A Survivor's Diary
It was shockingly gaudy.
Measuring about two spans long, it fell somewhere between a dagger and a shortsword, but its ornamentation was gaudy to an almost absurd degree.
The hilt was encrusted with rhinestones arranged in a plum blossom pattern, glittering in a dizzying array of colors that brought to mind the loud, floral patterns of elderly women's lounge pants.
The blade was no different.
Though honed to a lethal sharpness, the steel was decorated with flower motifs, and even those were covered entirely in rhinestones.
It was easy to see why the blacksmith had tossed it straight into the scrap heap the moment it was finished. It was a complete and utter failure.
Jeron, however, appraised the weapon not through the eyes of a modern Earthling, but through the eyes of a medieval noble.
I don't know much about their tastes, but they do seem to love anything flashy and covered in jewels.
Its extravagance put simple dragon rings to shame.
With a piece like this, the Count might even suggest presenting it as a tribute to a high noble or the King.
For all he knew, it might be treated as a relic rather than a mere family heirloom.
Of course, the aesthetic standards of the Karen Continent's nobility were impossible to predict, so it might just sell as a slightly fancy jeweled sword.
Either way, it was highly likely to fetch a steep price, so he stuffed it into his backpack along with its scabbard.
Having secured his find at the blacksmith's workshop, Jeron stepped back outside.
Whoosh.
A cold gust of wind swept through the street.
Winter was clearly on its way. Dead leaves tumbled across the ground, blending with the ruined landscape to create a deeply desolate atmosphere.
Lightly armored and with his sword drawn, Jeron set off down the street.
The road remained as devoid of human warmth as ever.
Occasionally, he passed shriveled mummies sprawled on the asphalt, or others trapped inside cars, having died right in their seats because they couldn't undo their seatbelts.
Thick weeds pushed through the cracked pavement.
In a town devoid of any animal life, the dry grass rustling against his boots felt incredibly eerie.
His first destination was a seed shop.
When he had lived on Earth, he would have walked right past such a place without a second thought. But from the perspective of a noble ruling a vast territory, a seed shop was nothing less than a treasure trove.
What if he could find rice seeds?
Rice, a crop with a tenacity that bordered on stubbornness, would be introduced to his fief.
While the staple food of the Karen Continent was wheat, which they baked into bread, there was no reason one couldn't make food out of rice.
In fact, he was confident that rice would have a far better texture than the rough bread made from poorly milled, unrefined whole wheat.
Though filled with anticipation, he did not let his guard down for a second.
The main road of the rural town was desolate.
Wrecked cars littered the streets.
He saw vehicles wrapped around telephone poles with their engines burned out, and others flipped upside down in the ditches of paddy fields.
There were signs of violent explosions, and rusted shell casings lay scattered on the ground.
It was a perfectly ordinary sight on this ruined Earth.
Jeron finally arrived at his destination.
Great Agriculture Seed Shop
The dented, tilted sign was missing a few letters.
The glass windows were completely shattered, and the exterior paneling was stripped and stained with blood. It was a miracle the sign was still hanging at all.
Jeron didn't bother looking for a door and simply stepped through the broken storefront window.
Crunch!
The sound of old glass crushing under his boots rang out.
Even though it was a quiet sound, the absolute silence of the town made it seem loud. Jeron focused entirely, keeping his sword raised ahead of him.
Whoosh.
Only the whistling sound of the wind entering and leaving the building answered him.
"Have the mutants really all died out?"
It certainly felt that way.
Even when Jeron had lived on Earth, sparsely populated areas had been relatively safe.
Though he had eventually been torn apart and eaten by mutants, he had managed to survive for several years. It was highly likely that the mutant population had been dwindling even back then.
It was too early to say for sure, but he wondered if he would be safe as long as he avoided areas where large numbers of people used to gather.
Step, step.
Jeron searched the interior of the seed shop thoroughly.
All kinds of chemical fertilizers and pesticides were scattered across the floor.
The display stands were overturned, and the walls were splattered with blood, resembling a scene from a horror movie.
Pesticides were essential for farming, but bringing them back to the Karen Continent was risky. If he exposed the land to chemicals and the weeds developed a resistance, it would only make them harder to deal with.
What Jeron wanted were seeds.
Seeds that had been selectively bred for thousands of years, maximizing their resilience and yield.
"Sigh."
After rummaging around for a bit, Jeron let out a sigh.
As expected, nothing in life came easy.
It would have been wonderful to find a large cache of rice seeds right away, but seeds of edible crops were food in their own right. Every single crop seed had already been looted.
People all thought alike.
Anyone would think of planting seeds and farming if they found a safe patch of land.
It seemed the seeds for staple crops had been taken long ago.
At best, only useless flower seeds remained. In a bleak world like this, no one had thought to plant flowers.
After all, bright flowers would only draw unwanted attention. Who would plant them in their yard?
Finding nothing of value in the seed shop, Jeron turned to leave, but then he paused. Would these highly cultivated, beautiful flowers really have no value as merchandise?
"No, wait."
Turning back, Jeron began to gather the flower seeds.
The seeds were neatly packaged in small pouches. Given Earth's advanced packaging technology, these seeds would likely still grow even after ten years.
If canned food could survive without spoiling, it was hard to believe these seeds would have gone bad.
Jeron grabbed whatever he could find—colorful roses, calla lilies, chrysanthemums, and hibiscus.
"Delphinium? Never heard of it, but it looks like it'll sell well."
It was pure intuition.
If these flowers looked beautiful to Jeron, who had lived in the modern era, the noblewomen of the Karen Continent would surely go wild for them.
It wasn't that the continent lacked flowers, but the species there were entirely different from those on Earth.
While the commoners struggling to survive wouldn't care about flowers, the medieval world was not lacking in wealthy individuals.
The closest wealthy man he knew was Count Hanes.
Moreover, there were plenty of wealthy merchants and middle-class citizens in the Count's territory. There were few places in the kingdom poorer than the Farrow Territory.
A sales strategy was already forming in Jeron's mind.
History had proven how much women loved flowers—there had even been a tulip bubble once.
And men would buy them to win those women's hearts.
"A luxury marketing strategy should work well."
Of course, this was just Jeron's theory. He couldn't know for sure how well the flowers would sell. Simply securing a new possibility was enough for now.
Jeron continued to explore, keeping an eye on the remaining time on the Golden Key.
He didn't limit himself to shops like the seed store; he also searched ordinary houses for light scavenging and checked jewelry stores to see if any gems remained.
To his disappointment, the jewelry shops had been picked clean.
Looters had clearly stripped them bare the moment the government began to collapse.
It was bitter, but there was nothing he could do about it.
If everything went according to plan, Jeron would have already led his territory's soldiers to raid a military base.
The Golden Key tattoo on his palm was gradually turning black.
He had barely three hours left to stay on Earth.
For now, the ability couldn't be considered incredibly powerful.
Jeron quickened his pace.
The Golden Key began to flicker.
He hadn't found anything legendary, but the gaudy, rhinestone-encrusted sword, a few cans of food, and the flower seeds would still be of great help.
He decided to check one last house.
He had a feeling that survivors would have lasted longer in the remote countryside rather than the town center. Hoping to find something there, he walked down a dirt path.
It was a detached house nestled at the foot of a hill, with a stream running beside it.
The survivor who had lived here must have put a lot of effort into the place, as they had channeled the stream water directly into the yard.
The fence was sturdy, but the gate was the problem.
It was half-destroyed and splattered with dark, dried blood. The resident had clearly met a grim end.
The yard was overgrown with weeds.
There were no signs of anything currently roaming around.
The windows of the small, sixty-square-meter house were completely shattered, their shards littering the ground.
It looked like the owner had tried to nail wooden boards over the windows, but that alone wouldn't have been enough to stop the mutants.
To properly keep mutants out, the windows needed to be sealed shut with welded steel plates.
Crunch.
The familiar sound of stepping on broken glass echoed through the quiet house.
The furniture in the living room was overturned and scattered, and dark red blood was splattered everywhere.
This alone told Jeron everything he needed to know about the owner's fate.
From what he had seen during his exploration, while there were quite a few mummified corpses scattered around, their numbers weren't overwhelming.
Did the mutants eat everyone here and then move on to the big cities?
He hoped they had all starved to death, but he couldn't be sure.
Having seen so many people die from letting their guard down on this ruined Earth, Jeron remained vigilant.
The kitchen was a disaster zone, with broken cabinets and utensils scattered everywhere.
But this, too, was a common sight.
As Jeron rummaged through the kitchen, he found a single packet of instant ramen.
"Jackpot!"
After eating food that could barely be called edible for eighteen years, he had often wished he could just have a single bowl of properly cooked ramen. He missed the strong, savory taste of artificial seasonings.
It was even a packet of Neoguri, his absolute favorite brand.
This was easily the best find of today's run.
Jeron opened the door to the attic connected to the living room and stepped inside.
The wooden stairs, neglected for years, creaked loudly under his weight.
Upon reaching the attic, Jeron found traces of the survivor.
"This really is a jackpot."
Lying there was a color-coded map, a diary, and a sniper rifle.
Jeron detached the magazine of the sniper rifle to check the ammunition.
"Six rounds."
It was a slightly disappointing number.
Still, with six rounds, he could easily take out at least three key targets in a battle.
He wished he could have found a handgun as well, but he couldn't expect that much luck.
Finding a sniper rifle didn't just mean he could take lives; it also meant he could use the scope as a monocular.
Even if he ran out of bullets, he could detach the scope and keep using it.
Jeron also took the backpack the survivor had left behind.
The Golden Key was flickering rapidly now, indicating his time was almost up.
Jeron decided to return to the Karen Continent before examining the rest of the survivor's backpack.