Hajin Middle School (1)
Jeron spent the entire day inspecting his territory, and it was only when evening fell that he could finally sit down at his desk.
The heat inside the office had not yet dissipated, but sitting quietly on the terrace brought a cool, refreshing breeze.
After drinking a bowl of cold water brought by Violet, Jeron read through the handwritten letter from Duke Langton, which was written on papyrus.
My dear Lord Farrow,
I hope you are keeping well in this hot weather. I barely manage to survive the heat myself, cooling off with cold water several times a day.
Currently, fierce debates are ongoing in the political sphere.
Since skirmishes are still occurring at the front lines, deliberating on these matters has become my daily routine.
Our side argues that we should declare war and enter a full-scale conflict this year, while other factions claim we should wait and see for another year or two. It is incredibly frustrating, as delaying the war will only harm our soldiers.
Since you will enter politics one day, it will be of great help to you to learn how things operate beforehand.
...[omitted]...
Your proposal is under deliberation, but as expected, passing it is no easy task.
The birth of a new lord with trading rights could have a massive economic impact, so how could it be otherwise?
I am pushing for a method to grant you trading rights only until the threat from the north quietens down, and the response has been generally positive.
Are you disappointed by the sudden mention of limited trading rights?
The law is always a matter of interpretation.
Those barbarians will never be fully cleared out, meaning your family will enjoy these rights for generations to come.
To completely finalize this matter, it is important to unify the opinions within our faction to some extent.
Now, it is time for you to show your sincerity.
I repeat, a relationship without mutual benefit cannot be considered a true relationship.
I advise you as your patron, so I hope you do not dismiss an old man's words.
"...Patron?"
It was a surprising development.
In this era, establishing a relationship between a patron and a protégé was not merely a display of friendship.
So far, Jeron had sent wine to Duke Langton twice, and it seemed the Duke had taken quite a liking to it.
Of course, Duke Langton could unilaterally terminate this relationship, but until then, he would serve as Jeron's sturdy shield.
And as long as Jeron continued his onslaught of gifts, there was no reason for Duke Langton to break off the patronage.
"Does that old man not have much time left?"
It was a considerable favor.
Considering the nature of nobles, it felt a bit excessive. It seemed the cheap wine Jeron kept gifting him suited Duke Langton's taste perfectly.
Regardless, it was a welcome change.
Duke Langton had offered several pieces of advice in the letter, which could be summarized as follows:
1. Begin full-scale war preparations next year, but start preparing slowly now.
2. Travel to the royal capital as soon as possible to expand your network.
3. Grease the palms of key figures in the Crown Prince faction to use them as political shields.
4. Keep a close eye on the political situation and establish connections in the capital.
Jeron fell into deep thought.
There were about twenty nobles in the Crown Prince faction, counting both court nobles and landed lords.
Among them, about ten were core figures directly active in central politics. While there were many others who aligned with the faction, they held little actual power.
The core ten were the ones Jeron needed to send gifts to, but it was also a good strategy to win over the rest of the faction with minor tokens of appreciation.
However, doing so would completely bind Jeron to the Crown Prince faction.
"It makes no sense to break off my relationship with Duke Langton now."
Duke Langton was a fast track that could guide Jeron into the political sphere when the time came.
As for his family becoming fully subservient to the Crown Prince faction?
The Farrow family was a founding noble house, holding independent territory directly appointed by the King.
Since the Crown Prince held the status of the next king, there was no issue of legitimacy in Jeron aligning with him.
Though they were currently powerless and tucked away in the sticks, if he accumulated achievements and expanded his territory, he could play a key role in the royalist faction once the Crown Prince ascended the throne.
Laying the groundwork for that future was not a bad choice at all.
Jeron pulled out well-packaged bottles of whiskey from his storage.
Most were aged 12 to 21 years, while the 30-year-old bottles were reserved for Duke Langton or the King.
He set aside a separate stash for himself and his family.
He categorized the members of the Crown Prince faction by their titles, land, and wealth. For lower-ranking central nobles like viscounts, he decided to settle for jewelry.
After finalizing the gifts, Jeron began writing letters to Duke Langton and the other nobles.
That night.
Jeron bundled up in warm clothes and stepped through the dimensional portal.
His body slipped through smoothly.
At the same time, he felt a drastic drop in temperature.
It was midsummer on the Karen Continent, but midwinter on Earth.
As his surroundings shifted, the scenery completely transformed.
From Jeron's humble room to an undamaged, modern villa.
"Whew."
Jeron sat on the sofa for a moment, taking in the air of Earth.
Air saturated with mana filled his lungs as he inhaled.
Whenever he crossed over to Earth, his fatigue seemed to vanish.
The freezing weather was harsh enough to shock his system, but the vast amount of mana drifting in the atmosphere actually helped his body recover.
He would soon head to the Hannes territory, where he planned to get the Count's help in forming a mana circle.
Since he intended to acquire spellbooks and learn magic, training on Earth was essential.
After finishing his training, Jeron headed to the rooftop connected to the fourth floor of the villa.
The rooftop of this villa was somewhat different from those of other buildings.
There were no corpses, and very little trash.
It was coated in green waterproof paint, and though they were weathered, a table and chairs stood neatly in place.
Jeron stood by the rooftop railing and peered at the middle school through his binoculars.
Whoosh.
A cold wind swept across his face.
It was so cold that the skin around his eyes pressed against the binoculars stung.
It's the same as last time.
He had been scavenging in front of the middle school for over a month.
After completely clearing out the stationery store, he had transported all the polycarbonate shields, riot gear, helmets, and fire extinguishers from the police bus back to the Karen Continent.
The fact that no mutants had been spotted so far meant the middle school was relatively safe.
Of course, the desolate scenery still made him instinctively hesitate to step inside.
Since a school was a place of group activity, it was obvious without looking how many corpses would be inside.
Even so, he had to go.
There was a limit to developing his territory through simple scavenging. He planned to search the library for any useful books.
Taking his eyes off the middle school, Jeron scanned the areas slightly further away.
Scouting the surroundings of his target location was a habit.
Safety first was a rule he could never forget.
The streets were still covered in blood, bones, corpses, and debris. If there was no unusual movement, he would set off immediately.
"Hmm?"
As he scanned the area, Jeron's gaze locked onto a single spot.
It was in the middle of a street far from his location.
It was near the entrance of the city, and he wouldn't have noticed the movement if not for his high-magnification binoculars.
A group of survivors was moving together.
There were about six or seven of them.
Jeron adjusted the binoculars to thirty times magnification.
Although the image was slightly blurry, it was clear enough to identify the surroundings and the slowly moving figures.
The survivors were heading out toward the outskirts of the city.
This was a wise decision.
The city center would be crawling with mutants.
The problem was their appearance.
Four men and women had tied up a family of three with ropes and were dragging them along.
Looters armed with pistols, and victims stripped down to their underwear.
Though their expressions were blurry, the despair of the family reached all the way to Jeron.
Jeron doubted his eyes when he realized how cold it was.
It felt like it was at least five degrees below zero. Being stripped to one's underwear in this weather would cause unimaginable pain.
The family of three shivered violently, their faces pale, while the looters laughed, kicking and cursing at them.
A young girl, who looked to be a middle schooler, stumbled and fell flat on the ground. The looters angrily beat her with clubs.
An older man tried to intervene, but one of the looters struck him with a pistol, splitting his head open and leaving a trail of blood.
The man collapsed onto the freezing street, his body twitching.
"What is wrong with these crazy bastards?"
Curses slipped from Jeron's mouth.
Should he shoot them?
But could he hit them accurately from this distance?
A flurry of thoughts rushed through his mind.
This was the reality of a ruined world.
In truth, back when Jeron lived on Earth, he had seen far worse. In a world where the law had completely collapsed, violence was the only source of power, and more people died from conflicts between survivors than from mutants.
Seeing such brutality again after so long made his blood boil.
"More primitive than medieval savages."
Click.
Without realizing it, Jeron loaded his sniper rifle and aimed it at the looters.
Holding his breath, he placed his finger on the trigger.
It was then.
He saw mutants rapidly approaching from the city center.
Just as Jeron had seen before, the mutants leaped between buildings, rushing toward the survivors.
Even in this situation, the looters were busy mocking the family, some even casually smoking cigarettes.
Then, in an instant...
Two mutants pounced, slaughtering the survivors.
Bang! Bang!
Desperate screams and gunshots echoed in all directions.
As the gunshots rang out, more mutants began rushing over even faster.
They tore the survivors apart in seconds.
The screams grew louder.
In this moment, the boundary between looter and victim vanished. Before the mutants, they were all nothing but prey.
After a short while, the screams stopped.
Heads were severed from bodies, limbs torn apart.
Blood splattered everywhere, and no one survived.
Like lions carrying off their prey, the mutants slung the corpses over their shoulders and vanished one by one.
Whoosh.
The wind blew through the empty space.
Only the frozen bloodstains on the desolate street remained to prove that people had been there just moments ago.
Jeron lowered his rifle and leaned against the railing, panting heavily.
"Whew... damn it."
What had just happened was a common occurrence on Earth.
Just like any society, there were bad survivors, and there were those who managed to hold onto their humanity until the end.
He had never seen anyone sacrifice themselves for others like they did when society functioned. Those people had all died within the first few years of the outbreak.
Only after witnessing this scene did Jeron snap back to reality. Optimism was a luxury here.
He was reminded once again that survivors were far more dangerous than mutants.
After sitting down for a few minutes to catch his breath, Jeron stood up.
It was time to move toward his destination.