Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: Chapter 10 Lead and Silver Coins (6)
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Up until now, everything had felt kind of floaty, but now that I'd made up my mind, I could see why.
“Fat built up on my gut and made me sluggish. Like an idiot.”
“Hmm? Well... You didn't seem like your condition had gotten any worse. I watched your streams sometimes while hanging out here, and you were zipping around like you were even sharper than before.”
“Not that. I mean mentally, I got dull.”
From a life where skipping a day of food meant starving the next day, to one where there was so much grub I could snack in between. From mystery calorie bars to proper meals with meat, veggies, and seasonings.
With my basic living conditions met, the tight string of tension I'd been holding snapped loose.
The dangers hadn't decreased. If anything, you could say they'd increased. They were selling merchandise with my name on it across the entire Dome, and stories about that last battle were circulating endlessly. Anyone with a brain could tell I'd made a killing off the Dome.
We were on friendly terms with the Dome but not officially affiliated, living off in some remote spot.
Four members, and one of them wasn't even combat-capable—couldn't use her as a hostage, but she was a ten-year-old girl who excelled at creating terror by chopping herself up or driving enemies insane.
And yet, this little group had wealth on par with any Dome tycoon.
Easy pickings, ripe for the taking. That was the current state of our BDSM.
“Listening to you, I realize I got way too complacent. It's not just scavengers. Even ignoring the relatively 'safe' psycho gangs inside the Dome making pizza or clothes, the real-deal psycho gangs roaming the wasteland often crave notoriety. The 'hero' tag? That's catnip for those freaks. Scavengers chasing a quick fortune, genuine psychopathic killers. Plenty of them will come sniffing around.”
Just like Ian said, we were in a spot where we needed to rake in cash like mad. Build walls, install turrets, work the people settling in until they were dust so no one could even dream of freeloading. Just the basic infrastructure would cost hundreds of millions of sealings.
Thinking about it, sitting here chugging milk felt like such a waste of time. My legs were twitching, or maybe it was like every tick of the second hand was making me antsy.
*Snap, crack*
As I fidgeted, popping the joints in my left hand, a satisfied smile crept onto Ian's face.
“Keheheh. That's it, Professor. I was worried when your eyes looked all piggy the moment I saw you, but you bounce back fast. In a world like this, anyone who forgets how to run gets eaten quick.”
“...Me?”
“Yeah. Like old coal—you either burn hot to the end or stay a cold rock from the start. Half-ass burning out just leaves useless ash that's too damp to light and too brittle to last. The you I first met was top-shelf explosive, like C4 or Semtex. Doesn't go off easy, but with precise calculations, primers, and a fuse, it levels mountains and buildings. If you'd settled for a measly two hundred million, I'd have set you on fire alive to wake you up. Though... someone else was already gearing up to do it before I could.”
*Click!*
Ian lit a fresh cigarette, and someone flinched at the sound.
“Right, Vex?”
“...What about me.”
“Don't play dumb. Out of the three of us, you're the one who thinks least deeply, lags there the most. But your instincts kick in fastest, and your actions follow right after. You live and die by the Professor—there's no way you'd let him turn into wet gunpowder. A scavenger who's lived closest to the wasteland's food chain. You did something, didn't you?”
“...”
“Vex?”
“...It's resolved now, so whatever. Drop it.”
I'd thought it was a joke, but Vex's evasive attitude sparked suspicion. Come to think of it, he'd been awfully quiet since we left the village.
But no matter how I racked my brain, I couldn't picture Vex plotting something shady or setting up some shock for me. Him? Against me?
I shot him a questioning look, and Ian slapped his knee, bursting into laughter.
“Kahahaha! You really had no clue? Professor, you piece things together like a ghost with a few info nuggets, but you go blind when it's about people around you. Assume Vex or I are enemies for a sec. No, enemies wouldn't move for you, so... think of a brutally cold, ruthless drill instructor like Hartman. To sharpen a dulled Professor, how would he handle the situation? Hint: Vex always acts.”
At least one step ahead of us on anything right in front of him.
Ian’s last words hung in the air like a ghost.
Now that I thought about it, shit didn't add up. I'd been holed up in the game for a full month because these guys were holding down the fort at our place. But the second I logged out, massive problems were piling up around us, and Vex was ignoring them to drill Cynthia in combat training.
Vex, a scavenger from Zone 45 where territorial disputes meant blood never dried 24/7, just watched people set up camp around our house?
“Hey, you didn't... that village?”
“Guh! That dumbass brings up useless crap...”
*Smack!*
Face flushing—embarrassed or pissed—Vex snatched the brandy bottle from Ian's hand, chugged it straight, then fidgeted with his fingers before continuing.
“Yeah. Those people. From the first settlers, I held back the urge to kick them out and just watched.”
“See? I knew he did something. That's it, right? People around means more chance of incidents.”
I whipped my head around, and Vex snapped his in the opposite direction with lightning reflexes.
“...I agree with Ian. After the war with the Raptors ended, you looked all accomplished and comfy. Don't know if it was the money or the people, but anyone who gets comfy in the wasteland dies quick. So I let it slide. Least as far as I know, people gather, they fight. Fights mean incidents—gunfire, curses, blood spraying around our house... but it'd give you tension. You'd sharpen up naturally, kick them out or take them in, go back to being active Hapburn. Didn't expect Cynthia to wedge in, though.”
“That's exactly it—you've always sucked at that scheming shit, like I've told you a million times. You can't control variables.”
“I didn't expect Cynthia to drop in there either—”
*Crack crack crack*
“...Hey, think about me for a sec.”
I cut them off with finger snaps, then sorted through it all.
People flocking in.
Me, loose and tension-free per them, prime for dying pathetically somewhere.
And predictable conflicts among ragtag crowds with limited resources and no control.
“Ha, unbelievable.”
Vex hadn't done anything—he'd chosen to *do nothing*. He knew rumor-chasers would flock, knew crowds meant trouble, even though he hated outsiders encroaching, yet let them gather. Hoping they'd stir shit. Hoping the noise and chaos would snap me back to sharp.
A primitive, violent 'wake-up call'. Honestly, no clue how to take it.
With Vex hanging his head like a criminal, I had to ask.
“...Vex. You thought I wouldn't notice?”
“...”
“Yeah. Honestly, I didn't until now. Busy morning, tons to do. But just thinking it over, I clocked it quick. I know you that well. It was bound to come out eventually. You know that, right? You know me as well as I know you.”
“...Better to be hated than watch you die stupidly all relaxed. It wasn't just loose—you were really gone. People like that all died.”
A. Dick. Head.
So, in his mind, this was some noble sacrifice. Induce minor violence to rekindle my edge, choose obvious negligence that'd get exposed, risk my suspicion and hate. Then Cynthia crashed his plan, I popped out, whatever.
No wonder he was MIA since morning—not hunting slug-rats, but he'd started shit that went tits-up, I jumped in, so he bolted not knowing what to do. Who the hell hunts trash like slug-rats at dawn? Make up something believable.
“Bottom line, Professor, it's your karma. Who told you to go hee-haw with a big wad and worry everyone?”
*Slosh*
Ian handed me the half-empty brandy as I rubbed my throbbing brow. I just stared, so he forced it into my hand.
“Drink up, asshole. As someone who's killed more people than most and seen plenty die. Vex knows the wasteland's rawest side and worried about your complacency. He just acted faster than words, like always. Rough, but it's cleaned up neat. Chug it and move on.”
“Move on?”
“Yeah. Like you said, tons you wanna do, tons to do.”
“......”
The silent, pensive Professor turned to the brandy bottle. Under the cryptic name [Manana], the bottling year 2074, and below that, the dark brown liquid reflected Vex peeking guiltily and Ian grinning like it was hilarious. One more: a guy with a weird expression and weirder arm, unsure if pleased or not.
The Professor tilted it back like he could drink the scene away, draining the rest in one go.
Bitter. Harsh.
“Puhah. Tastes like shit.”
“Keheheh, what tastes good to a palate used to national treasures like Dalmore '62? So, all sorted? Gotta clear the bullshit before big moves.”
Still, it felt good.
Ian’s chuckling mixed with the hot alcohol burn, buzz rising. Then I spotted Vex, still head-down like a guilty kid.
‘They say if you're gonna do something out of character, get hammered first.’
I wobbled between them, slung my arms over their shoulders, and yanked them in.
“Eek!”
“Uwak! W-what, Hapburn!”
Ian startled on my left, Vex stiff and unnatural.
“Just. Thanks.”
“...Huh?”
“Kahahaha! Did I hear wrong? Cherry Park, the prude, said thanks?”
“Just... yeah. You guys woke me up in all sorts of ways. Especially you, Vex—stirred shit knowing it'd make you look bad, took the heat. Thanks a fucking ton, you bastard.”
At least with these guys, booze-loosened lips could say thanks. Why need a reason? Felt right.
“...Hapburn, that's creepy.”
“Keheheh! Told ya. And don't shoulder-hug with that arm. Scary.”
“Fuck... embarrassing me!”
They yelled, but seeing their awkward faces, grins slipped out anyway.
****
“So... you came straight here? After drinking that much?”
“Hey, if you hate it, I'll come back in a few months, sober as a judge.”
“Aaah, no! Heh heh, sorry. Getting old, talking nonsense... Come in! We've been waiting!”
After wrapping up the 'Professor's Recent Behavior Review' successfully, the three of us prepped to head to Zone 30. Ian consulted Dome folks on supplies and trade goods needed. Vex couldn't tag along to that dangerous spot, so he'd mind Cynthia and line up training facilities while we were gone. I...
“Hey, folks! Professor's finally gracing our 'Biotech Division'!”
“Ooooh! At last! That material I've researched via video for a month—mmph!”
*Grab!*
“Drag this guy inside! 'Material'? I told you not to say that! How can you call a person's body material or research fodder? Right, Professor?”
“Nah, I'm fine with...”
I headed to the admin research facility. Long trip ahead, so I needed to check my sudden meal spike and body status first.
Thus, the admin research facility visit.
Pushing past other division researchers yelling “Just one chance! Please, our department too!!” at the entrance, enduring the Biotech crew's loud welcome, after 90 minutes of basic measurements and tests, I got some answers.
“Hmm... The sudden meal increase is obviously tied to that new Type 3 variant arm.”
*Hummm*
As I pulled a custom grip-strength meter, one researcher answered.
“Plenty inexplicable physically, but... it's part of your body, Professor. Can't say it doesn't draw energy from the core.”
“So...?”
“Means you eat more the more you use it. Here's a CT of the changed arm-torso junction. See more dots or spots than elsewhere?”
Yeah, definitely spottier.
“Plenty of inflammation, clots, that stuff inside. Not like those novels with 'cursed arms sucking life force,' but nonstop drain without supply might turn it that way. You said swinging the arm doesn't generate much power?”
“Yeah. Grip strength's insane, but other moves don't match.”
“Natural. Punching uses arm, shoulder, waist, thighs, calves—whole body. Probably matches grip choking too, but using it to hurl variants with massive force? No dice.”
*Swish crack*
The Professor swung his now-familiar arm. It whooshed from bulk, but no real power.
“Of course, body-wide effects need more study. Meal spike, and you scarfed 8-9 servings without issue after normal three-meals—means the arm boosted core digestion/absorption somehow, hinting broader effects possible. Type 3 variants heavily impact mind/memory, especially with your 'other self' inside...”
“Chief! 'Professor' play logs summary!”
“Ooooh! Perfect timing. Care to chat while viewing? Guessed a bit on behavior principles and variant trigger...”
*Boom!*
“I'll explain! As Data Consciousness Exploration Division head, I'm 2000% better at it than you lot!”
Endless explanations cut short as white-coated folks poured in from the noisy entrance, turning the lab into chaos.
“Didn't I tell you to block them thoroughly? They're disrupting research!”
“But Chief, other divisions swarmed, outnumbering us...”
“Use grad students! Call every idle or working one—body-block them! All hands!”
‘...Just wanna go home...’
Raided by division chiefs, it devolved into a joint symposium with extra tests, until
“Please! Visit again soon~ We'll prep precise studies based on today's data~!”
“Y-yeah! Thanks for the hard work!”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Professor escaped those manic hands.
[That gave me chills.]
‘I agree, disastrously so.’
From fake endurance tests to snag a scale scrap, soaking in high-proof alcohol or oil for scent extraction, licking closer to 'taste chitin similarity to crustaceans' (punched)...
Looking back, decent distance, but piercing stares from the building front.
Now I got why spirits hate mages.
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