Clearing the Game at the End of the World
Chapter 165: Lead and Silver Coins (19)

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I stayed up all night with my eyes wide open.

I felt like I had to do something, so I went downstairs to eat.

Everyone was just spooning up soup in a daze when outside, kids were shouting, “Extra! Mass escape from the serf farm! Not a speck of dust left behind! Just 30 shillings-!”

Ian, who had been nervously shaking his leg out of place, quickly called one over.

"Hey, kid! I'll give you a whole piece of bread if you come here and tell us what happened in detail!"

Thump thump thump-

"I'm not a kid, I'm a newsboy! Sorry, but we, the Sun-Newsboys, operate on a fixed price policy, so I can't share any news without payment, sir! If you wish to use our service, it's 30 shillings!"

"….This is real bread worth more than 150 shillings, you know?"

"Oh, of course, we accept tips. If you include a tip, I'll throw in the latest rumors and gossip along with the news. Hehe!"

Ian waved the bread, and the boy swallowed his saliva and rubbed his hands together eagerly.

It seemed to be a kind of morning newspaper, but since paper was expensive, they had the kids memorize the content to convey the information directly instead. It appears that despite being in the same Dome, the distance and years of separation had led to the development of various different cultures.

Wanting to forget about those terrible, indescribable sensations from the night before, I didn't hesitate to hand over 30 shillings worth of scrap and a big piece of bread to the boy.

The boy pocketed the money and, glancing at the other kids behind him, stuffed the bread into his mouth in one bite.

The news he stuttered out was shocking.

"Um, uh, well, um, um-"

"Here's some water."

"—Phew! Thank you, sir! It's best to store bread in your belly before it gets snatched away. Ahem- So, you all know about the strange sounds heard around Dome last night, right?"

"As if we could ignore it. It was annoying enough to wake the dead."

"Exactly, sir. There wasn't a single kid who didn't wet the bed that night, and the editor gave us a lot of flak for it. Anyway, after that dreadful night passed, it turned out that not only the serfs of the farm but also the snipers in the watchtowers and the management workers were all gone. There were traces that looked like they were left by a huge monster, tracks that seemed like a swarm of rats had passed through, oh, and of course, mostly human footprints."

With that, the boy pulled out a few hastily drawn sketches from his pocket. Broken shelters, chaotically stamped shoe prints, trampled plants, shattered greenhouse modules, and large claw marks.

The sketches of the farm district made us exchange glances.

It was him.

The mastermind behind turning the entire Area 40 into a graveyard signaled by distress signals.

It seemed that the "claw mutant" was also involved in last night's disturbance.

"It looks like a brawl happened… But considering the number of victims, there was surprisingly little blood," the boy said. "According to the Investigation Bureau's frantic announcement in the morning, ‘It's an act of terrorism by external forces aiming to annihilate Dome's self-sufficiency, and in response to the consecutive terrorist attacks, [Special Vigilante Corps] will be formed, and [Voluntary Donations] will be collected for this purpose.' Ah, if you're from an outside caravan, you might not know, but the [Voluntary Donation] the Investigation Bureau talks about means if you don't pay, it's considered you've chosen to voluntarily be expelled from Dome. It's their way of saying, ‘Pay up if you don't want to die.' There's no bigger gangster than that. Still, the identity of the terrorists hasn't been precisely revealed. Strange, isn't it? So many people disappeared without a trace, yet not a single person saw the monster."

That was the news, as the boy said, then leaned closer to the table, speaking in a low voice so others couldn't hear.

"This is part of the tip service. We may not know the identity of the terrorists, but we've roughly figured out what happened."

"You figured it out? You guys?"

"Well, it was thanks to an unfortunate accident. The editor, furious from not being able to sleep all night, screamed, ‘Go out and find out which bastard is causing a ruckus!' so a few of our boys were sent out beyond the city shield."

The boy created an ominous atmosphere with his voice, knowing how to capture the listener's attention well, when suddenly, Ian frowned and interrupted him.

"….Kid. As far as I know, the city shield of Area 38 is maximized in density to completely block physical and chemical entries. Except for the main gate with purification facilities, entry is impossible. Dome prohibits civilian exits at night, so how did you get out? And what about the radiation?"

"Ah… you want to hear up to there? That's going to cost quite a bit…"

Instead of answering Ian's skepticism, the boy rubbed his hands together and looked around nervously. Professor, without a word, threw another loaf of bread to him. After cramming the bread into his dirty vest, the boy spoke up again.

"Really, I shouldn't be saying this… Can you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Want me to take the bread back?"

"Yes! There's a loophole."

"A loophole?"

"Don't ask how it works because I really don't know. Smugglers made a small hole by overlapping several small shields, and since those smugglers got caught, we've been able to use it without paying a toll. Anyway, a liquid for blocking radiation… Oh, I'm talking about the fluids from rat-snails or burrowing cockroaches. It's filthy and you end up covered in dirt, but it's effective against radiation. After applying that, we went out…"

"Stop teasing and get to the point! So, you went out!"

"Goodness, you scared me! Actually, we couldn't go out. While we were watching, the guy who opened the small shield of the loophole… just collapsed."

Just two steps. The boy showed with his fingers.

"He fell after two steps. One of the boys panicked and ran towards him, then he also collapsed. Realizing something was wrong, the older one left those two behind, closed the loophole, and ran the other way. We observed from afar atop a distant building. They were shaking, foaming at the mouth, screaming, and scratching the walls until their fingernails came off… Then, they turned into mutants. The one who crossed the loophole walked away shimmering, and since the loophole was closed, the one inside ran around the streets until he was shot dead by someone. That's the story. The Sun-Newsboys' editors think that either something went wrong with experiments by the ruling class, or, given the recent bad blood, the Administration Bureau played tricks to weaken the Investigation Bureau's power. That's all, end of story! If you want to know more, find me or another boy who has memorized different news and pay the fee!"

After finishing his tale, the boy saluted awkwardly and ran outside without looking back. Shortly after, a voice shouting "Extra~" echoed from beyond the alley.

The group fell silent again after the boy disappeared.

"-Sighhhhhhhhh."

Contemplating the vague situation that was unfolding, a sigh naturally escaped.

It was an incredibly fantastic combination, whoever thought of it.

Possibly- W, who can go anywhere without spatial restrictions.

The ‘box' that can forcibly mutate people over a wide range but whose range is unknown.

If this were a game, wouldn't this be like a character who can use teleportation and ultimate abilities alternately without cooldown? It was hard to grasp how to stop something like that.

"….Honestly, I'm scared. Shit. I mean, if it was a monster as big as a building, I'd consider guns, bombs, or chainsaws, but I can't imagine killing this ghostly bastard."

Ian Desmond, with a charisma stemming from directly and indirectly taking lives into the four digits, felt fear.

"Don't be ashamed, Jaw. I peed a little yesterday myself."

Vex, who once single-handedly took down an entire squad of Enforcement Bureau agents in Area 47 with just a knife, admitted to peeing himself.

"….Shouldn't we reconsider our strategy? There's a clear limit to what a small group can do! This is madness! I'm getting out of here!"

Ezel Raiden, a veteran agent of the elite Investigation Bureau, fell into panic.

Truly, they were up against a monster. The suspected members were only the teleporting W with his wide-area contamination equipment and a Type 3 mutant with large claws. There might be allies from the Artists' Union, and perhaps some of the hundreds mutated in an instant had become allies after adapting.

The fatigue from days of continuous fighting, the tension that couldn't be relieved because their resting place had become enemy territory, the appearance of an invincible enemy. Dizzy. My mind was a jumbled mess, not knowing what to do next, just wanting to go home.

[Then, go ahead.]

At that moment, a clear voice echoed in my foggy mind.

[What a mess, huh? Coming out after a while and there's so much accumulated information, oh, it's messy. Clean up a bit, vessel. It's unlike you to fall into panic.]

A voice I once hated but now couldn't be happier to hear.

‘Hyde!'

[Oh? Happy to hear me? Had I known you'd be this pleased, I would've made myself scarce sooner.]

With the joy also came the memory of what W had said.

‘I'm different. My left arm, in a different way from you all…'

‘For more details, ask him inside.'

There was no need to ask. Just recalling it was enough for Hyde, who shared consciousness, to get the message.

I imagined the figure inside my head, stomping around and growling.

[A sloppy fellow. Next time we meet, I should teach him about privacy invasion.]

‘So, what he said is true? You're stopping that mutant virus from spreading?'

[…I don't know. I've told you before, I keep getting sleepy. At first, I thought it was because the body count I was managing was increasing. Like a newborn sleeps a lot, I thought my consciousness felt fatigue from processing actual sensations instead of just clusters of memories in the mind.]

Hyde started to crumble a piece of bread on the table with his left hand, looking very anxious.

[Now… Yes, there's definitely a sensation of blocking something. Like Santiago steering a small boat in a storm. It doesn't seem like I intentionally chose to block it. Hmm… I'm not sure. Even now, it's hard to tell if I am the mutant virus or if the virus is me. Anyway, it seems certain that I'm being a hindrance to this mutation process.]

Hyde then seemed to gather something in that gloomy space before flopping down.

[I could give advice if we were to discuss it. But the problem we're facing now isn't just our own, is it?]

‘Right…’

[So, I'll clear some space for you. Use that brilliant mind of yours to find a solution. The virus has been somewhat quieter since last night, it seems. I can offer advice at least.]

Sleek, sleek-

The cluttered information in my mind began to neatly arrange itself under Hyde's guidance. A slight focus would highlight them, and related memories would follow like a net. This sensation, though utterly familiar, felt strange.

‘…A bonus effect of weak mentality?'

[You've got to use what you learn. I don't forget, you know. Watching you do your thing a few times from the inside, I ended up doing it myself without realizing. Convenient, isn't it? My advice is just that, how could I possibly keep up with your cleverness? This is it for me. It's the best I can do. I'd be sad if you were disappointed.]

Disappointed? That couldn't be further from the truth.

Especially when my condition was already at rock bottom, making it hard for my mind to function as if it had rusted over.

The clear consciousness Hyde provided was excellent enough to allow for flexible thinking even with a tired mind.

First, the most important goal. What should be the focus?

As I thought about it, keywords brightly lit in white began to fall.

[The President's request], [Caravan – Income], [Global Crisis], [Dana Elisha Hyacinths – Speedwagon]

Seeing them like this, there was indeed a lot of extraneous information.

‘All of this is unnecessary.'

The President's request? In a situation where we might die, who has time to worry about requests? Money? If we don't want to make it all for naught, no need to bother. The world? Don't know, don't care. This too, delete. Why is this even in the goal section?

I crossed everything out. The item [Dana] that strangely wouldn't erase was taken away by Hyde emerging from the darkness.

‘There's been some fun in my absence.'

[Shh- Can't focus.]

‘No, just so you know. This is your head. You can't lie here. Speedwagon. Seems I'm going to owe more than I ever have before.'

Huuuh. Focus, focus. Despite Hyde placing Dana's name in the most conspicuous place and even adding a white asterisk, I managed to ignore it with superhuman concentration.

‘You can't lie here.'

Remembering those words made the ultimate goal come to mind all too easily. Even when I was just organizing my goals, there was a task that had been prioritized above all else. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ɴ0velFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Slip-

[Survival]

The word, written in a calligraphic script, emerged from the deepest bottom of the information. After all the twists and turns, here we are again.

Survival. Ultimately, how our caravan can remain alive.

Escape? Sure, we could survive for the moment. If we manage to flee from here to Area 47, we could live for a few months, maybe even a few years.

Slip-

[What you really want is to increase and protect, isn't it?]

I recalled the conversation I had with W last night.

‘Their goal is to increase Type 3 mutants, and gather them as allies. They don't care about the number of people dying in the process.'

[Are we humans or mutants?]

[…Remember that silence well.]

Correction. They are not completely indifferent.

Anyway, the fact that they slaughtered hundreds of people on the outskirts of Dome Area 38 overnight sufficiently proves their lack of hesitation. If possible, they'd probably fly around the whole neighborhood, spinning that murderous jukebox wildly.

The reason they don't is that they can't.

Slip-

[Distress signal log. Coordinates… checkpoint…]

They didn't start with a large-scale massacre. Small groups of 2 or 3 survivors on the outskirts of Area 40, even with large scavengers nearby, they conducted repeated experiments on small groups.

‘…Experiments?'

Slip-

The thought that suddenly flashed through my mind became fresh information. Tests. If this was all a test?

‘The administration clearly described it as [an incomplete technology that's impossible to realize]. It can't be used by conventional means. Someone has completed the technology. The massacre near Area 40 and last night's massacre show a significant gap between them, suggesting substantial maintenance is required after each activation.'

Slip-

[Administrator]

‘There's a technician who completed, maintains, and repairs the mutant device.'

‘Given time, eventually, W will travel around the world with a completed mutation device. He'll come for me too. He showed a lot of interest in my [value]. Already having one arm mutated, it seems likely I could become an adapter.'

‘I can't survive by running away. The box must be destroyed, or the presumed administrator found and eliminated.'

As my thoughts neatly arranged themselves, clear writing emerged in the once blurry goal section.

Goal: [Sustainable survival through the elimination of the box and its administrator]

With a clear goal in mind, I felt courage surging within me. This approach seemed more realistic and feasible than dealing with an enigmatic monster capable of infinite teleportation.

Having a goal made it easier to think of what needed to be done.

Slip-

+ Time attack. Delay means completion. Giving time allows the enemy to grow. Attacking as soon as possible is the best course of action.

+ Use of sound, frequency, and wavelengths. Shields can block its influence.

+ Dana's shelter was only shielded against gases, allowing entry. If the box's performance starts nearby, its influence might spread inside through the concrete, lead, etc.

Zzzap-!

‘Hey, Hyde! This thing's broken! It keeps adding weird footnotes!’

[Hmm hmm hmm~♪ You can deceive the sky but not yourself.]

‘Eek!’

Blushing furiously, Professor retreated to the surface of consciousness, probably eager to move as soon as possible now that a plan was formed.

[Kekekeke. The more I see, the more entertaining it gets. I sure picked a good vessel… Huh?]

While Hyde chuckled, observing the scene, new derivative information appeared before his eyes.

[Survival – Hyde]

[The box's influence suppressing Hyde's sleepiness was noted. If that effect could be properly utilized, it might prevent strain on Hyde's consciousness and suppress mutation. Is destroying the box really the only…]

[Oops!]

Zzzap!

Hyde hurriedly snatched the emerging information, neatly removing even the rising letters, and crumpled them into a ball before tossing it into a bin labeled ‘unconscious.'

[No need to hit the brakes on a car that's running well.]

Looking up, he saw Professor passionately explaining the strategy to the group.

[…Proud, really.]

Thump!

Like a mobile hung in a dark space, sparkling with information, Hyde lounged on a sofa.

Slip-

[Allies. Must find them.]

[Breaking the box could lead to death by an enraged W.]

[Request support from Area 47. The radio tower controlled by the Investigation Bureau?]

[Technician. Not civilian, the real deal.]

[…Really, never stops thinking.]

Leisurely lying down, Hyde neatly tagged the emerging thoughts, hanging them one by one in a corner of consciousness. He thought that swimming through consciousness and rummaging through memories was nice, but live action was the best.

[Born to be a broadcaster, truly.]

Hyde's chuckling laughter spread throughout the dark space.

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