Chapter 13
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Leadership, Camp Roberts
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After the journal progression via time acceleration came to an end, Winter decided to seek out the people waiting for him. He had demonstrated his abilities. He had also stalled for plenty of time. He hoped their fervor hadn't died down. It ought to be enough to make up for the penalty imposed on minors.
The refugee area's night was bleak. Several intact tents stood empty. Proof that uneasy folks huddled together in one spot every night. Someone approached from the opposite direction. An unfamiliar face. He gave the boy a sidelong glance with a somewhat anxious air, but this was just standard vigilance in the refugee zone. Just as Winter wondered if they'd pass each other by, 「Survival Instinct」 kicked in.
Thud. A feigned accidental bump, followed by a stab with a knife. But Winter was prepared. The moment metal glinted, he had already seized it. He twisted. Ack! A sharp yelp. The knife clattered to the ground with a metallic ring. A rusty, jagged, filthy blade. Perfect for assassination. Even a light cut would fester.
Winter's current combat prowess received powerful skill bonuses. Even accounting for penalties, he was strong. He could overpower the average adult with raw strength alone. That was why the man's struggles to break free were futile.
"Ahh, it hurts! It hurts! Let me go!"
As if he would. Gripping the twisted arm like reins, Winter dragged him into the narrow shadows between tents. To the man being hauled along, it must have felt like tumbling into the maw of a pitch-black monster. Eek! Eeeek! The man, sputtering saliva and thrashing wildly, forgot his place and cried out for help from those around.
"Help! This crazy little shit's trying to kill me! Somebody help me out! Sob. Help! Help! You Yankee bastards, do your damn jobs! Fuck! Fuuuuck!"
"Quiet. Unless it's the set time and place, neither the police nor the Americans come into the refugee area."
Same reason late-night patrols rarely entered Harlem. As long as the key perimeters were guarded properly, nothing major could happen. Watchtowers stood at every such spot.
No one came to the man's aid. Lights flickered on in several tents, but that just meant they were awake and ready for intruders—don't try anything funny.
Winter flung the man down with the same momentum he'd used to drag him, and the guy crumpled, too winded even to breathe. Shivering uncontrollably, drool and snot streaming down his face in a pathetic display. The boy swept back his hair and drew his greatsword. He approached. The man couldn't even stand, just flailed backward until there was nowhere left to retreat. In desperation, he clawed at the tent edge to burrow inside. Impressive speed for bare hands. The desperation buff, perhaps. Useless since it couldn't be controlled.
Winter drove the blade into his back. Gurk! Air hissed from punctured lungs. Blood surged up in gouts. Thick, sticky darkness.
The struggles didn't last long. Strength ebbed away with the blood. Terminal spasms as life faded. The body went limp, twitching faintly. No need to uncover the background. He'd surely used cutouts, expecting possible failure. No rule saying it had to be his own organization's people. In gangs that preyed on others, the bottom rung was always starving. A few ration coupons could recruit them easily.
Even so, killing served as a warning. Get seen as easy prey, and trouble multiplies. This way, fewer people died in the long run. He knew from experience. Still, a strong aversion lingered, and ignoring it sent hot currents surging through his veins. A pleasant pain. Each pulse felt like it dissolved a tiny bit of the resentment in his heart.
A fleeting illusion. When the heat subsided, his mind grew heavier. Not guilt. Rather, the lack of need for guilt. The realization that this wasn't reality.
The boy lifted the tent flap quietly. Beyond it, men gripping clubs tightly, waiting. Behind them, women huddled with hands over mouths, staring wide-eyed. Their gazes met. The boy nodded in greeting.
"Sorry for disturbing your sleep. This guy tried to kill me. Had no choice. I don't mean any harm to you folks."
Another fabricated persona. Over repeated rounds, he'd mastered intimidation. Kill calmly to seem monstrous. Hard to comprehend means frightening. Rampaging madly would work too, but conversation afterward would be tough. These people belonged to some organization or other. Good advertising: that kid's seriously scary.
Sure enough, the people in the tent stiffened, barely managing nods. Some couldn't even do that much. Then, excuse me. Sweet dreams. With a brief farewell, the boy lowered the flap.
He searched the corpse. Just three ration coupons. No clues to backers, as expected. If there were any, it'd be suspicious.
Leaving the body behind, he headed to his destination, where a sentry stood guard. Any shelter for influential folks had them. Interior night watches were weak against arson. The sentry spotted him and ducked inside hurriedly. Sounds of bustling activity. Winter slipped in without giving them time to prepare.
"Sonny, what brings you here at this late hour?"
It was the old man who'd once mocked his own misery. The liver spots on his face seemed more numerous after just a few days. Bewilderment showed on his face—and not just his. Others too. That was the point. To hold the initiative, don't give the other side breathing room. Reason for choosing night. Even allies—no, especially allies—couldn't be handed control.
"I've decided to accept your proposal."
"Oh!"
Jang Yeoncheol let out an exclamation. Despite the rude awakening, most faces lit up with joy. Whether he was always a light sleeper or weakened by malnutrition, those still groggy aside, everyone shared the delight. One middle-aged woman, though, looked worried. She stared at the boy's bloodied hand.
"You hurt?"
"Not my blood."
Fear spread. Perfect level. No—time for a performance. Mix in a little white lie.
"He tried to kill me. Turns out he's from the 「Damul Prosperity Society」. Guess they don't like me coming here."
"Those rotten bastards in this world!"
"Even in times like these, trying to kill a kid who's not even an adult!"
"Those fuckers who always stole our shares! Now that it won't be so easy, they start scheming early! Trying to nip it in the bud!"
Outrage erupted instantly. Crowd anger is easily blind. Especially the woman abandoned by her fickle husband—her fury had her limbs trembling since the Damul name dropped. Poisoned deep, it seemed. The AI suggested context-fitting keywords via augmented reality. One-time advice, gone if missed. Even if not followed exactly, it sparked ideas.
The woman flinched slightly as Winter approached. Fury receded, tension taking its place. Makes sense—hands stained with blood, after all. Still unfamiliar. But no hostility. He knelt on one knee to match her seated height, crafting a gentle tone.
"I always admire courage, but you have to think of the baby. You're not hating the child for his father's mistakes, are you?"
"N-No, not at all. Really!"
"Good to hear."
The boy stroked the baby with his clean hand. Definitely not despised. Gaunt, but far cleaner than his grubby mother. Chubby cheeks, pale skin. Winter glanced at the infant's powdery forehead, then spoke softly to the mother again.
"Cute. Boy, right? What's his name?"
"…Park Jeonghan. For now."
"For now?"
"My ex-husband named him. Thinking of changing it soon."
"I see. And your name, ma'am?"
"Song Yeokyung…"
"I'll remember."
The boy stood and looked around.
"Mind introducing yourselves while we're at it?"
After the round of names, Winter brought the topic back.
"As I was saying, I don't plan to take ten healthy men and leave the rest vulnerable. Your safety matters too. Here's my thinking: we need ten, but half can lack combat skills. Just fill the numbers somehow."
"Won't that put the ones going at risk?"
Song Yeokyung voiced the obvious concern. No need to hold back a smile now. He kept a reassuring one on his face.
"I'll cover the gaps. Promised to help, didn't I?"
"But…"
"Trust me. No one left behind."
The words triggered an AI alert.
「As a community leader, public promises to members are treated as pledges and community missions. Success grants leadership experience points, increases your power share in the community, and applies upward adjustments to members' sense of belonging and loyalty. Failure incurs leadership penalties, reduces community stability and your power share, and applies downward adjustments to members' sense of belonging and loyalty. You risk losing leadership or being exiled. Thus, leaders must carefully weigh success odds before promising. Leadership skills like 「Agitation」 and 「Deception」 can mitigate downsides.」
Back when his abilities and skill levels were low, this promise would be reckless. Not now.
「Day after Apocalypse」 was designed to evolve from 'a struggler desperate just to survive alone at first' to 'a hero saving people from tragedy later.' Cumulative 「Talent Advantage」 meant becoming superhuman.
"Um, sorry to say this, but… can we really trust you…?"
Doubts and skepticism leaked out, as expected. Plenty shared the anxiety. The boy's record, to them: one external mission, one intimidation. Key not to deny it. He replied in a light, unburdened tone.
"Only those who can trust me, step up. No forcing. If we can't fill the numbers, no big deal. We'll move with other groups, but I'll get us back safe. Just have to accept smaller shares."
Seemed burden-free while actually imposing it. No forcing, but only believers step up. Trust after knowing him how long?
For risk-takers, a chance to score points with the young leader. Even in a group of good people, desire to gain more than others is human nature. Knew it before selling his body; 「Day after Apocalypse」 confirmed it.
For the rest, it piled on moral debt.
"We won't settle it all here. I'll come back after breakfast. Decide by then. If too many volunteers… I'll pick."
He left amid farewells. Turned down the offer to stay—after weighing possibilities. Gratitude doesn't come from just complying.
Really. His parents never appreciated it.