Chapter 236
Chapter 236
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: The Hunter, the Cleaner, and the Swordsman (4)
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****
The next morning.
Dong- clang- dong-
“Ughhh.... My head hurts. Maybe I should just smash that damn bell....”
Ian clutched his head at the sound of the bell waking the city and dragged himself out of bed.
It was a wasteland that didn’t brighten much even when the sun rose. That church bell was the signal for the start of the day, the clock for the refugees who mostly didn’t even have watches, but to someone who’d drunk enough the night before to get small rodents drunk just from his breath, it was nothing short of torture.
Ian habitually checked the small gun hanging around his neck, threw on some clothes haphazardly, and stepped outside. It was the administrative barracks, but half of it was used as staff housing, so plenty of people were emerging after hearing the morning bell.
Among them was a familiar face. A young man with disheveled clothes raising a hand toward him, flashing that usual crooked grin.
Ezel Leyden. Ezel, looking just as wrecked.
“Ughhh.... Good morning, Ian bro....”
“Ugh.... Don’t talk to me, man. My head’s pounding. Got any water, Ezel?”
At Ian’s words, the haggard-faced Ezel tossed him a leather pouch he was holding. It was water with a strong roasted grain flavor, definitely better than plain water.
“Ughhh. I might live.”
“Good, right? It’s flour lightly charred and brewed. With people coming from all over, turns out there are folks with some interesting skills.”
“Urk. They’re all survivors up to now, so yeah, they’ve got their tricks. But why do you look like that?”
“Huh? Oh. It was my turn after you, bro.”
“....The Director?”
Nod, nod.
Ian nearly dropped the cigarette from his mouth. What? After drinking with me like that, he called someone else over and kept going?
“....At that point, doesn’t it qualify as alcohol dependency needing forced rehab?”
“Well. The Director never lets go of his bottle while working anyway. He called me for the BDSM activity report. Said since I do fieldwork with BDSM and know the Inspection Department forms well, could I come take a look. Plus, he wanted to catch up since we used to see each other before I joined Inspections.”
“Monster of a man. How much did you drink?”
“Lost count after four bottles. But thanks to you taking the first round, I survived.”
“Damn it. Next time I see that guy, I’ll prep a pure alcohol IV and shove it in him.”
Clunk.
As they reminisced over yesterday’s fierce battle and defeat, the door to the next room opened, revealing sleepy-eyed Cynthia and Bex. Their eyes were half-closed, but their faces were shiny clean, like Bex had been forcibly washed.
“Hey, you two undersized ones. Good morning.”
“Hey. You two drunk uncles. Good morning~ Yawwn.”
“Khuhuhu. Doesn’t miss a beat, just like her old man. Cynthia, you stayed up late watching streams again, huh?”
“Nope. I just cleaned the puke off my clothes from big Uncle and crashed right away.”
Cynthia played innocent while throwing yesterday’s events right back at him. But with Bex beside her flashing two fingers, it was clear she’d watched that guy’s stream for hours again.
“You keep skipping sleep like that, you won’t grow tall. You’ll end up like Bex.”
“Tch! What’s wrong with Uncle Bex? He’s neat, mannerly, quiet, and kind. Way better than some gunpowder-stinking bearded guy!”
“[Stats / Height / Genetics 90% / No issue]”
“Yeah, yeah. You two drum and gong all you want.”
Ian shook his throbbing head to clear it, then roughly ran a hand through his messy hair.
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Potato salad and boiled eggs.”
“Oh! Eggs in the rations? They’re not expanding the chickens anymore?”
“Heard at school they’re starting to hand out eggs regularly as a protein source.”
“I heard it too while working on the report with the Director yesterday. They succeeded in breeding mutant giant chickens with regular ones.”
“Hm? Mutant chickens.... You mean that dinosaur chicken the 50s refugees dragged in on a leash a few months back? That possible? That thing could carry people around. With.... regular chickens? That’s not cicadas on a tree trunk, that’s throwing spears at Babel.”
“Who knows. No class on poultry sex life in the Inspector exam. They made it work somehow, so good for them. They’re using them for food, and the big ones from the 50s for riding too. Stamina’s crap, but they’re pretty fast, and best of all, no fuel needed.”
“Huh....”
Ian recalled his conversation with the Director from the night before. New era. New breakthroughs. They were aggressively trying changes in all directions, beyond just mutant byproducts.
‘The electromagnetic net lasts about a year. With the safe consolidation window limited to one year, they’re pushing hard for new breakthroughs.’
Ian looked at the fist-sized boiled egg from the administrative cafeteria and thought it might not be so bad after all.
It was a bit sour and had a weird smell, but the boiled egg was edible enough.
****
“Yeehaw-! Cheap, cheap! 12mm machine gun ammo clips, 5,000 rounds per clip!”
“How’s a person supposed to survive on grass alone? Meat! Juicy meat! Albanian rat jerky! Expert craftsmanship! Buy our tasty, long-lasting rat jerky~!”
A street lined with shacks made of tattered cloth, leather, holey slate walls, and the like.
They hadn’t even reached the entrance yet, but seeing the bustling street, Ian’s group let out their own exclamations of admiration.
“Man, they’re really letting loose. The black market’s frozen solid.”
“Well, even back in Inspections, we raided the Underdome underground market a bit. But the vibe here’s totally different.”
“Zeus Valley, Zeus Valley! Waaah, I always wanted to come!”
They had plenty to think about, but it was their return after a while, and some rare downtime.
After breakfast, the group decided to check out the “black market”—the hot center of controversy, leading the latest trends in the new Dome autonomous district spanning sectors 45, 46, and 47.
Dana had wanted to come too, but it was her big health checkup day, so she couldn’t join.
“It’s called a black market, but it’s basically just a regular market now. Sure, it’s a mess of barter, scrip trades, and swaps right now without much standardization, but that’s getting sorted out bit by bit.”
Instead, Levit tagged along—she’d been at Dana’s room gossiping since dawn. She claimed she was bored and wanted to show around important guests to build connections, dressed like a museum curator with glasses from who-knows-where, pointing out Dome changes and daily life in detail—
‘Lying through her teeth.’
‘Her tastes are unique.’
‘Levit sis? No way.... really?’
But from the moment they left the administrative building, she’d been glued to Bex’s side. Connections, sure—but only one target.
“Before we go in, let me explain a bit~? That valley ahead is the famous ‘Zeus Valley’. Yep~ It’s that one you’re thinking of. Our great Professor personally slagged ‘Mayer Zeus’ and melted down over 80 tanks along with it—”
“[Help! / Restrained! / Help!]”
“It’s a spot where sandstorms don’t hit much geographically, so people gathered there. As you know, after the refugees flooded in, they kicked out all the Underdome thugs and punks—the criminal labor pool—and gave the spot to 47 sector survivors familiar with Dome management, right? The chased-out lowlifes and scavengers from everywhere banded together, looking for a hustle, and found this spot ringed by the artificial valley—that’s Zeus Valley—”
“[Support requested! / Flank pressure! / Flank pressure!]”
“Oh dear. No need to rush like that. So impatient!”
Squeeeze!
“Eeeh.... Eeeehh!!”
“Anyway! It started as a place trading drugs, cheap smokes, moonshine, and grew as people flocked in, becoming today’s Zeus Valley black market. Lots of fun stuff, plenty of legit goods, but don’t forget—it’s still a black market at heart?”
Levit pointed with her slender finger to posters of missing kids from the area and Inspection Department notices pleading for contact.
“That’s it! Explanation over! Come on, Bex? Kept you waiting? Let’s go. So much I want to show you, so much to do. Karambit, right? I learned military dagger, so curvy blades are tough for me. Wow, such delicate fingers! Oh, a scar here? Can I touch?”
“Uh, uuuuh.... N-n-nooo.... Nyaaa....!”
Snap! Snap snap snap!
[Prisoner release! / No approach! / Let go!]
“Hm? Oh~ I don’t know a single military signal~ ‘Nyaaa.... is fine’? Hehe, thanks. Let’s hurry. There’s this weaponsmith who does great work—get me a knife fitted. And maybe some others too.”
“Nyaaaa-!”
Bex, who’d barely known a woman’s attention, let alone a mother’s embrace for long, had no chance against Levit’s all-out assault that enchanted nearly every man in the wasteland.
Bex was practically kidnapped, dragged off by the sweetly whispering Levit stuck to his side.
Naturally, Ian and the crew just watched with amused eyes.
“Hah. They say even straw sandals find a pair. Who’d have thought Bunny Princess had eyes for Bex bro.”
“Pair? That’s straw sandals and glass slippers level. Even in end times, that’s too hip. She’s got some ulterior motive, right?”
“Um.... Levit sis did talk about Uncle Bex a lot. Said her face is worth ten pretty boys anyway, so looks don’t matter; people like what they lack; never seen anyone dual-wield daggers without game training.... Come to think, it was always him.”
“Hm. Beauty standards do shift with eras. If combat prowess is husband material, he’s top-tier....”
Click, click-
He’d flashed a light signal Bex’s way just in case, but instead of the dazed Bex under soft pressure, Levit replied. Basically, buzz off. A natural, expert gesture no signal-ignorant woman could fake.
“Like hell she doesn’t know. Not a bunny, a fox.”
“Well, leave ’em be. Bex bro and Levit are both adults, right? He’s not the type to drop dead somewhere. Honestly, with his constant hemp talk, some in the squad think he’s gay. This is way better.”
“Not drop-dead, but look—he can’t even breathe. Hand-holding like that’ll give him a heart attack.”
“Hm? Uncle, what’s a heart attack?”
“Uh.... Something like that.”
Forgetting Cynthia was there, Ian glossed over it and hoisted her onto his shoulder.
“Anyway, looks like those two won’t show till tomorrow. Let’s go have fun.”
With that, Ian, Cynthia, and Ezel entered the black market, Zeus Market. Of course, they didn’t forget to thumbs-up the desperately signaling-for-rescue Bex right up to the end.
****
Clang! Kang!
People digging out melted tank wreckage in a corner of the valley.
“300 scrip~ Not grubby recycled stuff—pure white clean paper, 300 scrip~ Magical stationery to send your heart to loved ones, 300 scrip~”
A vendor playing the top-viewed ‘Two Winds Mage’s Letter’ video on his stall, hawking stiff paper with pulp stains as [Letters to Convey the Heart].
“No way two 6-cylinder engine cylinders go for under 2,000 scrip? That how you do business?”
“Hey, scrap prices fluctuate all the time. Storage costs here, risk of finding the right buyer. Can’t go above 1,700—shop elsewhere.”
A fairly large scrap exchange setup.
Quality aside, this black market was packed with spectacles. Naturally, ‘that’ was there too.
[Mutant Byproduct Processing Station]
“Damn. Out in the open now.”
“....That’s huge?”
Not stalls—a whole alley of byproduct processors forming a street.
Ian wrinkled his nose at the familiar smell wafting from the entrance. Mutant blood had a distinct sweet tang, easy to pick out.
“Came out to forget my headaches, and they follow me here. Hey, Ezel.”
“Yeah?”
“Bring any tools?”
At that, Ezel cracked open his leather jacket. Two favorite pistols. One knife. One flare.
“Goin’ in?”
“Yeah. Cynthia, go play. Stick close—some might try crap thinking we’re loaded.”
“Back-alley trash? I could cover with one hand tied. What you doing solo?”
“Just. Sightseeing.”
Ezel got uneasy at Ian casually raising his hands.
Ian had seemed preoccupied since yesterday. And from what he’d seen, Metaljaw handled worries by...
“....What kinda sightseeing?”
“Big caliber?”
Click!
...swiftly and precisely exterminating them.
Ezel paled and lunged as Ian pulled a gun from his ever-present gun case, but Ian grinned and backed off.
“Khuhuhu. Kidding, kid. I’m not a psycho killer gonna slaughter all those merchants.”
“Uh, not?”
“Not now, man. Just wanna see with my own eyes. If this is natural progress with the times, or pure corruption.”
He’d shared so many drinks with the Director yesterday he couldn’t remember them all, but a few stuck.
=========
“Crisis oppresses and unites people; peace breeds freedom and division.”
“Urk—that’s.... wha.... quality!”
“Simple. Next year. While burning through ammo and gear for safety, the chaos of peace will emerge. Political turmoil, for one.”
“Khuhuhu. That’d make a stray dog laugh. With almighty Inspector General Alexander Young around, political rivals?”
“Exactly. Just look at the byproduct market to sketch it out. They’re gleefully butchering mutants, then a silver dog tag from one’s neck. A soldier who gave all for the Dome meets a pathetic end—spreads like wildfire online. In this era, factions split: one pushing active mutant byproduct use, the other calling them monsters. I back one, agitators and trash seize the chance. Division, conflict, civil war, weakening. Raptor raids follow, then doom.”
“Fuuu....ck....”
“Worst case, but clear enough even a straight shooter like you can’t deny. Rulers can’t just eye the present—must calculate every scenario.”
“Head.... gonna explode....”
“What can you do. Sat in the chair for it. Gotta soften the psychological shock somehow. Plenty’ll exploit it to mislead folks....”
“Urk—”
Thud.
“Hm? Hey. Desmond. Out? Haha, too bad. First decent drinking buddy in ages....”
=========
The Director’s take on the byproduct market. Some moral shift inevitable. Just managing the transition so people don’t freak.
But Ian saw it differently. He’d been a Raptor swarm alpha once, rubbed with the wasteland’s lowest dregs, knew how ugly humans could get.
Mutant byproducts taking the black market’s prime real estate in mere months.
Trash who’d chop humans for profit.
Post-38 incident, the 3-type, 2.5-type mutant change mechanisms spread via communities.
Unlike the Director’s worst, Ian’s plunged deeper into the abyss.
‘If byproducts sell that well, some’ll skip [hunting] for direct [production].’
Ian felt the heavy weight of his gun case. Ammo, guns—plenty.
‘If it’s gone that far.... I’ll clean it up.’
No rejecting change. Arrows to lead bullets—change always came.
But wrong direction? Cut it mercilessly. Again, again, numbers irrelevant. Even empty-headed trash learns from piled corpses: this kills! Keep cutting till the right path.
Ian checked his favorite: triple-barrel shotgun and hand cannon. Lit a cigarette.
Morning sun rose, Dome buildings casting shadows. Lowering his sunglasses, Ian smirked involuntarily at one.
“Wondered why you saved a guy like me. Damn, you recycle well.”
“Hm? What?”
“Never mind. Play nice with Cynthia. I’m off.”
“Bye, Uncle~”
“Yep.”
Ian waved back at Cynthia and turned into the byproduct market alley. Last reflection in his sunglasses: the tall church spire’s cross far off.
****