Chapter 506
Chapter 506
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Greatest Creditor (1)
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****
Whirrr—
Clunk clunk
[-B28....-B27....]
‘Let’s see.... First thing when I get up top, contact Commander Young and check on the battle prep status. Oh, fuel. We’re taking the transport plane’s fuel. Judging by the anti-air bunker layout, it’s probably doubling as a military facility, so there should be at least one ground fuel depot?’
Staring blankly as the elevator numbers ticked down, it felt almost like a countdown.
Return, rendezvous with the main force, revise the Dome expedition’s strategy based on what I learned here.... The moment I resurface from this underground comms-dead zone, I’d be swamped nonstop. So realistically, the only breather I had was this short elevator ride between the Collector business and the Dome expedition stuff.
“Man, I’m really nothing special.”
“Hm?”
“Nah, just.... Everyone around me’s hyping me up as some saint or hero, and I guess I started buying into it, wondering if maybe I really am that guy. But looking at myself apart from the crowd, I just seem like some dude flailing around in an unstoppable current.”
Whirr whirr whirr—
[-B24....-B23....]
“Yeah, probably. Though there’s a difference, of course.”
“Difference?”
“If regular folks are just flailing in the current, you’re the one paddling like hell on a boat to pull them out—so it looks like flailing.”
“....Even so, I’m still just one person who can’t stop the current.”
“Hm.”
Static—crackle—
Like signaling the end of this brief rest, the concrete walls spat static that tickled my ears.
“Well. Guess I’ll do what I can.”
Maybe because I’d caught my breath, or maybe watching Thousand Stream Emperor, serene like some enlightened monk, but the impatience I’d felt descending here had mostly settled.
Yeah. Just like always, tackle it one step at a time. You don’t reach far by staring far. Learned that in 4World, right? That others—not me—are putting in just as much, if not way more, heat and effort to tackle the same mess.
Unravel the knots one by one, untangle this tangled mess of threads step by step.
‘Don’t rush, Professor.’
With a final deep breath, I steeled myself.
[-B7....-B6....-B5....]
The moment I step out, it’s the war’s overture. We’re ready, geared up at the starting line.
[-B3....-B2....-B1....]
I can do this. Like always, up till now.
Whirr whirr—clunk!
Ding!
[First floor.]
And so, with my resolve hardened, I stepped out of the elevator.
Static, craaaackle—!
Before the stale dust smell of the anti-air bunker outside could hit, a flood of comms requests poured in.
[....Su- you son-of-a-.... -fucking-....]
[....Move your ass! This.... Ah.... ...pathetic! No....-]
[Craaackle! Respond.... ra. ....Respond! Co....de ....! Repeat! Code Red! Code Red!]
The voices, fragmented into countless pieces, each carried their own brand of urgency.
Crackle—!
[Professor! Professor, you deaf fucking bastard! You alive? If you are, respond! We’re hauling ass your way right now!]
The first clear connection: Ian’s hoarse, bellowing voice, already sounding wrecked.
[Craackle! Respond! This is Dome HQ! Respond! Code Red! Code Red! Evacuate the area immediately! Repeat! Evacuate the area immediately!]
Next came the Dome comms officer’s voice, even more ragged and desperate.
[Please connect, please...! No fuel, can’t fly solo anyway...!]
Last, oddly enough, amid the distinctive drone of a biplane’s engines, Heung An Mandu’s desperate call for me.
‘All three sound urgent. BDSM heading here. Code Red. The transport that took off first?’
The crisis vibe bleeding through the comms sharpened my mind in an instant.
‘Ian asked if I’m alive. He’s coming with whatever usable friendlies, so he means to rescue me.’
‘Code Red. My area’s a dead zone, in friendly fire range.’
‘Mandu took off first.... Means if the transport stayed groundside, it’d get hit?’
As the situation clicked together, realization hit.
‘Artist Alliance entrance, that gas.’
Maybe the time I blacked out was longer than I thought.
‘Underground nuclear anti-air bunker.’
The Collector invited me to this externally isolated setup from the start.
‘Collector who could scout Raptor Society internals.’
If her reach extended to Gedroits like it did me, she could’ve interacted with them the same way.
“Yeah. It was a choice between two...!”
The Collector urged me to join her and theirs; I refused.
So, the Collector chose too.
“Professor. That’s....”
“Yeah. I see it.”
Thousand Stream Emperor pointed skyward.
Deep night darkness. The wasteland night sky, thick with dust and sandstorms turning pitch black, now held stars.
Methodical blinks marking them as man-made, they pierced the dust clouds, stitching the night sky in unison.
“It’s already started.”
While we didn’t know, we’d stepped right into the war’s heart.
[Everything he does centers on you, Professor.]
“Damn it, they isolated me and cut the starting line meanwhile!”
[Andrey Gedroits. He meant to save humanity from scheduled doom.]
If his goal held. What would Gedroits pursue now?
The guy whose every tech got abused, whose “good” insides twisted every way, deeply disappointed in humanity after billions of sims showing not a speck of hope—what would he prep for the “next generation”?
[Up there is everything you need. Variant virus cures, terraforming tech to beat the poisoned world, gene banks to revive extinct biomes—]
The answer slipped from my Collector chat.
To revive extinct biomes: countless gene samples stored in orbit server rooms beyond human reach.
“....Purge. He’s purging.... From his view, ‘current humanity’ too corrupted to salvage, so wipe and restart! Like dumping lab failures and plating new sterile samples!”
“Next generation. Post-extinction ‘next generation’ plan!”
That gene bank holds genes of the to-be-extinct ‘humans’ too.
Humanity’s past. Pure humanity, untainted by religion, culture, ideology, customs, restarting in a new world wiped of old traces—an arrogant, vomit-inducing plan.
We weren’t at the starting line, facing the war’s dawn.
We’d just now faced the foe eyeing the finish line—at war’s end.
My hardened resolve, flawed from the premise, shattered.
****
Crackle—
“Heung An Mandu.”
[....You! You fucking bastard—!]
“Was in the underground nuclear bunker, no comms. Situation? Why takeoff first?”
[You bastard! You know how much shit I went through up here alone? I misjudged you bad—]
“I’ll listen to your bitching for hours later—report the sitch! Sitch! Enemy, friendlies, threats! Now!”
Despair could wait.
Enemy wanted to restrain me? Means timely action from me could disrupt their show.
....Maybe, just maybe, not too late yet.
So, move fast as possible.
[Fuel! Fucking give me fuel! That’s the whole sitch, you prick!]
“Fuel left?”
[30 minutes.... No, 20! If my life-or-death eco-driving miracle succeeds!]
“Why takeoff?”
[Huge black mist sighted under the hills—then poof, gone like a lie!]
“Cloaking field.... Raptor nest heading here.”
[Yeah! Binocs range means well inside howitzer range already! They’re using WWIII gear, including useless AA stuff now! Got the plane up before it was irreversible!]
“Direction?”
[4km due east from you! No movement now, so slowed nearby!]
East. East from here.... Gedroits’s unmanned spaceport.
“Good job.”
[Damn right! So, rendezvous point? Fuel? Dome IFF codes?]
“None. You and transport bug out now. Fly opposite enemy sighting max distance, then pop rescue beacon and wait.”
[....What? What bullshit—]
“No time to explain. Heung An Mandu. No, Bae Sung-joo, Sung-joo.”
Before cutting comms, I called him by real name, not nick.
“Stay alive. See you.”
[Hey, hey hey hey! Don’t jinx it like that—!]
Click.
Swapped only needed intel, cut comms clean. Ignored transport codes pinging my implant.
Crackle—
[Professor. Get Commander Young.]
[Been on him awhile.]
Next, Dome expedition comms.
[Why you were there, no contact—report later. Professor, you do something with those sky movers?]
“If it’s those sky things, wasn’t me.”
[Worst case. Not us either. Looks like Raptor Society messing with gear.]
“If that’s ‘worst’ to you, grab a drink—I know worse worsts.”
[Already got one.]
“Anyone sharing this call?”
[My lifesharing-level trusted aides.]
“Andrey Gedroits runs Raptor.”
[...!]
Brief gasp, then silence.
[....Quitting booze. Hallucinating.]
“Gustav al-Harb Raptor’s body taken by Gedroits’s ghost. Linker, digitized personality injected into flesh. Dome’s got long-term real data on him.”
[My god. That Gedroits, like that?]
“Confirmed here. With this, guess what’s up there? Comic orbital beams, space waves wiping humanity...?!”
[Ruled out real stuff till now, but Gedroits...? No point assuming impossible. Movers are mostly Earth-orbit sats.]
“Sats.... Military sats?”
[All kinds. Civvie, military, comms, research scopes—everything moving as it comes.]
“All of them?”
Young’s silence spoke volumes.
2055, astronomers ditched ground-based celestial observation sans space scopes. Orbit clogged with countless launchers; scopes saw only space junk and sats.
Twenty years back, already that bad.
World pooled trillions, cleared ~1% junk—Earth’s other wall, countless.
Now, all those sats moving in sync. Humanity’s decades of orbital scrap.
[....You know what’s in Raptor’s path.]
“Next Space. Gedroits’s completer prep orbital base.”
[Yeah. Whatever it is, enemy prepping something beyond us. And actor’s nearly at sole space access. Best order? Hit that base to block Raptor intent.]
[Friendlies max speed to it. Fire everything the instant in range.]
“Dome optics suck in this dust, range tanks hard.”
[Why we got time to chat. If we had Raptor-level long-range ballistics, would’ve glassed your area regardless of you.]
“Commander.”
[I command for Dome’s millions. Sky stuff beyond Dome defenses. Must block pre-activation, all means.]
“Not criticizing. Rational order.”
“But.... Feels like cornered desperation betting all on gamble.”
Raptor. Gedroits. Satellite swarm. Maybe Earth’s last space ride.
Thoughts chaining, I carefully shared my take, hoping Young regained cool.
[Gamble?]
“Yes. Enemy already ground-controls swarm. Destroy base, but if auth holds? Then?”
[That’s....]
“That’s our ‘sole space ride.’ Not destroy—seize the goal!”
[If they had means, would’ve razed it already! Not occupy/protect!]
“Please! Unknown now! They might have more cards, but ours is that sole win con!”
“Server room! Pre-full disappointment in humanity, built to hand over everything! Everything! World-fix tools, revive means, even swarm control—everything! Get it!”
[Too many lives on line for uncertain hope!]
“Too much potential hanging to blast on uncertain fear! It’s the only one!!!”
Young and me. Clash peak: Destroy Raptor-held Next Space vs. somehow use it.
Amid commander-chief-of-staff shouting freezing comms, chief’s heavy voice.
[....Op proceeds. Destroy on range entry.]
“Alexander Young, you pussy bitch—!”
[But! Per chief’s point, environment guts friendly effective range, so legion needs time to target. Long fight possible, so exosuit unit—max efficiency here—takes it.]
“....Commander Young?”
Exosuits execute. Means not remote barrage—whole unit closes to knife range on Next Space.
[So, whatever solo stunt got you there unknown.... Elite agent seizing area, mid-op, gets remaining transit autonomy.]
Young held firm. Prioritizing Dome and people, chose destroy.
But still.... Excused the gap time he created—unspecified duration—he bet all on me.
For his ironclad self, bizarre—made me doubt if that’s really Alexander Young on the line.
[I favor proven results over theory.]
[You saved Dome folk in Executioner revolt, Raptor raid, full 38-District war—ways I couldn’t imagine.]
[So, prove this pussy bitch wrong again.]
[Out.]
Crackle—
Young cut unilaterally.
Stunned by unexpected win, but I got the chance—fact.
Crackle—
[....Ian.]
[Harder to reach than runaway wife.]
Last: Ian’s, racing here.
[While you jawed with chief, got sitrep there. Alive, fucked. Going space?]
“Scary accurate.”
[Kuhhahaha! Real Rocket-Man now! Brag anywhere!]
“Yeah, sure. Who else climbs highest in wastes but me?”
Funny. His metallic laugh steamed off my boiling head—mine leaked grins, brain emptied.
Tension gone, leisure back, rusty gears oiled smooth.
[So we advance with Dome exosuits same line.]
“Roger.”
“One thing. Honest: You did something? Fucked up?”
“Nope.”
“Alright?”
.
.
.
.
[Then do something now. Like always.]
“....Yeah. Like always.”
Click.
Familiar lighter flick across comms.
[See ya on Pitza Planet, Buzz Lightyear. Coming fast.]
“Prep Pussycat. I’ll swing by before you arrive.”
[Paint ‘Welcome Earth!’ on Raptor tank barrel, wave it----]
Crackle, craaaackle—
Ian’s nonsense drowned in static. Not just his—Young, Mandu, all lines fragmented to noise.
“Jamming.”
“Raptor nest <10km. Noise packs active means they’re dug in. Solid proof Raptor garrisoned Next Space.”
Sudden uproar gone, silence fell. Man-made starfield danced artificial across dark sky.
“You.... Lived well enough.”
“....Sudden?”
“Time to part, so. Odd path, but I followed to observe if Professor Park’s life matched my ideals.”
Thousand Stream Emperor sat on junk pile, no intent to move.
“Life lesson: world’s viciously interconnected. Han Seo-ho volunteers Krakolanzia experiment, I find dying him, live as wasteland Thousand Stream Emperor, observe Professor, end here tying my loose end.”
“Makes me think me staying’s some grand connection. So, sharing feels. Everything gets paid, somehow.”
“Staying? Battlefield soon.”
“Can’t tag you. You got mutant body crossing 2km like stroll; I’m just keenly-sensed peak human now.”
He sprawled atop bunker junk like napping, radsuit puffing wasteland dust.
“High ground, battle-off, nuclear-proof bunker behind if needed. Alliance awkward, but hide in structures en route down. Best spot for powerless me now.”
“....Can’t argue.”
I nodded; he extended remaining left hand.
“Pleasure, Professor.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t bad, Thousand Stream Emperor.”
“Remember. World pays all debts somehow. Half-man, but closest to completer after you.”
“....Heal up, head transport direction. Rescue heading there.”
Sudden weird vibe from him.
‘Said fine, but body’s not.’
Spinal goo, brain-meat, right arm chunk left behind. His oddness? Worried I’d lug him like baggage.
“End quick, hold on.”
“Hm? Misunderstanding.”
“What mis—.”
Slapped his hand aside, turned.
Recalled Next Space coords vs. here, gauged target through sandstorm.
2km ahead. Raptor Society main camp likely.
‘....Cure exists anyway.’
Pushed foot; claws long burst boots dug earth.
Hours moved, no fatigue—vitality overflowed, nearly snorted out nostrils.
Body shedding human fast. And my long, intimate, brutal experience wielding it.
Crunch, cruuunch!
Feet dug; hands too. Limbs braced, coiled endless power, thighs ballooned ripping pants.
‘So, overdo it.’
Bowstring body released—
‘Won’t reach servers? Die anyway!’
KABOOOOOM—!
Gedroits’s game. Fictional world’s ‘red mute’ shell—recreated in real wasteland.
****
Fwooooosh—!!
.
.
.
.
“Impressive.”
Even eyewitnessing, doubted that black blob was the man chatting beside him moments ago.
Thousand Stream Emperor tracked the vanishing speck, rose from junk bed.
“....Come out already.”
Yell to empty air.
“Quite the senses.”
Clear reply slithered from junk.
Worn, torn old uniform.
Aged but pristine gun, knife.
Time-worn skin, fiery fur bursting splits.
“Bur.... Right?”
“You’re Thousand Stream Emperor. My personal rival pick—close second, liked you.”
Tiger Bur, eyed with interest the man he’d once hoped would kill him.
“Reason to block me? Sounds like you shed sharpening obsession. No need pick fight with peer like me? Especially in that state.”
Tiger-in-human-skin pointed at his baggy radsuit right sleeve.
“True. Just reclaimed my life, pondering debts now.”
“Then why?”
“Knew you’d chase Professor.”
Thousand Stream Emperor yanked starter cord in his mouth on cherished laser chainsaw left-handed.
Clack, VRRRRR—!
Roaring startup. Sequential blue oval blades—energy orbs shredding steel like paper. Closest real to aura, why he used it.
Shing—
Thousand Stream Emperor’s stance shifted to life’s fiercest.
Twisted desires, but drove him to now.
Rider form of man who fought most to hammer self to limit.
“Meant to eavesdrop? Hear it all. Didn’t I say? Everything pays its debt.”
Shifted further. Balance for empty right arm, torso tilts right. Less muscle, so defensive style leaning on blade’s bite.
“Here I paid life’s dues. Least I can do for Professor.”
Moment ‘Han Seo-ho’ fully gone from his life, standing pure as Thousand Stream Emperor.
“Ha.... Ha. This....”
Crack, crrrack!
Bur, facing impossibly refined peak human form, burned unbearable envy.
“Provoke like this, know it’s ploy, still gotta bite....”
“Sure. Too much for stuck Jeong Bak-a.”
Crack!
Felt it more.
Last true facer, true hater he devoured—tiger burst rotting corpse through withered hide.
“....Fine then—”
Slash!
“Prove your claws my death!”
Human borrowing tiger form charged lone swordmaster. Claws from hands, feet, chest, flanks, thighs, head—hide shredded—monstrous beyond man or beast.
Thousand Stream Emperor eyed grotesque charge, calmly raised chainsaw. Gaze past claw-beast, to inhuman presences emerging from open bunker.
‘How long I hold? Unknown.’
Kagagagag!
Blue science blade met claw-rotting-meat; sparks erupted fierce. Leg-buckling strike.
‘But not slacked, enough.’
Kwashaaang!
His blade tip slipped through, elegantly shredding beastflesh.
His answer.
To Professor’s “how live on?” question.
Planned instant he sniffed stalking beast’s musk deep in bunker stealth-trailing Professor: short, simple ‘remaining Thousand Stream Emperor life.’
Thus. Great swordmaster who, wrong path but solely by sword quelled one doom. Terrestrial master sword’s lips.
“....If you wish.”
Past countless ordeals, self-loathing, flaying, pain.
“My name, Thousand Stream Emperor, permits your death.”
“Not you alone—nor beasts behind, behind them all—my name on every tombstone...!”
Kwachaaang!
Finally, life’s most familiar form settled.
Swordmaster’s lips curved blue-arc smile like his bladetrail.
****