Clearing the Game at the End of the World - Chapter 172: Lead and Silver Coins (26)

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October 23rd. 6:00 AM / In front of the administration’s garage.

“Er… The body is wrapped in a non-penetrative material used for tank tops. The wheels have been replaced with soft, high-elasticity metal tires to prevent punctures, and the mobile shield used by the body shield has been enhanced to about level 2 performance, and then there’s the automated turret and….”

“….Does this thing even move?”

“Of course, the acceleration and top speed have decreased by about 30%, but this level of preparation is necessary against snipers using titanium-coated ferromagnetic bullets….”

“Then, let’s leave what the administrative side modified alone… and strip off all those parts Ian, that idiot, slapped on.”

“Nonsense! Suggesting to remove the frontal grinder as if it’s some B-grade zombie movie with Type 2s swarming everywhere? Haven’t you watched movies! No way! I’ve poured my heart and soul into making this Devastator, and you want to turn it into a turtle!”

“That turtle will be at least 20% faster than the apocalyptic concept car you made, you bastard! We’re leaving in 30 minutes, so have everything stripped by then!”

October 23rd. 7:00 AM / Entrance to Area 38 Dome.

“Pr, Professor Park…. Ov-over there, on the mushroom rock, that sparkling thing. It can’t be what I think it is, right?”

“Yeah. Looks like all scope reflections. Those bastards, not even trying to hide. They must figure the variants will swarm and block the road because of the vehicle noise, and they plan to hit our crawling truck from one side. Thinking of dragging it into a messy war of attrition. If the stored battery in the vehicle runs out, we lose. If we can minimize power consumption and join the reinforcements, we win. The key to victory will be how many variants stick to us.”

“Hehehe. See. Good thing I brought my grinder parts, right?”

“Damn stubbornness. I don’t care, man. If the battery runs out first because of that, you’re on your own.”

October 23rd. 11:00 AM.

Bang- Crackle!

“We, we’ve been hit! Car 2! It’s leaking fuel! The fuel tank’s been hit!”

“Damn, why does the tank armor pierce so easily! Put on masks and try to push through somehow! We have to make it to the valley in Area 37 at all costs! If we lose even one truck here, our breakthrough capability weakens, and we’re all dead!”

“These damned snipers…!”

“Don’t go out! Hey, Ian!”

“Wait! The snipers have to avoid the variants too, so their sniping spots will be limited! If we can just blow up that high ground somehow….!”

Swoosh!

Boom! Rumble…

“It, it stopped! We got the sniper!”

“Now’s our chance! Turn off the shield and boost the bubble! Push through with the grinding vehicle and sprint at full speed!”

“Starting right off with a crazy show…. Keep an eye on the sides! You handle it!”

October 25th. 2:00 PM.

“Ughhh!”

“Argh! Ahhhhh- Ack!”

“….Don’t even breathe.”

“….It’s cold. I want to go home.”

“Me too. Now, if something sparkles nearby, my heart feels like it’s going to jump out.”

“Tough bastards. We managed to push through hundreds of Mugglers, and yet, they still follow us without dying.”

“Just a bit more. The Enforcement Bureau can’t chase us beyond a certain distance. Unlike us, carrying supplies in trucks, they have different circumstances.”

“Damn. Why are those guys trying to finish us off? Bounty hunters, and then, a few levels more terrifying, the elite snipers of the Enforcement Bureau!”

“I swear, one of us four should see a powerful shaman for a curse removal or something. Why does everything we do get so messed up?”

October 26th. Area 37. Former group survival area.

“Damn, what’s that! An elephant?”

“Run! It’s an unidentified Type 3 variant!”

October 27th. Area 37. Tunnel.

“The sound is echoing, making it feel strange. It’s like someone is whispering right into my ear.”

“….What?”

“Mister. Mister, you’re calling me, hehehe-”

“!!!!! Ian! Check Vex’s mask right now! It seems like we’ve been hit by cave fern spores!”

“Damn! The back is torn open! Ezel, fetch a spare mask from Car 2!”

“Hehehehehehe.”

October 28th. Area 36. Independence Memorial.

“Th, there are survivors! It’s an emergency shield for the building!”

“You’ve had a hard journey through this harsh wasteland. Terrible times we’re living in.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks for the hospitality….”

“But surely not more terrible than the suffering of the settlers. Here, I’ll mark it on the map for you.”

“How many times do I have to say it, Mr. Preston! I won’t do it! Just turn on the concealment and hold out!”

October 29th. Wasteland.

“It’s a snowstorm!!”

“A green blizzard!”

“Facing that head-on will wreck the battery! Get out all the plasma grenades! The high heat of the plasma will disrupt the storm’s air layers, and we’ll pass through in the meantime!”

“Who’s going to throw them in there!”

“Ezel! Deploy the exosuit!”

“Sob. To my mother, whom I’ve never known… life is too hard….”

Whirr- Clank!

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October 30th. 3:45 AM / Area 35.

Crack!

The sensation of a human body crumbling in one’s hand. Now so familiar that there was no feeling of disgust. After all, since the automatic turret’s barrel melted, reducing its penetration power, they hadn’t dared to use explosives. Saving the few remaining silencers or directly confronting and killing most of the variants that approached had been the routine for 3 days. By now, he must have crushed at least a hundred variants with his left hand.

Lack of road. Supplies. Physical and mental fatigue reaching their limits.

Bang!

A sharp gunshot pierced through the foggy consciousness. It couldn’t possibly be the Enforcement Bureau following them this far.

Even a cursory glance suggested there might be 2 or 3 hordes within a 100-meter radius. The sound of gunfire here felt like the sky was falling.

“I don’t even have the energy to swear…. Is it you?”

“Left the gun too heavy, so I put it in the cargo.”

“Then it’s you?”

“Damn it…. If we were going to do it, should’ve started with Cremoas.”

“It’s not me…. Still got half a pack left in the exosuit battery….”

“….Hallucinations?”

Bang-

Again, the sound can be heard. Not too far away… Wait a minute. From a distance? Gunshots not from us but from someone else? Regularly? And only single shots?

Like a flash of enlightenment piercing through a mind buzzing like a broken computer, the realization came.

They’re not shooting at us, and shooting just one bullet like that won’t attract the variants; it’s meaningless. Even the dumbest survivor wouldn’t do such a thing.

If someone is deliberately firing single shots sporadically, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, then…

“They’re doing it on purpose….”

“Explain it… Professor Park. My brain has been on strike for two days.”

“They’re deliberately attracting variants to their location with gunshots! Ezel, turn on the exosuit radio! Right now!”

“O-okay!”

Bang-

Once more, the regular sound of gunfire and the crackling noise of the exosuit radio sparked like a tiny ember in their ears,

[Crackle- EZ-007. Respond. EZ-007. This is channel 47-F. Confirm if the vehicle detected is a BDSM vehicle. Respond. Crackle- Repeating. This is channel 47-F, ordered to rendezvous with caravan BDSM. Respond. EZ-007.]

Both Vex, who was beheading nearby variants, and Ian, who was beating variants with the butt of a malfunctioning gun, froze at the content of the transmission.

Ezel, with trembling hands, picked up the handset of the suit.

“Th-this is EZ-007. Area 47 Investigation Bureau Agent Ezel Raiden. With the support target… together with BDSM.”

Click-

[Voice confirmed. Good work, EZ-007. We were considering extending support to Area 36 due to the larger-than-expected number of variants, but it seems our worries for the hero team were unfounded. Keep attracting the variants to your location and join us quickly. 47-F out.]

Click-

The communication ended, leaving them once again surrounded by the sounds of the wind and moans of the variants.

“We, we’re alive….”

“We’re alive. We’ve made it through this damn Land of the Dead-like variant nest! And through those snipers who seemed to have grabbed scopes as toddlers!”

“Yeeahhhh! Keuurgh! Krrrrrgh!”

Behind the group, who were cheering as if pulled out of the pit of despair, the sound of Area 47’s support troops obliterating the variants thundered.

Kwoooah!

“Step on it! We’ve got nothing to worry about now!”

“We, we’re back! Back in the embrace of Area 47!!!”

The two trucks, almost painted a dark crimson from their journey, raced through the forest of collapsed buildings. They emerged onto a wasteland created by bombings, facing a field camp constructed in the style of the Great War era.

October 30th. 4:00 AM / Area 35 Dome Garrison. BDSM Reunion Complete.

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“Professor Park? Are you already awake? Won’t you rest a bit more?”

“If there was time to rest, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry. So, now that you’re here, how does it look?”

“….It’s not good.”

Arriving at the garrison and sleeping like the dead for exactly three hours, I immediately went to the commander’s quarters. The difference struck me anew; after seeing those fools in Area 38, the disciplined soldiers of Area 47 Dome seemed worlds apart. Thirty combat-modified vehicles, ten similarly modified trucks filled with supplies, and continuous explosions outside the garrison suggested a strategy to reduce the number of variants near the garrison by overflowing supplies.

“The combat power of Happy Blind itself doesn’t seem to be something to worry about. However, there are some notably annoying peculiarities around their base. Take a look for yourself.”

The man, who had perhaps been forewarned by the President, was respectfully addressing me despite being the commander of the reinforcements.

The video he showed on the recorder seemed to have been taken by a drone.

A wall about 5 meters tall, built of stones, and defensive structures made of sharply cut steel pipes and wires. Mounted crossbows lined up on top, and although there were a few manual turrets embedded, they weren’t considered a significant concern given our current military strength.

The problem was the variants lined up in front. Some had grotesquely large jaws, while others were inflated like balloons, each displaying different forms, loitering in front of those makeshift defenses.

“As you can see, they are all unidentified entities. They are almost similar to Type 2, but too distinct to be classified as such. The variables might just be those creatures.”

“Type 2.5… I thought they had secured a considerable number, but to have gathered so many. Commander, how much do you know about the cause of the current situation?”

“I am aware that the enemy forces have stolen crucial technology from us to create a wide-area contamination weapon. It is something that can be blocked with a bubble shield, and there was a warning to consider the possibility of affected soldiers turning traitor.”

The President had provided some information, it seems. However, this commander, not fully aware of the situation, was likely to make a misjudgment.

“Commander, what is the extent of my command authority in this garrison?”

“You have higher authority than me. The President said to follow Professor Park’s decisions entirely once he joins.”

“….Good. Then, let’s start planning the battle.”

A military holographic blueprint. Using the video taken by the drone, a 3D map was created on the hologram, where Professor had written large labels: [Normal variants], [Type 2.5], [Sector 38 Enforcement Bureau], [Type 3 variants? W, Claws, Unidentified].

The holographic blueprint and a military barracks. People in military uniforms and the thick smoke of cigarettes.

Professor suddenly felt as if he had returned to the special operations force six years ago.

‘….This is bad.’

That statement was synonymous with sensing the thick smell of blood. A foreboding feeling that someone, regardless of who, would die in large numbers. Not a fact deduced through logical reasoning, but a sensation ingrained in his skin from killing and being killed.

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Click, chack, kreek-

“They have arrived.”

Kreek, kreek, ziiing.

“Li Xie. Are you listening? If we delay further, it will interfere with our plan.”

“I know, Adapter. Even though this old woman leads the blind, my ears have not failed me. The sound of those merciless steels from the past shattering the world reaches even here.”

Central Happy Blind. Not a building from the past, but a tall temple built purely by the hands of people of this era.

Happy Blind shows no signs of modernity, but for some reason, the top floor of such a sect’s temple, the room of the leader known as ‘the Eye,’ was filled with state-of-the-art equipment comparable to a Dome’s research facility.

“…Collector. Could she have… seen something about us?”

“Unfortunately, she is a collector, not a seer. Probably, after this is over, she will come to collect the results.”

“Will it be… difficult to overcome?”

“Probably. If we had a little more time, who knows, but Area 47’s response was excessively swift.”

“Right. It can’t be stopped. Not by us, not by the Raptors, not by anyone. No one can stop this specter of the past….”

An old woman reassembling, suturing, and welding a box roughly the size of an armful. She caressed the box with eyes deep like a well. A quiet pulse was felt. The pulse of a new era beginning.

A dim light in her eyes ignited with a bright blue flame.

“That’s why it must be stopped. With the Raptors suffering a significant defeat, for a while, there will be no force capable of opposing them. In the meantime, they will expand their power, inherit ancient knowledge… Perhaps they might even partially restore the glory of the past. Now, before they grow any further, they must be stopped.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Holding the box in her arms, she spoke to the man in a white suit standing beside her.

“By any means necessary.”

6 years ago. The day all her colleagues researching Orpheus were blown to pieces, the last bits of hesitation in her heart vanished.

A completely rotten, twisted world. Now, with the old world mostly incinerated, was the only chance to set things right. The last chance given by God.

Even if she had to wash away blood with tears, she was willing to do so.

“I will stay with the shepherds. Take care of them while I prepare the evacuation of the sheep and the box.”

“Gladly. Actually… the new brothers I’ve made are hard to restrain in their impulsiveness, I’ve had a tough time taming them.”

Behind W’s cough-like laughter, about half a dozen shadows followed.

“Hopefully, today will be a day worth remembering. Brothers.”

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