Drowning is a survival flag. In fact, there’s a system in place that cleverly incorporates this idea, so there’s no doubt about its accuracy. I remember the point system being pretty generous when I struggled hard with my role—it was enjoyable enough to overlook the messy data.
“Ughhh, hack, guh!!”
Well, judging from the sight of me crawling up the sewer in a sorry state, coughing up disgusting phlegm, it all seems to be an after-the-fact conclusion.
What can I say? Humans aren’t built to swim in full armor, and that’s on top of having an arrow jammed in my left arm.
“Sa…sa-according to schedule…”
Though there’s no one watching, I mutter under my breath while tasting the water I swallowed—an excuse masked in bitterness.
With the waterlogged weight of my body, the <Invisible Hand> skill hoisted me up against a wall. Without forcing myself upward with “the hand,” I would’ve been on the brink of becoming chummy with riverbed rocks, incapacitated by the weight of my armor and blood loss. Had the arrow’s entry point been just a little less precise, I would have been generous nourishment for fish and insects by now.
“Damn, I was just about to hit triple digits in enemy takedowns!”
I mutter in frustration and inspect the wound. The arrow embedded in my upper left arm is a fine make, and the point sending waves of pain through my flesh shows off a nasty quality.
Once again, I found myself caught in an intense skirmish during an ambush. Just as I thought I was safe, a fatal arrow strikes out of nowhere. I couldn’t sense the shooter, nor the attack’s lethargic and faint killing intent. Despite paying heed to sniper positions, I was hit anyway… Perhaps the one who missed me the first time came back in earnest after I dodged poorly.
It seems that way somehow. Dodging improperly seemed to provoke them. If my reaction had been just a few seconds slower, the arrow would’ve hit my shoulder instead of the upper arm, effectively incapacitating me.
Honestly, the density of talent in the Threefold Empire is overwhelming. They embrace all kinds of races indiscriminately—I’ve felt it firsthand—but isn’t this a bit excessive?
“Hmph…”
Checking by gripping my left hand, movement and pain both confirm there’s no nerve damage and no harm to the muscle either. It’s chilling how close it came, but it seems luck hasn’t abandoned me yet.
So, what to do next? Gazing up at the unusually clean sewer roof, I exhale laboriously from my lungs.
I believe I’ve drawn enough attention. The grand chase that involved fleeing and causing chaos managed to occupy several hours until the sun fully set, tightening the trap near the waterways. Ideally, I would’ve caused more havoc under the cover of night, perhaps until dawn—but this chaos isn’t bad either. Moreover, the drowning conclusion was anticipated.
The waterways of the Imperial Capital connect to the sewers. If things get too tough up top, diving down and transitioning to the second phase of evasion was part of the plan devised within minutes. Although it’s less glamorous than running above, it’s better than getting caught.
Besides, this wound could be seen as advantageous. With the notion that a man in armor who fell into the water would likely drown, search efforts would likely divert toward cleaning out the gutters, giving me time to put some distance between myself and them. If they’re busy wrestling with the mud, I should be fine for now.
At any rate, first things first—I need to deal with this unwelcome guest invading my flesh. Not only is the environment challenging, there’s a real risk of infection.
When I try to pull the arrow out, the meat around it tightens and it won’t budge easily. Moreover, it really hurts, so the arrowhead probably has some sort of barb attached.
“Ohhh…this sucks…but…”
It seems pulling it out forcefully would do more harm than good. The location isn’t near any major arteries, so that’s alright, but not dying and not being in pain are separate issues. Even I, who don’t instantly destroy arrows upon impact, know this much.
“Namu Namu Three!”
After steadying my breathing, I clenched a corner of my clothes between my teeth— to prevent biting my tongue out of reflex and sparing my teeth—and pushed the arrowhead forcefully inward with “the hand.” Since I can’t directly interfere in my own body with “the hand,” raw force was the only option.
In the future I’ll seriously consider picking up add-ons for “the hand” or even healing skills. I made a firm mental vow.
“Ugh…!?”
Intense pain causes my vision to boil white as the arrowhead, designed to efficiently tear through human flesh, mercilessly rips through my arm and breaks free, scattering the formation of the <Invisible Hand> skill with the pain-induced turmoil in my brain.
“Huff…huff…huff…”
My breathing becomes erratic, overwhelmed by the pain. I’m overcome with regret for not acquiring <Pain Tolerance> earlier—how shortsighted of my past self. Genuine murderous intent arises toward that version of myself.
I feel like going on a time machine hunt.
“Ow…ugh…”
Although I’ve been through worse in the previous magical palace, when my brain was fried from magical exhaustion, this kind of pain is a different beast. Tears well up in my eyes. My sinuses clog with mucus, and pitiful sounds escape involuntarily. Having lived through many injuries despite my origins as a farmer’s son, this is certainly a cut above the rest.
I clumsily snap the arrow shaft and, amidst a flood of tears, pull the foreign object out of my flesh, feeling the most awful sensation as it tunnels through. Angered by the projectile that mercilessly penetrated my armor causing real damage, I toss it into the sewage below.
“Damn, I get why NPCs who lose heart quit adventuring.”
It’s excruciating. So much so that my vocabulary becomes impoverished. Fighting while this is lodged inside? That questions one’s sanity. Frontliners regularly cover for their allies while taking multiple hits like this; upon reflection, I truly respect them. The tanks standing in front of the squishy backliners are truly remarkable.
Taking out the distilled alcohol stored in my pouch for disinfection, I begin treating the wound. I need to make good use of the time I’ve earned. If the wound worsens to the extent it requires amputation, I’ll have much more to cry about.
How long until the ship departs? Once it does, I’ll be able to lie low in Lady Agrippina’s workshop, waiting for Lady Cecilia to resolve the family drama with the formidable influence of her aunt. Still, given it’s an unveiling event, we might not set sail immediately. Likely, there’ll be sightseeing flights with influential nobles aboard.
I reflect on my inadequate assumptions: was I too naive? Something white catches my eye as it zips past.
A moth, with a fluffy design so white it stands out even in the dark sewer.
The aching, fatigued part of me overlooks it casually—a moth in the sewer, nothing unusual. But I should have been more cautious. Especially in a situation where magic battles are poorly executed.
Insects like that are prime tools for mages who manipulate them into all kinds of gadgets and tools…
【Tips】Familiars. In the Threefold Empire, this refers to magically or sorcerously enhanced creatures used to perform auxiliary tasks such as delivering messages or reconnaissance.
Though this technique originated in the western central continent before the establishment of the Threefold Empire, it has fallen out of favor in recent scholarly discussions for being ‘untidy’ due to the unpredictable nature of living creatures. However, old mages with genuine skills still possess familiars with tremendous practical utility.
A solitary monk rocks uncontrollably, his heart refusing to settle after a stealth mission.
The monk of the God of Night Shadow, who should normally be chaste, has cast aside their dignity and hidden themselves inside luggage. Riding alongside the monk’s association contingent aboard a flying vessel, they smuggle themselves on like a mischievous child among the baggage of a noble guest.
Originally, the baggage was filled with clothes prepared for the sea journey—quite a lot pulled out to make space—where the monk now sits, knees hugged, excitement and anxiety coursing through her chest.
This rocking motion is the result of porters loading supplies onto the vessel.
Even the baggage of an esteemed personage gets checked. Cargo undergoes numerous inspections to ensure it matches the declaration, and nothing suspicious is mixed within. No exceptions, regardless of ownership.
However, the “invisible accomplice” arranged by him ensured that everything went smoothly. The excess weight of clothing was rendered imperceptible, and when the bag was opened, some form of magic made the guards perceive nothing but neatly folded ordinary clothing. Ultimately, she was successfully stored in the ship’s hold.
“It was a success,” she says quietly, though she had doubted such a childishly simple method could work.
In truth, had she merely hidden inside the luggage, she would’ve been found easily. There was no room for conjecture; it would certainly have failed.
She doesn’t know it, but as a top-secret airship, the cargo was scrutinized using not only visual checks but also thorough magical scans performed by mages. Using thought waves to detect living organisms and distinguish malintent, even high-ranking mages were fooled by fairies. Existing as living concepts that are essentially “phenomena,” fairies exhibit remarkable strength in their true function.
Fairies lead astray or sometimes guide, a duality they embody.
Moreover, her presence as a monk under the blessing of the Night Shadow God also aided her infiltration. Although this god is associated with “madness” in its opposition, it occasionally grants spiritual defense to its followers, shielding their minds.
With a little help and a touch of good fortune, she was aboard the ship. Now she contemplates her next move. The temporary storage hold is spacious, providing numerous places to hide. Remaining hidden for three days would be simple.
As a vampire, she has no need for food or excretion, so she need only meditate in peace for three days. After that, stepping out to reveal her identity, the proper party would undoubtedly greet her as required.
Still, a nagging worry clouds her mind. What happened to that kind-hearted young man?
She cannot think optimistically that he maneuvered safely and now enjoys a cup of tea somewhere. She considers every worst-case scenario, a hallmark of master chess players.
He was mortal. Broken bones heal over months, severed heads cannot be reattached, and exploded organs lead to a helpless end.
Despite his abilities, he couldn’t fight the entire guard contingent for three days. Although he was competent, he wasn’t so “broken” as to do so.
Various grim fates flash across her thoughts: the boy captured and hanged, riddled with sword strikes, or staggering away to collapse alone. When she envisioned his head displayed on a pike, her body shuddered with a chilling fear.
All are plausible realities. The monk hugged her trembling body, resolutely vowing not to let these dark imaginings become real. That someone so earnestly helped her couldn’t simply be left behind. Could she proudly pray to her gods knowing she had relied solely on him?
It needed no debate. No one would find out, and even if they did, casting aside common people would attract no censure. Yet, she couldn’t forgive herself.
How could she proclaim her faith while acting so dishonorably? Such hypocrisy undermined her worship of the compassionate Mother.
Had she left the mortal youth to his fate while she remained a disgrace in the manor, she would’ve been better off relinquishing her imperfect immortality and returning to dust. Shedding her cloak at dawn and renouncing divine protection felt infinitely preferable—no, truer as both a believer and a person.
The latter might even stand justified before the gods in heaven.
Cecilia groaned and thought desperately. What could she do to help him? Though her abilities were limited, her mind eventually reached a solution. In her meager knowledge of magic, one method stood out for communicating with someone far away.
She reasoned such an item would likely be aboard. On a vessel this grand and vital to the state, it would be improbable not to carry such tools.
“Could you assist me?”
As earnest as prayer offered to divinity, ethereal phosphorescent light appeared.
With holy insignia in hand, she spoke the most revered maxim she believed among the many aphorisms passed down through generations: “To those who give, understand this: give with all your being. To those who receive, understand this: accept only one thing.”
She recited it as though to remind herself. To confirm. To make a resolve. Giving carelessly in the world of humans must be avoided. She firmly believed this was the most important maxim for interaction between people and relied on it as she leapt out of the baggage, leaving behind her modest set of monk robes. She felt great remorse for the shortage of clothes caused to her superior, but excused it as necessary for faith.
Ah, clothes lasting a day or two wouldn’t kill anyone. Aboard a ship, surely the sea mage could clean them with the <Purify> magic if asked.
With the lid secured and a small apology offered to her superior, the monk ventured into the vast interior of the ship….
【Tips】Among the pantheon near the Threefold Empire, self-execution or euthanasia is not a sin. Depending on the context, souls may be welcomed by their patron deity or comforted by a god of despair for those forced to take their own lives.
It seems my workplace is experiencing a complete mana flatline, preventing any creatures from accumulating no matter what I do. This month looks dire for me once again.
And this typhoon is essentially a middle finger to all real estate managers out there….
Ah, how many windows, dividers, and rooftops will fly off if this hits directly?
