Chapter 14: The Secret Passage and a Wounded Puppy

In the quiet study, Heinzel stood still, eyes closed, slowly inhaling. A complex blend of scents—old paper, ink, and wood—filled the air. Notably, none of them were artificial or jarring.

Life in this place perfectly embodied the concept of ‘healing.’ The only true dilemma was that ‘Haeseung,’ having been born and raised in South Korea, was a teenager thoroughly immersed in modern civilization.

“This kind of healing isn’t for me,” he grumbled. “The best healing is ordering fried chicken and watching YouTube, or maybe playing games, or scrolling through social media.”

Clutching the sturdy wooden bookshelf, Heinzel writhed, letting out a pained groan.

He didn’t dislike reading; he often delved into general literature, not just textbooks or study guides. Still, the internet reigned supreme. Nothing could ever replace it.

Muttering a mournful ‘huhu,’ Heinzel wandered listlessly between the towering bookshelves. Each shelf was crammed with exquisite hardcovers, rarely seen in modern times. Bound in leather or cloth, these books exuded a luxurious, weighty presence, making them highly collectible and valuable.

Heinzel, briefly envying the owner who must feel immense pride just looking at them, began scanning titles in search of books related to the Empire. With so many shelves, however, he found no discernible system for classifying the books.

“It’s good that I can read the letters, but…” he mused, “…if this is my transmigration perk, I feel like I’m getting a raw deal.”

Even in the romance novels he’d devoured, the ability to speak, read, and write was a standard feature, a basic service. It was as fundamental as the jelly case that came with a new phone, or the pickled radish served with jjajangmyeon. Shouldn’t transmigration come with a special ability, like a leather case subtly included with an expensive phone, or fried dumplings accompanying tangsuyuk?

Though he wasn’t the female protagonist, he had transmigrated in a similar fashion, so surely he’d been granted some special perks. A faint glimmer of hope sparked within his heart. Even if it wasn’t the exact same ability as the female protagonist, something similar, or perhaps even slightly less potent, would be truly wonderful.

Clasping his hands together, Heinzel began to articulate his desires as if in prayer. It was a direct, brazen plea: ‘Since you arbitrarily transmigrated me, you surely haven’t just forgotten about me. If you’re watching, please bestow upon me some truly impressive transmigration perks right now!’

“Whatever it is, I just hope it’s a useful ability,” he murmured.

As Heinzel rambled contradictory prayers, a faint whimper reached his ears. He slowly opened his closed eyes, scanning his surroundings.

A dog’s whimper echoed through the study. Though it felt utterly surreal, the sound was unmistakably canine, and in this bizarre situation, the only logical course of action was to find the dog.

Humming a short groan, Heinzel began to stumble forward, tracing the faint, intermittent whimpers to uncover the source of this incongruous sound in the study.

“…Was that a ghost?”

The sound emanated not from between the central bookshelves, but from behind a shelf against the wall. Given the existence of magic, magical beasts, and gods, ghosts could certainly be real. The thought of a ghost sounding like a dog’s whimper felt somewhat disillusioning, yet as he pondered, the previously paused whimpering grew closer. A scratching sound, ‘buck-buck,’ against the wall joined it.

“Is it a ghost, or a dog?”

Only after asking did Heinzel realize what a ‘dog-like’ question it was. As if in response to his silly inquiry, a ‘woof-woof’ echoed from behind. Concluding it must be a real dog, not a ghost, he tugged at the bookshelf. Yet, the shelf, densely packed with books, remained stubbornly immobile.

“Hey, little dog. How did you get in there?”

Heinzel couldn’t fathom how the dog had entered the study, let alone gotten behind the bookshelf. In response to his question, the dog whimpered softly. It sounded like the cry of a small puppy, not a full-grown dog.

“Are you, by any chance, the puppy—no, the dog I saw in the greenhouse?”

Awooo! Woof woof! Whimper whimper!

Heinzel clicked his tongue at the frantic, almost chaotic whimpering. Setting aside the bizarre feeling of having a conversation with a dog, his earlier hunch that this rascal would cause considerable trouble, based on their greenhouse encounter, was proving entirely accurate.

“Hey, you! How did you even get in there? Just wait a little. Your hyung will get you out.”

He began removing the books, one by one, from the packed shelf, stacking them neatly beside it. Working his way down from the middle, he had just pulled out a couple of books from the very bottom when one suddenly caught.

“Why is this one—”

‘—stuck? What’s it caught on?’ he wondered.

Before he could finish the thought, the perfectly normal bookshelf suddenly lurched forward. A startled Heinzel instinctively grabbed it. Contrary to his fear that it might topple, the shelf remained fixed, albeit slightly protruding.

He felt as though the problem had only escalated. He tugged at the protruding bookshelf, yet it remained utterly unyielding. He considered pushing it back, but abandoned the idea, fearing the puppy might be crushed.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he muttered. “It won’t budge when I pull it, but then it just pops out on its own when I leave it alone.”

Feeling utterly bewildered, Heinzel leaned his head against the bookshelf and sighed. Just then, the stubborn shelf, which had refused to budge, began to smoothly rotate.

…

He cautiously pushed one side of the shelf, and it smoothly pivoted, revealing a passage wide enough for a person or two to walk through. Seeing a secret passage right before his eyes, a feature he’d only ever heard about, Heinzel once again marveled at the intricate design of the medieval mansion. He also realized that the puppy he’d assumed was stuck behind the bookshelf was, in fact, inside this hidden passage.

The interior was so dark that nothing was visible, making him hesitant to venture inside. He imagined crawling insects, thick layers of dust due to lack of cleaning, and the risk of tripping and injuring himself in the unknown depths. As Heinzel deliberated, listing various reasons not to enter, a persistent whimper echoed from nearby, as if urging him on. Crouching awkwardly, he slowly crawled, pushing his upper body into the secret passage.

“Puppy, where are you? Your hyung can’t see a thing in here.”

As Heinzel’s fingertips swept the floor ahead, they brushed against something soft and fluffy. Startled, he let out a yelp and recoiled, only to realize it was the puppy. He then reached out again, gently scooping up the small furball.

“I knew this little rascal would cause a big ruckus,” he chuckled.

Though dusty and soiled, it was unmistakably the white puppy he had seen before. He pulled it close, cradling it in his arms as he rose to his feet.

“How did you get in here… Oh, you’re hurt! Puppy, are you hurt? Were you crying because you were in pain?”

He had initially thought its fur was merely wet, but it was blood. One of its front paws was completely soaked red.

“Where did you get hurt? If you’re injured, you should go get treated right away, not crawl into a secret passage!”

He pondered how to manage the protruding bookshelf after closing the secret passage. Yet, as he pushed the stuck book back into its place, the entire shelf smoothly retracted as if controlled by an automatic system. Staring at the now ordinary bookshelf, perfectly aligned with the others as if no special mechanism existed, Heinzel let out a bewildered, hollow laugh.

“First, let’s stop the bleeding with this. It’s dripping everywhere.”

Though he longed to treat the wound immediately, leaving the bookshelf completely empty would undoubtedly draw suspicion. With no other choice, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wrapped the puppy’s paw, then hastily shoved the stacked books back into the shelf. The sensation of blood seeping from the puppy onto the front of his shirt intensified Heinzel’s urgency.

“Puppy, what kind of person is your owner? How can they not know their dog is so badly hurt?”

Concealing the puppy inside his jacket, Heinzel exited the study. Finding his bedroom proved to be a critical challenge, but fortunately, he encountered a passing servant who was able to guide him. Though slightly wounded by the servant’s gaze, which seemed to brand him as deranged for asking to be shown his own bedroom, he resolved to erase the interaction from his memory.

“Young Master?”

“Rosie!”

Rosie greeted Heinzel with a bewildered expression as he returned to his bedroom, guided by the servant. She was surprised he was back so soon after being escorted to the study, and yet, she also found it commendable that he had managed to find his way back to his bedroom, even with another servant’s assistance.

Unaware of Rosie’s complicated thoughts, Heinzel entered the bedroom, slammed the door shut, and gestured for her to come closer.

“Go and fetch some warm water, towels, a hemostatic agent, and bandages,” he instructed.

“Pardon?”

“If anyone asks, just say I got a little hurt. Hurry!”

The puppy emerged from Heinzel’s bulging jacket. Seeing the blood-soaked handkerchief, Rosie quickly hurried away. Since blood was still dripping, he couldn’t place the puppy directly on the bed, so he removed his jacket, folded it twice, and gently laid the dog upon it.

“That’s a lot of blood. Is a blood vessel damaged? An artery? A vein? Do dogs even have those? Of course, they must. Will it need surgery? Puppy, are you in a lot of pain?”

He wondered if veterinary clinics even existed in this era. In his frantic state, Heinzel’s mind raced to the concept of a hospital. He recalled hearing that temples served as hospitals and priests acted as doctors. If there were no hospitals for humans, there certainly wouldn’t be any for animals.

He had heard stories of priests healing people, but would they truly treat a dog if he brought it to them? Heinzel shook his head. No matter how he thought about it, he felt he would only be met with scorn. He pondered calling Vant, despite his questionable skills, when the puppy whimpered again, as if complaining of its pain.

“See? This is why you need to be careful. I told you that you could get hurt wandering around anywhere. You didn’t listen to your hyung, trotting off everywhere, and now look, you’re injured.”

As he gently stroked the back of its head, the whimpering subsided. Heinzel fumed, wondering what kind of owner would let their dog roam freely and not care when it got hurt. Whether human or animal, those who raise them should bear responsibility, yet he felt no sense of it from this puppy’s owner. Perhaps forcibly confiscating the puppy and finding it a good owner was the best course of action…

“Young Master! I brought them!”

“No one asked why you were taking them?”

“No. I brought them quietly.”

“Well done. Put them here.”

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