About How I Was Picked Up and Adopted by Talula

The Matter of Talula Picking Me Up and Adopting Me

Author: Black Ink Fried Squid

Synopsis:

Scathie, beloved by disaster, and Ghost Shark, torn between madness and reality, live a monotonous, suffocating "daily life" akin to the seabed—finally disrupted by a sudden visitor.

"You... you have blood similar to ours, no, more 'abnormal' than ours."

So spoke the visitor from the deep sea to Orson.

Catastrophes, Sea Descendants, the Deep Sea, Oripathy, and... a flush toilet.

Before he knew it, Orson found himself inexplicably caught up in events again and could only grit his teeth and follow the taciturn Orca to an unknown land.

The only problem was:

"Can you stop rubbing against me... Miss Scathie...?"

"I'm not cosplaying a nun, Ghost Shark!"

"Whoa, Second Lieutenant is so tall..."

—The Deep Sea Hunters are all really strange!?

Prologue - Newborn of the Snowlands

Prologue

Winter felt endlessly long, and the scenery that met his eyes was always the same.

He had been in this village for half a year, or was it 3 months, 5 months?

"Thwack!"

Orson split the wooden stake in two, contemplating whether he needed to find a way to keep track of the days.

When Orson first discovered he was on the continent of Terra in the world of "Arknights," he was indeed excited for a while.

Transmigration, gaining powerful abilities, ambiguous relationships with various girls, touring the continent—just like all transmigration protagonists, he would make a grand display in another world.

But soon, Orson noticed the problem—

He had no idea where this remote, desolate village he lived in was, and the world-shattering powers he'd imagined had never appeared.

Forget going to Lungmen or Penguin Logistics to carouse with girls, or going to Rhodes Island to build a harem with operators. He was already struggling just to survive in this frozen village.

No ability to leave this village, no cheat-like system, no information about this world, no money to improve his quality of life.

The only beginner's perk Orson had after transmigrating was his current identity as a commoner, someone not suspected but also not valued. The other villagers didn't suspect Orson, but no one treated him as family either. They just lived in silence, and that was all.

Repetitive farm work, endless busyness, and never enough accumulated food resources.

Perhaps he would live his entire life like this, or perhaps he would die with this village in some cold snap.

Just as Orson thought he would continue like this until death, the deathly quiet village was thrown into a commotion.

Orson put his axe aside and went to join the onlookers, discovering that the source of the commotion was a group of about 20 wanderers.

No... not wanderers, but "infected."

Not only Orson, but the other villagers also noticed this, and the initial commotion subsided back into silence.

"If you want food, then follow me. There should be some extra grain in the granary that I can provide for you."

Finally, the village chief spoke. He smiled and guided the group of infected, who were begging for food, towards the granary.

—There's nothing in the granary, is there?

Orson hesitated for a moment, then immediately understood what the village chief intended to do.

This village... no, it should be said that the nation of Ursus extremely rejected the infected, not only because of the contagiousness of Oripathy but also because of the government's high-handed attitude towards the infected. It was said that even a slight association with the infected could lead to the Enforcement Team raiding their homes.

"..."

Orson remained silent, and the other villagers also kept quiet.

The village chief's actions were correct, the best way to protect this already precarious village. The infected were not "people" as defined by Ursus, and their lives were not something they needed to consider.

In this never-changing white hell, survival had already exhausted people's enthusiasm, and ill-timed sparks would only burn themselves.

Orson glanced at the group of infected who were still unaware of their fate, and then his gaze met that of a little girl, about 8 years old, in the group.

The child's eyes held no fear of what she was about to encounter, nor resentment towards this world. The only thing Orson could see were eyes as clear and transparent as ice, like jewels.

"..."

Orson averted his gaze, telling himself that such situations happened every day. This was how the continent operated: the weak were exploited by the strong, and those who had nowhere to turn were exploited by the weak.

Click!

The granary door was heavily bolted shut, and the terrified screams and roars of the infected were incredibly piercing to Orson.

"Um... do we really have to do this?"

Orson asked in a low voice, only to be met with cold, questioning stares from the villagers beside him.

"Never mind what I asked."

Orson closed his eyes, as if that could negate the murder he had just witnessed.

Life on this continent wasn't a rare commodity.

When Orson saw the old man from his village starve to death in bed, when he saw a youth his own age freeze to death in the outskirts, when he saw the uncle who had roasted marshmallows with him yesterday dragged back as only half a body, He knew clearly that life on this continent was worthless.

Even though he knew, Orson couldn't accept it.

Life should be something that concludes in a more reasonable manner, not something that ends through deception, despair, and starvation.

He wasn't a saint; he couldn't change this land, but he could at least try to change meaningless deaths.

At night, Orson, holding a key stolen from the village chief's room, crept to the warehouse door.

I'm definitely crazy.

"Hmm...? Is that the strange big brother from before?"

The girl, locked in the granary but still not understanding what was happening, noticed Orson through the crack in the door and asked softly.

"Be quiet for a moment. I'm here to rescue you. Just hold on a little longer!"

Orson placed the key ring in his hand before the granary door lock, trying each key one by one to find the right one.

Not this one, not this one, not this one, and not this one either...?

When he had tried all the keys on the ring and the granary door still wouldn't budge, Orson vaguely sensed something.

"Are you looking for a key?"

"—!?"

The village chief's voice came from behind Orson, and at that moment, he felt all his blood run cold.

"Wait, wait a minute! I can— Pwuuh!"

The other villagers didn't bother listening to Orson's explanation. They knocked him to the ground, then carried him to the skylight directly above the granary, opened the lock, and without hesitation, threw Orson into this hell.

"Cough! Wait... give me a moment!!"

Orson fell to the ground from about 3 meters in the air. He endured the burning pain in his back and reached for the skylight, but the only source of light was unhesitatingly closed and locked again.

"..."

Countless eyes focused on Orson. The infected, who knew they had been deceived and were about to starve to death in this tomb, all silently watched the villager who had been thrown in.

Anger, panic, confusion, and above all, despair.

"Brother... why were you thrown in?"

Among those countless gazes, Orson saw the child again, the girl with eyes as clear as gemstones.

"Because I... it's okay, it's okay, it will definitely get better, believe me, it will get better—"

Orson hugged the child, praying that the gods of this world would bestow a little grace upon this remote, forgotten corner.

Day one—the infected visibly reduced their activity and shouting.

Day two—many bloody handprints appeared on the walls and floor, the futile resistance of desperate people trying to escape.

Day three—more and more infected closed their eyes, and the villagers' mocking conversations could occasionally be heard outside the granary.

Day four—Orson began to hallucinate, and the surviving infected tried to devour the flesh of the dead. But after several bouts of fainting and waking, Orson realized it wasn't a hallucination. To protect the girl in his arms from being affected, Orson forced himself to wake up from his stupor countless times, using his body to shield the girl from the final madness of those people.

Day five, day six, day seven—

Day eight.

"..."

Orson looked at the girl in his arms, who had long since stopped breathing, and his lips cracked as he tried to speak, but no words came out.

Due to the low temperature, the bodies had not decomposed, and the grotesque, twisted faces of death remained on them.

As the last living being in the granary, Orson felt numb, desperate, angry, sorrowful, and confused.

—Why do this? Just because they are infected? But she was just a child, a child who did nothing wrong.

—I didn't do anything, and I foolishly got myself into this too.

—How did it come to this? Is it because I have no power?

—If only I had power, if only I had power...

Orson used his last strength, not to curse the villagers, nor to clench his fists, but to—

Raise his hand and close the eyes of the girl in his arms.

He had no power, and it seemed this world had no gods.

Just before he lost consciousness, Orson suddenly felt something immensely vast, like a manifestation of Death, tearing itself from his body.

But Orson no longer had the energy to open his eyes wide and confirm what had happened.

In endless resentment and trapped death, Orson also closed his eyes—

"Did you do this?"

"What...?"

As if jolted awake from a dream, Orson's eyes snapped open. He found himself kneeling in the center of a village, which had now been reduced to ruins around him.

A longsword was pressed against his neck. At the other end of the blade, Orson saw a young girl with short, pale white hair and dragon-like horns, dressed in noble military attire.

An illustration is available here. Please check the updated version.

A wave of drowsiness washed over him again, threatening to consume Orson once more. He didn't even have the strength to process his current situation.

As his consciousness faded, Orson recognized the girl and then spoke:

"My wife..."

Then, he fell unconscious again.

Prologue—The Man Surrounded by Hordes

01. The Questioned Man

Orson opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was an unfamiliar environment.

There seemed to be white canvas, like tents, surrounding him. The only light sources were the sunlight filtering through the fabric and a dimly glowing lantern on a table.

This was definitely not the village he used to live in, nor was it his old home before he transmigrated.

After a brief moment of confusion, Orson tried to get up, but his arm was restrained by a powerful force. The sound of chains was particularly sharp.

"Huh...?"