“It’s been almost three weeks since I returned to this side.
I think I’ve managed to adapt well enough in that time.
Just in case, I carry a meal’s worth of food in my bag, along with a pocketknife and a lighter.
The pocketknife, in particular, comes in handy even without being caught in a natural disaster.
It’s useful for cutting something, unwrapping tightly sealed packages, or prying out objects stuck in narrow spaces.
The blade is only about three centimeters long, so it doesn’t seem particularly suited for self-defense, but if it were against a person, it might still be of some use.
Then again, in this world, the only beings capable of attacking me are humans or small animals.
Based on my observations of my physical capabilities over the past few weeks, I think I could take on an average pet dog.
Of course, if it were a large dog nearing the size of a wolf, that might be a different story.
Carrying a weapon-like sword openly would almost certainly get me detained by the police.
Longswords or one-handed swords that I might be comfortable with are not only hard to come by in Korea but also impossible to carry around openly.
The cost wasn’t the issue—it was the legal implications.
Machetes or hand axes were excellent for offensive use and were considered tools rather than weapons, making them easier to acquire.
But still, carrying such items in a convenient, accessible manner wasn’t practical.
Walking around the middle of a peaceful urban area in Korea with a machete or hand axe in hand—or hanging from a bag—would only make me look like a threat.
So, what I chose was a small, non-foldable pocketknife.
Structurally sturdy enough, it could serve as a weapon in an emergency.
…Yes, I know.
The likelihood of ever using it on a person is almost nil, and if it ever came to that, it would be an enormous problem in itself.
But even this small measure gave me peace of mind.
Since I can’t always carry a backpack, I have a small bag that holds just enough survival essentials to sling over my arm.
Without it, walking around makes me feel like I’ve forgotten something important.
So, even if I never use it, I still carry it with me.
That was the second rule I set for myself when I arrived in this world.
Of course, the first rule was my morning exercise routine.
In the other world, I would have a magic lesson with Dana, spar with Kalia, and practice archery with Arna.
Then, before breakfast, we’d all gather around Pia and offer a prayer to the goddess—a daily routine that repeated without fail.
Naturally, in this world devoid of magic, I couldn’t train in magic.
As for sword training…
There are kendo dojos here, but it would be vastly different from what I did with Kalia.
Archery or traditional Korean archery would also differ greatly from what I did with Arna.
So the only thing I could do on my own was to offer prayers to the goddess.
Every morning, after finishing breakfast, I offer a prayer of thanks.
I confirm the goddess’s presence.
That’s how I reassure myself that everything I experienced in the other world wasn’t just a fleeting dream.
…Yes, it wasn’t a dream.
Between what I went through in the other world and what I’m experiencing now, I still can’t fully grasp which one is more unrealistic.
Logically, this world, with almost no magic or divine power, seems more ‘realistic.’
After all, I’ve lived here far longer.
But unlike the slow, mundane days of this world, the other world, where every day was a fight for survival, left a far stronger impression.
Each day, which I considered routine, was a battlefield, and even when resting, I had to stay on guard.
In battle, the sharp intent to kill that brushed against my skin, the sensation of being watched, the rustling sounds from beyond the bushes…
Accepting all of it with heightened tension every day made the other world feel almost overwhelmingly real.
Since coming here… it feels like all that tension has suddenly dissipated.
I know it sounds ungrateful to complain about peace, but, how do I put it? It feels so calm and comfortable that it doesn’t seem real.
Not that the things in front of me look like illusions or anything.
It’s just…
Everything feels so normal here that it makes me wonder if the five years I spent there were nothing but a dream.
Even with all the evidence in front of me.
So, skipping my twice-daily prayers is not an option.
They’re my only proof that I was ever there.
My memories, which no one in this world could understand or accept if I were to share them.
“…Arna. Dana. Kalia. Pia.”
I softly recite the names of my comrades.
Taking out a piece of paper, I scribble their names with a pencil—though my poor handwriting, which Dana often criticized, remains the same.
The letters are crooked, but I think they’re legible enough for others to understand.
Letters from a world I’ll probably never need again.
They resemble the alphabet but differ in subtle details, and their pronunciation is entirely unlike the English alphabet I’m familiar with, which made learning them an immense challenge.
Now, they’re just a memory.
Underneath their names written in the common script of Irellexia, I jot down their pronunciations in Korean.
‘Interesting writing. Or is it just your messy handwriting making it look odd?’
When Dana, who had realized I was from another world, pestered me endlessly to share knowledge from my world, the first thing I taught her was how to write her name in Korean.
In truth, despite having lived in this world, I never came close to acquiring any specialized knowledge, so there wasn’t much I could teach Dana anyway.
“Well, I do admit my handwriting is bad.”
“Still, I was able to teach the structure of the script clearly. Dana learned Hangul much faster than I had learned the common script of Irellexia.”
While I managed to teach her how to read it, I couldn’t teach Korean itself thoroughly.
Korean, when you delve into its intricacies, is an immensely difficult language… though that wasn’t too much of a problem. I was at least able to teach her everyday language.
Dana was smart, so she quickly grasped whatever I taught her with just a little guidance.
The problem, however, was the translation magic.
When the goddess sent me to that world, she blessed me with a miracle that made every language I spoke sound like the language of that world.
Naturally, no matter what I said, as long as it had meaning, it was entirely translated for the listener.
The same applied in reverse.
As long as the words held meaning and form, even a strange mix of different languages would reach my ears as coherent speech.
Thanks to this, I was able to interpret the unique hybrid languages created at border zones and even serve as an interpreter for our party when communicating with people outside the kingdom.
But because of this, whenever I read a word aloud, it would also be translated directly into Dana’s ears.
As a result, I had to teach her words one letter at a time, with breaks in between.
It was a significant obstacle to teaching language.
…Of course, unlike the enormous struggle I had learning the script of Irellexia due to a similar issue, Dana quickly mastered reading it.
As long as I wrote it down for her, she could perfectly pronounce it.
Despite my lack of teaching skill, Dana’s learning ability was truly remarkable.
Eventually, though, I had to stop teaching her altogether once we entered the Demon King’s territory.
We didn’t have the luxury of time anymore.
Before the Demon King could expand his power further, we had to act swiftly, strike his army, and secure territories.
“How is everyone doing?”
I wanted to hear news about them.
Honestly, there were times when I slightly regretted coming back to this side.
Though that regret always faded quickly.
I knew well that if I hadn’t chosen this path, I would have regretted it far more.
What I felt wasn’t true regret but lingering attachment.
It was the longing for my dependable party members, who I had trusted with my life for five years, knowing I might never meet them again.
Someday, after my life ends once more, I might reunite with them… but that time is still far, far away.
I wondered if Kalia had achieved her goal of becoming a hero.
I wondered if Dana had finished her research.
Could Arna, so young, have become an elf elder?
…Was Pia still praying for me?
All of it, now, was unknowable.
Before I knew it, the paper in front of me was filled with the words I remembered.
I still wasn’t good at reading them, but I diligently wrote down their meanings below each word.
Yes, I must not forget.
These are precious memories that only I can remember.
Because they’re ours.