Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: The Collector's Retreat
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The literary giant T.S. Eliot once said:
Only those willing to risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.
This aligned perfectly with the adage, "Only those who dare shall seize the prize."
Jin's response to that?
No thanks, I'll pass!
A deafening explosion ripped through the air, and the world spun wildly around him.
When Jin came to, the ground was right in front of his face.
Lifting his head amid the dizziness, he saw the torn military pants clutched in his right hand.
And far off in the distance... pink panties. Chunky leg hair.
Oh, shit.
Havoc unintentionally groped the corpse, Jin hurled the pants away in disgust.
Even if it was the enemy, he didn't want to know their underwear color...
No, wait—what the hell was pink?
That was when it happened.
Another massive roar erupted.
It was like the sound of snapping a wet towel hundreds of meters away in mid-air.
At this point, it was practically a sonic attack. Jin grimaced and cupped his ears—only for the following shockwave to slam into him.
His body floated up.
He couldn't even perform a proper roll and tumbled across the ground until he crashed headfirst into the wheel of a parked dump truck.
He went limp on impact, and only then did the status window finally fade away, leaving behind the words "(On Hold)."
"You little... bastard..."
Too exhausted to even get angry, Jin just lifted his eyelids.
A cataclysmic battle raged ahead.
A wedge-shaped tornado linking sky and earth clashed with a massive sandstorm reminiscent of a yellowish tidal wave.
Bodies lifted by reversed gravity spun in orderly orbits in the air before slowly oxidizing into pools of blood—
Explosions boomed, shockwaves flew, and the ground flipped over.
Bullets pierced the darkness, hitting who-knows-where.
Join in on that?
Absurdity turned to amusement, and Jin chuckled.
You needed an angle to even try.
Even at full strength, it was a life-or-death fight.
Right now? Absolutely impossible.
150,000 EXP?
Less regret, more exasperation.
Taha had given him 9,000 EXP, so roughly sixteen times that.
Of course, he wasn't sure if the Face Collector was sixteen times stronger than Taha.
Nor if strength could even be quantified by EXP like that.
But one thing was certain: the Face Collector was way above Taha's league.
The kind that required the full City Government special forces to handle.
So Jin cleared his mind.
Too weak to even twitch a finger—just spectate.
Any popcorn around?
Unfortunately, what flew at his face wasn't popcorn but chunks of shattered concrete spat from the crumbling earth.
Ptoo! Ptoo! Jin spat out the grit and sprawled out flat.
Screw it. Whatever.
In the meantime, the battle's dynamics shifted again.
The Face Collector emerged from the vanished sandstorm, donning a new skin.
As his form slinked away into the air, Q shouted from somewhere.
Jin shook his head in disbelief.
His head-shake held 5% admiration for the agents, 95% sheer absurdity.
Each face granting different abilities? Totally broken.
How was a normal guy like him supposed to live with that?
The nonsense fueled fiercer combat.
The Face Collector swapped skins like sword forms, met each time by tailored counters from the agents.
Finally, amid the devastating chaos, someone retreated.
Thud.
An arm hit the ground and shredded apart under fierce flames.
The one-armed polyface glanced at his ragged shoulder with a faint smile.
"Impressive, Colonel. A shame to waste that skill on your rank."
John Harrison landed lightly on the ground and replied.
"They say I reek of booze. The generals hate dining with drunks."
"I see."
"So, shown all your cards?"
"Hardly."
The Face Collector twisted into a smirk.
A boy's youthful face made the grin even creepier.
"So many tempting faces today. I'd love to peel them all off, but..."
Trailing off, he stared at the sky.
Madness gleamed in his eyes as they swept the world's ceiling.
Then came the low murmur.
"We'll call it here for today."
The slowly returning face felt alien.
The Colonel flinched at the haggard woman's face, shadowed by chronic fatigue.
For the first time, his unflappable expression hardened.
Q, rising from the buried ground, reacted the same.
"...Thea Florence?"
The unnumbered name dispersed blankly into the air as the woman spoke.
"Consider it an honor. You're the first to see this face."
A chilling smile.
And the following voice.
"Come forth, Lord of Fire."
⟨ Āgni ⟩
The next instant.
Ripples emanated from the empty air behind him.
Infinite concentric circles from a single point.
A wave creating something from nothing—a passage linking different worlds.
Then, a giant's flame-wreathed arm swung at the Colonel.
Absurdly fast for its size and mass.
Simultaneously, the Face Collector slowly mouthed.
"Āgni."
Something bellowed in response, raising the massive arm high.
Q urgently shouted at the sight of the fist glowing with immense heat.
But the flame aggregate slammed the ground before the bullets arrived.
The insane physical force lifted even Jin from afar, vaporizing the air in the area.
The overwhelming heat wave spread in a dome, devouring everything inside.
Bang!
The Colonel burst through with a sonic boom, snatching Jin mid-air.
Skin rippled like waves from the speed; the surroundings blurred past.
"Guh!"
When Jin snapped to, his feet were planted somewhere unfamiliar.
Stunned, he watched the Colonel set down Q, tucked under his other arm.
"Damn it all."
The Colonel scowled at the massive fire pillar shooting skyward.
Sharing the gaze, Jin thought:
...We got away clean, right?
Knew it.
Clocked it at 150k EXP.
Nodding sagely like an enlightened sage, he poked Q's side, who stared blankly.
"...Next time, team up with me to take him down?"
No reply came.
Zone 40 was always a shithole to live in.
No need to compete over who's better.
A feast of shit where superiority was impossible to judge.
But not the last few years.
A few zones could proudly claim they were the most fucked.
Mute Town was one of them.
It started as turf disputes between gangs—petty squabbles over pride that no one expected to engulf the whole city like wildfire.
Fights drag on, purposes warp.
A trivial contest over protection rackets ballooned into a full gang war for Mute Town's ownership.
Yeah, war.
How many died?
If only the trigger-happy gang scum fighting over turf dropped dead, maybe.
But innocents caught stray bullets, blades, humiliation, brutal vents.
Mute Town fit "hell" perfectly then.
Around that time.
A vigilante group formed in this wretched city.
"No one's protecting us, so we'll protect ourselves!"
A cradle for those who'd lost loved ones, health, futures to the gangs.
Hope blooming from the sewer, probably.
Five years passed.
The long war finally ended.
If that meant a happy end, it'd be bliss enough.
But Mute Town faced greater despair. Post-war brought not peace, but the rising warlord faction TB.
From then, the vigilantes became the Resistance.
Nothing really changed.
Whatever the label, they did the same: protect self and others from those who treated lives like trash.
That was it.
Another year.
Regrettably, things slid toward despair.
Bases fell, strongest ally's head smashed.
The struggling Resistance seemed done. Everyone quietly judged as much.
Out of nowhere.
Really out of nowhere.
News that Taha fell to some suicide squad rocked all Mute Town.
Ten days passed.
"...Hey, Jin? You asleep?"
A voice wormed into his ear.
Maybe guilt for interrupting sleep? It was cautious.
Jin ignored it.
Sorry? Then leave.
"...Not waking up?"
"Move."
The next was rougher.
Even patted and shook his shoulder.
Jin ignored that too.
Until a flashlight clicked on right in his face.
"...!!"
He could ignore anything else, but not this.
Eyeball violation during deep sleep?
PTSD button for any ex-conscript.
Sentry swap? Must...
"You punk!"
Jin finally opened his eyes.
Fist clenched for payback.
The flashlight holder finally turned it off.
"Awake now."
"You asshole. What the hell..."
Even half-asleep, Jin recognized Albus in front.
And behind him...
Grace, Fenrir, and—who's that? Him.
"Old man?"
"...Felix."
"Oh. Right, that name."
Jin scratched his head awkwardly.
Too sheepish now to rage.
He sighed deeply.
"Why wake a sleeping guy?"
"Come on first."
Following Albus's chin flick, the group moved. Jin, staring blankly, hauled his disheveled self up.
What the hell at night?
Grumbling inwardly, he trailed briefly.
Arriving at the familiar lounge, he swallowed a gasp.
Mood lighting illuminated mountains of food.
Mostly cans and rations, sure.
Who cared? Not picky Jin.
"You're heading back to Downtown tomorrow, right? Gotta have a send-off."
Albus clapped his shoulder and waved everyone over.
"Grab seats. Keep it quiet."
The group circled the table.
Jin ended up center, eyeing the feast.
"City Gov gave all this?"
"As if. Snuck it."
Felix tsked at Albus's reply.
"...Freeloading's the issue. Even food means tiptoeing."
"Gotta endure. They gave us proper treatment too."
Grace added softly; silent Fenrir finally spoke.
"Eat first."
"Yeah."
Glad tidings—Jin cracked a can, shoved it in.
Chewing processed meat, cheeks puffed, sleep fled; calm settled.
Cheered, Jin glanced around.
"Where's Den?"
"Not up for solids yet."
Albus popped chocolate; Jin nodded.
Den took major organ damage from a frag grenade.
Lucky cyberware implants; otherwise, dead for sure.
Comatose till two days ago.
"Food? Next time together."
Jin cracked pineapple slices—unheard of here.
Patients stuck to gov slop before.
Fishing brined fruit, Jin scanned again.
Realized.
Not just Den—one more missing.
Oasia.
She fell from the third floor with the frog beastman and didn't survive.
Killed the beastman, but couldn't handle the reinforcements drawn by the noise.
Before the fight even turned chaotic—super visible.
One casualty in a near-suicidal op was huge success, but "just one"?
The empty spot felt bigger.
So Jin made a big move.
Filled a glass not with cola, but booze.
Ten days together, they knew his tastes—all stared shocked.
He lifted the sloshing glass.
"To Oasia."
Expressions shifted oddly.
But briefly.
One by one, glasses filled; arms raised.
"To Oasia."
Five glasses clinked crisply in the air.
Jin's first drink in over a year.
First since choking on cheap hooch worsened his starvation.
Swore off forever.
Screw it.
He downed it.
"Kahh."
Guts burned; face twisted naturally.
So that's what my insides look like.
The group finished short tribute, chatting softly.
TB crumbling—good news first.
City agents grimacing ten days straight after letting Face Collector slip—gossip.
Flat Iron exploits too.
Talk flowed seamlessly.
Jin hyped most boasting his feats.
Who am I? Guy who tested Faust's power firsthand.
Terminator wrecked again, but exosuit trashed anyway.
Oh, and if I hadn't blocked reinforcements, you'd all be corpses. For real.
Semantic nitpick: Taha's frenzy did it.
But who bagged Taha? Me.
Jin gilded his lily when Albus shuddered.
Recalled punching Faust—and Jin popping out.
Self-blame for "sacrificing" comrades.
Clung to guilt, survived miraculously.
...Wait, it worked out?
Albus's face complicated.
"I blocked the 13th floor too..."
Fenrir joined the brag.
Some long backstory, apparently.
Jin tuned it out—not disinterest, but Fenrir should do that much.
Trust level, you know.
"This guy's yawning despite..."
Beastman's forehead vein bulged; others chuckled.
"Hey, another round."
Before tension: cheers urged.
Clink. Glasses met again.
Night deepened stories.
How much time passed?
Mountain of food gone, repeats starting.
Group tidied, waved casual "night"s, dispersed.
Jin returned to his spot.
Corridor corner, foot traffic light.
Back against wall, arms crossed.
Muttered low.
"...Dangerous."
The loneliness clinging to skin—now familiar—seemed to melt a bit.
Faint chest warmth.
Too much. He planned to escape this world someday. Especially.
"...This is when you show up, punk. See your mug, snap out of it."
Muttered to self, eyes closed.
Next day.
As he departed, the Colonel handed over 100 million.