.｡.:✧ Chapter 2 ✧:.｡.

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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“What?”

…Do I really look like a monster?

I blankly stared at her, stunned by the shocking remark from her pretty lips. Her skin was not just pale, but ghostly white, yet her haggard beauty remained undiminished. Her heterochromatic eyes had dimmed but still not lost their keen gaze.

And her curvaceous figure, barely covered.

Ah.

I hurriedly turned away.

“I’m not a monster.”

It was a bit of a blow to be called a monster, not by just anyone, but by a Saint. Does my face really look that monstrous? I approached the mirror hanging on the wall and examined my features from various angles – I didn’t seem inhumanly disfigured. Just what did she see to call me a monster?

It’s unfair. I may be rough, but not monstrously ugly enough to be called that. Thinking maybe something was stuck on my face, I walked over to the small mirror propped in the corner salvaged from a washed-up shipwreck long ago. The mirror clearly reflected my appearance.

Ah.

The reflection of myself that I had personally crafted looked, well, a bit monstrous I suppose. Sure, I had shaved off most of my beard quite cleanly, but there were scars crisscrossing my face and an unkempt mane that even covered my eyes, not to mention my bare upper body.

And that upper body was riddled with gnarled, torn, and melted scars – the lingering marks of my rugged life. Seeing such a fearsome-looking bare-chested man glaring at her must have been quite the fright. The body I was reincarnated into also had an intimidatingly large build that added to the intimidation factor.

All things considered, having a rough-looking, pant-clad man staring you down would understandably startle anyone. But to be judged a monster is still…

“Ah, I’m…sorry. I was just surprised and misspoke…”

“It’s fine.”

I turned back around and sat before her. For a while, neither of us spoke. Perhaps like me, she was carefully choosing her words.
Come to think of it, we can understand each other’s language. Belatedly realizing this, I scratched my head in thought.
A Saint wouldn’t know Korean, so was I given some language patch upon reincarnating? After 10 years, I couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or curse.
Compared to the decade of deprivation, it was a meager consolation at best.

“Um…”
At her call, I turned to meet her gaze.
Ah, she averted her eyes.
We repeated this awkward dance of making eye contact, then looking away, for some time.
The stifling awkwardness felt suffocating.

Having a conversation after 10 years of isolation was no easy feat. How to continue the discussion? How to respond properly without giving offense? What would be an appropriate reply? Just thinking about it felt like my brain was going on strike.

I should try to defuse the tension, but what to say? Would I just make it weirder? We can understand each other, but what if I misspeak and things get derailed from the start?

As I silently floundered, the frail Saint mustered her courage to speak first.

“You’re the one who saved me…? Thank you.”

“I just did what had to be done.”

If there’s a living person, I’ll take them in first. Despite living without others, I haven’t lost my humanity.
Karina gave a gentle smile at my reply, followed by a cough. From straining herself in front of the hearth, no doubt. I quietly lifted her back onto the bed and covered her with a blanket.

“…Thank you, sir whose name I don’t know.”

“Johann Quartz.”

The name displayed in my status window. No need to give my original name – I’ve lived as this body for 10 years, so I had no hesitation using its name. Karina repeated my name to herself, then asked from the bed:

“The food…”

Ah right, I should feed her first. Can’t do anything on an empty stomach, as they say. I stirred the contents of the pot with a ladle. Once it seemed ready to eat, I poured the stew into a bowl.

The savory green-tinged stew filled half the bowl. Not too large, but still potentially too much for a sick patient. Using a wooden spoon I had carved myself, I scooped up some stew, blowing on it before carefully guiding it into Karina’s slightly parted lips.

Like a baby bird, Karina eagerly ate the stew I spoonfed her. After emptying the bowl, she looked up at me with longing eyes.

“…May I have more, please?”

“Eating too much at once will make you sick.”

After such prolonged starvation, her stomach can’t handle much yet. For now, small meals to gradually restore its function. Karina gazed wistfully at the pot, but rules are rules.

I cleared away her bowl and placed the pot hanging over the hearth onto the hand-carved table. Karina was now fixated on staring at the pot on the table. Perhaps I should have given her a bit more. My resolve was wavering.

“Wait for the next meal.”

“I…understand. Ah, if I may ask, were there any other survivors besides me…?”

Instead of answering, I shook my head. Seeing my response, Karina muttered dejectedly, “I figured as much…” Given the shipwreck, it would be difficult to find any other survivors besides her.

Just look at the dozens I’ve had to bury on this island alone. People engulfed by the mysterious vortex surrounding it and perished. Karina’s miraculous survival must have been blessed by the divine.

Conversely, that level of luck allowed her to drift ashore from the sinking wreck.

Then how did this body’s original owner survive…Ah, he didn’t, which is why I reincarnated into it. Like many isekai stories, the original soul never spoke to me. He must have passed on.

“Renny…”

Renny, Renny…that name rang a bell. As the Saint muttered it forlornly, I racked my brain until recalling it was a character’s name from the game.

Renny, Karina’s knight escort.

Apparently tough enough to be called the “Motherless Renny.” A boss treated as the final enemy in the route where she betrays humanity to the monster fiends. Moving at absurd speeds despite her heavy armor was such bullshit.

But I can’t imagine that boss dying by drowning.

One of Survival Academy’s most notoriously difficult bosses, bested by mere drowning…With Renny’s skills, she should have been able to run across the ocean waves like a wuxia hero to reach this island, never mind all her broken equipment skills. To go down from something as mundane as drowning after I finally cleared her insane 72-hit pattern felt anticlimactic.

“Sir Johann.”

“What is it?”

“Where is this place?”

The question any castaway would naturally ask first. Come to think of it, it took me a month after waking up here to conclude this was a deserted island. I had spent so much time in denial and anguish that the memory is still vivid enough to give me nightmares.

I wonder what hearing the declaration of being stranded will feel like coming from someone else. In response to Karina’s question, I spoke:

“A deserted island.”

“A deserted island?”

“No one’s here. That’s what makes it deserted.”

“But you’re here, Sir Johann? So doesn’t that mean it’s not deserted…? And I’m here too…”

Is that really important? Stumped by her sudden philosophical curveball, I didn’t respond. My brain felt like it was breaking from this perplexing conversation. I grabbed a wooden cup and filled it at the handmade water filter.

As I filled that first cup, I sensed her piercing gaze on my back. Having whittled simple tools in my spare time, I had plenty of extra cups. After filling two cups, I sat back down before Karina.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Carefully, I slowly poured water into Karina’s mouth. Like a baby bird, she drank up the water I gave her. I blankly watched her do so. If a person is beautifully radiant enough, even the simple act of drinking water can feel like admiring artwork.

I realized this must be what people mean when they say observing beauty is healing in itself.

After drinking, Karina seemed refreshed, her parched expression replaced by a look of comfort. As I gazed at her drowsy half-lidded eyes, I recalled her clothes needed washing. The outer garments seemed intact, so a good laundering should allow her to wear them again.

I couldn’t just have her remain in underwear indefinitely, so this was the pragmatic choice to make. Yes, absolutely not at all an excuse to escape this stifling situation.

“Where are you going?”

“Laundry.”

“Ah…laundry. Yes, I suppose that’s important…”

A tinge of disappointment in her voice. Did she not want to be left alone? After being confined solo in that barrel for so long, it’s understandable she would crave company. I too had tried all sorts of desperate measures over 10 years of isolation to cope with the loneliness.

I actually stopped at making my fifth imaginary friend out of sheer self-loathing.

Having five imaginary friends made me feel like the kid getting bullied and ostracized. Just incessantly rambling to myself while five other “people” gave me the silent treatment – it was like being ghosted in a group chat.

“Sir Johann?”

“What is it?”

“Did I happen to introduce myself earlier?”

Ah, now that she mentions it, no she didn’t. While I’m already familiar with the character Karina, I never actually got her real personal introduction as a human apart from that. This awkward situation aside, I should still hear her out properly.

“…No, you didn’t.”

“I’m Karina. A priestess of the Kalon faith.”

…Right, a priestess. Saints are priestesses first and foremost. Perhaps she phrased it that way to avoid the weighty implications of outright calling herself a Saint. If she’s anything like I know, she’s trying to put me at ease.
In that case, I should reintroduce myself as well.
Elaborating a bit more, I stated my name again:

“Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Johann Quartz. I’ve lived on this deserted island for 10 years.”

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