Northerlheim [2]
Chapter. 49
His blue eyes gleamed as the bullet pierced through his bones. Strangely, death did not come. He was still alive. Still able to move as before, as if what had just happened was nothing more than a dream that would fade the moment someone woke from a long sleep.
The white fog began to react, forcing the three of them apart as if something were pushing their bodies away. But it was not force.
Huh? Shouldn’t his heart have been destroyed by that hot lead? The shooter woman’s thoughts spiraled into chaos. Questions collided inside her head, about how she had ended up in this place, and about what she had just witnessed.
She gave a small nod, a meaningless reflex. Sweat slowly dampened her face. Her breath remained trapped in her chest, as if she were holding something that words could not explain.
She did not want to seek enemies.
“Where are you from?” she asked loudly, forcing her voice to sound firm, an attempt at intimidation, hoping the two of them would give in and provide information without resistance.
The white fog was too thick for her to see clearly. But Moreira caught subtle movements from her, her fingers repeatedly fidgeting, like someone trying to suppress nervousness. Or perhaps fear.
He’s a man. The other one is also a woman? The swordsman… his height is almost the same as mine, maybe. Meanwhile, the shooter woman is taller than both of us.
Moreira’s brow twitched.
The Western Continent?
That fact struck him slowly. If this shooter woman truly came from the Western Continent of Karanda, a land separated by countless miles from the Southern Continent, his homeland, then this place was far more than just an isolated space.
The corner of Moreira’s lips lifted. Not a smile. More like shock that had yet to take shape.
So, in this place… I’m not alone. There might be hundreds. Thousands. Or even millions of people dragged here from other continents, or from the same land as mine. From the south. Chynoria.
“Come out,” Moreira finally said. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not an enemy. Maybe.” At the end of his words, he lowered his voice so the two of them would not hear clearly.
The sound never truly reached their ears. But the sentence entered their minds directly.
The dagger slipped back into his coat pocket. Moreira decided to step closer, unwilling to hide anything or make suspicious movements, prepared to face both of them at once if the situation turned hostile.
Meanwhile, the woman’s eyes darted left and right instinctively, or perhaps from confusion and fear after being in this place for far too long, enough to erode her sanity.
“Before that, there’s something I want to ask,” the woman finally said, her voice wrapped in forced confidence.
Both men kept their mouths shut, unwilling to say a single word. They let the sentence hang in the air as they continued walking toward each other.
Ck. How strange. I didn’t die. Shouldn’t my heart be shattered by now? The man glanced at his chest.
And I don’t want to talk to you, bitch, damn it…
His sword vanished in an instant, like dust carried away by the wind.
The white fog was pushed aside by the three of them, forming a small circle just enough to contain them, though the fog still lingered, thinner than before.
They stood facing one another, staring, remaining alert in case any of them made a suspicious move.
The woman stood upright without moving, her gaze lowered slightly. Her body was wrapped in a long dark coat that reached her calves, with a layer of golden-yellow fabric at the bottom that looked soft yet heavy. Her long black hair fell messily, partially covering her face and neck.
Her posture remained calm, mysterious, and melancholic, as if she were blending into the surrounding white fog to conceal her true emotions.
“So… where are we now?” the man finally asked, stretching his muscles and legs, feeling stiff after wandering aimlessly without finding any clues.
The woman stayed silent. Meanwhile, Moreira still understood nothing, choosing to remain quiet and observe the two of them first.
He gave a small nod instinctively, raising his hand. His index finger, cold from contact with the white fog, pointed toward the woman standing to his left. That was correct.
Huh? Me? The woman straightened her gaze, finally able to see the two men clearly, one with a confident expression, the other staring at her indifferently.
She let out a short breath and said in a restrained tone, “I’ve been here for one year. Same as you, I know nothing. When I realized it, I was already here.”
“Looking for a way out is pointless. That’s all I can say. Believe me.”
I already know that, idiot.
Moreira thought flatly.
She continued, “Since the first time I arrived here, I counted it myself. Recorded it. Made sure one year passed. Even my pocket watch doesn’t work here. Or maybe it’s this strange world.”
She took the watch from her coat pocket, opened its lid, and showed them the long hand stuck at twelve and the short hand at eight as proof.
Hmm. So the shooter lady has been in this world for far too long. I don’t remember how long I’ve been here, but one thing’s certain. On December 18th, I was supposed to meet someone… The blue-eyed man’s thoughts grew chaotic, cursing his own foolishness for underestimating what had happened to him.
He turned his head, his blue eyes filled with vigilance as they locked onto Moreira, who had been silently observing him as if planning something.
“Hey. How did you end up in this world?”
The man’s eyes stayed fixed on Moreira, unable to let the question remain unspoken.
This man… he’s not what I imagined. They’re very different from him.
Moreira nodded slightly, cleared his throat, then spoke in a low voice, “Chynoria. That’s all I can say. Beyond that… I’m curious about the beautiful and cold lady standing over there.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she instinctively pointed at herself, either from confusion or reflex.
“Curious why?” she muttered, grinding her teeth slightly while slipping her hand into her coat pocket, ready.
Moreira paused for a moment, scratched his head, then said with a slight pout, “No need to think about it. By the way, have either of you met anyone else?”
Shuisa Kaityln, a woman around twenty-five years old, lived at the far left of the Southern Continent of Chynoria, within the Intim Empire, in the city of Bulkan. Her daily life was simple. She lived with her younger sibling and niece after losing her parents, had no permanent job, and took on odd jobs for fair payment.
Her sudden arrival in this place happened after she decided to leave an influential area in her city, a small region in the highlands with a grand abandoned structure surrounded by rows of ancient castles, as if imprisoning the building itself.
Very few people were present there. Murmurs echoed, the sound of mountain winds, and the voice of someone, a friend calling her name, just as her consciousness suddenly faded, pulled by something mysterious.
“Yes. I met two other people besides you two,” Shuisa said, gesturing forward.
“About five people,” the man muttered calmly, as if he did not care about the presence of others in Notherlheim.
Moreira remained still, his right hand holding his chin. His hand trembled violently, his heartbeat quickening, as if something was wrong after reconsidering everything.
About my previous location on the roadside connected to the square, and the fact that the buildings there were completely intact. Strange.
His eyes blinked repeatedly, failing to find the source of the problem. He straightened his posture and spoke in a restrained voice,
“Notherlheim has no time. So I have only one question. What date were you two dragged into this world, and did you receive any information about the destruction of Moran?”
Moran… shouldn’t that city be on the Southern Continent? So far from the Western Continent, yet he’s here with me and that damned woman? What kind of twisted world is this? The corner of his lips curved upward, not in a smile, but in shock after realizing that what the person he met before had said might be true.
“I don’t know,” the woman replied, her tone as sharp as a newly sharpened blade, having never heard such information in her city.
“I see. That’s unfortunate,” Moreira muttered, letting out a short sigh.
After that, no more questions or words were spoken. It was as if the three of them had already surrendered, left with no choice but to exist forever in this world, letting their sanity erode, or worse, letting their bodies rot.
A passage from a scripture Moreira had once read. It might sound strange or illogical, but in Notherlheim, the concept of “death” did not function as it did in the human world. Death did not come from the outside, but from within, total mental collapse. When one’s mental state shattered, hollowed out, or became trapped in the abyss of resignation, both body and soul would be erased at a fundamental level, leaving nothing behind, forgotten by family, friends, and all who had ever known them.
But Moreira did not know this. He had never finished translating even a single line of that book, or more precisely, he did not know how to translate it into the Talazze language.
“So… there’s really no way out of this foggy world?” the man asked, seeking confirmation.
Moreira smiled thinly. “More or less.”
