Chapter 173
Chapter 173
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Lead and Silver Coins (27)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
The marathon meeting dragged on until dawn. The commanders, grizzled veterans of the battlefield and the wasteland, finally produced a result after hours of discussion that wasn’t particularly impressive.
‘Compared to the enemy position, our garrison has a defensive advantage, so we’ll probe with harassing attacks to gauge their combat strength and judge accordingly.’
‘If the aforementioned [Orpheus] activates, we’ll execute a full retreat leveraging the vehicles’ mobility, then regroup and monitor the situation.’
For people who had proactively led their forces here to attack, it was defensively slanted—almost a ‘let’s engage first and see what happens’ kind of evasive conclusion. But I thought this actually demonstrated their competence better.
No one had tangled with Type 3 variants longer than the Dome soldiers from wasteland Sector 47, feeling their peculiarities and destructive power firsthand.
It wasn’t incompetence saying they didn’t know; they truly wouldn’t know how to counter the enemy until facing them, so they stuck to a defensive posture.
Srrrrk— srrrrk— srrrrk—
[Type 2.5 left outside the garrison]
[Operation? Control limits? Action mindful of residents?]
[Valley basin. Natural fortress. Sniper spots? Anywhere viable]
[Orpheus. Destroy it? Don’t destroy it? What fallout if it ends up in whose hands?]
Endless questions bubbled up, proving my terribly tangled mental state. No matter how much I mulled it over, these weren’t problems I could resolve alone.
‘....Hyde.’
[Why? Can’t you see I’m busy?]
At least it was a comfort having this guy always on standby whenever I craved even idle chatter.
‘Busy, my ass. You’re just sitting there inside flicking your fingers.’
[Hah! If you’d given me even a few minutes without thoughts, fine. But your brain’s like a whole cornfield shoved in a microwave—chaos frying me dry, you idiot. Fine, you want my take?]
‘Less an opinion, more cheap comfort. Like, ‘It’s nothing, just a monster machine gun that can mulch the front kilometer flat, with that many armed vehicles—what’s to worry? They’re all pushovers, think about the rewards after.’ That sort of thing.’
[If I said that, sure, it’d comfort you. What’s friends for if not babying you? Go beg someone else for cuddles.]
‘Went to check after the meeting, and Azel was having me proofread his last will. ‘Needs more pathos here, a guy who passed the exam shouldn’t have such trash prose,’ they were yukking it up among themselves, so I slipped out quiet to not kill the vibe. Kinda feels off whining when I dragged them into this mess. Gotta show some unflappable leader vibes.’
[Man.... You really suffer for your choices.]
An empty, silent space. One thing I loved most about meeting him here was this place he inhabited. No interruptions, just me and Hyde chatting away. The endless darkness that once terrified me now felt cozy, like the pitch black after a shower, lights off, slipping into bed.
Hyde lounged on the sofa, idly swinging a long pole while we talked. With a face screaming utter boredom, he sat up and patted the spot beside him.
[Fine. If you want my opinion that bad, I’ll give it. Sit.]
‘Cocky little one-year-old....’
Plop!
Somehow, the sofa he conjured puffed dust when I leaned back—like the worn-out one from our shelter. Up close, it was identical to mine back home.
Our house was across the wasteland in Sector 47, but leaning into that familiar dusty scent made it feel like home.
Hyde’s opinion was dead simple.
[Sleep.]
‘Huh?’
[Sleep, dummy. You’ve been fretting nonstop for 24 hours, half-dozing even in dreams running sims. The brain’s an organ too, separate from willpower—fatigue builds up. That creepy third personality whining ‘Comfort me, boo-hoo~’ in your skull? All from sleep deprivation. Quit the horror talk and crash.]
‘This guy. Thought you’d say something useful. If it’s jokes, make ’em funny.’
[Not joking, moron. You know dawn moodiness? Around 4 a.m., teen angst surges, making you text ‘...Sleepy?’ That’s all from skipping sleep when you should—bio-rhythms wrecked, hormones imbalanced. You’re peak that right now, buddy. So shut up and sleep. Orpheus seems like Old Picture, messing with the mind—facing it in this shaky state? Idiot shell.]
‘Hormones this, that—where’d you pick that up? Not in my memories.’
[From that book your dad sobbed over at 14: ‘Menopause—when leaves wither, I’ll press them.’ You snuck it thinking it was hilarious, read 30 pages, chucked it.]
Pfft.
Couldn’t help chuckling at his cheeky ass. Come to think, he’d changed a ton since we met. From a toothy blob floating in the dark to my height, build. Now with expressions. Speech too. Raising him felt like parenting, but now he mirrored me.
Sudden calm washed over, drowsiness hitting. Quiet space with Hyde’s grumbles and steady dripping water. Familiar sofa. Idle chit-chat unrelated to coming shit.
‘....Five minutes, then.’
Flopping on the sofa, I pinned the fidgety Hyde with my foot. Muffled curses from him. Pfft. Another dumb laugh. Mom once said it, sorry for making her only child lonely.
Her wrinkled face full of guilt made silly giggles leak out.
‘....He handles everything himself. Knows how to get what he needs.’
[Ugh. Sibling talk? Dodging responsibility, Dad?]
‘Full of shit. Act like a son once, maybe.’
[With a 24/7 newborn wailing in your head? You’d have blown your own brains out ages ago. Be grateful for a self-raising kid.]
Eyes drooped. No thoughts at all—pure bliss. Surrendered easy to the crashing sleep demon.
.
.
.
.
.
Moments later, Hyde sighed watching the professor start proper snoring.
[Whew, damn. Thought he’d crack before holding out.]
Professor fully conked out.
Hyde eyed him, grabbed his trusty pole, yanked a dark corner.
Thud, clatter. Crack—fwoosh!
Rumble rumble rumble!
[Regroup after retreat]
[What Raptors are for]
[Type 3 variants and memory link]
[W was impulsive]
[Current supplies: combat sustainability]
.
.
.
.
.
Like a dam bursting, the professor’s dammed thoughts Hyde had blocked poured out. His head seemed thoughtless, so Hyde forced the block—worked, letting him face his fatigue at last.
[Sure, I’m a rebel getting along with the shell. But canon sub-personality’s job is blocking thoughts, pressuring the mind.]
Professor deep asleep. Control handed to Hyde seamlessly.
Hyde struggled to suppress his own urge bubbling to the surface.
[Not yet. Not.... complete. Going out like this.... ugh! No fun.... Still.... wanna watch more.]
So Hyde funneled the outward-pushing consciousness to his left arm.
[Can’t change much. But it’s my ideal form, right? Liked the body inside plenty. Strong, flexible. At least comfy.]
He had confidence. Researched plenty inside. If following ideal form in consciousness, it’d match his pure mind-vibes, right?
Slowly. Carefully. Kinda pervy fixating on memories, but like mutation factor and motion—prod with a ‘tick,’ and....
Crunch! Grind, squish squish!
[Eeeeek!]
Hyde whipped to the sleeping professor. Oblivious in dreams to his arm’s chaos.
[I-it’s fine. Fixable, fix it! Re, redo! Researched tons. Like that personality scene, recall the light.... saaal—lightly?]
Krrrrunch! Rip! Crraaack! Flop! Flop!
[Aaaah! S-sorry! Daddy sorryyyy!!!]
Hyde stared at the professor sprawled in his private tent chair, left arm slithering floor-wide like a massive vine plant, desperately focusing consciousness.
[L-leave it like this, it’s war. Somehow repair.... at least restore....!]
Started as wanting to help pre-battle. But now amputation for daily life loomed—Hyde poured everything into the arm.
For the two hours the professor slept, his private tent hosted cosmic horror scenes.
****
“Hah, ughhhh—good sleep. Ahhhh~ refreshed.”
Eyes opened naturally, like soft morning sun. Head clear, mood crisp. Condition peak. Gotta admit it—Hyde was right. I needed sleep, not answers.
‘Shouting rest is battle too on the field, yet I forgot. Thanks, Hyde. Spot-on advice.’
[Huff, huff! Uh, y-yeah. Glad it helped.]
‘Hm?’
Stretching happily, greeting him—something off. Bodiless guy panting, sweating buckets? Tent trashed?
Signs of hasty cleanup: dust-caked blanket, gouged wooden chair, pockmarked table floor.
‘....You came out?’
[Uh, y-yeah! Just a sec, super quick stretch! Didn’t go outside!]
Sighed at his reply. Quick, my ass. Pro wrestling believable here.
‘Don’t sneak out like that. At least during my sleep, get some air. You’ve saved my ass—can’t grant that much? Little motion won’t spike variant factors explosively.’
Fact: he saved my doomed life. Been selfish?
Rested, time to think—but tidy this mess first. Reached for dirtiest blanket.
Wiggle, wiggle,
‘....Huh?’
Weird. Long used to left arm length. Why no grab? Slept too loose, senses regressed?
Bad news. Left arm key combat tool now—balance wrecked? Swung it quick—sensation off.
Chilly, familiar.
‘Wha.... this?’
Slept in thick winter gear, yet whipping arm felt winter air. Shredded shoulder-down, exposed.... average-sized left arm, flesh tone dashed with black vertical stripes. Not normal, but mine. Original arm! Not the gun-fumbling monster—Mom’s handmade arm!
“Wha-wha! Hey, hey! Hyde! This, this!!!”
[S-sorry! But it’ll help in battle for sure.... forgive for that! I’m sleeping!]
“Sorry.... huh?”
Did something while I slept, obviously. Not fully human, but hey. About to praise heavy—
“Ran.... away?”
Familiar sensation. Familiar dread.
Closer look: flesh-heavy arm, but black ramps up toward shoulder.
Ziiip—flap!
‘Whoa.... grown a lot?’
Yanked off uniform. Inside: black sheen mixed with flesh—my body.
Front: covered left chest fully to solar plexus. Back: to wingbones. Black carapace zones expanded.
Thumped chest with right hand—thunk. Not surface—whole pecs turned weird material.
Wiggled fingers, rolled shoulder, swung fist. Moved fine. No—more parts like Type 3 variant felt nimbler. Casual swing whipped air like a lash.
[Uh.... Big battle coming, thought boost combat—tried toggling arm original/clawed form, but suddenly carapace surged body-wide....]
“Agh, enough, dude. No excuses. Knew it’d happen someday.”
Just buried hoping not. Docs spelled it out.
[Meal changes too. Logically, no fullness from dozens portions? Left arm aside, changes starting elsewhere.]
Sector 47 admin researcher’s words.
Digestion issues matched, but swinging left arm here confirmed. No way arm alone packs this punch. Visible or not, body changing.
Chest/back exposed bits: changes surfacing from Hyde’s will/react.
[.....]
‘No self-blame. Without your arm swap blocking laser blade then, no fretting now. Inevitable truth just hit early.’
W said blooming once started wouldn’t stop. He knew. My state. And Hyde, tight-linked to changes.
[So.... we turn like that bastard too?]
“Adapter.... who knows?”
Mutation virus: death-moment, salmon-up trauma-streaming memories. But I ain’t dead, mind sharp.
“GG system said I hold [Overcome Mental Fragility], right?”
Still, rolling “Mom” on tongue conjures metallic blood. But not ripping wounds—brushing healed scar, slick feel. Virus-hunted deep memory valley long scabbed solid.
Maybe my exception’s that? Undead body’s upstream virus, rootless-flailing.... influenced by newborn pure consciousness Hyde? If so, change’s end....
“....Whatever, better than that ‘adapter’ freak from shit memory.”
[....I’ll find a way somehow.]
“Appreciate it. Not flipping alien-belly-burst yet—don’t rush, scare folks like now.”
Calmly dusted blanket, donned uniform, headed out.
Seven a.m. Mess tent steamed hot.
“Grab the kids for chow. Might not survive today—too early for later worries?”
[.....]
Shock big? Coaxing got no reply. Couldn’t read thoughts clear, but deep brooding obvious.
‘....Really fine.’
Just expected shit arriving. More into changed arm now. Feels way stronger, whatever. Life-on-line vs special variant horde? Boon. Test proper—extend fingers, power up—
Krrrrunch! Crack!
Black lines split, snapped back huge fast. Bigger, heavier? But connections mostly changed—handled lighter.
Ting, ting-a-ling—
Crash!
Clatter! Splat!
“Oh.”
Right—garrison.
Mindless swing—five soldiers nearby dropped trays, faces indescribable, eyeing my face/arm. Sane one hand to pocket, emergency signal-ready. Yeah, creepy as hell even to me.
“Uh.... equipment check. Get food again.”
“Yes, sir! Good work!”
“Uh.... g-good work, sir!”
Watched them bolt, tucked left arm normal.
Crunch, crrrunch! Shrrrrk!
“....Handy as fuck. Grub then gun pickup.”
Lie if no anxiety—but later for later.
For now, focus surviving today.
****