Chapter: 102. Even the Dead Don’t Die (3)
Sunlight streamed through the small window. It illuminated the dust floating in the air, but it was not enough to brighten the room. This was due to the thick window and the multiple layers of curtains, a habit that had formed because of past events. Preventing even the smallest particle from entering.
At the time, a speck of dust was such a terrifying thing. Perhaps those who moved to other regions lived similarly because of that fear back then. More frightening than any monster or any beast, the nightmare legacy left by the plague lingered in this tiny room.
…I’ve thought too long.
I broke free from the restraints of my belt and shook the oxymoron that enveloped me. “Get up. It’s morning.”
“Just five more minutes…”
“Five minutes, and it will be lunchtime, right? I briefly looked around the room to check the time, but the only thing there was a cuckoo clock that had stopped. The room had been cleaned, but the clock’s battery had not been replaced…
I suppose batteries are surprisingly rare items. After all, there’s no electricity coming in, so it’s quite likely.
The Association employees nearby would be using the generators, so batteries wouldn’t be included in their supplies. In fact, regardless of what time it was, waking the oxymoron remained the same, so I shook her harder. “We need to get to work. Get up.”
“Three more hours…”
“Stop the nonsense.”
Surprisingly, the oxymoron got up ordinarily, staring blankly at the sunlight as she removed her gas mask and placed it on her knees. Then, she took off the leather gloves on her left hand and slowly pulled out a small glass vial and cloth from her robe, placing them on the nearby table.
As if performing a morning ritual to cleanse her body, it was a naturally flowing action. Since I knew what she was doing, I quietly watched her. Holding the cloth in her right hand, she tossed it into the gas mask and then created something shining silver in her empty hand.
Since it was generated by her psychic ability, it possessed cutting power beyond imagination. Of course, she couldn’t go as far as to manipulate the size as she used a giant weapon like a saw in combat, but right now, such large items were unnecessary.
Even though this was part of her daily routine, was she still nervous? The tense oxymoron seemed to shake her head, trying to gather her thoughts. In that moment, the light illuminating the dust poured over her, reflecting a silver flash. The scalpel was swung.
The target was her left wrist. As it cut deeply enough to touch the bone, flesh and blood vessels within opened. Then she quickly extracted the blood vessels from the freshly cut flesh and inserted them into the vial’s opening.
Ding ding…
Finally, once the series of tasks was complete, she recovered her wrist, letting only the blood vessels extend outward.
“All done?”
“Yes. Now we just wait for everything to drain out.”
“Good.”
Even though she had pulled out the blood vessels herself, blood slowly welled up inside the glass vial. It wouldn’t take long, but there was enough time to catch her breath in the morning.
While I watched the blood dripping into the vial, the oxymoron wiped the blood spilled inside the gas mask with the cloth. To avoid making a mess, she used her mask as a makeshift table. Having done this for several years, wouldn’t the inside be filled with the stench of blood by now?
She took out something resembling saline solution from somewhere to clean the inside, but I doubted that would do anything about the smell of blood.
She seemed unconcerned, so I decided not to say anything.
In the quiet room, only the sound of blood dripping into the vial echoed. The oxymoron slowly unbuckled her belts, wiping her body with a damp cloth.
The silent morning flowed without a single bird’s chirp.
After the morning routine, the two of us left the room together. Unlike last night, when it was too dark to see properly, the morning sunlight streaming into the dining area revealed the intricate details of the space.
It was a well-organized place, only slightly dust motes dancing about.
Even the wooden floor was wax-coated, making it easy to feel the owner’s affection for this establishment.
“It’s better than I expected, right?”
“Yes. The food was good, and the cleaning was impressive.”
“Then should we have breakfast here?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Who would have thought that a place we stumbled upon would be this satisfying? I figured the old man must be something special. As I thought that, we stepped into the dining area.
“Sleeping in, are we? It’s already 9 am. These heroes these days. I’m awake by 6…”
“Haram! The salad here is delicious. Come and have breakfast! Poyo!”
The old man and Unho greeted us.
…Wait, they came along too?
I completely forgot about them since we found our lodging yesterday.
“Is breakfast ready?”
Unho was being noisy next to me, tearing apart the greens, but it didn’t seem like he was doing anything wrong, so I left him alone.
“Didn’t I tell you to hurry up? Are you really going to eat breakfast and then leave?”
“It’s because the owner’s food tastes good. Please give me one!”
Those complimentary words flowed out naturally.
“Ha! I’ve heard that so many times. You think such flattery will please me?”
The old man said and disappeared into the kitchen.
Hmm, it works way too well.
I knew exactly how to handle older folks. Just look around; there’s that grumpy old man and another perfectly sane one nearby.
As the conversation wrapped up, the oxymoron also pulled out a chair and sat next to Unho.
Why is she sitting next to Unho?
As I was about to voice my confusion, splat.
A strange sound echoed.
The source of the sound was Unho’s face, which was buried in a salad bowl.
Unho was being mixed with the vegetables by the oxymoron, her hand grasping him tightly.
What’s going on?
Caught in a weird scene that looked like an illusion, I remained silent.
“Uwahhh! I’m turning into a tasty salad! Poyoohhh!”
Unho had transformed into a salad in the oxymoron’s grip, disappearing into the counter along with the salad bowl.
“Delicious!”
Then she scooted over, making a sound loud enough to be heard, and sat beside me.
What just happened?
What Unho suffered at the hands of the oxymoron is of no concern to me. He often gets into such situations anyway.
The strange part is that it was the oxymoron who initiated this. She bears no ill will towards Unho yet behaved so maliciously.
“Uh… why did you… to Unho…?”
“Just cause.”
Ah, I see. Just cause.
Well, if that’s the case, what can be done?
Something in the way the oxymoron spoke kept me from prying further.
If I really wanted to know, I could press on and ask, but I had no personal stake as Unho was the one affected, so why bother?
This type of situation seems to be happening often lately.
I’ve been feeling pressured to speak up.
Recently, there was the Thunder God and the apprentices often gave off such a vibe. Now the oxymoron is acting the same way.
Could it be some kind of curse?
A curse seemed surprisingly plausible, so I began to think that it might not be a bad idea to find Calavera sometime.
As I continued this line of thought for five minutes.
“Eat your breakfast quickly and get out, you wretched heroes.”
Though his tone was rough, the kind old man slid two plates across the counter.
“Thank you.”
The oxymoron seemed accustomed to the old man’s words by now, smiling and expressing her gratitude.
With the sound of the plates landing on the table, our food was served.
In front of me was a thick sandwich made from a round loaf with the middle cut out, accompanied by vodka.
In front of the oxymoron were pancakes with honey and coffee.
“Drinking vodka for breakfast, are we?”
“Didn’t I sing for some alcohol just yesterday? So I got one for us.”
He must have planned to have a drink from the start; he’s quite generous.
While I wasn’t thrilled about starting the day with a simple sandwich, I figured it didn’t matter with some booze involved.
As I popped the cap off the vodka, the oxymoron next to me happily chewed her pancakes.
“This is delicious!”
“Really? It should be a bit bland since it’s made with potatoes.”
“Potatoes? The ones I know are…”
“Those were made by someone who couldn’t cook properly. If a good cook makes it, it should be fine.”
The oxymoron chatted happily with the shop owner, and I watched them warmly as I swirled vodka in my mouth.
The alcohol’s heat tickled my throat.
Gulp.
Satisfied with the drink, I grasped the round sandwich in my hand.
The sandwich entered my mouth, heated by the alcohol.
Having already been satisfied by the drink, I bit into the sandwich without much thought.
Suddenly, a sound echoed that a bread should never make.
It felt like I was chewing something extremely hard.
What is this?
My teeth were so abnormally strong that I could just chew it, but what if an ordinary person had to eat this?
They’d surely have cursed the cook.
“How is it?”
The old man asked, but I couldn’t reply because I was busy chewing something that felt like leather.
I tried to move my mouth several times, attempting to deal with the troublesome food.
Finally, I managed to swallow it and opened my mouth.
“The flavor isn’t bad, but what is this?”
No matter how I thought about it, this wasn’t ordinary food.
“You can barely feel the texture, can you?”
-That’s true.
For something that should be a crust, I could hardly feel anything.
“So I made it intentionally like that. I used rather tough cheese and meat and pulled the bread out early, letting it sit for a while.”
Upon hearing that, memories from the past started to surface.
It wasn’t overly tough. Back in the day, weren’t you supposed to chew food several times before swallowing? But it had been so long since I felt that kind of texture; I just ended up feeling it was tough and hard.
Thinking that, I bit into the sandwich again, and I could recall even a bit of the sensations I felt when enjoying food long ago.
…It’s not bad.
“Why don’t you try flattering me like before?”
In truth, I wanted to, but I couldn’t find the words.
How long had it been since I met someone so remarkable? I was shocked yesterday, but today was even more of a surprise.
It’s been a while since someone cared for us and paid attention to the details without looking down on or overrating us.
As I found myself lost in admiration while chewing my food.
“I have a question.”
The oxymoron spoke up.
“Why do you treat heroes like this? Looking at your age, you must have gone through the Awakening and the plague incident as well…”
Just then, that voice from last night resurfaced. A voice filled with sorrow resonated from her.
A voice that bravely asked a question to the victims. A voice that reflected her own inability to save anyone.
“Ah, you mean that?”
However, the person who received such a voice seemed unconcerned.
“Do you know about the gray plague?”
“Probably more than an average hero would.”
Upon that question, I spoke up instead of the gloomy oxymoron.
After all, us being here meant we were among the heroes who dealt with that incident. We probably knew it better than anyone.
“So you know the infection has stopped. May I show you?”
Saying that, the old man lifted his thick head of hair.
Gray.
Gray could be seen.
The scalp that had been hidden under his hair had turned gray.
The scar of the end-of-world infection.
“I was infected once.”
The old man began to speak with a smile, instead speaking for the two of us who had lost words.
“I was there to gather food during that period, and I ended up getting infected, you know?”
He was at that scene? How could the oxymoron’s surgery subject…
“When people were dying and I too was facing death…”
The story continued.
A familiar tale.
…A female Awakener. No, now she is a Hero. A Hero saved us.
Just a brief story, the old man shook his head in embarrassment.
“Well, you get the gist, right?”
He was probably among the chaos.
On that last day. In the worst finale while everyone was asleep. A crowd swallowed by evil.
And yet, he believed the treatment method the girl, who cried out to the sky, told him until the last moment.
Thus, the remaining few survivors.
“Could I have another cup of coffee…?”
“Sure. Just wait a moment.”
The old man took the oxymoron’s coffee cup and walked into the kitchen.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Okay.”
I sensed the quiet tears from inside her gas mask but chose to remain silent.
“Thank you…”
And my ears quietly listened to her words.
Words that no one else could hear.
“Thank you for believing in me…”
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