Facing the Threat
The moment he killed the mutant, his remaining time on Earth increased by thirty minutes.
Since the Golden Key was mentally linked to Jeron, he understood this instinctively.
A thirty-minute increase might not seem like much, but it was a monumental development.
Until now, he had been busy running away. Now he knew that if he could hunt them, he could grow stronger at a rapid pace.
What would happen if he could form a mana circle and learn even a 1st Circle spell?
His heart began to race.
Though magic was said to be in decline in this era, its long history meant that countless spells had been created over the centuries.
From buffs and offensive spells to utility magic designed to hinder opponents.
He believed that combining magic with swordsmanship would be incredibly efficient.
"At this rate, I might be able to form a mana circle within a month."
Jeron had taken a step forward.
He had also learned that killing a mutant refreshed his remaining time.
This was a high-risk, high-reward hunting method, and proof that he would only grow stronger as time went on.
Jeron suppressed his excitement for a moment and caught his breath.
Then, he checked outside the portal.
Since he knew that living creatures could not cross through the portal on their own, he realized he could use it to hunt safely.
"..."
About thirty minutes passed, but only a desolate wind blew across the ruined Earth.
Jeron packed his gear and stepped through the portal.
Whoosh.
The cold wind made him instinctively pull his collar tight.
Though his eyes saw the same ruined landscape as before, his mind's eye perceived a completely different world.
Absorbing the mana had made his senses far sharper.
He could tell, at the very least, that there were no threats targeting him within a radius of several dozen meters.
Leaving the portal open, he decided to scout the immediate area.
Other mutants might have gathered after hearing the gunshots, or perhaps another survivor was watching him.
Fortunately, there were no signs of mutants.
The lack of survivors was a bit disappointing.
If there were survivors on Earth, he had hoped to bring them back to his territory to put them to work. Though, of course, he would have to vet them first.
Jeron quickly scanned the area through his scope.
He could feel that he was getting closer to the city center.
The number of overturned vehicles had multiplied, there were far more mummified corpses, and human bones littered the streets.
Buildings lay shattered in every direction.
Many of them bore heavy scorch marks, likely from gas line explosions.
Jeron headed toward a supermarket near an apartment complex first.
He climbed down from the rooftop of a commercial building and stepped onto the cracked asphalt.
Though he felt slightly more at ease than before, he did not neglect his vigilance.
Recalling the man who had died in front of the supermarket, it was clear that the mutants possessed a certain level of intelligence.
Whenever the cold wind seeped through his clothes, Jeron's eyes instinctively darted to the rooftops.
The sight of the mutant leaping from building to building to hunt the man had left a deep impression on him.
Jeron arrived at the spot where the man had died.
The severed head lay in the middle of the ruined sidewalk, and the upper torso was completely gone, leaving only the legs behind.
Flesh and blood splattered the ground.
It was a gruesome sight.
Jeron gathered the man's remains.
He had lived in the brutal medieval world for eighteen years, but his modern sensibilities had not been entirely eroded.
It was thanks to this man that he had been able to blow the mutant's head off. It had allowed him to kill the beast relatively easily and absorb its mana.
Though he had no connection to the survivor, the fact that he had received indirect help was reason enough to lay the body to rest.
Jeron dug a simple grave and offered a brief moment of silence.
"May you find peace in the next life."
The dead were dead, and the living had to survive.
Jeron pulled the man's belongings from his backpack.
Inside was a canteen, a single blanket, a small pot with a heavily scorched bottom, an alcohol lamp, a map, and a pair of binoculars.
There was not a single scrap of food. It was easy to see why the man had risked his life to wander outside.
Jeron unfolded the map.
The map detailed a three-kilometer radius around the apartment complex.
It marked where mutants had been spotted, where they had traveled, and their primary hunting grounds.
It was a record of a desperate game of hide-and-seek.
There was also brief information about the downtown area.
Jeron was quite surprised by the red dots marked on the map.
In downtown Seosan, a mutant occupied roughly every one to two square kilometers.
His hypothesis had been correct.
The mutants had swept through the rural villages, and once they ran out of food, they had migrated to the cities.
The map was quite old, so he couldn't be sure if the layout remained the same, but it was still invaluable information.
A notebook and a pen rolled out of the backpack.
Though he wanted to open the notebook immediately, he stuffed it back into the bag. He could read the diary after returning to the Karen Continent; there was no need to waste time here.
Among the concrete debris lay the handgun the man had been holding.
The hand had been severed with a finger still hooked through the trigger guard.
The grip was so tight that it was difficult to pry the gun free.
This alone gave Jeron an idea of the mutants' intelligence.
Having hunted humans on Earth for a long time, the mutants must have learned from the deaths of their kin just how dangerous these firearms were.
That was likely why the beast had severed the man's hand and head immediately during the ambush.
After prying the fingers away one by one, the gun was finally in his hand.
It was a revolver with only three bullets left.
It wasn't much, but if he could find a police station in the future, he would be able to secure more ammunition.
This would do for now.
Jeron finished his somber salvage operation and turned his attention to the supermarket the man had been heading toward.
Given how much time had passed since the fall of the world, he doubted there would be anything edible left inside.
Still, the fact that the man had targeted this place meant that resources nearby had completely run dry.
Happy Mart
The shattered sign was barely recognizable.
The metal shutter was halfway down, but the glass entrance was completely shattered.
The display stands outside were broken beyond recognition, and the interior of the store was an absolute mess.
However, because all the windows were broken, sunlight streamed in, making it easy to see inside.
The shelves inside were in no better shape, and the back of the building had collapsed, bringing down a large section of the ceiling.
All the food had been looted.
Not even a single pack of gum remained.
The man who died outside must have been searching through this rubble in the desperate hope of finding a single chocolate bar.
As Jeron had expected, there was very little worth salvaging in the supermarket.
Even the general household goods had been mostly cleared out.
The only things left were soap, toothpaste, dish soap, laundry detergent, and fabric softener.
"Soap and toothpaste, huh?"
Jeron gathered them all up.
He was going to run a merchant group soon.
No matter what items from Earth he brought back, Birken would find a way to sell them at a high price, so it was best to sweep up all the lightweight goods.
Especially the soap.
Soap was a staple of territory-development stories.
Of course, unlike those clichés, Jeron had no intention of making soap himself.
In the medieval world, the concept of hygiene was practically nonexistent.
Still, as a luxury item, selling it to nobles or placing it in bathhouses would help improve hygiene.
As Jeron swept up the remaining items, he spotted an energy bar tucked away in a corner beneath a fallen shelf.
It had been buried under a pile of trash, which was probably why it had gone unnoticed until now.
This was exactly what the dead man had been hoping to find.
Even with mutants roaming the area, the man had risked his life to come here because he was starving.
"A chocolate bar for someone who doesn't even need food. How ironic."
Having finished his search, Jeron moved on.
The residential areas around the apartments had been completely picked clean. There was nothing left to take.
He would probably have better luck finding basic supplies in rural farmhouses.
Since his time was limited, he decided to head toward the nearby middle school to see if there was a suitable place to set up a base camp.
Near the middle school.
Jeron proceeded with extreme caution, keeping the dead man's fate in mind.
Mutants were no longer a distant threat.
The closer he got to the city, the higher the chances of encountering them.
It was unlikely that mutants who had migrated to the city would return to the countryside, but one could never be too careful.
If all the survivors in the city died, they might venture back out to the rural areas.
Climbing onto the roof of a nearby building, Jeron surveyed the middle school and its surroundings.
Especially the school itself.
Survivors might have gathered there, and if so, it would have inevitably become a hunting ground for the mutants.
It was just a theory, but caution never hurt.
The view was the same as before, but looking through a high-quality pair of binoculars was entirely different from scanning with a rifle scope.
This time, he could even discern the color of the bloodstains.
The dark, dried bloodstains looked to be only a few months old.
As he suspected, the migration of the mutants to the city had occurred relatively recently.
He scanned the school again. Through the windows, he could see many corpses wearing civilian clothes rather than school uniforms.
Bodies hung halfway out of several windows.
Many were mummified, but quite a few had rotted and frozen before fully decomposing, suggesting they had died more recently.
The riot police bus still blocked the school gates, and the stationery store across the street looked relatively intact.
This would do.
Now that he had confirmed there were no survivors or mutants in the immediate vicinity, he just needed to establish a base camp.
Jeron looked for potential candidates.
There was a relatively clean building near the school.
The windows from the first to the third floors were completely shattered, but the fourth-floor windows were covered by metal shutters.
If there were any survivors in this area, that would be the most likely place for them to hide.
If it was empty, it would make a decent hideout.
Jeron approached the building cautiously.
The sight inside the first three floors was gruesome.
Torn human remains littered the area.
Fortunately, it was winter, so they were frozen solid. In the middle of summer, the stench alone would have made the place impassable.
Massive bloodstains were dried onto the walls.
An unusually large number of people had died here.
Since even Jeron had judged this building to be safe, the survivors on Earth must have thought the same.
When the mutants appeared, the survivors must have rushed into this building, turning it into a slaughterhouse.
Step, step.
Leaving the mutilated corpses behind, he climbed up to the fourth floor.
Looking at the scene beyond the heavy iron door, Jeron let out a soft exclamation.