Ch.38Chapter 6. The Price of a Name (3)

I found this warehouse two days ago.

It’s spacious enough to park two cars, though the ceiling is low. It feels a bit cramped, but that doesn’t matter since we’re not planning to live here.

Fortunately, there was also a one-ton truck in the warehouse. The paint is faded, the bumper is dented, and rust drips from the seams, but the tires and wheels look new, suggesting it’s been maintained until recently.

The door was locked. Camilla and I searched the warehouse but couldn’t find the key. Instead,

“This should work,” Camilla said, pulling out a toolbox and a wire hanger from a cabinet.

“How will you use that?”

I wasn’t pretending—I genuinely didn’t know how.

In the “Erysichthon Protocol,” there’s a concept called “proficiency.” Everything from basics like running, hiding, and endurance to specialized fields like farming, cooking, and car repair has a proficiency rating.

For specialized fields especially, knowledge increases by reading relevant books, learning from someone, or through trial and error.

However, “knowledge building” and “practice” must happen together—spending all day just reading books or struggling with broken machinery won’t increase proficiency.

The problem is that I don’t see status windows, inventory screens, quest logs, or even point shops.

Because of this, even I don’t know exactly what I can and cannot do. I can only guess by experiencing things firsthand.

My firearms knowledge is excellent. I’ve handled almost every gun I’ve touched as easily as moving my limbs, and I can maintain and check weapons without any issues.

My marksmanship is decent too. While we’re on the subject, hitting a grenade tossed from a helicopter or targeting a rocket launcher attached to helicopter wings is child’s play.

When you complete daily quests like “Kill 30 users with a single-shot bolt-action rifle within 15 meters without wearing body armor in multiplayer mode. Note: Counter resets if you die,” your shooting skills and firearms proficiency naturally improve.

As for physical strength… it’s tremendously improved compared to my real-world fitness, but I’m not sure by this world’s standards.

Considering recent situations, there have been many times when agility and reflexes were important, but not many instances requiring extreme endurance or strength. I’m guessing I’m somewhere in the middle.

My cooking skills are intermediate, and regarding vehicles… I’m a good driver, but probably a novice at vehicle repairs.

“Stop joking. Someone like you doesn’t know how to do this?”

But Camilla seems to misunderstand me.

“No, I really don’t. And what do you mean by ‘someone like you’?”

“It’s just surprising that someone who knows how to satisfy hunger in human non-protected zones can’t open a simple car door.”

Camilla was suffering from the same abnormal hunger as me.

I had considered leaving her be, but since we’d be traveling together for a while and needed to conserve our food supplies, I had shared Cassandra’s countermeasures with her.

Leave the human non-protected zones. Distinguish between real and fake hunger. Mix Cybele food company products with other ingredients, and make sure to stir-fry, grill, boil, or deep-fry them.

The very next morning after breakfast, she came to me with a happy face.

“It really worked, just like you said. I was hungry no matter how much I ate, but now I’m just a little peckish.”

She didn’t need to emphasize by gently rubbing her lower abdomen, but she seemed happy, so that was fine. Anyway, that incident must have left quite an impression, because she’d been looking at me with sparkling eyes ever since, which was a bit burdensome.

“Fine. I’ll open this.”

As if thinking it was time to repay the favor, Camilla squeezed the hanger tightly and suddenly thrust it through the window.

I stood guard at the entrance in case an alarm went off and we needed to flee immediately. Camilla vigorously moved her arm up and down, and then—click. She unlocked it. Thankfully, no alarm sounded.

“That’s impressive!”

When I gave her a small round of applause, Camilla looked quite proud.

“Want me to start the engine too?”

“You know how to do that as well?”

“I told you I’m a woman who earns her keep, right? Hmm, but I need to remove the cover under the driver’s seat. It’s a bit cramped. Wait a moment.”

Camilla took off her windbreaker and bulletproof vest. Underneath, instead of a sleeveless top, she wore a baggy brown t-shirt.

It was clearly a large men’s size, with the stretched neckline revealing her collarbones. Though damp with sweat, the material wasn’t clingy, so there was nothing embarrassing about it.

But her long hair kept sticking to her neck and face.

“Ugh, this is annoying.”

Camilla stood in front of the truck’s side mirror. She took a rubber band from her pocket, held it between her lips, and roughly twisted her hair up with both hands.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

People often compliment a beautiful face or lovely eyes, but rarely do they mention pretty ears.

Yet Camilla had not only a beautiful face but also pretty ears. My gaze naturally followed her earlobe down to her jawline and neckline, flowing to her collarbone beneath her shirt.

I wasn’t even conscious of staring—my eyes were simply drawn to her.

At least I wasn’t openly staring. I was just glancing sideways. If I had looked directly, I wouldn’t have been able to look away, and that would have been quite rude… but…

Something kept glinting at the edge of my vision. It was the reflection from the truck’s side mirror.

Well, look at that.

Camilla had adjusted the side mirror angle, supposedly to check her hair. Her golden eyes occasionally peeked out. Just as I was sneaking glances at her, she was sneaking glances at me.

Now she was clearly done tying her hair, but she kept humming and turning her head this way and that. All the while, her gaze remained fixed on me. If she caught me looking, she’d probably tease me about it.

This is ridiculous—what even is this, mutual voyeurism?

Finally, she raised both arms to twist up the side hair that had fallen around her ears. Now she was openly turning her body toward me.

“Ah!”

She suddenly bent over. Perhaps she’d pulled a muscle in her side from raising her arms too quickly—she was clutching her right side with her left arm.

The problem was that she was wearing that baggy t-shirt.

With her arm pressed against her stomach, the contours of her chest were fully revealed. It almost looked like she was deliberately pulling the t-shirt to show her chest line. While not transcendent like Cassandra’s, it certainly couldn’t be called small.

Our eyes met. They definitely met.

I was quite flustered by the unexpected situation, but the strange thing was Camilla’s reaction. Without even clearing her throat, she swiftly turned around, firmly grabbed a screwdriver from the toolbox, and started working with a series of clicks.

Her nonchalant movements made me feel awkward for no reason. Well, this was more like an accident. If she had known this would happen, Camilla would probably have worn something underneath, if not underwear then at least a thin layer.

Otherwise, something wouldn’t be protruding through her t-shirt like raisins on top of campagne bread…

“All done!”

As Camilla turned the screwdriver, the engine started with a “woooong!”

“Wow.”

“Just a moment.”

Camilla climbed into the driver’s seat, manipulated the steering wheel, and pressed the pedals.

“Yes, no problems. It’s actually fortunate that it’s an old car. Newer models lock the steering wheel if you force-start them like this. Want to turn it off? Just turn the screwdriver in the opposite direction.”

There was a white plastic container with wires connected all over it. Camilla pointed to a groove in the middle of the container. Following her instructions, I inserted the flathead screwdriver and turned it in the opposite direction, and the engine shut off.

“Teach me how to do this.”

Camilla seemed to think for a moment, then gently shook her head.

“I’ll teach you when we get closer.”

“How much closer?”

She raised her hands like cat paws and lunged forward with a “rawr.”

“Close enough that we could do bad things together without feeling guilty. Ow.”

She clutched her side again. This time she pressed her arm against her chest. The silhouette of her pressed breast was clearly visible, so I quickly shifted my gaze to her face. She seemed to be in quite a bit of pain.

“Ah, haha. I’m fine. I just got some bruises from rolling around in Lambert. It’s just muscle pain, I’ll be fine. Believe it or not, I used to be an athlete.”

She was trying hard to smile brightly, but the bruise visible below her neckline still bothered me.

Actually, I already knew her body was covered in bruises. When Camilla fainted while carrying the MRE, I had slightly lifted her clothes to check if she’d been bitten by zombies.

Of course, with zombie hordes moving around outside, I didn’t strip her completely and examine her thoroughly like in a game—it was just a quick look.

I didn’t even lift her underwear. If she had been bitten, there would have been clear bloodstains. There were plenty of bruises, but no bite marks.

Since she was insisting she was fine, I let it go for now, but thanks to her, I remembered an important issue.

We have neither medicine nor a doctor. If we get injured, we’re in trouble. Judging by the level of looting in this neighborhood, it doesn’t seem like we’ll easily find supplies.

It would be better to approach the next raid more safely.

* * * * *

And now.

Camilla says she’s much better, but she still struggles to lift heavy things.

More specifically, she winces in pain when raising her shoulders. Plus, she’s reluctant to take off her bulletproof vest. I suspect she might have injured her ribs, but since she’s gritting her teeth and insisting she’s fine, there’s nothing more to say.

Well, that’s the right approach. We still don’t fully trust each other. We need to hide our weaknesses in this situation.

That seemed to be why Camilla didn’t shy away from physical labor. Whenever I tried to take on more of the heavy lifting, she would step forward and do it herself.

Thanks to that, we brought the cash transport van from Lambert to the warehouse, unloaded all the cargo, and loaded LPG gas tanks instead.

The quantity isn’t sufficient—most of the tanks are nearly empty. But that doesn’t matter. We’re going to blow them up anyway.

Thankfully, Camilla didn’t ask, “Why are we collecting these gas tanks?” When I told her we needed to gather them, she only asked, “How many? How much?”

When I asked if she wasn’t curious, she replied:

“I am curious, but you must have your reasons for not telling me. Let me know when you’re comfortable.”

And now the time has come.

“I’ll tell you my plan now. Again, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to participate. Just don’t interfere.”

Camilla nodded at my words.

“Alright. But let me hear it first. This isn’t the final version, right?”

“If I were doing it alone, maybe, but if we’re doing it together, we’ll need to adjust some parts. As you’ve probably guessed, I’m planning to hit this place.”

I spread out a map and pointed to the next target.

Rowing Country Club.

The place I had originally intended to go before the van broke down, preventing me from even getting close.

It’s a high-end resort facility with a large golf course and lake, but the newspaper distribution map labeled it as “slumified.” Based on what Camilla and I have observed over the past few days, that seems somewhat accurate.

The fences were covered in graffiti, and the building windows were either sooty or broken. Instead of glass, they had blocked the windows with bed mattresses, furniture, or planks, and even set up gun ports—anyone approaching carelessly would have been shot dead.

While gathering useful items, we had been scouting this area intermittently, so Camilla probably already knew I had this place in mind.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask questions like “Isn’t there a safer place?” or “Why risk targeting this particular location?” Instead, she asked about the basis for my judgment.

“The first reason is, as we’ve seen while wandering around here for days, there’s nothing useful left. Any decent supplies are probably all in there.”

My original plan was to gather as many resources as possible from Lambert and then head to a “bunker” I knew about.

If it weren’t for the zombie horde forming a siege and the helicopter flying in, I could have visited periodically and cleaned the place out.

Well, now that Lambert has been reduced to ashes, there’s no reason to go back. Instead, I plan to make up for what we lack by raiding this country club.

“What’s the second reason?”

“Well, the gang forces here seem to have weakened considerably. It looks like the place is occupied by a coalition of court-city hall official gangs. I saw city council and courthouse flags flying.”

I didn’t need to mention that they were one of the gangs wiped out in Lambert. Camilla nodded gravely.

“Of course, they won’t be pushovers. Not all gang members would have deployed, so there will still be forces guarding slaves and the most powerful leaders will remain.

But their main force has been broken, so I think we have a chance. Their security perimeter will be spread thin, and if we strike at the weakest point.”

I pointed to the club’s fence.

The reason the Rowing Country Club is difficult to both capture and defend, yet easy to loot, is that it has too many wide entrances.

The three main entrances are wide enough to require two buses parked side by side to block, and there are over ten side entrances. Most are blocked or heavily reinforced with mines, wire fences, or welded metal plates.

But if we break through the wall, it’s a different story.

In my memory—that is, in the post-apocalyptic Rowing Country Club—there’s another entrance here.

Actually, calling it an “entrance” is generous; it’s more like a collapsed wall as if hit by a bombing, but for some reason, it maintains its original form in this world.

It feels like a barrel or treasure chest in an RPG game. The fact that these are intact seems to say, “Please break me and take everything inside.”

So we should strike here.

“Here. It’s not on the map, but there’s a path. Originally, there was…”

“Huh? There was what?”

Oops.

I slipped up. Camilla looks at me with increasing suspicion.

If I say, “Originally, there was an entrance here, a collapsed wall…” it would raise Camilla’s suspicions. I moved my finger as if I had pointed to the wrong spot and indicated an intact entrance.

“Sorry. Not there, but here. I was originally thinking of hitting this entrance, but it seems too exposed. See those three wide buildings nearby? We’d be under concentrated fire. But if we bring down this wall.”

I pointed again to the wall by the path.

Behind the wall is a large auditorium. There aren’t even windows facing the wall, so firing angles are limited at this point. Of course, there might be snipers on surrounding building rooftops, but Camilla and I can take care of them.

“So we send the mini-van loaded with LPG to this wall and boom, blow it up. The wall is sturdy, but we’ve collected enough tanks to bring it down.”

“That seems possible. But even if the gang numbers are reduced, can just the two of us take them all out?”

Camilla’s point was valid. She’s not in perfect physical condition. I’m still fine, but without medicine or treatment, one injury could put us in an irreversible situation.

So we shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.

“Yes, just the two of us is enough.”