Chapter 81
Chapter 81
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 81
Chapter Title: Reunion (1)
----------------------------------------------------------------- The interior of the contaminated zone resembled what one might imagine of the long-fallen F District after ages had passed. It felt as though he'd time-traveled to ruined Landa. Broken roads and sidewalks everywhere, buildings and labs crumbling bit by bit, alleys steeped in darkness even during the day—it was desolate beyond description. A place truly abandoned. But that didn't mean it had been utterly forsaken. Its original owners may have discarded it, but new residents had made nests in distant alleys and buildings, on the streets, even deep underground. 'Though there are some odd things about it.' Oliver didn't move right away. He checked the map and photos Forest had given him. He planned to get a rough sense of the layout from here before proceeding, but just then, a racket erupted.
"Let's go, you bastards...!"
A band of fixers armed with swords, axes, and firearms surged forward amid the raucous shout. The leader was a man with a massive scar across his face. On closer look, it was Chip—the same fixer who'd asked the official earlier what happened if you killed someone. This didn't look like a simple zombie or contaminated creature hunt.
A voice addressed Oliver. It was Arthur, a renowned fixer from N District.
"Hello? You're Arthur, right...?"
"Yeah. You asked about me at the warehouse."
"Ah, yes... Sorry if that bothered you."
"Nah, not bothered. Everyone pretends otherwise, but fixers size each other up and probe around. I'm the same. Nice to meet you anyway."
Arthur extended his stone hand with those words.
Seeing no ulterior motive, Oliver shook it. Surprisingly, the prosthetic wasn't cold; it radiated a subtle warmth.
"Planning to go solo?"
"Pardon?"
"Didn't get a chance to ask earlier amid the chaos. What's your specialty? Black magic, right?"
Specialty... Oliver didn't really have one. He gave a vague answer.
"Firearms."
"Oh, firearms? Perfect. We're short on ranged firepower... How about it? Join us if you're up for it. We've got a few more X District fixers besides you."
Arthur gestured to the less-than-twenty fixers behind him.
A woman in a silk top hat as a sniper, a man with a mechanical arm and goggles, others in exoskeletal gauntlets—the lineup was diverse.
They all seemed like fixers with reputations.
As if to confirm, Arthur added a note.
"Oh, just to avoid misunderstandings."
"Yes?"
"I've heard the rumors about you, but I'm not inviting you along for an easy ride."
He meant it.
"We're all seasoned vets with names in this game. If the city hadn't ordered it, no one would touch bottom-tier jobs like this... unless they're desperate for cash."
"Ah, yes."
"Same for you, I bet. Our goal is to hit quota and get out in one piece. What do you say? We've got real talent here—team up and wrap it quick."
Arthur's words rang true.
All these fixers carried confidence in their skills.
His offer to Oliver was purely for efficiency and safety. Honestly, it tempted.
Cant had said you'd meet various fixers on jobs; building rapport—short of enemies—wasn't bad. Connections in the trade meant tips or gigs. Though some exploited others...
Anyway, their confidence and demeanor suggested they weren't bad sorts. However...
"...Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass."
Arthur didn't seem surprised or disappointed.
Nor did the fixers behind him. Take it or leave it—that was the vibe.
"Your call... Still, since we crossed paths, one tip: watch out not just for zombies and contaminated beasts, but people too. Plenty of looters target folks like us. Like that Chip guy earlier—steer clear."
"Chip?"
"Yeah. He's more into preying on looters, locals, or black magicians here than zombies. Got backers quietly... Probably mercenaries thinking the same. Best avoid them for your own good."
"Thanks for the advice."
"Yeah. Hope you finish safe."
"Ah, yes. You too, Arthur. Stay safe."
After that brief chat with Arthur's group, Oliver waited a moment before heading out.
A few fixers approached offering to team up, but he politely declined as before.
His goal for this contaminated zone cleanup was scouting for useful loot.
If visits were freer, teaming with Arthur's crew might've been fine, but Oliver stuck to his plan.
If fate allowed, they'd work together someday.
Keeeeeek—!
Kuhahaha—!
With the incantation, a hate bullet struck the approaching zombie's neck.
The withered, chicken-neck-like throat exploded, severing head from body. The zombie crumpled.
Back to a corpse, its only motion now the jaw clacking hungrily for life force.
Naturally spawned zombies felt utterly different from black magicians' artificial ones.
Those revived by black magic were puppets without will unless further enchanted and commanded. But natural ones moved on their own, ceaselessly craving life.
He'd read about this in Anthony's books—mere descriptions, no causes explained.
Oliver thought he'd investigate someday if time allowed.
Wasn't it intriguing?
"But work first."
Oliver smashed the zombie's jaw with his quartestaff, then carefully bagged the head in the city-issued magic pouch.
Tiny as it was, it already held fifteen heads, yet felt no heavier.
No wonder even cheap ones cost thousands.
That explained why looters risked attacking fixers to steal them.
"Why haven't they shown up yet?"
Oliver muttered, scanning around.
Forest's materials covered safe paths, danger zones, and cleanup tips—including zone looters.
They stayed hidden up to hundreds of meters from the barrier walls,
but beyond that, they'd appear sporadically, targeting careless or injured fixers. Strangely, Oliver hadn't seen any.
Not that he wanted to.
But... it felt off. Discordant.
Entering the zone, he'd scanned keenly—only zombies and beasts, no people. Even deeper in, same story.
Worse, even.
Zombies had been scattered before; now, just a couple lingered outside, the rest clustered inward, out of sight.
Fishy. They cleaned because zombies overflowed outward—yet with fixers here, they all retreated inside?
Natural zombies craved life; they'd charge fixers, not flee. None of this made sense.
The thought recalled Forest's words.
Something suspicious about this cleanup from the start.
Originally in four months, but zombies and beasts exploded suddenly.
Maybe some dangerous black magician's prank, as he'd suspected.
Wonder if this was their doing too.
Oliver leaped up, firing a hate bullet at the ground.
A massive rat with yellowed teeth burst from the cracked earth, lunging fangs bared.
Tzzzzzzzzz—!
An ear-splitting screech, hideous form.
He'd seen it before.
The bald rat from the mole's lair—a contaminated creature.
Thud—!
The bald rat collapsed from the hate bullet. Oliver stayed wary, extracting emotions and infusing his shadow.
He commanded the shadow to lash out, binding and beheading grotesque dogs and cats scaling a collapsed wall.
Too coordinated for mere feral beasts. Oliver checked the corpses warily.
Unlike the puppetmaster glyph's mechanical devices.
"Strange. Am I wrong? Or just Obedience control? ...Sorry, but could you come out now? It's distracting."
Oliver spoke to thin air.
Silence for seconds, then figures emerged.
Mercenaries from behind a building—fewer than ten. One familiar face.
"Long time no see, Knuckle Joe."
"...Dave."
Oliver faced Knuckle Joe.
Quite a while since last. Still, Oliver finished his task first.
Using Bind Shadow to throttle and sever necks, then bagging them.
Fortunately, Knuckle Joe and his crew waited with minimal guard.
"Thanks for waiting."
Oliver wiped his hands and greeted Joe.
No killing intent or malice, so...
Joe stared long, then spoke.
"...Were you always this brazen?"
"Pardon?"
"Kidnapping my hireling last time, and now acting chummy."
"Ah... right. That happened. But I figured you'd understand. Sorry if not."
"Understand?"
"Yes. When we fought, I said your hand hurt, and you said anyone entering this line without that resolve was naive... So I thought it'd be fine. Isn't that how it is here?"
"......"
"Anyway, hope you get it. That was my job... Strictly, Professor Herbert broke the deal first, so my hirelings exercised their rights. Sorry about that incident."
Knuckle Joe sighed faintly, muttering "Crazy..."
No energy left to press.
"...What brings you here?"
"Cleaning."
"I know you're here to clean. Contaminated zone. Question is, why this vast zone—specifically here?"
Oliver fell silent. Joe's query cut sharp.
This area was managed by the O'Tool Family, a black magician group.
Per Forest's intel, they collected discarded corpses and zombies, modded them into weapons, sold outside.
Impressive tech. Oliver planned to scout, ambush if viable, snag books and tools.
In the zone, most incidents vanished into nothing.
But he wasn't alone in that thinking.
"Same reason for us."
"Ah... I see. Did you get the O'Tool Family's books?"
Joe slowly shook his head.
"No. Already cleaned out."