Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: For That Handful of Silver Coins (2)
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***
Scritch, scritch—
“Chiraltech Shower Booth Set, for small shelters.... How much?”
“Uh, 217,800 Sil....”
“Z-Type Air Purifiers, two of them....”
“Two comes to 160,000 Sil.”
“Six....teen....thou....sand....”
If you want to survive long in the wasteland, you can’t cling too much to the past. You know that saying? Something like, ‘Oh, survivor, isn’t there too much beauty in the days ahead to look back?’
The day after I lost my mind, half-smashed Corduro, and collapsed into sleep,
The first thought when I opened my eyes in the morning was, ‘It’s already too late.’
Instead of hugging the mess I’d made and just sighing over and over, it’s way more efficient to spend that time finding a solution, right?
That’s why, from morning, I was sitting in this shiny living room, sorting through the damaged Corduro drone and the shopping list from the Dome.
I had to check the extent of the damage to figure out how to deal with it.
“Active Reactive Auto-Turret—installation type.”
“Uh.... Um.... I got it cheap, since shelter installations have been dropping off....”
“Corduro.”
“932,000 Sil....”
Crackle!
“I’ve committed a mortal sin, sireeee!”
“No. Not a mortal sin, but a sin worth killing you for. Thanks to you, I’m the one about to die.”
Hoo.
I kept counting ‘endure (忍)’ in my mind while scribbling with the pencil. Inner peace, inner peace~ Why the hell am I still doing this crap outside the game too?
If it’s my fault, it’s my fault. I set the shelter AI’s decision-making freedom to the highest level: ‘anything goes as long as it doesn’t violate the Three Laws.’
No choice. Living alone in the wasteland where anything could happen at any time,
If I’m about to die and yell, ‘Corduro! Overload the turret and blast those bastards off it!’ only for it to go ‘Beep—insufficient permissions for habitat damage,’ that’d be no good, right?
I needed a partner that could think autonomously in emergencies, acting on my behalf.
‘....Which is how this mess happened.’
Ugh, stupid Professor, careless Professor! Why did you let loose the reins on this crazy wild-horse AI!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“M-Master! Calm down! You’ll crack your head!”
“Ah, it’s fine. I’m just punishing my past careless self. Leave it. Next one.”
After a time of anguish and endurance like that, I finally finished the list and was left speechless.
==========
Chiraltech Shower Booth Set, for small shelters - 217,800
Chiraltech Z-Type Air Purifiers x2 - 160,000
Source unknown, used Active Reactive Auto-Turret - 932,000
Sugar 3kg - 180,000
Salt 1kg - 70,000
Corn seeds 1 pack - 5,000
Life End Murder, all-purpose slash-proof suit - 90,000
Northstel Days premium tableware set - 22,500
Genuine Happy Blind Mountain non-powered alpha wave sleep inducer - 50,000
(Direct trade) Player 'DOOMgay' antique double-barrel shotgun - 420,000
Life End Murder, small auxiliary shield generator - 200,000
Drone repair parts kit (outer shell, internal tools, floatation device) - 50,000
Total: 2,397,300 Sil
==========
“Ha, haha, hahahaha....”
Flutter, flutter—
Plop.
240. A whopping 2.4 million. Aaah, I feel like I’m going insane. I’m going insane!
Clap, clap, clap.
The number was so staggering, applause came naturally.
“Wow. The receipt’s really packed. Eggs bulging full. So heavy—couldn’t hold it, dropped it.”
“I’m sorryI’m sorryI’m sorryI’m sorry, I’m sorry! I never thought the stream would collapse in an instant like this....”
“Repayment deadline?”
“Generously, about ten days....”
“Fucking daylight robbers.”
Ten days. 2.4 million in 10 days.
Looking at Corduro fidgeting beside me, a sigh escaped naturally. If it had been some irredeemable screw-up, I could’ve vented with curses.
Looking at the list like this, all the bought items looked familiar.
‘Aaah, shower! I want a shower! Hot water shower! Corduro! No place to use my energy, why cold showers!’
‘Hey, Corduro. We’re in the wasteland, sure, but shouldn’t we at least breathe easy at home? That modded vacuum-air purifier noise is gonna rupture my eardrums!’
*Cough*! ‘Ah, hurts like hell. Nearly died for real. One more person and it would’ve been easy to block. All the mutants this time are dead, right?’
‘I want something sweet.’
‘Ah, this? No biggie. Pipe shotgun barrel blew again.’
‘C-Corduro, we’re not dying like this, right? We’ve survived this long, freezing to death is too much. That’s really.... too much.’
‘Corduro.’
‘Corduro!!’
‘Cooooorduroooo!!!’
“....Damn good memory for useless crap. Fucking machine.”
What can you do. No matter how you slice it, Corduro’s the last family I have left in this world. It’s stopped me from killing myself dozens of times, so maybe I’ll let this life-debt slide.
***
08:00 AM
“Hazmat suit.”
“Check.”
“Gas mask.”
“Got it.”
“Goggles.”
“Check.”
“Map.”
“I keep it with me even when sleeping.”
“Weapons.”
“Homemade pipe shotgun one, shotgun shells twenty-four rounds, homemade machete one, gasoline 15mL.”
“Hm? That’s it? No Molotov at least?”
“Too heavy, slows me down. Not going to war. This route, stealth matters more than firepower.”
“True, but.... Well, you’ll handle it. All packed then?”
“Ah, right. Taking about 10m of scrap wire.”
“Wire for what?”
“Rope substitute. Tough, high friction, elastic. Nothing better. Remove from warehouse list.”
Before heading out. I filled my belly with Corduro’s tasteless calorie bar, then cross-checked gear.
“At least one direct trade. Could get a refund if I play it right.”
“Player ‘DOOMgay’.... right? It was on the marketplace exchange, but had a direct trade option—felt off, but it’s actual face-to-face?”
“Consignment sale. Don’t know why, but wants to see the face. In this world, saying ‘gotta see your face’ for a sale is 99% scammer or robber. So they use reputable Marketplace for direct trades.”
Marketplace is the massive merchant alliance dominating Dome’s commerce.
Famous for selling good stuff cheap, but never scammed, so decent rep.
“Anyway, busy day ahead?”
“Yeah. Meetup’s near Sector 43. Scout for useful stuff on the way, persuade the shotgun seller, swing by Old Man Woojin’s in 43 for meds. Might not be back for days.”
“Mm.... Preserved rations packed?”
To Corduro’s question, I silently showed the brick-like calorie bars and water pouch tucked inside my vest.
“May you return safely again this time.”
“Yeah. You remember what to do at home?”
“Yessir!”
A debt near 2.4 million, practically impossible to repay.
Yet one man and an AI moved with such zeal because they’d grasped a thread of hope.
Last night, just in case, really just in case, I logged into GG again. Dead for sure, but with merits earned, maybe get funeral reward money buried with—player-earned counts for exchange use.
Even post-death, end credits and system window pop, so transfer what I can, I thought, logging in—
Ding-!
[Login impossible. Character ‘Professor’ in uncontrollable state / 145:24:33 /]
“....Huh?”
Ding-!
[Login impossible. Character ‘Professor’ in uncontrollable state / 145:24:31 /]
Tried several times, same. Login impossible. Not ‘dead,’ but ‘uncontrollable.’
Heard of this. Character imprisoned, subdued by enemy....
“Or in a coma!”
Not dead. Still alive! That huge fragile character’s hanging on!
The timer’s probably time till uncontrollable ends. Don’t know the situation, but if my character’s alive, ways to scrape money aren’t zero.
“140 hours, about 6 days—if streaming income normalizes, no need. But future’s unknown, so I’ll grind max cash meanwhile.
You, Corduro—tell chat my character’s down, can’t log in. Keep monitoring status. Wakes from coma sometimes.”
“Yup!”
Just stay alive. Stay alive. Was a corpse from start anyway. Please, just stay alive, you trash character Professor.
“I’m off. Guard the house.”
“Yessir! Safe travels!”
With prayers like that, Professor left the shelter.
***
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
A man crept cautiously along a sand-thickened path. Sector 40s farthest from nuke drop zones here.
Thus, higher population density.... well, not quite, but more people than elsewhere, decent pre-war buildings left. Especially Sector 45 between my 47 and target 43—had a building retaining clean circular shape post-war, that unscathed.
‘10-story building at three-way. Left wall, safe for 3 steps.’
Such preserved cities became looting holy grounds in later chaos, scavengers gathering, feuds and claims from battles leaving scant resources, so they hunkered in this city. Result: today’s Sector 45, Looting Arena.
Scritch.
Professor pulled a graffiti-covered map unrecognizable, marked the reference with charcoal X.
‘Three-way left building 5th floor. Barricade suddenly in window. No resources left here, so cover structure. Then.... from here to inner path, all in crossfire.’
Every window stripped, hollowed high-rises. Debris from half-collapsed buildings on roads. Perfect ambush setup from any spot on passing travelers. Map memos detailed aim points, blind spots, crossfires per step—a survival guide logged foot-by-foot. Killed a scavenger here years back, got this map, updated steadily passing 45, now reliable.
‘....Tch. No matter what, feels like one waiting around there....’
No hard signs, just gut. Weird unease. New perfect-cover rubble.
Professor clicked tongue at shattered mirror at path end. Chose this route for safe peek via curved mirror both ways, but sharp rock shards and bullet marks showed recent fight nearby, mirror bits fully gone.
‘Arrow means one side Hound Scavs, other.... who hostile to Hounds here? Benny Anarchists? Wanderers?’
Knew factions, could update territory. Hounds everywhere, not special.
Holding breath, ear to ambient noise, Professor sighed low, pulled shotgun shell from pocket, chambered. Seemed no risk-free way through alley.
*Click.*
In wind-swept urban silence, heavy 12-gauge rack echoed, as Professor tensed legs—
Tap, tap!
Clatter. Clatter, clatter.
From expected enemy rubble, dusty hand emerged, tossing three stones toward Professor.
Army signal. When voice-limited meeting unknown force: three stones to cover direction. Means, I know you’re there, no intent to engage.
‘....Best avoid fight. Battle here draws every scavenger. But if trap....’
Suddenly regretted empty belt. If brought Molotov as Corduro said. How vital arcing throwables in street fights. Opponent ex-military too—twice as deadly as average scav.
After brief thought, Professor decided. Picked three small stones from ground, tossed sequentially toward enemy rubble.
Tap, tap, roll—
Mutual no-attack conveyed. Professor slowly extended barrel out,
Crunch—
Opposite, hunched man in similar gear, hands raised high, emerged slowly.
Crunch, crunch,
Approaching warily along wall like Professor just before, leaned opposite Professor’s cover, rasped,
“Hey, you. Outsider. Lower gun. Shoot here, we both die. Who’re you.”
“....Just passing through. You?”
“....If that’s it, I’m just a scavenger. Which unit?”
“We close enough for chit-chat?”
“Keeh, cold bastard.”
Said so, but Professor lowered barrel too. Opponent yielded first by exposing, so match it.
“....Heading neighbor sector for cash.”
“Yeah, obvious reason. Neighbor.... 47? Right?”
Professor nodded, man chuckled hoarsely.
“Came at perfect shitty timing.”
“Problem?”
“Yeah. Real doozy.”
Snap!
*Click!*
Man beside Professor sudden, hand lightning-fast, Professor’s gun simultaneously on his head.
“Sensitive guy. Keep that up here, nerves snap.”
“What the hell?”
“What else. Sharing latest intel with slowpoke comrade.”
Snatched Professor’s map pocket-fast, pulled pencil from behind ear.
“Damn, detailed work. Nice....”
Eyes gleaming joyfully over map, began scribbling wildly over whole Sector 45.
“Hey, what’re you doing!”
“Wait. Has meaning.”
Professor’s memos blacked out graphite-quick, man licked finger, wiped white circle on black.
“There. Latest on 45.”
*Click!*
“....Nice meeting. Comrade. Farewell.”
“Keehee! Fun prankster!”
Tap.
Man’s grimy finger pointed white patch on 45.
“Big fight here yesterday. Raptors hit wrong scav group, their allies swarmed like bees, battle raged. Gunfire all night, bombs booming—slept great, keeh!”
No wonder. 45 felt subtly off.
“Point.”
“This guy’s temper.... won’t last. Fight hit 45’s sole no-man’s-land.
Biggest building block, collapsed burying shaky neighbors whole block. No one cared—looted out, no digging will.
But bomb blast shifted debris, opened path. Guess what inside?”
*Gulp.*
Professor swallowed unwittingly. City so looted it’s Looting Arena. Early war-closed zone.
“No way.... stuff left?”
“Kekeke! No! Ground level clean.”
“Ground level?”
“Still no interest?”
No, very interested. Visions of Sil pouring in mind.
Grinning at Professor’s gaping mouth, man lowered head scarf, grinned impish.
“Yeah. Unknown underground building under debris! Rumor: rich folks’ massive shelter complex, knowing 45 strategically useless safe zone.
Now every scavenger in 45, every ear-open nearby, swarming here!”
Short man, dreamy face, voice forgetting to hush:
“One buried block treasure chest, sleeping pretty, opened after 5 years!”
***