NPC Fell onto My Bed C11

Chapter 11

For Noah, death was both unbearably distant and unbearably near.

Mother. Mother…

When he was still too young to even leave his mother’s embrace, war had broken out in the Empire. His hometown—a small village on the Empire’s outskirts—could not possibly escape its reach.

Corpses piled like mountains, and rivers of blood flowed thick enough to clutch at a child’s ankles. In that chaos, Noah lost the whole of his family. His mother’s heart was pierced through by an enemy’s enchanted arrow. His father, who had taken up farm tools in desperation to defend his family, was impaled by a soldier’s spear.

Noah survived only by hiding inside a wooden crate. He emerged from it a war orphan, and there was only one place left for him to go: the Church of Eir, which gathered up children bereft of their families by war. That Noah would spend his entire childhood there and eventually become a priest was, perhaps, inevitable.

“Hildegard, with the light of healing you bear, grant salvation unto the lost lambs.”

Even afterward, Noah was dragged into the frontlines time and again. It was unavoidable, for the light he wielded was so powerful that none in the world of Last Chronicle could match him. With a single strike of his staff, the waves of his healing would unfurl, easing the agony of the wounded.

But not even Noah’s light could save all. Again and again he lost comrades, lost his first disciple, and stood helpless as lives slipped away—lives he had not reached in time.

Each time, he would bite the inside of his cheek until it bled and whisper to himself,

“If only I had been faster… they would not have died.”

Such was the shape death took for him: if he had only arrived sooner, if he had only seen sooner, if he had only moved a little swifter, those lives might have been saved. That constant refrain of if only, if only drove Noah to the brink of madness.

Though he knew full well it was not his fault that they died, guilt layered endlessly within his heart, weight upon weight.

“…I am sorry, Gu Taeheon-nim.”

Murmuring, Noah forced his emotions under control. Staring blankly at the television, he at last rose to his feet. He had never grown immune to death’s sight. Unable to continue watching, he turned away and quietly left for his room.

“……”

What Gu Taeheon saw in him as he retreated, Noah did not know. There was no space left in him to consider it. To learn that war existed even in this world he had thought peaceful was enough to strike upon his deepest, long-buried scars.

He lay upon the soft bed. Above him, dazzling lights glared down from the ceiling, so bright his eyes stung.

“It is not my fault they die.”

Noah whispered the words Gu Taeheon had given him, over and over again. Eyes shut tight, he repeated them again and again, until his throat grew dry. For if he did not, he feared he would suffocate beneath the weight pressing upon his chest.

The following morning, Noah rose with his eyes swollen from tears. It was still dawn, before even the dew had yet to fall.

As always, he folded his bedding neatly, placed the pillow atop it, and knelt upon the bed to offer a prayer of thanks to the god Eir for granting him another day of life. Then he washed, not because any task demanded it, but because he longed for orderliness in himself.

Click.

When he stepped from his room, a different, unfamiliar presence awaited him.

“…Gu Taeheon-nim?”

That massive frame was impossible not to notice, standing there in the kitchen. When Noah called, Gu Taeheon’s broad shoulders jerked faintly before he turned, meeting his gaze with an awkward look.

“…Uh, did you sleep well?”

“Eh? Yes…”

Self-conscious of his puffed eyes, Noah lifted a hand to cover his face as he answered. No one would call it the face of someone well-rested.

Yet Gu Taeheon asked nothing. He said nothing of the swollen eyes. Instead, with a jerk of his chin, he motioned toward the dining table.

“Sit. Breakfast.”

“Breakfast…?”

Had he not still been sleeping at this hour yesterday?

As Noah stared at him in puzzlement, Gu Taeheon brought a white plate from the counter. Upon it lay a slice of bread, half-charred black. Next he set down a fried egg, its edges crisped too far on one side, before Noah.

“Eat.”

Noah looked down at the food, its appearance clumsy, unmistakably the work of one unskilled in cooking. Even in this unfamiliar world, Noah knew at least this much: Gu Taeheon was no cook.

Why then, had he risen early to prepare this?

When Noah glanced up at him, Gu Taeheon’s expression remained as indifferent as ever. With swollen eyes still visible, Noah smiled faintly.

“I will eat well, Gu Taeheon-nim.”

“…Good.”

Despite the bitterness of burnt food, his appetite stirred. For the first time in a very long while, Noah felt true hunger. He ate heartily, until his stomach was pleasantly full.

While Noah nibbled slowly through his slice of bread, Gu Taeheon finished one in two bites apiece.

“We’re going out today.”

“Out? For what reason?”

“…Don’t you remember? Nam Jinwoo asked us to dinner yesterday.”

Noah had not forgotten. Still, his question remained.

“Ah, that. But that is dinner, is it not?”

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

“My clothes?”

Noah lowered his gaze to himself. He saw nothing wrong.

At first, he had been embarrassed by the short-sleeved shirt and trousers. But with time he had found them far more practical than his flowing priest’s robes. He had grown fond of them.

“Is something wrong with my attire?”

“Your shoulders are slipping, and your pants look like they’d fall off if the string came loose.”

“Ah.”

They were loose, it was true. But hardly unwearable. If he tied the strings tightly and adjusted his shoulders often enough…

“So, first we’ll buy you clothes and some necessities at midday, then head to dinner.”

“…Gu Taeheon-nim, I have no money.”

“I do.”

His answer was curt. Money—he had more than he could ever spend. Noah knew that. Yet to him, Gu Taeheon’s wealth and his own lack were two separate matters entirely.

Thus, even after finishing the meal, Noah lingered uneasily. When Gu Taeheon donned a cap and mask, taking up his car keys, Noah still hesitated at the door. Spending another’s money so freely made him uncomfortable.

“I’ve got more money than I can spend in a lifetime. So let’s go.”

Only then did Noah finally step forward.

Entering what Gu Taeheon had called a “car,” Noah fidgeted awkwardly in the passenger seat.

Gu Taeheon, settling behind the wheel, caught sight of him sitting without a seatbelt. With a quiet sigh, he leaned across the seat—close enough for their breaths to meet—then pulled back, the belt now fastened snugly around Noah.

“We’re going.”

“Eh? Y-yes…!”

Outside, a new world unfolded.

When the car shot forward, faster than any carriage, Noah squeezed his eyes shut. Surely at such speed, the carriage would rattle so violently one could scarcely remain seated. Yet the car glided smooth, his body unmoved.

Opening his eyes, Noah looked around in wonder.

“This world truly is remarkable. To think it has such carriages in place of portals.”

“…Portals?”

“Yes. Have you never seen them? Many adventurers made use of them.”

Speaking casually, Noah forgot himself—forgetting that the man beside him bore another name: “Limp1219.” Gu Taeheon cast him a strange look as Noah’s attention wandered back to the passing streets.

“It is a most peaceful world.”

A world without monsters. Without dungeons.

People walked openly upon paved roads, unarmed, baring their bodies to display their forms. To Noah, it was an utterly foreign sight.

“…Traffic jam.”

At that, Noah turned his eyes forward. The car, which had leapt forward so swiftly, now stood barely moving, trapped in a line of others. Annoyance edged Gu Taeheon’s face.

“This road doesn’t jam. Why the hell is it—”

His words cut short. Leaning forward, peering past the windshield, Gu Taeheon caught sight of the scene ahead.

A crumpled vehicle. A twisted guardrail. Blood splattered across the wreckage.

“Noah.”

At once, Gu Taeheon called his name. Noah, who had been gazing idly out the opposite window, blinked and turned.

The wreckage would only grow clearer as they drew near. His mouth moved before his mind caught up.

“Close your eyes.”