The Age of Adaptation
A winding path.
From time to time, a fork appeared, but it was easy enough to tell that those were false trails laid by Kalaqua’s minions.
Yoon Choi’s exceptional talent for finding the right road was what made that possible.
“Mm! The tracks bend downward here. It looks like the little bastard went deeper underground instead of up.”
“Isn’t ‘little bastard’ a little rough?”
“Oh, come on. Are you saying Meteor respects Infectors?”
“No, not exactly.”
For a fleeting moment, Ryong-i came to mind, but Sung-jun erased the thought at once.
“Same here. It’s past dislike and into hatred, really. Since we’re allies now, I’ll tell you something — in Quantum, they call them much worse than that.”
Her brown eyes sparkled as she walked up beside him and spoke.
A string of obscenities too filthy to repeat.
When Sung-jun waved a hand, Yoon Choi hurriedly stepped back.
“That doesn’t mean I call them that, of course. I just lump them all together as bastards. So, little bastard!”
“Stop making puns and guide us properly.”
“What, are you worried some other weird Infector will come swarming over?”
“I just don’t want to watch your head get smashed to pulp by a projectile because you went ahead half-assed.”
Brains, bone shards, and chunks of flesh would scatter through the air, then. Some of it would splatter onto his visor.
He could do without that. He couldn’t afford to lose his guide here.
“My little pretty head? You’re calling it a head?”
“Then should I use the obscenities you whispered just now instead?”
“No! I’ll pass on that one. Being called a head is easier on the nerves.”
Her lips twitched, and she turned back around.
She walked ahead down the slope, idly swinging the gear in her hand.
“And I was only talking because it’s safe to. My fluid sensor finished collecting the variants’ data earlier. So if they do come rushing in, the sensor will catch them perfectly now.”
It was a sensor that could precisely detect both liquid and gaseous components.
She must have sampled the tissue, secretions, and exhaled breath of the Infector they’d just fought.
But Sung-jun knew the machine’s limits.
It couldn’t analyze three different substances at once.
And yet she still trusted its performance.
She believed their current safety was absolute.
So that’s her nature.
Sung-jun could read her well enough.
Tool Master, huh. Not a bad nature.
It would serve her well not only as a guide, but later on when handling heavy equipment, too.
I can see why Jack Kalt put her in the team leader position.
Her combat ability probably wasn’t all that high.
Her movements and equipment made that obvious.
She was armed purely for the role of a helper.
He clearly kept her around for equipment handling or interpreting complicated routes someday.
As he thought that, Yoon Choi, who had been walking ahead in silence, suddenly called back to him.
“Hey, Meteor.”
“...Something unusual?”
“I just wanted to ask a favor.”
“I’ll hear you out first.”
“You’re so stern...” She glanced over her shoulder. “Could you raise my point allocation ratio just a little?”
“No.”
“You answered right away.”
“If you think about it with that head of yours, wouldn’t you arrive at the answer yourself? Whose role matters more?”
Yoon Choi gave a grudging nod.
“Of course Meteor’s role matters more. I’m only the one leading you to the exact path.”
“I asked for support only to save time. Nothing more, nothing less. So my answer isn’t changing.”
“Then what if I take on more than just the guide role?”
What was she clinging to points for so desperately?
Sung-jun met her serious gaze and shrugged.
“Let’s hear it first.”
“Okay. Say we discover one of Kalaqua’s minions. Can you tell at a glance why it’s hiding down here, beneath the surface?”
“I’d have to see it first.”
“Exactly. You can’t say for sure. But I can find out for certain.”
“Is that the equipment talking?”
“More like the equipment and my nature talking together.”
Ahem. Yoon Choi puffed out her chest and then turned serious again.
“Well? Isn’t that enough reason to raise the distribution rate a little for a talent like me?”
“I’ll decide when the time comes. And in a case like that, shouldn’t you be working for free? This is an investigation that would bring nothing but profit to both Blood Rain and Quantum.”
“How much of that profit do you think would actually end up as points for me?”
“At the very least, 100,000.”
“Nope. Not even 50,000.”
“Why not?”
“That’s... a secret.”
She sounded as if she might blurt it out in a fit of temper, but then she merely muttered to herself and looked away.
“Anyway, please think about it seriously. I came here because Jack can tell me to jump and I’ll ask how high, but I really do need points too.”
“Does someone in your family or among your friends have an incurable illness?”
At his question, she froze.
Yoon Choi didn’t answer.
As if she had nothing more to say, she kept walking.
Then she gave a small nod, and a faint light flickered in Sung-jun’s eyes.
So that’s it...
There wasn’t a single person in this world untouched by hardship, if only a little.
Still, it seemed Yoon Choi was carrying the misfortune that had befallen a loved one or a blood relative on her own shoulders.
Jeyca was hit by misfortune no one saw coming, too.
Early-onset dementia.
He had no idea how far it had progressed by now.
He hadn’t asked, not wanting to burden her unnecessarily.
Even so, Jeyca had warned them of danger in advance and provided excellent support as a helper.
Sometimes she did so well he nearly forgot she was a terminal patient.
His conversation with Yoon Choi had made him think of Jeyca’s place in all this.
I’m in a situation where even a few million more points wouldn’t be enough for what I need right now.
They had to raid Kalaqua’s middle finger.
That was why he was making Cell Degenerator.
And they still needed to obtain the hormone sac of Death Spoil, which meant even more points would be necessary for preparation.
Still, no matter how thoroughly they prepared, what if one of their companions went wrong because of an incurable illness?
If that happened during the mission, then the tower they’d built so carefully would come crashing down in an instant.
When we get back, I should lend Jeyca points too.
One million points.
That was the amount he could borrow from Jack Kalt’s support.
Sung-jun realized he had been running too far ahead, too focused on the road in front of him.
He had only thought about securing safety in the immediate future, never once looking back at his comrades.
I shouldn’t have done that. I need to fix it before it’s too late.
Sung-jun made his resolve.
Then Yoon Choi sent him a signal.
Her sweeping motion was very familiar.
Here. The target. Is. There.
At the end of the winding path she pointed to.
He let her fall back and took point.
He breathed, ready to react at any moment, and leveled his weapon forward.
At the dead end of the silent tunnel, all he could hear was a quiet breathing sound.
Now and then, drops of viscous slime fell with soft, wet taps against the ground.
Sung-jun advanced carefully.
The breathing grew louder, along with the sound of something huge writhing in the dark.
This is...
For some reason, Sung-jun felt certain.
This situation. This atmosphere.
Taking it all in, he arrived at an answer: it’s safe.
So he boldly went to the end of the hole.
And there...
“What is this.”
He saw a white sphere.
A sphere. No, it would be more accurate to call it a cocoon.
The cocoon was suspended in the air, fixed in place by tens of thousands of strands of slime.
The being inside was breathing.
It was plainly alive.
Mission cleared. You will be moved to the Enter Room.
No, I’m declining that.
Sung-jun’s intent has been confirmed. If there is no D-Virus threat within a 15-meter radius, you may return to the Enter Room at any time.
Ignoring Loki’s friendly explanation, Sung-jun met Yoon Choi’s eyes.
Her eyes were wide, silently asking him why he hadn’t gone back.
“Adjust the ratio to 8.5 to 1.5.”
“You can just say it that openly?”
“That thing doesn’t even react to footsteps. Can you figure out why the minion changed into that?”
“Hmm... a cocoon. It’s a form I’ve never seen before, but I think I can analyze it.”
Yoon Choi held up her thumb and forefinger.
She spread the gap between them a little wider.
“If this gets just a little higher, I think a merely decent analysis will turn into a perfect one... what do you think, Meteor?”
“...Then let’s make it 8 to 2.”
“7 to 3. Now that is a perfect ratio.”
“Let’s just go back. It doesn’t seem like an immediate threat anyway. That’s probably why Jack Kalt didn’t catch on.”
“Ughhh! Fine. 8 to 2.”
“No, let’s make it 8.5 to 1.5.”
“Why...”
“Because your haggling is irritating.”
He tipped his chin, telling her to stop talking if she had anything else to say.
It was a situation where both of them would profit by quickly getting what they wanted and leaving.
Yoon Choi chewed on her lip for a moment, then stepped forward.
From her space-compression backpack, she took out a variety of tools.
She moved carefully, as if trying not to make a sound louder than footsteps.
Soon, Yoon Choi attached a cable from a rectangular machine to the cocoon and began making full use of her nature.
An on-the-spot modification.
She must have already finished the main adjustment.
But after one attempt, apparently that wasn’t enough, so she opened the device’s lid and started tampering with the wiring.
The ability of Tool Master was, at its core, born from understanding electronic devices.
The reason it didn’t include control over every other kind of machine probably came down to whether or not one could perceive electromagnetic waves.
She could perceive them, and through that, she knew how to amplify or suppress performance.
“...This should be enough.”
Yoon Choi murmured under her breath and closed the lid.
She pressed buttons and worked the dial piled onto the machine.
There were two things he needed to know.
Why had Kalaqua’s minion nested here?
And was it connected to Kalaqua?
If they could determine its intent and whether there was a connection, then he would know what move to make.
Not yet?
Five minutes passed.
During that time, Yoon Choi kept herself busy interpreting the results displayed on the equipment.
Had she found something after all?
Yoon Choi spoke in a trembling voice.
Her face was pale with shock.
“I, I found it.”
Crack!
“I found it too.”
A crack ran through the cocoon.
Sung-jun moved at the same instant he answered.
He darted toward her with a predator’s speed.
He tucked Yoon Choi and the equipment under his arms.
“Wait, the device!”
The cable inserted into the cocoon snapped with a crisp pop.
Ignoring her cry of surprise and disappointment, he backed away.
His body, now at Level 3, and the Omega Suit’s output sent him dozens of meters back from the cocoon in the blink of an eye.
Crack. Fzzzt!
The fracture widened.
That wasn’t Yoon Choi’s fault.
Something that should have broken at this time had simply broken.
Sung-jun stared silently at the change before him.
He couldn’t act in a fit of anger.
If the thing was wounded and escaped this place, then the moment it stepped into the boundaries of Kalaqua’s lair, disaster would strike.
First, he needed confirmation.
The 기준 of the threat Jack Kalt had spoken about.
Wasn’t that based on Jack Kalt himself?
Whether that thing threatens my party or not is for me to decide.
If it was a threat, he would immediately calculate the possibility of exterminating it.
As soon as he made up his mind, the cocoon split open.
From beneath the shattered shell, a figure stepped down.
Yes, a figure.
Humanoid?
Among high-level Infectors, humanoid forms were rare enough to count on one hand.
There were five among the 38 major ones.
And only two among the Five Calamities.
Not only were they rare, but humanoid Infectors were almost always powerful.
It was no exaggeration to say they’d compressed strength and ability to their absolute limit.
Asura and Rupal.
Thinking of the humanoid members of the Five Calamities, Sung-jun stared at it.
Kalaqua’s minion descended from the cocoon, fully exposing its smooth naked body.
It opened its eyes.
Eyes that gleamed with a silvery luster, strangely beautiful and almost unreal.
The moment he met that gaze, Sung-jun felt a primal terror.
And he reached a decision at once.
It was a threat.
Sung-jun’s both hands shot toward the trigger and the hilt like lightning.
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