Chapter Thirty: Waiting

Night was falling. Complete darkness once again swallowed the world, with blinding searchlights from all directions illuminating the camp until nothing was left unseen. Yet this did nothing to lighten the “Emperor’s” mood. He stood motionless in the midst of the camp, his gaze fixed on the squat building ahead. Even under the harsh glare of the searchlights, it was shrouded in darkness; one couldn’t even discern what lurked behind the windows.

The crackle of gunfire was unceasing in his ears, and reports streaming in from every direction brought nothing but bad news. Among the Seven Giants, the “Queen” and the “Butcher” still held their ground, but “Viper” and “Scorpion”—that ill-fated pair—had already begun their retreat. The defensive lines formed by hired mercenaries and hunters drawn from the wasteland were faltering, teetering on the brink of collapse.

After their initial panic, the monsters in the ruins had launched a counteroffensive against these intruders. Clearing out the monsters in these districts hadn’t brought safety; on the contrary, it had made the invaders easy prey for other creatures. In the eyes of these monsters, the districts had lost their original masters—what a perfect chance to seize new territory. As for the outsiders? They simply needed to be slaughtered.

A deafening burst of automatic gunfire tore through the night, forming a dense curtain of bullets. In the distance, pairs of crimson eyes darted around the perimeter, occasionally lunging forward only to be blasted apart by merciless fire. But this did not deter the monsters; they prowled, probing for weaknesses in the hedgehog’s shell, seeking a fatal gap to shatter their defenses.

The situation was far more dire than he had imagined...

“Sir!”

He turned at the call, his aged face illuminated as he regarded the man beside him.

“What is it?”

“News from the rear—Zone B, defended by ‘Boar,’ has fallen! These monsters are insane! We’re barely holding onto our last escape route. Sir, this operation has failed. Please order a retreat at once—there’s still time. If our way out is cut off, we’ll be in real trouble! At the very least, you and the other Giants should withdraw. As long as you survive, the Ninth District will endure. But if you—”

“That’s enough.”

He cut the man off with a wave of his hand, lifting his gaze to the sky. The gunfire still raged, and the distant howls—both monstrous and human—echoed through the night. Yet he seemed oblivious, staring into the darkness in silence until finally he sighed.

“I know what you want to say. The Ninth District is our foundation. If we’re crippled here, it will no longer belong to us, nor to the Blackstone Consortium. Bandits from the wilds might seize it, or it could collapse from within. We never should have risked such an operation, but…” As he spoke, he raised his right hand toward the sky. “But I made my decision. I had to try. This is my homeland—I was born here, grew up here. I remember strolling these streets when everything was still normal—no monsters, no disasters. My girlfriend and I used to walk this very road…”

He smiled, lost in reminiscence, glancing down at the street beneath his feet, now battered and strewn with blood and corpses.

“I remember there was an ice cream shop here—delicious ice cream and lots of special offers, though only for women. So I had to ask my girlfriend to buy it for me… Ha, funny, isn’t it…”

“Sir?”

The man looked at him in astonishment—how could this old man reminisce about his youth at such a critical, life-or-death moment?

“I’m old. Honestly, after surviving that catastrophe, I count myself lucky to still be alive. Not only did I build my own power, I even became the master of a settlement. Isn’t that hard to believe? Before the Cataclysm, I was just a regular salaryman, cramped into the train twice a day, scolded like a dog by my boss. Even my girlfriend left me for another man… The funniest part? The day after she left, the Cataclysm struck… Ha! Life is nothing but a joke…”

The man couldn’t help but smile helplessly at the old man’s words.

“Sir, you have a gift. Even before the disaster, you’d have been a successful man.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It’s pointless to debate that now.” The old man seemed unimpressed by the compliment. He waved his hand dismissively and pulled a cigar from his pocket.

“To be honest, I almost miss being yelled at by that old supervisor… At least back then, the world was still normal… All right, stand by. Unless it’s urgent, don’t bother me.”

“But sir… how much longer must we wait? The ‘Doctor’—”

“I trust the boy to finish the job. He’s never disappointed this old man, not once. I believe this time will be the same. You may go.”

“…Yes, sir.”

The man hesitated but finally nodded and withdrew. Only then did the old man look back at the dim, somber building before him.

“Don’t disappoint these old bones, ‘Doctor’...” he murmured.

Outside, the battle raged with increasing fury. But inside the building, a very different scene unfolded.

“Um… Commander, are you sure this is all right?”

Sitting by the fire, leisurely roasting a skewer of meat, Ferren looked utterly relaxed. Unable to contain her anxiety any longer, Eluca voiced her concern. Ferren merely shrugged.

“Of course it’s fine. There must be a balance between work and rest—even here. Relax. We’re all going to die someday. So why not make the most of life while we can? A person should live so that when a bullet from behind fells them, or a monster tears out their throat, they won’t regret wasted years or feel ashamed of an idle existence. That way, when death comes, you can say, ‘At least I enjoyed everything this world had to offer—and found the happiness I sought.’ Tell me, why do villains in movies always die with a satisfied smile? It’s not because they’re freed from conscience. It’s simply because they’re content with their past. Compared to the hero, who can’t afford a meal, whose wife has left, whose family is torn apart, and who lives only for revenge, isn’t the villain—feasting and in the arms of women—far happier?”

As he spoke, Ferren flicked his wrist, skewering a well-cooked steak.

“Would you like a piece?”

“Well…”

The aroma was mouthwatering. Eluca couldn’t help swallowing as she glanced at Chris, silently chewing her meat, and at Corona, clutching her milk tea in bliss like a contented hamster.

But then again—wasn’t that the same scalpel, still stuck through the steak, that had been used to dissect the infant monster earlier…?

“Sorry, Commander, I… I’m not feeling well…”

Watching Eluca scurry away like a panicked rabbit, Ferren shook his head, then bit into the steak and closed his eyes.

Now this is living.

(Poor child. Master, how deep do you think her psychological scars will be?)

“Not too deep. She’ll get used to it.”

Hearing Deline’s voice in his mind, Ferren smiled and turned his gaze to the quiet, cat-eared maid standing nearby. Deline sighed helplessly at his reply.

(I suspect most people would snap before they ever got used to it. I don’t mean to judge your preferences, Master, but could you sometimes consider the feelings of others?)

“Night has given me dark eyes, and I use them to seek the light. They simply lack an eye for beauty… Life holds infinite possibilities, yet humans care only for food and shelter. How shallow.”

(With all due respect, Master, I’ve never found any beauty in writhing viscera.)

“That’s just because your love isn’t deep enough…”

(As long as my love for you, Master, is enough, I’m perfectly content to forego that sort of love. By the way, are you ready?)

“Of course.”

Ferren’s eyes narrowed slightly at Deline’s words. He glanced at the ceiling above, then twirled the scalpel between his fingers.

“Everything is ready.”

And as if to affirm his words, an explosion thundered through the darkness. Corona jumped up, pale as a sheet, staring wide-eyed at the door.

“We’re under attack!”