Chapter 412: Social Tidying Up (4)
Chapter 412: Social Tidying Up (4)
As discussed with Ultimate, our group split into two.
Ultimate’s group would walk the streets of the outer districts to identify the infected.
And then there was the old Assassination Team—a total freak show of lunatics, excluding myself—who, in all honesty, I didn't think would function properly at all.
As we parted ways, Baek Si-hyun looked disappointed, but after I told her we’d meet again soon, she let out her usual energetic shout and headed off.
Immediately after the teams split:
"Hmm. A healing-type Hero. And a practicing medical professional at that."
Brantley suddenly stroked his chin and spoke meaningfully.
How did he know?
The thought flashed through my mind for a moment, but I soon realized it wasn't that strange.
That was just the nature of Brantley’s ability.
Carte.
It was a unique ability belonging only to Brantley, one that couldn't be defined by the Standard System.
The main effect of the ability was to acquire a rough overview of the current status of living beings in his vicinity.
He couldn't get precise information just by passing someone by; however, the more he focused or the longer he observed them, the more detailed the information became. It was the ultimate status-assessment ability for a medical professional.
Even Oxymoron, who sat at the very pinnacle of healing Heroes, required direct contact and an examination to grasp someone's condition.
Of course, she was a human who defied common sense in many ways, so if she could perform an exam, her pure knowledge and observation skills allowed her to surpass Brantley’s Carte in status assessment.
Ending my train of thought there, I glanced at Brantley.
The way this Old Man used his ability was a bit peculiar.
Setting aside the fact that he could act as a wide-range radar since he could mark everyone around him...
No matter how I looked at it, the normal use for this ability was to quickly grasp a person's condition to treat them appropriately.
Conversely, there was a diametrically opposed way to use it: by identifying a target's clear weaknesses and continuously aggravating them to eliminate them.
A normal medical professional wouldn't use it in the latter way, but this geezer...
Furthermore, the additional effect of Carte, "Accumulated Objectivity," was nothing short of cruel.
If a target trusted him as a medical professional, the Carte would fill up quickly. If almost all information was written into that Carte, and the subject died—whether through Brantley’s direct or indirect involvement—he could inherit their ability.
Such an ability would usually have great potential in the long run, but unlike other theft or copy abilities, this one didn't guarantee the inherited power would function normally.
For instance—and this was a very, very hypothetical case—even if Brantley obtained the Thunder God’s power, not only would the electrical superpowers not activate properly, but the moment he attempted "Thunder God Descent," his entire body might be electrocuted to death.
I didn't know if my emotions, the source of my power, would be treated as an ability, but if they were, I suspected he would explode on the spot the moment he inherited them because he lacked a physical vessel strong enough to endure it.
The conditions were filthy, and it was an extremely twisted power that didn't even seize the additional requirements needed to manifest the stolen ability.
Since unique abilities aren't necessarily created by the owner's influence, having such a power didn't mean it was related to Brantley’s warped mind, but somehow, it felt like an ability that openly displayed his broken mental state.
Anyway, regardless of Brantley’s specific Supernatural Power...
"Don't you dare lay a finger on my disciple."
I couldn't leave this dark-hearted fellow alone with Han A-bin. Exchanging greetings with the other Assassination Team members was fine, but not him.
"Now, why would I do that? I simply wish to converse with her as a fellow healing Hero. Sharing one's philosophy and knowledge is a fine way to reflect upon oneself and move forward, after all."
It sounded to me like he wanted to mentally contaminate a fresh young medic and drag her down into the same pit as him.
Is there even a single medical professional who actually likes you?
Even Oxymoron acknowledged the man's ability while being absolutely horrified, saying his way of thinking was nonsensical.
Even Calavera, who similarly claimed that death was not an end but a choice and a value, hated him, saying that Brantley didn't look at his own death but rather watched the deaths of others for self-satisfaction.
Based on those evaluations, he was someone who should clearly be classified as a villain rather than a Hero. However, healing Heroes were already scarce, and when he was in a normal state, he repeatedly helped allies without regard for his own safety. From the Management Bureau’s perspective, he was too valuable to discard.
"I'm telling you again, don't share your ideology with The Kid."
"I understand. I shall do so."
Brantley smiled as he spoke.
Tsk. Just looking at that face, he really did seem like a gentleman.
Well, regardless of Brantley’s malice...
Let's work. Work.
"Did you hear if anyone else is coming?"
"I haven't heard anything specific."
Hmm. So the six of us, including me, are all?
I was hoping for about five more to form a proper squad, but I suppose that's being greedy.
Right now, even with the six dispatched, we didn't even know where two of them had gone.
I really wished at least one telepathy-type had come to assist with squad command.
Good grief.
To think five people with nothing but high combat power had gathered.
I scratched my head irritably.
Well, it couldn't be helped.
There was no point in worrying or getting annoyed; reinforcements weren't going to fall from the sky. I should at least be satisfied that five people capable of independent action had shown up.
After finishing that thought...
"Alright. Everyone, assemble."
I called over the other two.
The two who had been keeping their distance and observing us since Brantley arrived.
I could understand Svetlana.
But I didn't know why Montague was so wary of Brantley, especially since he kept saying he wouldn't die until his turn came.
You guys know you won't die as long as you don't step on a landmine.
It's not like you're weak enough to be easily killed by Brantley, either.
While I scolded them inwardly without saying it aloud...
The two Assassination Team members quickly closed the distance they had maintained. They huddled around me, keeping a slight distance from Brantley as if trying to treat him like he didn't exist.
Calling it a "slight distance" was being generous; it was the kind of behavior that clearly signaled rejection to anyone who knew better, the sort of thing that would normally hurt someone's feelings.
Brantley, perhaps used to such treatment, showed no particular reaction and waited for me to speak.
...It'll work out somehow.
"Alright. Then, I'll brief you on the current situation and our future plans accordingly."
* * *
After a brief briefing, we quickly commenced operational actions.
The operational method we adopted was individual action based around a specific point.
I knew well that individual action wasn't a good idea in a dangerous place where enemies could appear from anywhere, but there was no other way for now.
We lacked specialized personnel to gather information as a group, and the people gathered here were... well, questionable.
In terms of combat power, they were all heavy hitters, but every single one of them possessed a personality and ability ill-suited for group action.
Rather than wasting time dragging them around, I judged it more efficient to let them scatter and do their own thing.
However, it wasn't complete individual action.
It was individual action with the condition that they must return to the designated point at a set time after scouting based on that point.
The searchable area was limited to a circular range from the point. The boundary of that range was the distance within which Brantley could grasp a subject's current status using Carte.
Brantley would also perform scouting, but I positioned him so he wouldn't stray far from the designated point, focusing instead on briefing us on the current situation.
He was the operator who would immediately report if any team member died or showed signs of contamination.
Normally, this was a job for a telepath or someone with mental resonance, but this time, there was no choice. I reaaaaally didn't like it, though.
Anyway, just as I thought a significant amount of time had passed since we started the search with those detailed conditions...
Zzap.
A sharp sting of electricity ran from the tactical phone strapped to my waist.
That was the signal that 25 minutes had passed.
Since the rotation operated on a 30-minute basis, it meant it was time to return to the point.
Since it wasn't sound or vibration, it was a fairly good way to signal the time while maintaining stealth.
Of course, in a truly urgent situation, even this kind of notification could cause problems.
Every method has its pros and cons.
These days, people seemed to prefer bone-conduction earphones, but I really hated those because it felt like they were vibrating inside my head.
It felt like hearing auditory hallucinations.
Anyway.
Time to head back.
With that thought, I stood up.
My current location was inside a warehouse.
A dilapidated warehouse I had discovered during my second search.
It seemed completely unmaintained; the ceiling was full of holes, offering a clear view of the outside, and puddles had formed all over the floor. The air carried a thick, damp smell of mold.
At least it didn't smell like rotting people.
Seeing rusted metal machinery and what looked like various parts scattered about, it might have originally been an auto warehouse or something similar.
If it had been a warehouse with more useful items, someone might have turned it into a residence, and it would have smelled of people, but there was no such scent at all.
The contents were useless, and the warehouse was in such poor condition that it was a mediocre place even for dodging the rain.
There was almost no justification for searching such a place, but I was intentionally taking the time to search it.
The reason was...
Because I had found evidence that someone had recently entered this warehouse.
When I first found this warehouse, I had intended to pass it by without much of a search, but the moment I saw the door, a subtle sense of dissonance drew me in.
The warehouse door was slightly ajar, and in the gap between the open door and the floor, there was almost no moss or dust; the stone floor was clearly exposed.
This was evidence that someone had recently opened the door, scraping away the moss and mold that had grown on the ground.
When I opened the warehouse door, harboring doubts...
Clear evidence was right there.
Moss and trash were piled up much further back than the door I had opened.
Those things, created because someone other than me had pushed the door wide open, announced through the information they held that they were clearly of recent origin.
And among the moss, mold, dust, and trash filling the warehouse, subtle differences were scattered.
A repeating cylindrical pattern, created by slight pressure. This was evidence that someone had walked inside.
And only one pattern of those footprints was carved into the floor.
Unless there was an exit other than this door, it meant someone had entered the warehouse and hadn't come out.
It was about 10 minutes ago that I had followed the footprints, questioning that evidence.
The problem was...
No harvest.
The footprints, which were clear at first, gradually faded as I moved inward, and at some point, I couldn't find even a tiny trace.
It was as if a ghost had played a trick.
Did they suddenly ascend to heaven?
With that thought, I looked at the ceiling.
The ceiling was riddled with holes.
...Surprisingly, that might be the answer.
A stupid thought, even if it was mine.
...Let's give up and go back.
There's some mystery here, but it's not important.
Just as I thought that and was about to turn around...
'Be distorted.'
'Rot.'
'And thus, meet your ruin.'
A voice echoed in my mind.
At the same time a sensation of my body twisting ran through me...
Tsk.
Clicking my tongue, I drew my hammer and swung it behind my back.
Something had come.
A perfect ambush that even I was slow to react to.
Powerful Mental Contamination and sensory pollution.
If there had been even a slight problem with my Mental Barrier, I might have been caught in that and had my mind shattered instantly.
That was how powerful the attack was.
Reacting to the ambush, I immediately shook off the mental-type user who had latched onto my back.
But... shit. What is this?
The red particles surrounding me won't fall off.
Something like a Red Mist swirls around me, manifesting hostility.
Not as a metaphor, but literal hostility.
The Red Mist clumps together, taking a snake-like form, and bites me.
Sharp fangs sink into my forearm.
I quickly shake my arm to throw the snake off, but the snake simply turns back into mist and swirls in the air again.
It was a bizarre phenomenon that one might suspect was an illusion.
However, the two hollow holes left in my arm reminded me that this was reality.
Wait, is this some kind of poison?
With my regeneration ability, a wound of that size should normally heal in an instant, but the two black holes in my arm were actually making the wound worse.
Pain spreads from the black holes, and along with the widening pain, the skin and flesh begin to rot.
What did it say at first?
Be distorted.
Rot.
Meet your ruin.
Was that it?
I guess this is the "rot."
Then, "be distorted" must be...
This phenomenon currently encroaching upon me.
A power presumed to be a mental attack is twisting my five senses.
I said I felt pain in my arm earlier, but now it's twisting so much I don't even know if it's really pain anymore.
A report that I can taste sweetness in my arm runs through my brain.
My vision is stained red, and the boundary between the mist and the world disappears; they dance before me, recreating past connections.
It's not enough to fool me.
Like clay dolls made by a child for fun, their forms clearly look nothing like humans at first glance.
However, those illusions captured the characteristics well enough that I could tell at a glance who they were meant to represent.
Tsk.
How annoying. Really.
'It's your fault.'
They show me purple.
'Thank you.'
They touch me with redness.
The damp smell of mold piercing my nose shows me its life.
My senses are twisted, and the red snakes bite my body.
The Enemy is nowhere to be seen.
In the midst of that situation, I...
"Fuck off, you bastards."
Moving my arms and legs with mana, I take a step forward.
To find The Enemy.
With that single step, the mist enveloping me scatters.
The distorted illusions that were talking to me disappear.
My senses momentarily return.
However, the scattered Red Mist immediately seized me again.
I endured it and took another step.
To find The Enemy who had done this to me.