Chapter Twelve: The Butcher

The “return” that Ferren referred to was not about going back to District Nine. The distance between here and District Nine was nearly half a day’s journey, and that was by vehicle; it would take significantly longer on foot. This time, Blackstone Group had come not to scavenge the ruins for scraps like hunters or mercenaries, but with a different purpose entirely. They had prepared extensively. While Ferren and his companions “cleaned up” the block, Blackstone’s people had already found a relatively spacious hotel on the outskirts of the city ruins, and transformed it into a temporary base. This would serve as their foothold in the ruins, from which Blackstone Group would provide various services and trades to others.

When Ferren brought Delin to the base, he saw Blackstone’s soldiers already reinforcing and repairing the hotel, making it the center of their operations. Even if these buildings survived the “Great Cataclysm,” years of wind and rain had left them rotten and decrepit. Without reinforcement, the ceiling might collapse unexpectedly, killing a few in their revelry, then crushing more—such tragedies were far from rare on the wasteland.

“Doctor, you’re back!”

Seeing Ferren and the quietly trailing Delin, the veteran on guard outside was startled at first, then quickly reached out, lowering the barrel of the rookie’s raised gun beside him. Only then did he respectfully nod to the pair.

“Yes, I’m back. Looks like you’ve done a decent job here.”

Ferren spoke as he looked up, smiling at the base before him. With the hotel at its center, Blackstone Group had fully occupied the area. Workers were busy hauling cement and stone, building fortifications around the perimeter to guard against imminent threats and attacks. Although the outer regions were patrolled by the “Seven Titans” and their hired organizations, any stragglers slipping through would have to be dealt with by Blackstone’s own strength.

“It’s our duty, Doctor.”

The veteran smiled at Ferren’s words, then carefully glanced at him before speaking.

“May I ask…”

“Oh, right. District C has been cleared. You can take over now. Make sure it’s thoroughly cleaned.”

“Understood. I’ll notify command immediately.”

The veteran’s expression turned serious upon hearing Ferren, and he swiftly turned, placing a hand to his ear and murmuring a few words. He then returned, saluted Ferren respectfully.

“Command will send people to occupy District C at once. Thank you for your assistance, Doctor.”

With that, the veteran stepped aside, clearing the way. Ferren nodded and strode into the base. Delin, following behind, gave the two sentries a friendly nod before disappearing with Ferren into the crowd. Only when their figures vanished did the veteran exhale deeply, glaring fiercely at the rookie beside him.

“All right, you idiot, stop acting so nervous—it’s disgraceful! How many times have I told you, don’t mess with the ‘Seven Titans,’ especially the Doctor! If you want to die, find a place to feed the zombies yourself—don’t drag me along! Damn it, that’s why I hate bringing you rookies to the field—careless, clueless, don’t even know how you’ll die!”

“But, but…”

The rookie was nearly in tears at the veteran’s rebuke.

“Just now, Lord Butcher…”

“The Butcher is the Butcher! The Doctor is the Doctor! Can’t you tell the difference? Talk to people one way, talk to ghosts another—don’t you get it? I swear, if you had raised your toy for another half minute, I’d have been dissected right here on the spot! Damn, don’t remind me of that! Now I’ve lost my appetite for dinner again!”

The veteran’s face darkened as he spoke, breathing heavily before regaining composure. He shot a malicious glance at the trembling, tearful rookie beside him—who looked about to wet himself in terror.

“By the way, command will send people to District C soon. You’re going too!”

“Ah—?”

Ferren was unaware of the drama at the sentry post. By the time the unlucky rookie was hauled onto the off-road vehicle by the grinning soldiers, crying as they drove toward District C, Ferren had already entered the hotel-turned-command center with Delin. The building’s seismic structure was sound enough to have survived the “Great Cataclysm.” Though it looked shabby, its core remained intact. Thus, when Blackstone Group arrived, they quickly occupied and remodeled it. By the time Ferren and Delin entered, it had regained most of its pre-disaster functionality.

Rumor had it that Blackstone Group started in hospitality and service industries before the disaster—now, it seemed there was truth in that.

“Well, Doctor, didn’t expect you back so soon.”

As Ferren and Delin entered, a rough voice sounded from the side. Ferren turned calmly, squinting and smiling at the source. Down the corridor strode a burly middle-aged man, his upper body nearly bare save for a leather jacket, as solid as a bear. Seeing Ferren, the man grinned broadly.

“I guessed wrong—thought the Scorpion would be second to return, but it’s you. Though, thinking about it, it’s not that surprising.”

“Hello, Butcher.”

Ferren smiled and nodded to the man—one of the Seven Titans of District Nine, known as the Butcher. He was hot-tempered but loyal, with a fondness for drink—an immutable Russian trait. Ferren never expected to change a people for whom drinking vodka was as natural as drinking water. The Seven Titans rarely spent time alone; apart from Ferren, who was a solitary man, the others all led their own organizations. The Butcher commanded the largest mobile armored unit in the eastern wasteland, owning three attack helicopters, fifteen Soviet tanks, and dozens of armored vehicles. With such power, he could have easily carved out his own domain, but he preferred to stay with the others in District Nine. As he put it, “My men are all roughnecks—if I rely on them, I’ll never find a clean bed when I’m old.”

Perhaps this was Blackstone’s method of winning loyalty.

“So, care for a drink?”

The Butcher offered his vodka bottle with a flourish. Ferren, smiling serenely, eyed the vodka but shook his head.

“Sorry, I rarely drink. Alcohol makes my hands unsteady—not ideal for surgery.”

“Uh…”

Even the Butcher’s carefree face twitched at that.

“Heh… true dedication, Doctor… Well, never mind. Join me for a drink—anything you like.”

“Then, a glass of red wine.”

“Ah… ladies’ drink… though you’re not a lady…”

The Butcher was clearly disappointed, shaking his head as he slumped into a chair. A waiter soon brought Ferren his requested wine, placing it respectfully before him. Only then did Ferren tidy his clothes and sit opposite the Butcher, studying him before smiling and asking,

“Looks like you had quite the haul today?”

“Not bad—a bunch of mutants, all brainless fools.”

The Butcher waved dismissively at Ferren’s inquiry, then curiously glanced at Delin, standing quietly behind Ferren, and pursed his lips.

“Rare to see your girl out. Did you run into something tricky?”

“Not really.”

Ferren remained composed, swirling his wine and sipping slowly, savoring its distinctive bitterness and sweetness before speaking.

“Just ran into a group of energy leeches.”

“Energy leeches…”

Even the Butcher was visibly shaken, his expression changing as he fixed Ferren with a searching look.

“High level?”

“Not particularly—just one fifth-tier elite among them.”

“Hiss…”

Even the Butcher couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath. He himself was only fifth-tier, but as a seasoned warrior, he knew that a fifth-tier elite among the ruins was a different beast from the monsters they usually hunted. He stared Ferren up and down, then shook his head in resignation.

“You really are a monster. If I didn’t know you never lie, I’d think you were just spinning tales.”

Despite his words, the Butcher was deeply impressed. He understood that even with his entire force fully armed, facing a fifth-tier elite energy leech would cost him at least a third of his men, and whether he himself would come back unscathed depended on luck.

“Forget it. You’ve always been mysterious—I won’t pry.”

He glanced again at Delin, standing silently behind Ferren. The Butcher took a swig of vodka, sighed, and set the half-empty bottle down with a thud. Then, the polar bear leaned in close, lowered his voice, and looked intently at Ferren.

“In fact, I came here to deliver a message to you.”