

Thump!

Manteo strikes the ground and weeps.

“The English were right about everything. Tell me. Are You truly, truly the great God they serve? Or are you…”

“Shh.”

“…”

“I am not a god. I am merely another creation.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

Only then do all who were kneeling raise their heads and look at the man’s face.

A man who is nothing. A mysterious figure, like Melchizedek from the Book of Genesis, without father, without mother, whose origins no one knows.

Nemo.

His name will not be forgotten. His trace will not disappear. The flame of faith he has kindled will never be diminished, nor will it ever be extinguished.

“…Eleanor?”

“Ah… y-yes?”

“Have all the patients been moved?”

“Yes, Sir Nemo!”

“Then let us go.”

He is the one furthest from the forces of death, the most noble on earth, one who cares for his enemies as his kin and loves the wanderer as a friend.

He shall be immortal.

And everyone present believed this without a shadow of a doubt.

***

…

…

…

I’ve… I’ve just killed someone for the first time in my life…

Hooooo.

Calm down.

I scrubbed the blood from my hands and washed my tattered clothes in cold water. They were a mess, riddled with bullet holes and slashed by a sword. Will clothes also be repaired after midnight?

I gripped the sink and stared into the mirror for a moment. More precisely, I stared at my chest, where my heart should be.

“…It’s really clean.”

The sensation of the blade piercing right through that spot was still vivid. I couldn’t forget the feeling of all the blood draining from my body, the searing pain where I was impaled. The way my internal organs squirmed and touched the blade, and how that cold, shifting blade in turn moved and sliced through the hot blood and flesh inside me…

Gulp.

I swallowed hard again.

“Holy shit… It really bought it.”

-‘O, thou who shalt be immortal across the ages, a new world now calls to you.’

-‘Immortal, will you become a pioneer of the New World under a blessing of infinity? Or will you become a slave to fate?’

The opening lines of the game flashed before my eyes again. They kept going on about being immortal, which I thought was suspicious, but…

‘…I never thought it would actually mean this.’

It was literal ‘immortality.’ Not a metaphor, not a hint, just real, actual immortality.

I do not die.

Even if my heart is pierced, my arm is cut off, or I am shot.

I had just realized that fact, and on top of that, I had just experienced my first kill. What reason would anyone born in 21st-century South Korea have to kill someone? It was a country where even the death penalty hadn’t been carried out for over twenty years.

I wasn’t in my right mind earlier. Adrenaline was coursing through my body, and my sense of fear and reality was half-paralyzed as I just drifted through the motions. I said whatever came to mind and acted however I felt… uh…

What did I do?

First, uh, some soldier said something to me, so I killed him. And the soldier who stabbed me was crying like he was in agony, so I comforted him a bit… right…

Then I treated the Spaniards. The treatment was just simple stuff, setting bones, applying splints, dabbing rubbing alcohol on the wounds, and giving them antibiotics. Literally just first aid.

But when I was bandaging him, what did that Spanish governor-guy say?

…I think he was crying?

…

…

…

-“Ah! The love of the Lord, who embraces even his enemies! How truly great you are! Oh, our savior…!”

-“I-I will convert from Catholicism immediately! I, Vicente, like the Apostle Paul[1], have at last seen the light! Please, accept my repentance! Ah, Lord! Lord!”

…What did I say back to that?

-“I did not attack you because you are Catholic. On our side, there are even natives who do not believe in Christianity. Religion is not the issue.”

-“Th-then… why…?”

-“If I had done nothing, the powerless English and natives would have died. And please, be still. You will open your wounds.”

And the governor’s reaction to that was…

-“Aaaah! Ah! Aaaaaaaah!”

…It wasn’t words that came out of him. Honestly, I couldn’t tell if it was a cry of ecstasy or a groan of pain from the bandaging.

The others were pretty much the same. Normally, a patient, especially one who had never experienced modern medicine, would have questioned what kind of bizarre procedure this was. But they just gulped down the incredibly bitter medicine like it was honey, weeping as they did.

And while Eleanor and I were tending to the patients, even when we told the others to go and rest, they wouldn’t listen. They all stayed outside the farm hut, praying and singing hymns at the top of their lungs. Even the natives, who had no idea what was going on, were performing some kind of traditional ritual, and the so-called Christians didn’t say a word about it. Is this what racial harmony looks like…

….

What is going on?

So, what I’ve done so far is…[2]

• Come back from the dead.
• Kill a nonbeliever.
• Comfort the enemy who stabbed me.
• Heal the soldiers who attacked me.

…

…

…

Thinking about it, that’s exactly how it played out.

…Uh, uh oh.

I felt a cold sweat, as if a faucet had been turned on, trickling down my spine.

What do they all think of me now?

What’s going to happen to me now?

What… am I?

***

• This image is a historical map depicting the political territories of southeastern North America in the year 1588. It highlights the extent of Spanish colonial influence and pinpoints a key location related to the Roanoke Colony.

 

• On the continent: 북아메리카 (Bugamerika) — North America
• Label in Florida: 산 아구스틴 (SanAguseutin) — St. Augustine
• Label in the inset map: 크로아토안 섬 (Keuroatoanseom) — Croatoan Island
• Legend Title: 북아메리카, 1588 (Bugamerika,1588) — North America, 1588
• Legend Text: 스페인 식민지 (Seupeinsigminji) — Spanish Colony / Spanish Colonial Territory

 

Historical Context

• The Year 1588: The Roanoke Colony was founded in 1587, and its governor, John White, sailed back to England for supplies that same year. He intended to return in 1588, but his voyage was prevented by the Anglo-Spanish War and England’s need for all available ships to fight the Spanish Armada. This map, therefore, shows the situation on the continent during the exact year the colonists were left alone.
• Spanish Colony (스페인 식민지): The area shaded in light blue represents Spanish Florida (La Florida). The point labeled St. Augustine (산 아구스틴) was its capital and the primary Spanish military outpost in the region, founded in 1565. This highlights the substantial power and presence of the Spanish Empire just to the south of the fledgling English colony at Roanoke.
• Inset Map of Croatoan Island (크로아토안 섬): By zooming in on Croatoan Island, the map connects the large-scale political situation to the specific local mystery of the Lost Colony. It places the colonists’ potential destination in direct relation to the territories controlled by England’s primary rival, Spain.