Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Gold (1)
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Christmas season arrived right on schedule.
A former game developer who had changed their nickname from Anonymous118 to Foxgames on the board had, just like last year, set up a site for decorating Christmas trees.
The board users, who had time to burn, swarmed it like bees and started decorating each other's trees.
Unlike last year, my tree sported a decent number of ornaments this time around.
<Hmm, hmm... Is this good enough?, Nah, lame, hmm..., Watch your step next year, hmm hmm hmm, Defender1, Defender2>
Haha, my board buddies could be real pranksters.
I added a decoration to Defender's tree.
True to form as a named user, Defender already had three trees fully decked out and was working on a fourth. By some stroke of luck, I managed to squeeze my nickname onto the last spot with a candy cane ornament.
<KILL, Squawk!, Sea Monkey Papa: why?, Sea Monkey Papa, Memento Mori, Skeleton friend, DragonC, Born to Kill, It's Sea Monkey Papa, SKELTON>
Outside, heavy snow had been falling nonstop for the past three days.
My territory and its outskirts had transformed into a vast white snowfield.
With a modest blanket of snow, even the neighboring golf course felt like it had reclaimed its former glory.
Given the weather, there wasn't a single human shadow in sight anywhere nearby.
The only visitors to this human-abandoned wilderness were the roe deer and wild boars foraging for food—creatures that had multiplied sharply since the war.
It promised to be a rare day of peace and quiet.
Until the ferocious howls erupted from the southwest.
Monster incursions are like mold growth.
Rifts act as clear pollution sources, spawning mold around them. That mold breeds all sorts of vicious pathogens, which in turn spread even more mold.
Mutations are one such pathogen produced by the mold—one of the worst threats a civilian can face.
And there are all sorts too.
Word has it that lion mutations rampaged in Africa, elephant mutations in India, and panda mutations in China. But the real nightmares come from livestock humans commonly raise.
Chickens, cows, horses, pigs, sheep, goats, and the like. Never heard of any hamster mutations.
Among them, the most dangerous are mutation dogs—descended from wolves that once hunted humans.
True to their origins, they boast high baseline combat prowess, hunt in packs, and possess remarkably sharp intelligence.
A pack of mutation dogs lives in the southwest corner of my territory too.
Their leader is a beast called Gold for the golden sheen in its fur—an exceptionally cruel and cunning dog.
Even back when the Korean government was somewhat functional, extermination orders went out, but the teams always came back empty-handed.
It once poked around my territory, but lately, it's hunkered down in the prey-rich southwest, living its best dog life.
Intense, primal roars echoed competitively from the Gold Pack's turf.
The mutation dogs fighting among themselves, maybe?
The guttural snarls laced with raw violence dragged on until late afternoon.
"SKELTON, you hear that too? The weird noise."
The sniper mom and daughter had picked it up as well, it seemed.
Su was the one on direct comms.
"Sounds like mutations. Anyway, stay safe. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas. Mom says Merry Christmas too. And she's asking if she can use the computer around New Year's?"
"Why?"
"She wants to do a countdown with the board folks on US Eastern Standard Time."
"......Computer's glitching out a little right now. I'll carve out a day to snag some satellite gear and a laptop, so tell her to hang tight. How's Mom's wound?"
"Fine."
"Good."
I ended the call and performed weapon maintenance.
Rebecca had given me some firepower in exchange for internet access fees.
A Claymore anti-personnel mine, one recoilless rifle, a 7.62mm machine gun, and over 200 rounds of ammo.
For someone like me with plenty of sidearms but lacking heavy ordnance, it was like rain in a drought.
I'd also picked up some homework: Javelin batteries.
If I could restore them to working order, Rebecca promised to hand one over.
Its destructive power went without saying.
It could take out nearly every tank in Korea's arsenal with a single shot.
Of course, the ideal scenario was one where I'd never need it—but human fate has a way of being unpredictable.
Seoul was holding a ceasefire for now, but who knew when the shooting would start up again.
I pulled out the dusty battery tester and charger, puzzling over how to recharge them, when the sun dipped below the horizon.
I gave my face a quick rinse, slipped into the heated tent, fired up the hot mat, and was about to turn in.
That's when the motion sensors on the inner bunker started blinking.
"......"
Something had entered my territory.
Deep inside the main bunker area.
I switched on the listening device and pressed my ear to the speaker.
Panting breaths and dragging footsteps came through crystal clear.
Soon, the closed-circuit feed revealed the intruder's identity in stark black-and-white.
It wasn't human.
A single, mortally wounded mutation dog had dragged itself into my domain.
No sign of the rest of the pack.
Had it been ambushed or something?
Either way, having a thing like that in my territory was a problem.
Best to deal with it quick.
I grabbed my rifle, axe, and lantern, stepped out of the bunker, and approached the intruder cautiously.
In the dim twilight, a massive, convulsing shape staggered into view.
It turned its head toward me—but even that seemed too much, as it flopped sideways onto the ground.
Gun trained, I shone the lantern on it.
"?"
I was pretty shocked when I saw what kind of dog it was.
The mutation dog that had wandered into my territory was Gold—the undisputed boss of the southwest pack.
Why had this survivor of countless hunts, this local tyrant, dragged itself here alone in such a state?
Gold lay there on its side, heaving for breath, eyes rolling to fix on me with an almost human intensity.
I swept the lantern over its body: ribs starkly visible, skin and flesh torn away, the lush golden fur that earned it its name flickering in and out of the darkness.
This wasn't human work.
Awakened humans might wield superhuman powers, but none could bite and shred a mutation like this.
These brutal wounds were the handiwork of its own kind—a fellow mutation dog.
I recalled those competitive growls from earlier.
Pack animals inevitably vie for an alpha.
Power in the animal kingdom isn't like humans'.
Humans can stack cheats atop cheats to cling to power, but animals? When they weaken with age or a stronger contender appears, they die or get exiled.
Was that this guy's story?
Beaten by a powerful rival and washed up here?
"......"
What a shame.
Sure, it'd given me grief once, but it'd also kept southwest humans, zombies, and other annoyances at bay.
Click.
But that was ending now.
It had slaughtered dozens of humans, after all.
It had toyed with extermination teams for sport—like Cat Mom's cats—and feasted on human flesh. Facts were facts.
The dying dog hauled itself up.
Ignoring me completely, it trudged past the grave-like mounds and scattered industrial waste in my territory, heading down the slope.
Its movements stirred my curiosity.
Still, it could be a mutation trap, so I followed warily, scanning my surroundings.
Bleeding and stumbling, Gold made its laborious way to the abandoned village—the small rural community Old Man Kim had once belonged to.
A handful of elders had trickled back to try making something of it, but with no power, no fuel, no lifelong neighbors, it was futile.
Scavengers periodically ransacked the empty houses until they quietly moved on, leaving the place a total ruin.
Gold headed straight for the deserted village.
I followed its blood trail into a part of the village I'd all but forgotten.
Rustle—
Debris crunched underfoot from the entrance onward.
Unpleasant, but I tailed it.
At first, everything felt alien.
Night shrouded my vision, and the tension from a monster that could end me in one pounce was palpable.
But when it abruptly halted, whipped its head to stare somewhere, and I caught its wistful eyes in the black-and-white feed... the monochrome landscape magically reverted to the pre-war village: quiet yet bustling with life.
That's right.
This was the main road cutting through the village center.
The agricultural co-op was over there, the mart across from it.
It was staring at the old butcher shop.
Great deals on decent meat, perfect for hearty side dishes. They'd even bought a ton of my "feminicon" meat.
It smacked its chops and shuffled forward.
Its steps grew lighter.
The staggering gait shifted to the lively prance of the free-roaming town dogs I'd known.
Next stop: the soup house site.
Not my favorite spot.
Mediocre taste, not cheap, and worst of all, the owner lady caught me knocking back soju with my soup one midday and lightly scolded me for being a young slacker boozing it up instead of working. I boycotted briefly out of spite.
Rural life offered no alternatives, so I quietly resumed going.
But to this beast, it seemed nothing but fond memories.
Judging by the lolling tongue and saliva dripping from those razor teeth, even in the dark.
Come to think of it, that nosy owner lady often set out bowls brimming with leftover bones outside the shop.
Gold pressed on.
This time, it snarled at one house, face twisting like a scowling human.
The village head's place.
Old Man Kim's arch-nemesis, a huge dog-meat fan. He'd secretly butchered purebreds from nearby villas—made the news.
That fierce growl—had it known a dog that got eaten? Or nearly been eaten itself?
Gold trudged onward.
Its pace slowed noticeably.
Hind legs dragging limp, like all strength had drained from them; front legs alone hauled the rear forward.
It squeezed through a gap in the crumbled stone wall.
Its lion-sized bulk shoved hard, toppling the precarious barrier in a cascade of bricks.
Dust billowed, briefly obscuring it.
Click.
Smart mutation dogs know tricks.
I waited out the dust, eyes sweeping everywhere.
The ragged breathing stayed fixed in one spot.
Dust settled, revealing it again: curled up before the ruined house, licking its wounds.
Beyond its feebly wagging tail stood a doghouse, tilted sideways like some circus act on the brink of collapse.
I slowly stepped through the wall gap and eyed the house.
This place... rang a bell.
Not a vivid memory, but it occupied a corner of the village scene etched in my mind.
You always glance at the house whenever a yapping dog barks annoyingly as you pass, right?
This was it.
Where Gold had lived.
On the overturned doghouse, scrawled in marker: <Mix>
"Mix."
I called the name, and it looked at me.
"......Gold suits you better."
They say humans are vessels made of memories.
In that sense, this dog wasn't so different.
Two thoughts—one axiom, one woman—flashed through my mind, inexplicably entwined.
The scholarly consensus: mutations can't be tamed.
A woman surviving alone, clinging only to her cats, family and neighbors long gone.
Seemingly unrelated ideas converged on a single conclusion: that pitiful woman shattering ironclad theory with a miracle in hand.
Here, another miracle was brewing.
It began huffing in a strange, rhythmic pattern.
At first, I thought it was drawing its final breaths. But no.
Lacking human vocal cords or any sense of pitch, the beast was crudely imitating a human song with its raspy exhales.
Happy birthday to you.
"Hey."
I called out.
At the "dear~" part, it turned to me.
"Wanna live?"
My old chronic affliction—curiosity akin to disease—flared up.
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