Chapter 102: Even the One Who Should Die Won't Die (3)
Chapter 102: Even the One Who Should Die Won't Die (3)
Sunlight streamed through the small window. The light faintly illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, but it wasn't enough to truly brighten the room.
This was due to the thick windowpanes and the multiple layers of curtains—a local habit born from past events.
It was a precaution to ensure not even a speck of ash could drift inside.
Back then, even a single grain of dust was an object of absolute terror.
Perhaps those who had migrated to other regions lived similarly, haunted by the same lingering fear.
The legacy of a nightmare more terrifying than any monster, Mutant, or creature—the nightmare of the plague—remained perfectly preserved within this small room.
…I’ve been lost in thought for too long.
I broke free from the belts restraining my body and shook Oxymoron, who was clinging to me.
“Wake up. It’s morning.”
“Four more hours…”
….
Four more hours would make it lunchtime, wouldn't it?
I glanced around the room to check the time, but the only thing there was a cuckoo clock with a dead battery.
She keeps the room clean but doesn't change the clock's battery…
Are batteries surprisingly rare items here?
Well, considering there’s no electricity, that’s highly likely.
The Management Bureau staff nearby probably use Otherworld generators, so batteries wouldn't exactly be a standard supply item.
Regardless of the time, my goal of waking Oxymoron remained the same, so I shook her harder.
“We have to get to work. Get up.”
“Three hours…”
“Stop talking nonsense.”
“Yes…”
Oxymoron woke up more normally than I expected. She stared blankly at the sunlight before removing her Gas Mask and placing it on her lap.
Next, she pulled off the leather glove on her left hand. She slowly reached into her clothes, pulled out a small glass vial and a cloth, and set them on the side table.
It was a routine action, performed as naturally as a morning wash.
Knowing exactly what she was doing, I watched her in silence.
Holding the cloth in her right hand, she stuffed it into the Gas Mask. Then, in her empty right hand, she manifested something that shimmered with a silver light.
A scalpel.
Since it was created through her supernatural ability, its cutting power was beyond imagination.
Of course, she couldn't do much about its size, which is why she used massive weapons like saws during combat. But for now, such a gargantuan tool wasn't necessary.
Even though she did this every day, was she still nervous? She shook her head as if trying to clear her mind.
For a split second, the light illuminating the dust poured over her, reflecting a silver flash.
The scalpel swung.
The target was her left wrist.
The wrist split open deep enough to reach the bone, exposing the flesh and vessels within. She quickly pulled a blood vessel from inside the severed flesh and inserted it into the mouth of the vial.
“Whew.”
Once the sequence was finally complete, she healed her wrist, finishing the treatment so that only the vessel remained protruding.
“Finished?”
“Yes. Now I just have to wait for it to drain.”
“Right.”
Despite having pulled the vessel out directly, the blood accumulated slowly inside the glass vial.
It wouldn't take long, but it provided enough of a reprieve for a morning breath.
While I watched the blood drip into the vial drop by drop, Oxymoron used the cloth to wipe away the blood that had spilled inside the Gas Mask.
She used her own mask as a basin to avoid dirtying the surroundings.
Since she had been doing this for years, wouldn't the inside be thick with the scent of blood?
She pulled out some saline from somewhere to wipe the interior, but I didn't think that would be enough to wash away the metallic stench.
She didn't seem to mind it at all, so I didn't say anything.
Drip. Drip.
In the quiet room, only the sound of blood falling into the vial echoed.
Having finished cleaning the Gas Mask, Oxymoron quietly unbuckled her belts one by one and wiped her body with a damp cloth.
A quiet morning, devoid of even the sound of birds, passed by like that.
* * *
Once the morning maintenance was over, the two of us left the room together.
Unlike the previous night when it was too dark to see properly, the interior of the shop, now bathed in morning sunlight, revealed its details clearly.
It was a well-maintained space with only a few specks of dust drifting about.
Even the wooden hallways were coated in wax, which was enough to make me realize how much affection the elderly hotel owner had for this place.
“It was a better lodging than I expected, wasn't it?”
“Yes. The food was good, and I was surprised by how clean everything was kept.”
“Then shall we have breakfast here too?”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
To think a place we just happened upon would be this satisfying. The Old Man must be quite impressive. Just as I entered the Dining Hall with that thought—
“You’re up late. It’s already nine. Heroes these days… Back in my day, I was up by six…”
“Ha-ram! The salad here is delicious. Come and eat breakfast. Poyo!”
The Elder and Un-ho greeted us.
Un-ho?
…Now that I think about it, he did come with us.
I had completely forgotten about him the moment we found the lodging yesterday.
“Is breakfast available?”
Un-ho was noisily munching on greens in the seat next to me, but since he wasn't doing anything wrong, I didn't feel the need to bother him and just left him be.
“I told you to get out quickly, yet you’re insisting on eating breakfast before you go?”
“The owner’s cooking is excellent, you see. I’d like a serving.”
Flattery flowed naturally from my mouth.
“Hmph. I’ve heard that plenty of times. Do you think I’d be happy hearing something like that?”
With those words, the Elder disappeared into the kitchen.
Hmm. As expected, it works well.
I know exactly how to handle the elderly. After all, I have two cranky old men and one decent one in my social circle.
As the conversation wound down, Oxymoron pulled out a chair and sat next to Un-ho.
Why is she sitting next to Un-ho?
Just as I was about to ask—
Splat.
A bizarre sound rang out.
The source of the sound was the salad plate Un-ho had been burying his face in.
Un-ho was currently being dunked into the salad dressing, held firmly by Oxymoron’s hand as he was tossed together with the vegetables.
What in the world?
While I stood there speechless at the surreal sight, wondering if I was hallucinating—
“Uwaaaaah, I’m becoming a delicious salad! Poyooooook!”
Un-ho, having been turned into a salad by Oxymoron’s hand, vanished toward the far end of the counter along with the bowl.
“Heave-ho.”
Then, Oxymoron moved to the seat next to me, making an audible sound as if she wanted me to notice.
What was that just now?
It didn't matter that Un-ho was being bullied by Oxymoron. That was a common occurrence for him.
The strange part was that Oxymoron was the one doing it.
The fact that she, who didn't even have a particularly strong grudge against Un-ho, had taken an action that seemed laced with malice.
“Uh… why did you do that to Un-ho…?”
“Just because.”
Ah. Right, 'just because.'
Then there’s nothing to be done.
Something in Oxymoron’s voice stopped me from speaking further.
If I were truly curious, I could have pushed through and asked, but it wasn't like I was the one being targeted, and it was just Un-ho anyway, so what did it matter?
It feels like this has been happening a lot lately.
Situations where I’m overwhelmed by someone’s momentum and can’t speak up.
Recently, there was the Thunder God.
To a lesser extent, my disciples have been giving off that kind of vibe too.
And now Oxymoron is doing it.
Did I get cursed or something?
Since curses are a surprisingly plausible issue, the thought occurred to me that it wouldn't be a bad idea to find some time to visit Calavera.
Five minutes of such idle thoughts passed.
“Eat your breakfast and get out, you damn Heroes.”
His words were still harsh, but the kind Elder placed two plates on the counter.
“Thank you.”
Oxymoron, seemingly used to the Old Man’s way of speaking now, thanked him with a smile.
The food was served with the clatter of plates hitting the table.
Placed before me was a thick sandwich made by slicing the middle of a round loaf of bread, accompanied by vodka.
Before Oxymoron were pancakes with honey and coffee.
“Alcohol first thing in the morning?”
“Weren't you singing for a drink yesterday? So I managed to find some.”
He had intended to give it to me since morning; what a kind soul.
I wasn't thrilled that breakfast was a simple sandwich, but with alcohol involved, who cared?
While I uncapped the vodka, Oxymoron sat beside me, chewing on her pancakes in a rather pleasant mood.
“This is delicious.”
“Is it alright? It’s made of potatoes, so it might be an acquired taste.”
“Potatoes? The potatoes I know are…”
“That’s because incompetent fools made them. It doesn't matter if the person making them knows what they’re doing.”
Today, too, Oxymoron and the shop owner quietly engaged in conversation.
I watched the heartwarming scene as I took a mouthful of vodka.
The characteristic heat of the alcohol tickled my mouth and throat.
Gulp.
I swallowed the liquor with a satisfying thrum of my Adam's apple.
Then, I gripped the circular sandwich in front of me.
The sandwich entered my mouth, which was already heated by the alcohol.
Since I was already satisfied with the drink, I bit into the sandwich without much thought.
Crunch.
A sound that should never come from bread echoed out.
The sensation of biting into something extremely hard.
What is this?
My teeth were absurdly durable, so I just chewed through it, but what would have happened if a normal person had eaten this?
They surely would have cursed the cook.
“How is it?”
The Elder threw a question my way, but I couldn't open my mouth because I was busy gnawing on cheese that was as tough as leather.
I worked my jaw several times to process the food that even I found difficult to chew.
Finally, I managed to break it down, swallowed it, and spoke.
“The taste isn't bad. But what is this?”
There was no way this was normal food.
“You can barely feel texture, can't you?”
“…I suppose so.”
I only really feel the satisfaction of chewing when it’s something as hard as a crab shell.
“That’s why I prepared it specifically. I brought in some tough cheese and meat, and I left the bread out early to let it get a bit stale.”
Hearing that, I was briefly reminded of old memories.
Actually, it wasn't even that tough. In the old days, didn't I have to chew several times just to swallow food? It was just that it had been so long since I’d felt that sensation that I perceived it as tough and hard.
With that thought, I took another bite of the sandwich, and I could faintly recall the sensations I felt back when I used to enjoy food.
“…It’s good.”
“Why don't you try flattering me like you did earlier?”
I actually wanted to, but the words wouldn't come out.
How long had it been since I’d met such an incredible person? I was surprised yesterday, but today was a continuous string of even greater surprises.
How long had it been since someone looked after a Hero with such meticulous care? Someone who didn't look down on us, nor look up to us, but saw us clearly for who we were.
While I was lost in such emotion, chewing my food—
“I have something to ask.”
Oxymoron spoke up.
“What is it?”
“Why… are you being so kind to Heroes? Given your age, you must have lived through the era of the Awakened, and even the plague incident…”
That voice from last night surfaced again. Her voice, steeped in grief.
The voice of someone who had failed to save people, now gathering the courage to ask a victim a question.
“Ah, that?”
However, the recipient of that voice remained nonchalant.
“Do you know much about the Gray Plague?”
“….”
“Probably more than your average Hero.”
I spoke up on behalf of the dejected Oxymoron.
After all, two of the three Heroes who had handled that incident were right here. We probably knew it better than anyone.
“Then you must know that the contagion has stopped. I suppose I can show you.”
With those words, the Elder lifted his thick hair.
Gray.
I saw gray.
Hidden beneath his hair was the scalp, which had turned gray.
The scar of the Terminal Plague infection.
“It’s because I was infected once.”
The Elder began his story with a smile.
Taking over for the two of us, who had lost our words.
“I was there at the time, trying to get groceries, and I ended up infected.”
He was at that scene? Then how did he not end up on Oxymoron’s Operating Table…?
“When people were dying, and I too felt the reality of death…”
The story continued.
A predictable story.
“…A female Awakened. No, she’s a Hero now. A Hero saved us. It’s that kind of story.”
The Elder, having finished his brief tale, shook his head as if embarrassed.
“Well. I’ve said enough for you to understand, right?”
He must have been in that chaos.
The final day. The worst possible conclusion where everyone fell into slumber. The masses swallowed by malice.
And yet, until the very last moment, he had believed in the treatment taught by the Young Girl who had wailed toward the sky.
He was one of the few survivors.
“Could I have another cup of coffee…?”
“Sure. Wait a moment.”
The Elder took the coffee cup Oxymoron held out and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Don't cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Right.”
I could sense the tears she was quietly shedding inside her Gas Mask, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Thank you…”
And then, my ears caught the words she whispered softly.
Words meant for no one else to hear.
“Thank you… for believing in us…”