Chapter 203: On Survival (3)
Chapter 203: On Survival (3)
“Mmmmmm! Cookies, come out!”
As Un-ho closed his eyes and shouted, two brownish lumps that smelled of sweetness fell from the air.
“Oh, I’ve never seen these before. What are they?”
At first glance, they were lumpy and looked a bit like those disposable syrup containers you see in coffee shops. Or maybe like sliced churros.
“Ah! I know what those are. They’re called canelés, a dessert from Europe.”
Hmm.
At those words, I tossed one to Un-ho and popped the other into my mouth.
A heady scent of vanilla filled my senses, followed by a chewy texture that offered a slight resistance. To me, the crunch didn't mean much, but it was likely quite a crispy pastry.
“Mmph! It’s crunchy and delicious!”
Even Un-ho couldn't swallow the pastry in one go; he was excitedly nibbling away at the crunchy exterior.
It wasn't overly sweet, and the vanilla aroma was rich.
“It’d probably go well with coffee.”
I let out a subtle hint of my desire for someone to brew some coffee and turned my head toward the last person remaining in the room.
However, that last person, Al’shel, was merely sitting at the table, clutching his head as he stared intensely at a blank sheet of A4 paper.
“No. Not this either. Authority. Authority… right… Authority…. Good. If I just have the authority. Favoring a specific race? That’s out of the question.”
And if I listened closely, I could hear the background noise that had been going on for hours.
I wondered when that would finally end. I thought it would be over quickly, but it seemed Al’shel’s mind was quite a tangled mess in its own way.
As always, it wasn't my problem.
“Well, since there’s no coffee, shall we pull the next one?”
“Wait a second! Let me finish this first!”
As he spoke, Un-ho began to gnaw on the canelé as fast as a squirrel.
It was a rather amusing sight, so I watched him for about five seconds.
“Burp. That was tasty. What’s coming out next?”
Un-ho patted his slender belly—which wasn't even close to being full—and expressed his satisfaction. Of course, his infinite gluttony hadn't gone anywhere, as he was already trying to manifest more snacks.
“Do you have enough currency?”
“I still have quite a bit! I don’t know the exact amount because I’m too lazy to calculate it!”
Is that so?
Actually, I wasn't that curious; it was just a polite inquiry. I looked at Un-ho with a lukewarm gaze.
“Cookies. Cookies. Sweet cookies….”
Once again, Un-ho closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his brow as he spoke.
It looked quite strange, but there was a reason for it.
After Al’shel fell into that state, Un-ho and I had conducted various tests. Through them, I realized that my ability to pull out flatfish and high-end rice soju was an extremely peculiar phenomenon.
While primary products like metallic ores, logs, or unidentified meat could be purchased without intense focus, processed goods would not drop unless one imagined them with absolute precision.
When Un-ho tried to imagine a sword, only a club-like thing that vaguely resembled a sword would drop. Precision instruments requiring even higher levels of processing were out of the question from the start.
Strangely, when I imagined a sword, something like an overly decorated legendary weapon would pop out, but despite its appearance, it was just an ordinary blade that would snap with a single knee strike.
In this situation, I had wondered how he would handle trading for food.
“Hmm… it’s a dud.”
Thud.
What dropped in front of Un-ho was a single Choco Pie.
A perfectly ordinary Choco Pie.
Un-ho called it a dud, yet his gluttony was on full display as he split it in half, shoved one piece into my mouth, and crammed the other into his own.
That wasn't the important part, though. Let's talk about the food.
In short, it was like this: I was the anomaly. When an ordinary Sentient Being like Un-ho imagined something vaguely, something that roughly fit that category would drop.
“A glass of milk to go with the Choco Pie.”
Thud.
A significant amount of currency was consumed, and a bottle of milk contained in glass dropped down.
“Wow! A glass of milk for me too!”
Thud.
…Something contained in a leather pouch dropped.
What is that?
“What is that?”
Un-ho also looked puzzled as he twisted the cap of the leather pouch.
As the pouch opened, a thick liquid flowed out along with a pungent, gamey smell.
…Isn't that rotten?
I was about to consciously think about clearing it away immediately, but—
Lick.
It seemed Un-ho’s gluttony applied even to things like that. He calmly licked the foul-smelling liquid.
“Ah. It’s Goat Milk. I don’t know if this should count as milk, though….”
“…Just throw it away. I’ll share my milk with you.”
“Okay!”
As Un-ho spoke and clapped his hands, the thing he called Goat Milk disappeared along with the leather pouch.
It really is convenient.
Even if it’s limited to primary processing materials and food, most things can be handled right where you sit. And except for irregular situations like just now, most of the food that comes out is edible.
In the dozens of times we’d summoned snacks, the only thing truly inedible was a sour prank candy.
The System was likely designed this way to allow even Sentient Beings far removed from combat to grow.
Food appears, but you can't just pull out exactly what you want to eat, and the same goes for chairs or weapons. In other words, it’s a result of balancing convenience and growth.
If you want to live in luxury, maintain a society. We will provide the necessary materials for a price.
And perhaps even that would become unnecessary after a certain amount of time.
The room of the Purple Ones I visited a few hours ago—there was soil there. There was a sun.
I didn't know if it was a real sun, but it was something similar. And there was intermittent rain as well.
That meant there was a climate, and farming was possible.
While metals might be an issue, they could somehow manage to make a living.
However….
“Pwah.”
While I was lost in thought, Un-ho had buried his face in the glass bottle, staining his already white fur even whiter.
Seeing that sight, my train of thought was momentarily interrupted.
“…What about the part I was going to drink?”
“Hmm? There’s still quite a bit left?”
Un-ho said as he held the milk bottle out to me.
“Here!”
Indeed, there was quite a bit of milk left. Except for one problem.
“Your fur is floating in the milk.”
“…Gasp! I didn't think of that!”
Stupid Un-ho strikes again today.
Normally, I would have shoved him into the milk bottle and closed the lid to make a pickled milk ferret, but—
“Forget it. You drink the rest.”
With a grumpy expression, I waved my finger in the air and manifested another milk.
A small carton of milk.
It even came with a straw, as if it were a bonus service. I bit onto the straw and tossed the half of the Choco Pie into my mouth.
“Um…. I’m sorry! So, I’ll pull the next cookie!”
Un-ho prepared to manifest another cookie.
Actually, I hadn't summoned a single snack myself. We hadn't agreed on taking turns, so it didn't really matter, but—
“Mmm…. Cookie…. Cookie…. Something rare….”
Perhaps because he added more conditions, Un-ho’s concentration lasted longer than before, allowing me to continue the thoughts that had been interrupted.
Yes, The System itself was clearly a form that provided only the most basic necessities—food, clothing, and shelter—along with a few convenience systems.
But what about the residence of the Purple Ones?
Did restaurants or things like that exist?
I tried to recall my memories. I remembered seeing a few things like billboards.
However, most of them weren't advertisements to sell something. They were advertisements related to combat techniques, conversation, or technology. There were some for furniture sales and such, but….
“Now that I think about it…. There weren't any restaurants, were there?”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, I’m just talking to myself. Carry on.”
Once my thoughts reached this point, I realized why they were carrying such weak weapons.
There was no progress.
I didn't know where things had gone wrong, but this place hadn't become an Ark; it had merely become a shelter.
Whether that was the fault of The System, the organization, or something else—no one even knew anymore.
My head feels cluttered….
Knowledge and information have been constantly overturned in just a single day.
At first, I thought it was simply a problem caused by the control of a few groups, but every time I flip over a card, a new facet continues to reveal itself.
A precarious but safe control established by survivors in order to survive. Yet, that control is collateralized by the lives of many.
The System guarantees food, clothing, and shelter. However, The System’s kindness conversely strangles the people, making them dull to their original purpose.
The purpose of the Demon Train is to cultivate combat forces. Yet, paradoxically, if life becomes convenient, people become complacent with reality.
My head is a mess.
Have I ever thought this much lately? It’s gotten to the point where I can't even get angry at Un-ho.
If I’m like this, what about Al’shel, the hypersensitive octopus with skin trouble?
It’s only natural he’d end up in that state.
How on earth can this place be fixed?
No, more than that. Even in the closed society of the Demon Train, things became this complicated in just one day. Then what about the Earth we live on?
How can the heroism I desire be implemented there?
How? What must be done?
Just as I was about to fall into a bottomless pit of questions—
“Aaaargh! I’m sick of all of it! I can’t predict anything anyway!”
A sudden shout snapped me out of the quagmire of my thoughts.
“What’s with you all of a sudden?”
Trying not to show that I had been lost in thought, I looked at Al’shel, who had shouted with a stoic expression.
The octopus was tearing up papers, kicking his chair back, and throwing a frantic tantrum.
“Let’s go! Lee Ha-ram!”
“Where?”
“Where else! To that Grix or Grease fellow!”
Wasn't it Grix? Well, whatever that mummy geezer’s name was.
“Didn't you say favoring a specific race was a no-go? And that there’s no guarantee his words are the truth?”
He’d been muttering that as background music all day, so it was practically drilled into my ears.
“Do I look like I care? Why should I care about this damn Demon Train in the first place? Ah. My apologies, ancestors. I didn't mean to disparage you. I just meant that I don’t need to stress myself out this much over the residents.”
…Why is he suddenly confessing his sins?
More than that, I didn't know this octopus fellow had such an attachment to his own race.
“Stop the possessed, crazy nonsense and get to the point.”
“Ah, right. I intend to follow your example, Lee Ha-ram.”
“Why am I suddenly being brought into this?”
“To summarize simply, it’s this.”
Having finally regained his composure, Al’shel waved his fingers and tentacles with his usual obnoxious face.
“If we just go for it, things will work out somehow. So let’s just go for it. Who cares about my old colleagues? They’re all dead anyway. If necessary, I’ll flip over their graves or whatever else it takes.”
Hmm. I’m pretty sure this octopus fellow was just confessing to his kin a moment ago.
Regardless, I liked Al’shel’s proposal.
“That’s the spirit. Shall we go right now?”
“Let’s. You’ve just been eating cookies this whole time anyway.”
“You saw that?”
“I heard it even when I didn't want to hear it, and I saw it even when I didn't want to see it.”
Then you should have asked for a piece.
The moment I thought that to myself—
“Ah! It’s out!”
Un-ho’s voice rang out, and two macarons appeared before my eyes. I caught them reflexively.
Wondering what they were, I looked at Un-ho and saw two had dropped in front of him as well.
“What is this?”
Hearing a voice from the side, I looked at Al’shel, who was also holding two macarons in his hands.
“…Well, since they’re already here.”
The atmosphere of 'let's just charge in' had completely vanished because of a single macaron.
“Go brew some coffee. We’ll eat and then go.”
“…Fine, whatever.”