The Curse of Knowledge
"…."
"It's simple. Adolf Hitler is a son of a bitch, a worthless sack of—"
"No, no, no, hold on."
Mr. James came over, clutching his head.
Mr. Curtis tilted his own head as well, easing the muzzle of his gun down a fraction.
"Where the hell does Hitler come into this?"
"Call it an ideological screening. It's not that hard, so hurry up."
"Is it that important? The man just woke up—"
"That's exactly why it's important."
Hans Anderson glanced around for a moment, looking thoroughly confused.
Or else he was just reading the room.
"So… you're telling me to say Hitler is… a son of a bitch."
If he was acting, it was damned good.
If he wasn't… well, the reaction was natural enough.
Still, that cursed German pistol, his looks, and the way his eyes moved all left me sick with suspicion.
"…Haa."
"Would someone please explain what on earth is going on?"
"There's a group called the Zeroth Reich that worships Hitler. Extremely dangerous."
"Nazi bastards, then."
Mr. Curtis's eyebrows twitched.
His face was tight with… fury.
"That's right."
"…Germans?"
"No. American neo-Nazis."
"Goddamn sons of bitches."
His face twisted further as he looked down at the German pistol in his hand.
Then he fixed Hans Anderson with a hard stare.
"Nazis are another matter entirely, young man."
"Are… you talking to me?"
"Do you know what this gun is called?"
Hans blinked, then shook his head.
"I found it in a bunker."
"Where, exactly."
"In a tin box that looked like it held collectibles. Figured I'd use it for self-defense…."
"Veterans used to want these badly. Only officers got them, so they were hard to collect. Surviving a fight with those SS bastards wasn't easy, either."
Mr. Curtis gave the pistol one last once-over, then tucked it into his coat.
Hans's eyes wavered, just a little.
"For as long as you stay here, I'll be holding on to this. Any objections?"
"…No, sir. Consider it the price of my life."
"A man who can take a reasonable word. James, get this Hans fellow some water and food. Hyunwoo, a word with me. Sarah, keep watch with James."
I left Mr. James fishing jerky and a water bottle from his pocket and followed Mr. Curtis out.
Once the door shut quietly behind us, I finally saw how grim his face had become.
"Nazis."
"Yes."
"You said the Zeroth Reich?"
"They claim to be the successors to Hitler's Third Reich."
"Their marks?"
"They insist only people with black hair, blue eyes, and white skin are superior."
"And everyone else is an inferior race. Used to be blondes, back then."
"Hitler—"
"Had black hair and blue eyes. Like that cripple Goebbels."
Maybe I should have told Mr. Curtis first.
I hadn't expected him to shudder this hard the moment he heard the word Nazi.
…Though, hang on—hadn't he cheerfully ribbed me as a yellow monkey not so long ago?
"You're worried that one's a Nazi."
"If he is, we can't let him walk out of here alive."
"Afraid he'll ship you off to a camp?"
"…Once their numbers are high enough, they'll put everyone through the gas showers. Call it cleansing the inferior races."
"And how do they grow those numbers? Same way they used to praise Jewish descendants with blond hair and blue eyes as fine Aryans?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure about Mr. James or—"
"Don't give me that bullshit."
The sharp rebuke came with a steady look from Mr. Curtis.
He let out a long breath.
"Listen. I'm sorry for that yellow-monkey nonsense last time. I didn't mean it. I don't think you're someone who deserves to die the way those Nazi bastards do. Besides—how much do I owe the man who saved my only granddaughter and is trying to build us a place this fine?"
"…I understand."
"Hundreds, thousands of comrades died horribly at Nazi hands. We bled across Europe to free it from that worthless sack of shit. So finding out there are Nazis in the country I defended, itching to become that same worthless sack of shit—that truly pisses me off."
He held out his hand.
I gripped it hard.
"If that kid's a Nazi, I'll blow his balls off with my shotgun first. You have my word."
"Thank you."
"Did you tell Sarah?"
"Yes."
"What'd she say?"
"That she'd trust me."
"Of course. Never lost out by trusting you yet… I'll fill James in later. Get back to work."
I nodded.
"…Trust us. At this point, without you, we'd forget how to breathe."
Mr. Curtis clapped my shoulder once and went back into the room. I nodded after him.
That should be enough to be sure those three would never be recruited by the Zeroth Reich.
No. Wrong.
Moments like this were exactly when I had to prove I was irreplaceable.
A combat class that could solo everything with easy gains in strength and endurance would have been nice, but I was stuck relying on the community one way or another.
So what could I improve to lock these people in for good—
"You're brooding about something again."
"…Ah."
"Grandpa told me to help you."
"Your leg?"
"It's just a little sore now. Running shouldn't be a problem."
Sarah demonstrated with a light jog in place, then flashed a smile. The bandages no longer looked like they were seeping blood.
"I'm going to look for a water source."
"Makes sense. More people using water now."
"First I want to seal the passages the spiders come through, then check the connecting tunnels one by one."
"Sounds like you'll need my help for that."
I'd have preferred to move only after I knew Hans Anderson's true colors completely, but we were too short on resources for that luxury.
And on top of that….
"Ugh, those spider bastards. They're starting to move in earnest."
A lot of rustling was coming from beyond the barricade.
From the sound of it, they were harvesting the fresh Land Bat corpses scattered around.
Leave them alone and they'd start spinning webs into advantageous traps, maybe even nest. If that happened, staying here could get extremely dangerous.
No matter how well armed we were, three people facing spiders without a flamethrower was suicide.
"I'll grab a shotgun. Pack what you need and let's move."
"Let Mr. James know, and… if there's a pen for marking things, I'd appreciate that too."
"We've got chalk for trail markers."
"That'll do."
There was far too much to do.
Far too much—and the new refugee was hideously suspicious.
Part of me wanted to shoot him on the spot, but executing someone without evidence would gut our trust, and that was something I absolutely, absolutely could not do… which left me in a bind.
"I'm ready. Shall we?"
"About Mr. James…."
"I already told Dad. We're not going far anyway."
"True."
"Good. Let's knock this out fast."
While Sarah stood watch, I used the welder to seal the passages leading to the spider dens.
I fitted panels that could be opened and closed from our side, so we could still shove corpses through.
For the time being, it looked like we'd have to use the spider dens as a body dump.
…If the swarm grew because of it, we could be in serious trouble, but that problem would have to wait.
"That seals two of the passages to the spider dens…."
"How many more are you planning to block?"
Aside from the corridor leading to the living quarters, four tunnels remained—two left, two right.
"I might need to put four more at a height we can still climb over."
"Ugh. That'll take forever."
"No—I won't make them as solid as the ones sealing the spider dens. If a tunnel turns out to be a dead end, that's more living space for us."
"…You really are the expert."
I'd spent two thousand hours obsessing over how to make underground space work.
With decent spatial management, you could even cram eight people into a single room for living quarters—inhuman as it was.
Of course, pull that stunt and you'd watch morale plummet straight through the planet's core.
"…Hmm?"
When I turned my head, I saw Mr. James and Mr. Curtis moving busily back and forth.
And they had Hans Anderson with them.
"…Huh. What's this. Is he already able to walk? What are those two doing?"
Sarah was right.
What the hell were they up to?
We still didn't even know if he was friend or foe—why show him the internal layout?
I set the welder on the ground, gripped the barricade, and climbed over.
Sarah stuck close behind me.
"Mr. James."
"Finished with your work?"
"No. I came to ask what you're doing with Hans Anderson."
"Ah—just giving him a quick tour of the facilities. Where the showers are, how the toilets work, what chores need doing."
"Chores."
"Things like pouring the oil we've found into the generator. Where to put the water we find. What to look for and where to store it—that sort of thing."
This was bad.
The generator and the water tanks were the most critical zones we had.
Even in construction, you always wanted those as deep inside as possible.
If the generator died, the lights went out; if the water tanks were contaminated, disease spread in an instant.
And they were showing an outsider those places—
"Mr. Curtis!?"
I pushed past Mr. James and found myself face-to-face with Hans Anderson and Mr. Curtis inside the shower room, Hans scanning the surroundings with a dazed look.
"Ah."
"Did you learn something that made you decide to give him the full tour?"
"I'm introducing him to where he'll be working."
"Working? These are areas we have to manage—"
"I can help."
Hans Anderson raised his voice slightly and stood straight in front of me.
"I'd like to earn my keep, at least a little. And a place with facilities like these… I'd be grateful if I could shelter here until I've fully recovered."
"Shelter?"
"The cuts and stab wounds still hurt… but until new flesh grows in, the smell of blood might draw monsters. Please. Just until I'm healed."
"We won't put him on anything critical. But what do you say to handing off some of the daily work you do yourself? If anything's off, you'll spot it immediately—and if he isn't diligent, we toss him into the spider dens and be done with it."
"I have no complaints about that either."
"Honestly, with everything else we have to do, we can't keep scrubbing dishes forever. Finding a proper water supply is urgent—we can't have Hyunwoo stuck dismantling filters every single time."
Mr. Curtis and Mr. James made their case—but weren't these people a little too trusting?
Even if he wasn't with the Zeroth Reich, if he belonged to a raider band, he could walk the whole layout right into an assault.
And if even a little sabotage slipped into the work I did every day….
If Hans mixed mutant blood into a filter I was assembling….
"Just until I recover. It won't take that long."
He stood at attention and pleaded earnestly.
Mr. James and Mr. Curtis shrugged and looked my way.
And then—
"Let's keep an eye on him for now. It's not a bad idea, is it? And honestly… watching you cut sleep to make bullets and filters every day has been weighing on me."
…Four to one, then.
I had no choice but to nod.
Trust wasn't something that bounced back with a simple "reflection task" or a gift campaign like in a game, and the people in front of me weren't going to react with magical game-logic either.
If this had been a game, every conversation we'd just had would already have been replaced by a single line of text: Discuss the newly captured refugee.
"I'll say it again—I'll watch him myself. On a veteran's honor."
…An offer of help that earnest wasn't something I could brush off lightly either.
"Bullet production and filter assembly are non-negotiable. I'll allow oil refills, loading unopened water, bedroom cleaning, and cooking assistance. That's it."
So I set limits.
"And every task needs at least one person supervising."
"Strict."
"I've been through situations like this before."
One dose of poison, one dagger at the throat in the middle of the night, and it was over.
I couldn't trust someone whose identity I still didn't know.
Especially not someone carrying an uncommon German weapon.