Dealing with those caught in the grip of a cult is much the same whether you’re in the twenty-first-century Republic of Korea or here in the seventeenth century. The method is universal: open the doors of their guarded hearts, shatter their prejudices against the outside world, and help them find their way back to a stable, everyday life.
“Good morn—”
“Save us! Please! Just food! Give us a sack of potatoes, I beg of you!”
“…”
It was a grim sight. Most of these so-called cultists were on the brink of starvation, having tried to stubbornly scratch a living from the earth without the slightest clue how to farm. Perhaps it was because they were all city-born. Urbanites are remarkably ignorant whether it’s the twenty-first century or the seventeenth; they truly seemed to believe that if you just chopped a potato into pieces and shoved it in the dirt, it would magically flourish.
For people in such a state, a bit of oral rehydration salts and a bowl of porridge were enough to break their resolve in an instant. Considering how many people perished during the early days of England’s American colonization, it was a predictable outcome for a group of non-farmers attempting total self-sufficiency.
Regardless.
After three months of arduous struggle, we managed to restore economic and medical support to over a dozen villages where these “cultists” had gathered. For the record, “cultists” in this context refers to those Catholics, Puritans, Anglicans, and Scottish Presbyterians whose faith was so devout that they simply could not accept a man claiming to be an angel.
…To me, they were still a cult.
Nearly half of them had already been absorbed back into our community after failing to sustain themselves. Another quarter had yielded to persistent persuasion, gradually accepting the intervention of the Order and the Trade Company.
I suppose I could have forced them to convert. It might even have been safer for the Covenant. In this era, church and state, religion and politics, are inextricably linked. But that wasn’t the path I wanted to take. If a man from the twenty-first century is going to fall into this age, he ought to at least uphold his conscience and common sense.
They might accept our help only to betray us later, but if I forced their conversion now, I would be undermining the very foundation of our community: the separation of church and state. So, I had little choice but to teach them how to coexist with those of different faiths and beliefs. It would be a long, natural process—a territory I shouldn’t force my way into.
I only needed to do what I was capable of doing.
“Greetings. I am—”
Slam!
“Begone, you beast born of a curse! May you be cast into the lake of fire and sulfur along with your master, the Devil!”
“…”
And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever. Revelation 20:10. Not that the citation particularly mattered.
Exhale.
It was fine. I had received this kind of treatment enough to grow sick of it. At first, it left a foul taste in my mouth, but now it didn’t bother me at all. I turned to find the next village.
“Good morn—”
“Aaaah! The Antichrist is here! The Antichrist has come!”
Thud!
What is wrong with these people? I had my face hidden behind a cloak, yet they recognized me instantly. It wasn’t just this place; I’d been barred from three or four villages already. I needed to know why.
“Excuse me! How did you recognize me?”
“…”
I just asked. I’m the type who can’t stand an unanswered question.
“How did you know I was Nemo?”
“…”
“I’m genuinely curious! Tell me that, and I’ll leave you in peace!”
“…”
“If you don’t answer, I’ll just sit right here! It looks like this is the only entrance to your village, so if I stay here, it might be quite inconvenient for you…”
“How could we not know when your wicked power rings in our ears!” a voice barked from behind the gate.
Rings in their ears?
“By any chance, how many languages do you speak?” I asked.
“…”
“I assume you speak English, and likely French and Latin? Judging by your lilt, you might even know Cornish.”
“Aye! You’re right, so shut your mouth, you fiend!”
I see. If you station a polyglot at the entrance, identification becomes simple.
“Thank you for letting me know! Is there anything you might need—”
“You’ve been at it for five hours! Aren’t you tired of yourself? Begone!”
Slam!
The foul-tempered man bolted the heavy timber gate and doused me with cold water. I narrowly dodged the splash. Does he have any idea how much this outfit cost?
Hmm.
I pondered the situation as I made my way home. My ability had become too widely known. The villages had likely even shared tips on how to drive me away. This was problematic. The deprogramming of the cultists was almost complete, and I couldn’t risk sending an Apostle or anyone else. If they were harmed or attacked, it would be a disaster. I was safe because of my unique condition, but everyone else was far too busy.
Yet, there was no way to hide the ability. Could a man stop his own heart from beating? My power simply worked in much the same way.
I decided to give myself a long-overdue vacation and returned to Croatoan, but the nagging discomfort of the problem remained. Even after shedding the stifling stockings and changing into a comfortable T-shirt, the unease lingered. I spun around in my PC chair, but thoughts of work wouldn’t dissipate.
…What was I supposed to do? If only I could temporarily disable this “Korean Language Patch.”
While the patch had been a godsend, it was also a massive restriction. When I met Elizabeth, I had to feign a language impediment for ages, and I had to hide whenever explorers from other nations arrived. One wrong move could lead to a catastrophe. It even prevented me from acting in situations where I needed to be present; I couldn’t even receive foreign envoys formally, forced to use proxies in a ridiculous charade.
It was ironic that the ability to communicate with anyone had become my greatest limitation, but that was my reality. I sighed and stared at my computer—the very machine where Immortal Order was installed.
“If only I could cancel the Korean patch…”
…Wait.
Cancel the patch?
I stopped spinning and squared my body before the computer. I pressed the power button and waited in agonizing suspense as the monitor flickered to life. For the first time in decades, I considered accessing “that game.” I had been too terrified to touch it until now, fearing that any tinkering might lead to another disaster.
But what choice do I have?
Once the thought took root, I had to act. If my theory was correct, the potential gain was immense.
Click.
I entered the Steaming Store—somehow, it connected despite the lack of internet.
Click.
I found Immortal Order: Origin in my library and right-clicked the title. The settings window opened. I clicked on “Properties.”
Click.
A menu appeared: General, Updates, Installed Files, Betas, Controller…
Found it. Betas.
Click.
—Select the beta you would like to opt into.
Launch Version (1.0.2).
None.
There were only two choices. It made sense; I had bought the game the moment it was released. I clicked Launch Version (1.0.2) and rubbed my palms together as the loading bar crawled across the screen.
—Warning: This beta may be canceled if a serious risk to the user is detected.
A text box with those ominous words appeared. I carefully noted the contents. It wasn’t a warning to be ignored. Whatever happened, I didn’t plan on being caught off guard twice. I clicked “Accept.”
Then, another window popped up.
—Language localization and various updates for non-English speakers may not be applied.
Exactly! That’s exactly what I wanted!
I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Without hesitation, I moved to click—
“…”
Was it really okay to click this? As a man who had been dropped into the seventeenth century after a few wrong clicks, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anxiety. I knew exactly why I hadn’t thought of this before; I had been too terrified that touching this ominous game would cause another disaster.
Should I stop? I had no idea what would happen.
…
…
…
Click.
It would be fine. For some reason, I had a “hunch” that it would be okay. And since falling into this world, I had learned never to ignore my hunches.
The loading began. I waited with crossed arms.
—O Immortal One.
Ah.
—Be prepared.
Flicker.
“…”
Again. The computer died instantly, accompanied by that damnable, ominous message. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and checked the window. Be prepared? For what? What kind of ordeal was the system planning for me this time?
“…Everything looks normal.”
Fortunately, the landscape outside hadn’t changed. The memory of the moment the primordial forest had suddenly appeared outside my window was still vivid, but it hadn’t happened again. Similarly, there were no alarming changes within the house. I let out a sigh of relief, shed my T-shirt, and changed into my period-appropriate clothes.
Now, it was time to verify.
I headed outside and found some villagers working near the farm. A man and a woman were waving to each other, locked in conversation. I moved toward them cautiously, keeping out of sight. When I finally reached a distance where I could make out their words…
I heard it.
“My necessaries are imbark’t; Farewell!”
They were the same sounds that had surrounded me for a lifetime, yet the words and the cadence were both familiar and strange.
“Let me heare from you!”
But I could read and write those words. I could even understand and speak them, to a degree. It was the English of this era—Shakespearean English, otherwise known as Early Modern English.
As I stood there, dazed by the surreal sensation, a familiar voice drifted from behind me.
“Ah, yet heere!”
I turned to find a woman in a simple green linen dress smiling at me. A young woman who bore a striking resemblance to someone I knew well. It was Eleanor’s daughter, Virginia Dare—no, Viccars now. She had married, hadn’t she?
I bowed my head to her. “Aye, Virginia. I was here. How are you faring? Is your recovery after the birth proceeding well?”
Virginia tilted her head slightly. “You seem… a bit hesitant in your speech today? Are you well?”
It was a shock to hear Shakespearean-era English coming from her mouth instead of Korean. I smiled and chose my words carefully. “I am simply tired today. I was just about to return home to rest.”
“I see! Then I suppose I cannot tell you about the child. How unfortunate.”
“The baby? Ah, you mean Gideon.”
“Indeed! Mother baptized him and gave him his name! He is… a truly beautiful child.”
Good heavens, Virginia was finally a mother. Though late by the standards of this era, it was still surreal to me. The infant I remembered was now a woman with a child of her own. She was a child without a father, yet she had grown up wanting for nothing. As the daughter of an Apostle, she had been raised with the care and love of the entire community. And now she had a family of her own…
…
…
…
Family.
Wait. I felt a strange, alien sensation.
…
…
…
No. It wasn’t alien. It only felt that way because it had been so long. This was…
…
…
…
Ah. I knew what it was.
“Are you alright? You’ve gone pale all of a sudden…”
“I’m fine.”
“Truly? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
In truth, I wasn’t sure if I was fine. It had been so long since I had felt this way. “I’ll… I’ll be heading inside now.”
“Oh, very well! I shall see you tomorrow! You must rest!”
I didn’t wait for Virginia’s farewell; I turned and ran straight for the house. Family. I ducked into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast. I stared into the mirror. My face was twisted in a bizarre grimace.
Family.
My family. The ones I would never see again.
…It was strange. I had missed them, had been sad, but I had never felt this horrible. Not once in the last thirty years. The thought of my family, my friends, my neighbors whom I would never see again… I had never felt as though a piece of my soul had been ripped away like this.
Splash.
I plunged my face into the water. I repeated the action several times, lost in thought. The cold water seemed to pull me back from the violent vortex of emotion.
And then, I realized. I had the power of recovery. An ability that could reconstruct my body from ash. And it seemed that recovery wasn’t limited to the physical.
My hands began to tremble. I closed my eyes, suppressing the hot lump rising in my chest with a hard swallow, and opened them again. I had scrubbed my face too hard; my fingernail had left a small scratch on my skin.
The wound did not heal.
I tentatively felt for a “switch” in my mind. I didn’t know how long it had been there, but I was suddenly aware of its existence.
Flip.
The scratch on my face vanished as if erased, and the knot in my chest loosened instantly. I was still sad, but it was bearable—a bitter longing that lingered in the back of my throat. I flipped the switch back, and everything returned to normal. The wound in my heart reopened, raw and bleeding.
I returned to the computer; it was still dead. But a voice whispered in my ear.
—Be prepared.
—And be cautious.
—O Immortal One, for you shall never die.
…So that’s what it meant.
I had gained the ability to turn off my abilities. Just as one knows how to move their limbs or breathe without being taught, the knowledge filled my mind. I knew instinctively how to toggle the switch. No one had to teach me, any more than someone has to teach a fish how to swim.
Somehow, I knew that turning off my powers wouldn’t kill me. The certainty filled my chest. It wasn’t a matter of faith; it was knowledge. I would not die. No matter what happened.
“…”
The crushing weight of that sentence struck me deeply, causing my chest to tighten. I rushed to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of barley tea, hoping to clear the blockage in my throat. However, I knew that a physical solution wouldn’t resolve this.
Fear gripped me. I was terrified of being the sole witness to the passage of time alongside the stars. I feared living with my eyes wide open until the very last light in the universe extinguished. I dreaded watching everyone I knew succumb to death, witnessing every place I knew being buried beneath the silt of time. I feared watching everything I loved and cherished wither away, unable to withstand the relentless tide of years.
The fear settled in my chest with an overwhelming weight, as if my heart had turned to lead. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in thirty long years.
Instead of turning my abilities back on, I retreated to my room and spent the hours until dusk immersed in family photos, reading old text messages from friends, and watching movies and dramas that had brought me joy. I huddled before the computer.
I didn’t turn my powers back on until I was ready to sleep. As I lay in bed and flipped the mental switch, I felt the wounds in my heart begin to heal. Only a faint scar remained, a subtle ripple in the surface of my emotions.
I felt a deep sense of responsibility to not forget this heavy emotion so easily. To me, it felt like a testament to my humanity.
And so, I had gained yet another ability.