Ch.149Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

We immediately left the infirmary and rushed toward the atrium hall. Since the infirmary was located at the top, we had to take the stairs.

“Where are they?”

“The main entrance. They’re at the main entrance. Follow me.”

I took the lead, pointing toward the main entrance with my revolver. Since I had given my gun to Camilla, who couldn’t use magic, I had no choice but to use the gun I’d seized from the terrorist.

Just as I was checking that all six bullets were properly loaded in the cylinder and about to guide the way—

Lucia suddenly appeared, blocking our path.

“Just a moment.”

“What is it?”

“Consider your current physical condition. If you’re not careful, your injuries could worsen.”

I’ll take the lead.

Lucia pushed me back, telling me to be careful with my body. But I refused to yield, pushing past her words to move ahead.

“Why are you trying to lead when you don’t even have a weapon?”

“It’s fine. I know what I’m doing.”

Lucia said this with a gentle smile. She really doesn’t listen. Stubborn fool.

There’s no time to argue here. Finally, I entrusted our rear to Francesca with her sword and Camilla with her gun, while Lucia and I moved forward toward the atrium hall, keeping our eyes on what lay ahead.

Episode 8 – Say Hello To My Little Friend

“It’s not here?”

I looked around the atrium hall. Camilla, scanning the area with her gun drawn, muttered in a confused voice.

“The cargo was definitely here… Where did it go…?”

The atrium hall where terrorists had brought suspicious cargo through the main entrance. The place where the cargo was supposed to be was completely empty—not even an ant or a speck of dust remained.

After surveying the atrium hall, I turned to the group with a troubled expression.

“It seems the terrorists moved the cargo in the meantime.”

There were six terrorists transporting the cargo. I had eliminated all those who pursued me, but it appears other terrorists moved it. Probably the beast-person terrorist. Or perhaps new terrorists had appeared to complete the transport.

Francesca, who was examining the surroundings with Lucia, asked me a question.

“Officer. You mentioned that two terrorists were pushing a single piece of cargo. Do you remember how large it was?”

“The cargo? It’s difficult to gauge its exact size, but the cart was quite large. Large enough that two adult men had to push it simultaneously.”

“Were the six terrorists you confronted on the stairs the only ones at the scene?”

“…No. There was one beast-person.”

There was only one piece of cargo. I remember it being wide enough for an adult man to hide inside, and quite tall as well.

However, I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. The distance was too great, and it was covered with cloth.

“Were there any other distinguishing features? Anything at all would help.”

“I only caught a glimpse, so there’s nothing particularly memorable…”

At that moment, I recalled how Camilla’s condition had deteriorated rapidly as soon as she saw the cargo. I calmly explained to Francesca what I had seen and heard.

Francesca closed her eyes slightly, pondering what I had told her.

“Hmm. This is just speculation, but it seems you sensed some kind of magical power emanating from the cargo. However, I can’t tell whether it’s black magic or something else.”

At this point, Camilla, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, suddenly interjected.

“So what I felt might not have been black magic?”

“It’s possible. Considering your constitution, we can’t rule out that possibility.”

However.

“Based on the rosary the Saint carries and the information you’ve provided, Officer, there’s a strong possibility it is black magic. You said you felt something intense as soon as you saw the cargo, right?”

“Yes, I felt extremely nauseous.”

Francesca nodded gently with a smile at Camilla’s confirmation.

“Nausea is one of the characteristics of black magic. More precisely, it’s one of the phenomena that occurs when magicians with constitutions incompatible with black magic encounter it. Of course, it can also happen when one uses magical power beyond their capacity all at once, or when directly or indirectly exposed to such large-scale magic.”

I interrupted Francesca’s explanation to ask a question.

“Is creating a barrier large enough to cover the entire department store considered large-scale magic?”

“Usually, yes. I thought you would know, if you’ve seen combat magicians from the military in action.”

“I haven’t exactly been on friendly terms with magicians.”

“Surely you must know some magicians? I thought all senior officers knew each other through connections.”

“I know plenty in the afterlife.”

“Oh my.”

Francesca gave a bitter smile with a sorrowful expression.

The Tower Master sucked up to the Emperor and sent Tower magicians to conflict zones, resulting in numerous casualties. It wouldn’t be surprising if some of Francesca’s acquaintances were among them.

Perhaps her dislike for the Tower stems from the deaths of her acquaintances. Though I have no concrete evidence, it seems worth investigating.

Anyway.

By this point, it was becoming clear. That cargo definitely contained something maintaining the black veil surrounding the department store.

“Ah… I thought it was a bomb. That’s a relief.”

If this hypothesis is correct, we need to find the cargo and destroy it. Once the black veil collapses, communication with the outside will become possible, and we can call for military and police support to deal with the remaining terrorists.

As I was catching my breath with a sigh of relief, Camilla nudged my side.

“Stop jinxing us. Why do you always have to be so ominous?”

“What did I do?”

“Every time you talk like that, something bad happens.”

Camilla pouted with an annoyed expression. I bickered with her over such a trivial remark.

As we gun-carriers continued our petty argument, the sword-carrier watching us burst into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing… You two seem to get along better than I expected.”

“Who’s getting along with whom?”

We both protested Francesca’s comment with exaggerated reactions. Francesca’s shoulders shook with amusement, and Lucia, who had been surveying the surroundings, rejoined the group.

Camilla explained Francesca’s hypothesis to Lucia, who listened attentively before nodding in agreement.

“My thoughts are similar. We’ll learn more once we find the cargo.”

“But how do we find it? The cargo has disappeared, and we don’t know where that furry went either.”

Camilla asked, putting her hands on her head and wiggling them like ears. Apparently, she saw the beast-person as a furry.

“Hmm? Why would we go looking for it?”

“What?”

“There’s no need to complicate things by searching.”

I grinned, waving the civilian walkie-talkie. There’s no need to hunt down the terrorist who took the cargo.

“We just need to sit and wait.”

“What do you mean? You’re not thinking of something strange again, are you?”

“Just trust me and wait.”

We’ll make the terrorists come to us.

*

“…Have all the hostages been found?”

“Yes.”

The middle-aged man asked, and the young man answered. Both spoke Kiyen and carried guns.

The young man with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder spoke up.

“Um… Teacher.”

“What is it? Do you have something to say?”

At the middle-aged man’s question, the young man made a disgruntled expression. Though he said nothing and let his words trail off, the middle-aged man read much from his face.

“What? Are you dissatisfied?”

“That’s not it…”

Thud. The middle-aged man’s wrinkled, thick hand landed on the young man’s shoulder. The one called Teacher gently patted the young man’s shoulder and began softly.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“……”

“I was once a doctor too. I heard countless times at academies and universities not to take human life lightly. Do you think I want to be doing this?”

The doctor gently reasoned with his student.

He was once a doctor who saved lives in hospitals, a person who knew how to speak up against unjust realities.

He was someone with the courage to hold picket signs for the precarious treatment of healthcare workers in the Empire’s poor medical environment, a conscientious person who could speak out against the unethical practice of overcharging patients for medicine to supplement meager salaries, and someone with the ethical awareness to improve the unfair treatment patients faced.

The doctor’s complaints against the world weren’t for any grand reason. The medical industry in the Kiyen Empire was even more chaotic than the terrible Chinese medical system.

While doctors are respected and well-paid in South Korea, they receive poor treatment in socialist countries like China, North Korea, and Cuba—a similar principle applies here.

Low salaries,

Rock-bottom support rates,

Distrust of hospitals,

High workload,

Conflicts with complainants, and so on.

Doctors charge patients for unnecessary medications to earn commissions and supplement their insufficient salaries, while patients suffer from medication costs several times higher than the treatment fees. When this cycle repeats, people end up grabbing each other’s collars, hurling insults, and even brandishing knives.

The fundamental reason for this chaos is the law.

In the Empire, the law restricts medical fees from being set too high. To reduce the burden on patients, the law prevents charging medical fees above a certain level, and hospitals, unable to provide treatment at a loss, solved the problem by minimizing expenses as much as possible.

They limited medical services, cut labor costs, and doctors, with insufficient salaries, charged patients for medications to take commissions. Patients, spending too much money, either went to priests or visited operating rooms with knives.

In short, the Empire’s medical industry was a repetitive cycle of passing around a ticking bomb and perpetuating a vicious cycle, a chaotic place that even medical professionals were fed up with.

So the middle-aged man, who had never known the first thing about protests, participated in one for the first time after donning a doctor’s gown. Though he couldn’t gauge where things had gone wrong, he believed that at the very least, an attempt should be made to solve the problem.

And like any dictatorship, the government responded by bringing out batons instead of accepting complaints.

He was expelled from the hospital for participating in drafting a declaration, his license was revoked for registering with an independent association rather than the royal-controlled official one, and he was caught and beaten by security forces for holding a picket at a protest site.

The doctor was captured by security forces and taken to the police station. He was beaten along with a dozen others in a cramped police cell. After being beaten all night, the doctor was loaded onto a truck. The police drove continuously, pulling people out of the truck one by one. Finally, when it was the doctor’s turn, he was dropped off in a rural outskirt he had never visited before. Asking locals for directions, he walked about 50km to finally return home.

He had no job, his license was canceled, and his household was in ruins. With a red mark against his name, no place would accept him. People who knew about his activities avoided him for a while.

But that’s all in the past now.

Now he was not a doctor but a vagrant driven to a lawless zone. Though he had spent his life healing people, he now bore the burden of leading those in similar or worse situations than himself.

The once-doctor teacher said to the young man:

“Don’t worry too much. I understand everything.”

“…Yes.”

The young man nodded with a gloomy face, adjusting his rifle. Though his face was downcast, his mood wasn’t entirely bad.

As the middle-aged man was gently encouraging the young man, someone watching the entrance lowered the scarf covering their mouth and shouted:

“Teacher! The furball is here! With the cargo!”

“Johan, please don’t call Morian a furball. Who refers to beast-people that way?”

“That’s not the important part—she’s injured!”

“…What? Morian?”

The middle-aged man ran out, not noticing the revolver bouncing at his waist. All the terrorists except those guarding the hostages gathered at the entrance, each carrying weapons.

The fox beast-person who had dragged the massive cargo collapsed on the floor, exhausted. Her clothes were tattered in places, and dried blood stuck to her skin, mixing with beads of sweat dripping to the floor.

“Morian! What on earth… Are you hurt?!”

“Huff… Huff…!”

I was stabbed.

The fox beast-person spoke through gritted teeth. Grrrr. A beast-like growl resonated from deep in her throat.

“Stabbed? Who did this? No, more importantly, why are you alone? Where’s Franz? Vicente? Where are the others who went to move the cargo…?”

“Some bastard killed Franz. That bastard killed Franz and took his gun, ugh…!”

The middle-aged man hurriedly bent down to examine the beast-person’s side where she was clutching. Her slender waist had been slashed with a knife.

One terrorist quickly grabbed a radio to inform the others that their comrade had been attacked. However, the middle-aged man didn’t even glance at him, focusing entirely on examining the wound.

“What in the world…!”

“I’ll kill him… I swear I’ll kill that bastard…”

“Marco, Pola, go get bandages and hemostatic agent. Quickly!”

When the medicine touched the wound, the fox beast-person writhed in pain on the floor. The middle-aged man sprinkled a hemostatic agent made from herbs gathered in the lawless zone on the wound, hoping the beast-person would stay still.

“Morian, don’t move.”

“Those black-headed beasts always… Argh…!”

The fox beast-person writhed with tears welling in her eyes. Her comrades held down her limbs to prevent her from moving, and just as the middle-aged man was about to wrap the wound with a bandage—

-Click.

The radio began to crackle.