Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: Lead and Silver Coins (14)
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****
That night.
Professor and the others sat around a small heater, cloaks draped over their shoulders, discussing the stories they'd heard earlier that day.
"What about the young lady?"
"She went to bed early. According to the AI, her stamina's so low that even chatting this long is pushing it. Plus, she's been mentally drained by all the recent incidents around here."
Slurp—
"Yeah, I get it. Even I'm dizzy just from what I heard today. If your acquaintances are dropping dead in real time while dumping that kind of info on you, I'd go insane too."
Ezel grumbled as he sipped the warm water the drone had brought.
Looking at him now, properly one of their own as an Inspection Division agent, it suddenly felt like all the incidents they'd faced so far weren't isolated—they were connected.
'The most critical exosuit operators in Dome's forces. Even if the Chairman said he'd provide exosuits, is it normal to directly recruit from the Inspection Division garage like this? Normally, it'd go something like [We'll give you the exosuits, but not the personnel. Take extra gear instead of suits you can't even use].'
The Chairman had clearly said communications cut off at the entrance to Sector 39. In other words, he'd heard everything up to this point, where they were now. An area infested with endlessly swarming mutants. If he really just wanted to support them based on mutant intel alone, arming 10-20 regular troops with heavy weapons would've been far more practical than exosuits limited for sustained combat.
'...No way he didn't know. The Chairman's always a step or two ahead of me in scheming.'
He was certain. The Chairman had withheld other information from him and, based on that, provided exosuits suited for wedge breakthroughs over area annihilation.
Crunch. Tap.
[I don't know the details, but I heard it's not that big. About 40kg including the cushioned case for the parts.]
Clack, crunch.
[All my informants got wiped out, so I don't know exactly what's happening... but at least I salvaged this.]
Crack, grind. Grind!
'A crate. A crate...'
The mood had gone quiet at some point.
"Hey, Professor. You okay? Something bothering you?"
"...A bit."
The crate in the fanatic's hands from the video. The Chairman's 40kg crate.
"Ezel. What do you think justice is?"
"...Out of nowhere? Why? After nearly dying a few times, you wanna pledge yourself to Dome?"
"Nah, just curious."
It was just that the two crates oddly overlapped in his mind, bringing the Chairman's smiling face to the forefront.
****
"So, those fanatics are at the center of this mess."
"Right. Assuming that mutant conversion device... or whatever it is... has been running steadily, it explains how Type-2 mutants swelled into that horde."
"What about the Muggler?"
"Same deal. It looks like a ton of them, but they're really just fragments split from one Type-3 mutant. With its territory crawling with other mutants, no wonder its aggression spiked. We saw it ourselves—Muggler fighting the horde."
"Fuck, what the hell did those crazies do to make something like that...? Aren't they tech-haters? They preach going back to primitive times, but they're more advanced than average. Skin masks are cutting-edge tech, right? And they use guns? Isn't that a contradiction?"
Ian's curse came with a copied message from the access terminal here. In just a few days, rumors had spread, and amid the piled-up orders, 'Sector 32 Happy Blind' boldly appeared.
"That's..."
Screech—
"More precisely, they're 'old generation' tech haters. Necessity is the mother of invention, right? The conflict between ideology and convenience led to their own survival methods evolving in the gaps. Skin masks are a masterpiece from that process. Guns are confirmed only for fanatics called 'Shepherds'—the ones permitted for external ops. Regulars don't use them."
I shifted aside at the voice from behind, and a wheelchair rolled into the circle of four. Dana approached, her hair slightly mussed from just waking up.
"Were we too loud?"
"Nah, I just can't sleep long. My pulse gets irregular periodically, and I start thinking, 'If I stay still like this, am I dying?' Can't stay lying down."
Her grumbling tone carried a weary edge, a reminder that she'd lived on borrowed time for years.
"...You've had it rough, miss."
"Not really? Before the war, I was pissed and felt cheated plenty. But the people I thought would outlive me all died first. Not so cheated anymore. And I'm outlasting the doctor's timeline."
Dana had suffered from a rare heart condition for years. Unknown cause, no cure. She casually showed her arm dotted with injection scars and subdivided stimulants when describing sudden racing or slowing heartbeats, leaving him speechless.
Yet she smiled as if it were nothing, just like now.
"Sheep, Shepherds, and Eyes. Happy Blind divides into these three classes. Sheep are mostly wanderers without homes, bearing kids from the so-called 'Doomed Generation'—post-war births. They're the bulk who fell for Happy Blind's propaganda: 'Don't pass our pain to the next generation.' They handle production and most labor, but it's ambiguous to call them a worker class. Shepherds manage external tasks. One restriction: Not from the post-apocalypse generation. War ended just five years ago, so it's less about current members and more prep for the future, I suspect. They manage sheep, use 'vile old-gen artifacts' to protect the group, and spread ideology."
"Like lay believers and priests...? Lay folk can't access holy relics?"
"Similar. Difference is, those 'relics' are treated like devil's tools. 'Eyes' is the top leader—only one in Happy Blind. Founder of the faith, creator of this blind creed, and inventor of skin masks. No confirmed personal details."
Ezel marveled as Dana rattled off Happy Blind intel mid-conversation.
"...How the hell do you know all that?"
"No such thing as perfect secrets, and Anonymity Forest is perfect for shouting 'The king's ears are donkey ears~!' Lifelong online dwellers like me? Don't underestimate us."
"That's... reassuring."
"My pleasure."
Dana playfully lifted her blanket like a dress at Ian's praise. Professor eyed Ezel between the cheerful group and her, deep in thought.
He hadn't told the others the Chairman was hiding something. If that guy had sent them here deliberately, Ezel's timely return from mission could be his arrangement too.
[He's the guy you handpicked, right?]
'Could've predicted that. Chairman knows I'm tight with Ezel. Of course, all hypothetical. Maybe he really wanted the missing personnel and exosuit, and we just got unlucky timing.'
[Odds are high, circumstantially?]
'That word "odds" means not 100%. Anyway, we'll know at Dome in Sector 38. If the crate with our city-grade shield parts is there, no issue. No point spreading baseless suspicion now.'
[...Complicated.]
Hyd's sigh drew one from him too.
Yeah, complicated. Always had been—people driven by group ideology beyond good or evil.
'So much is gone, world's simplified, yet people stay complex.'
The fanatics' words resurfaced.
[Old-gen tech and its byproducts. Even those who remember it must vanish for humanity's true new start.]
Couldn't agree, but he faintly grasped the roots of their mad faith.
****
Next morning.
At the library entrance, the group faced Dana. Her frail body couldn't join them yet.
"At least come back for me within a month. Radiation levels are rising; even the deepest groundwater here is contaminating. Water's critical for drinking and electrolysis oxygen here—polluted groundwater means the shelter's done."
"Got it. After the job, if we're alive, we'll fetch you."
"Info's thin now, but I'll dig what I can. Check messages on arriving at Sector 38 Dome."
"Yeah."
"Marked sectors with confirmed Raptor activity nearby—avoid them. Combat here prioritizes stripping radiation protection over kills. Even if outmatched, ambush and snipe wins. Around here, some mod crossbows to hurl stones instead of firearms. Stone holes leak more rads than bullet ones. Unprepared fights mean casualties."
"Yeah."
"And also..."
As Dana frowned, recalling something, he snatched her small supply bundle.
"Enough, enough. Dawn'll break. I get why, but you've helped plenty—no need to feel burdened."
"But... it doesn't add up. Couldn't even get solid intel on that artists' alliance you mentioned."
She bowed her head, mumbling rebuttals.
"Your requests, plus rescuing a bedridden patient. Overkill compared to what I gave you. Unfair deal. You lose big."
"Jeez, you who said 'You can't refuse.'"
"That's—"
"You're seriously misunderstanding. Never done a losing deal. Past, present, future."
"But this time—"
"Same here. Still don't get it? This is just extending our old deal, dummy."
Seeing question marks in her eyes from the wheelchair, he knelt to meet them.
"'I've owed you big time for ages, Speed Wagon sir. In return for all that free intel, let me save your life—please accept.' Pro info broker on exclusive support for five years? Whew, the bill's unimaginable. Begging: call it even this once. Cut me slack."
"Uh, ah, um..."
"...We're going. Cold out—get inside quick."
A bit embarrassed after saying it, he turned without waiting. Donning skin mask, checking bubble shield, hopping the fire shutter—his waiting crew smirked, playfully slapping his shoulders.
"Kuhuhu. Quick learner, punk. You're graduated—no more lessons."
"What."
He snapped at blissfully grinning Ian; Ezel tapped from behind.
"You two were so sweet, nearly set lunch here waiting. Looked like no plans to leave."
"Wasn't like that, man."
"Heehee. Happiness is great. Seeing you like that cheers me up. Don't worry—we're loaded. Build another shelter nearby, move out. No freeloading newlyweds."
"Agh, seriously...!"
Grinning Ian, Ezel. Even Bex purely blessing, not teasing. Embarrassed, but more rattled by thinking 'Does it feel bad?' and unbidden 'Not really...?'
"Never even thought that far—let it slide!"
.
.
.
.
Whiiiir—clunk. Rattle!
Distracted, he fatally misspoke.
"Never?"
"Nev—agh?"
"So, how far have you gotten?"
One slip, and they pounced like hyenas.
[I know~ I knowww~. Hey, shell. Saw something fun in your dream last night...]
'...Delusion. Forget it. Forget!'
[You know I can't. Little wooden house on a hill~ Garden overflowing wildflowers~]
'#&(*$_!*(&*(#*)_#*!!!'
Click—thunk!
Vroooom—!
"Crack up! Hey, Professor! Come on!"
"Run solo and mutants snag you—concrete castle princess gets sad!"
"Shut up! Back outside—quiet down!"
Static—
They stopped teasing only when the distress signal pinpoint appeared.
"Tok, to-dok—tok, tok, to-dok—tok—"
Soon Ezel's Morse on comms started it again: [Pretty Love] and such.
Moving slow like inbound, senses sharp on alert—yet unlike before, they grinned onward, not tense.
****
"Gone..."
Dana sighed at the dust on the outer cam. A storm had swept her quiet life.
Creak—
"Ma'am, contact from those other re-re-rewards you me-me-mentioned before. Ch-check?"
"...Can't slack either. Coming right up."
She glared at her worn notebook on her lap, added a careful triangle under the fresh circle, and smiled satisfied.
"Hm, learned too easy ain't good."
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Dana Elisha Hyacinth's Bucket List.
1. Live a worthwhile life, even one more day.
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3. Stay up all night chatting with friends. ○
4. ㅁㅁㅁㅁㅁㅁㅁㅁㅁ. △
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Faded from age and constant smoothing reads—barely legible.
Internet-taught through and through, she'd stick to its lessons.
****
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