Chapter 118
Chapter 118
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 118
Chapter Title: 63. The Two Children (1)
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They say the complaint that today's young people aren't like they used to be can be found even in ancient Greek graffiti.
Yang Sang-gil's son embodies that Greek spirit perfectly.
The reporter revealed the son's name as Beom-hyo. He's just turned twenty.
It wasn't hard to confirm this guy was really Yang Sang-gil's son.
He paraded endless proof: a clearly high-end residence even by pre-war standards, gourmet food, luxury goods galore, and photos deliberately showing off women's arms.
One photo that stuck out was of a lavish living room glowing with light contrasted against the pitch-black misery of the ruined city outside.
Our board's users responded to Anonymous1523 with utter dismissal.
Truth is, ignoring him is all we can do, and even the densest among us could see his game.
He just wants to piss us off.
Get a rise out of us and laugh about it.
Even pre-war, there were guys like that.
Dongtanmom before she got replaced by Baek Seung-hyeon comes to mind.
But one question nags at me.
What the hell is this guy planning?
Can he even handle the fallout?
What is Yang Sang-gil doing about it?
I know he's sloppy and cowardly, but is he so low-tier he can't even rein in one kid?
Come to think of it, I've never heard Yang Sang-gil mention his kids.
Our board's standards must be hitting rock bottom too.
"...Ha."
m9, you bastard.
He's sucking up to Anonymous1523.
Brazenly ass-kissing in front of everyone.
I crossed my arms and shook my head.
m9 must be hurting for cash lately.
Though when hasn't he been?
Living on a slope tilts your mindset too, I guess.
Yesterday, I hunted a wild boar by chance.
An adult female separated from her herd, wandering lost until she ran into me. I ended up killing her unintentionally.
Food's not scarce, but fresh protein is always welcome, especially with the long winter coming. So I'm prioritizing butchering it properly.
I've done it before when Gold brought back game, so I'm more confident this time.
Experience taught me: do it outdoors.
The smell, fur, guts, cleaning—it's too messy indoors, and cleanup's a nightmare.
Like last time with Rebecca, I laid the boar on a table from the lower village and got to work.
Not frozen, freshly killed, so the hide peeled off smoothly. Sounds gruesome, but it felt good.
Refreshing, almost.
Once skinned, it looks just like the hanging cuts at a butcher shop.
Thud!
Once you lop off the head, that is.
"Yeah. Okay. When are you coming?"
Rebecca's move prep is basically done.
Area cleared, wiring sorted.
Boiler tested perfectly.
Just move in.
"Next time. Still. Thinking a bit more."
But now that it's time, Rebecca's hesitating with needless worries, dragging her feet.
I get why.
It's Su.
Even with our history, sharing space with a strange man is something a mom approaches with utmost caution.
Fine by me—the later, the better.
Lately I've been thinking: if they can hold out, maybe don't come at all.
Or just make it through winter.
"Got it. Call if you change your mind. Caught a pig—want meat? Yeah. Alright."
Cut comms and was pondering where to dump the boar head.
Thud—
Dropped it and instantly raised my gun, aiming at the bushes.
"Come out."
Click.
"Hurry!"
My sharp shout made the intruder peek from the tall grass.
"...You?"
Not human.
Dog. A pup not yet shed its babyish look.
Problem: it's bigger than me.
"..."
Mutation.
Body hot, panting with tongue out, ragged breaths.
Doesn't look good.
Matted fur, limping leg, utterly exhausted.
I stared at the mutation and asked offhand.
"Gold?"
The dog wagged its tail.
Approval or just liking me? No clue. But every pup mutation I've seen lately was Gold's kids.
"...You Gold's pup?"
Gold had several pups.
Some like her color.
This one: Siberian Husky mix, white and white-blended fur.
Dam's color.
Why's it here?
Nose twitching, eyes on the boar, drooling.
Hasn't eaten in ages.
Checked its teeth.
Wolfish—small but perfect, neatly packed.
Dumped a tub of innards (big red plastic washbasin) in front of it, tub and all.
Tail wagging wildly, devoured the guts greedily.
"..."
While it ate, gun up, scanned around.
No other mutation dogs.
Alone.
Crawled through a blind spot into my turf solo.
"Where's your dad?"
Unlike Gold, it's dumb.
Just stares, keeps scarfing guts.
Doesn't get human talk like dad.
No chance to learn, probably.
Gold raised by humans from birth; this one grew communicating with dog pack.
Still smart, though.
Remembered my turf, knew I was friendly human, reported to dad, came here.
Finished guts, perked up on all fours, staring at me.
"What?"
No answer.
Just stares.
Looks dumber than Gold, facially.
Then suddenly turns, yips softly, heads ahead.
"What? Follow you?"
Turns back.
"What?"
Stares.
Eye contact with giant pup, then it squints, nods off drowsily.
Sighed, turned away.
"Grow up."
Back to work; it flops beside, eyes shut.
Exhausted, clearly.
Its arrival means...
"Whew."
Trouble for Gold.
Last I saw: Chinese hunter killed her mate, pack chased off.
Probably same misfortune after.
Or fatal wounds from that hunter.
Anyway, question it when it wakes.
About Gold's status.
*
Sharing good ingredients with everyone as they come is a virtue of our board users.
Made stew with the front legs.
Decent reactions.
Well-shot dinner pics with effort get generous comments.
But luxury brings disaster.
Soon after my boar stew post, Yang's son posted.
"..."
Click.
Clicked his post.
Real steak.
Perfectly grilled T-bone, fat dripping, with tasty garnishes and elegant wine glass—taunting my taste buds visually and audibly.
That alone, whatever.
He's picking on me.
Saw my post, evil urge kicked in.
Board villain, predictably zero comments.
Wait, one.
m9's persona is non-person these days, so effectively zero.
Couldn't even snag one.
Closed the annoying tab.
But closing it left a bad taste.
What makes this punk so bold to act like this endlessly?
Yang Sang-gil sends others' families to die without a thought, yet can't touch his brat. Kinda comical, bittersweet.
Anyway, sun's setting.
Days hit 28C, nights drop to 8C worst case.
Layered up despite heat, left bunker.
Silver giant pup waited politely by entrance.
"Silver."
Named it.
Dad Gold, this silver—fits perfect.
Likes it, yips happily.
"Woof!"
"Let's go. Where to?"
"Whine..."
"?"
Silver trots ahead, then drops tail, looks back.
"What? Forgot? Can't smell? You're a dog?"
Tiger dad, dog son proverb.
What to call this one?
Anyway, too scatterbrained, so classic method: backtrack.
Headed to Chinese hunter's dog massacre site.
Time passed, no big rain—scene preserved.
Rotting dog corpses.
Some skeletons.
Silver trembled, whimpered anxiously.
"Shh."
Hushed it, scanned.
"..."
First-class work.
Soloed four without backup.
Weapon: Chukonu—latest hunter gear I don't know.
Potent.
One bisected at spine.
Chinese hunter weapons excel, naturally.
Unlike West, they rejected Awakeners fully, bet nation on pure human tech.
Why China shunned Awakeners to end? Still mystery.
Found issue we don't know?
Read reports high-level Awakeners unstable post-awakening, but no encounters to feel it.
Our Captain Woo was weirdo pre-awakening; now normal. Doesn't count.
That Chinese hunter...
Killed another.
Pole high: pup impaled upside down, rotting.
Rigor suggests alive when spiked.
Probably called for parents pathetically till end.
"..."
Targeted Gold, looks like.
Veteran, cruel hunter.
Like Defender.
Left corpses, tracked Gold pack's path.
Big prints easy to follow, even dark.
Midway, Silver overtook, guiding.
"What? Memory back?"
Left alone, really leading.
Glances back occasionally.
Reminds of old Su—spark of hope.
Gold might live.
Not far.
Silver's pup distance.
Worry: unfamiliar turf.
3+ years bunker life, always northbound; south rare.
Dead south? Never.
Avoided from start.
Pre-war monster rumors small industrial zone south, armored unit nearby, plus open fields nothing.
Irrigation, but pumped municipal—no water post-war.
Indeed: vast barren grassland, double my turf.
Wrecked tanks silhouetted in moonlight, gloomy.
Silver bounded pup-like across silent plain.
To abandoned ruin—not forest, mountain, cave. One dog's fate hit home.
Death smell before close.
Bzzz— bzzz—
Flies assaulted senses.
Swatted swarm, hopped ruin wall.
Half-collapsed wall: massive dog, wounded, dying.
"...Gold."
Shined light on wounds.
High intelligence always good?
Wonder sometimes.
Gold's wounds: not human weapons.
Dogs bit her.