Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 007
Chapter Title: Second Deployment
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Anyway, I tried touching the only skill tree I could read: [Basic Fire Magic].
"Skill points, huh..."
Come to think of it, it definitely said I'd leveled up earlier.
Maybe you get skill points every time you level up?
And use them to unlock these skill trees?
"This is getting kinda fun."
It felt a little like a game, making my heart race just a bit.
"If we deploy again tomorrow, I could test it out."
I bet I'm the only prisoner in this unit looking forward to the next mission.
Walter would've called me insane if he heard that.
"But... is it okay to use magic and stuff?"
From what I'd heard before, unregistered mages at the Magic Tower were labeled heretics and shunned.
"Eh, it'll be fine."
Those heretic mages were criminals anyway.
And I'm a criminal too, so I doubt anyone would complain about one crook using crook-like tricks.
"Anyway, time to wash up first."
My current state was a total mess.
I'd brushed off the gunpowder and sweat smell, but the soot was still caked on.
A quick shower, and I'd still make dinner time.
With that thought, I stripped off my tattered combat gear.
"No way. So you're saying you really took that guy down all by yourself?"
That evening.
The moment Walter returned to the room after getting discharged from the infirmary, he asked me in disbelief.
"Went to the infirmary, huh? You're back quick."
"......"
"Well, yeah. You'd only get admitted if you were actually hurt."
Looking back now, that factory entrance play was a pretty natural bait-and-switch.
Sending other prisoners ahead as meat shields—meat shields stacking more meat shields.
Thanks to that, everyone except Walter charged straight into the factory entrance like good buddies.
Walter cleared his throat awkwardly and shot back.
"So, you got a problem with that?"
"Nah. Not really."
I'd thought the same last time: if you weren't gunning for special parole, it was actually pretty smart.
"So, how the hell did you kill that bastard anyway?"
"Just shot him, and he died."
"You call that an answer? People die when you shoot 'em, dumbass. You alive?"
'Some people don't die, though.'
Like me, for example. But I kept that to myself.
Meanwhile, Walter plopped down on the bed across from mine, staring me down before tossing out a casual line.
"What the hell are you, anyway?"
"?"
I blinked and replied.
"Dunno. A sturdy prisoner?"
"Why's it a question?"
"I'm a sturdy prisoner."
"Hilarious. You think being sturdy alone takes down a monster like that?"
He looked utterly baffled as he continued.
"The whole platoon wiped out in one go. I've seen platoons get decimated plenty of times before, but never this clean. Never."
"We got him in the end, though. Job done, right?"
"That's not the point... Ugh."
Walter swallowed a sigh and muttered.
"No wonder I felt something off when I first heard you were the Mafia Butcher."
"Who the hell came up with that lame-ass nickname anyway?"
"Dunno. Newspaper?"
What great taste.
If they were gonna name me, couldn't they pick something cooler?
'Anyone hearing it would think I slaughtered hundreds of mafiosi.'
I'd only offed a few dozen. Felt kinda unfair.
"Anyway, 4th Platoon this, that. Everyone's talking about you wherever you go."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Big fuss over the hotshot rookie."
"Hoo."
They'd said no chit-chat between platoons, but word spread fast somehow.
Go figure.
I blew on the gun barrel to cool it, then voiced a sudden thought.
"How'd we end up as the only survivors in this room, though?"
Walter, now sprawled on his bed, answered.
"Hell if I know. Lucky break, I guess."
"So what now? Just us left in the platoon. On standby till reinforcements?"
"Usually, yeah. What're two guys gonna do?"
"Oh... yeah?"
Honestly, today the other platoonmates hadn't done much anyway.
"Hey, old man. I took out that rooftop sniper."
"Exactly. Minus you and me, what'd the rest even do? ...Flashily slash the door and pose before exploding?"
Walter snorted at that.
"Honestly? That was kinda badass."
"Fair."
"Ha, and damn, she was hot as hell."
"Doesn't matter now. She's charcoal."
"What a shame."
"Shame for what? She never even glanced your way from heli boarding to charcoal."
"Hey! You asked? You askin' me, punk?!"
"Not once from heli to boom."
"Son of a bitch."
At least I'd locked eyes. My win.
I quickly reassembled my pistol and asked.
"So, we're twiddling thumbs for a while then?"
"Pretty much."
I let out a sigh.
"What a bummer..."
"Bummer?"
Walter gave me a look like I'd lost my mind.
"...This place really attracts every freak out there."
Right on cue.
Two days later, afternoon.
The blaring alarm had me and Walter exchanging silent glances.
"......"
"......"
I asked.
"No deployments, right?"
Walter bolted upright from bed.
"Fuck! What're you waiting for? Gear up!"
This felt like déjà vu.
Anyway, we suited up and headed down to the training yard cheerfully, where none other than that same transport heli awaited.
Walter muttered in disbelief.
"No fucking way..."
"3rd Platoon! Board the heli NOW!! Move it!!"
"Hey! Ain't this a mistake?! We're just two guys!"
"3rd Platoon!! Didn't you hear me?!"
"Goddammit!"
Walter cursed and boarded late, sitting beside me.
I'd hopped on early and buckled up.
"You know arguing's pointless."
"I'm just that baffled, alright?!"
"Why? I like it."
"You real psycho. Something wrong in that thick skull?!"
"Might as well enjoy the picnic."
"You're killing me."
"No chit-chat!!"
The officer by the window yelled.
The heli lifted off mid-sentence.
En route, the skinny officer from before stood before us.
Walter sighed at the voice over the high-band comms.
"You really won't tell us what's going on?"
Smart move.
"Thrifty, huh?"
"Never happened before!"
The officer tapped Walter's bomb collar.
That shut Walter up. The briefing continued.
The officer checked our body cams and added.
Pilot's voice cut in.
We stood, and thunk! The cabin lamps flashed green.
Bang! Hatch opened. Peering out, 2nd Platoon was already waiting on the wide rooftop.
We leaped out at the urging. The heli peeled off without a backward glance.
Walter shook his head watching it go.
"Smells fishy."
"When doesn't it?"
Turning, there stood a massive figure with a prosthetic eye.
"Jackson."
"Walter. And next to ya... Ha! You must be the infamous rookie. Am I right?"
"Infamous?"
"Heard you solo'd a mage after 3rd got wiped."
He glanced at Walter.
"This slime couldn't have helped! Ahahaha!"
2nd Platoon snickered.
Walter scoffed.
"Hmph. Ignore 'em."
"You two know each other?"
"Yeah. Same platoon not long ago."
Same platoon?
"Rookie might not know, but 141 shuffles platoons often. 'Security reasons,' say the mighty cops."
"Body cams are on, Jackson. They're listening."
"So? Tell 'em to blow my head off if they don't like it! Ahahaha!"
Walter sighed deeply.
"Let's move before they do."
Jackson, still chuckling, positioned at the seemingly locked rooftop door.
"Alright, let's go."
His right arm ballooned like a inflating tire.
"Hup!"
Kwaaang! One strike blew the steel door inward, shredded.
"Whoa."
Walter whispered.
"Bio-experiment victim, they say."
"Bio-experiment?"
"Jackson."
He pointed at the freakishly swollen arm.
"Alchemists half-turned him Chimera or something."
"Huh."
So that's why the arm bulked and shrank.
This world had every type of freak.
"Alright! Let's roll, brothers!"
"Who're your brothers, asshole."
"Shut it, Jackson. Before I slice that thick neck."
2nd Platoon iced him. He smirked awkwardly.
"Y'all too shy."
Walter narrowed his eyes.
"Who you explaining to?"
"Ahem."
The building interior was eerily quiet following Jackson.
Dim stairs.
Only the emergency light above flashed red.
Descending the long stairs, I asked.
"So how'd a guy like Jackson end up in 141?"
"Huh? Me?"
Jackson patted his thick bicep proudly.
"No money. Robbed an uptown bank!"
"Legend."
First guy bragging about bank heists.
"Oops, killed a citizen by accident. Hear me out—no choice!"
He furrowed brows indignantly.
"Didn't mean to kill anyone, but the hiding banker started blasting. What was I supposed to do?"
"Wait, self-defense?"
"Right?! But they slapped me with 40 years for one citizen... I was bare-handed, he had a gun! Unfair, right?"
That bare hand wasn't ordinary, though.
"So you got screwed too, huh."
"What about you, rookie? Look young for this."
"Just killed a mafia boss. Turns out he was a citizen."
"Mafia boss? No way... Ronus Rorione?"
"You know him?"
"Who doesn't! Damn, the rookie's the famous Mafia Butcher! Knew you were different from the start! Hahaha!"
Jesus.
How famous was I?
Then, the lead skinhead prisoner whipped around.
"Jackson, shut your trap!"
A female prisoner behind muttered.
"Weird."
"Weird how?"
Walter asked. Her eyes narrowed.
"Too quiet, minus Jackson's yapping."
"Yeah."
Click. Another cocked his gun in agreement.
"They knew we were coming ages ago."
"Should be some resistance."
"Or they bailed. Gangs are sneaky."
That's when it happened.
"Hold up."
The skinhead up front raised a hand.
Examining the floor carefully, his eyes widened.
Black runes spiderwebbed through the stairwell shadows.
"This is...!!"
He spun back, yelling.
"Curse!! Everyone, evade!"