Ch.9Chapter 2. Erysichthon Protocol (3)

I tried various poses in front of the mirror. Broad shoulders, muscles that bulge when I flex. If my face hadn’t remained the same, I might have thought I’d entered someone else’s body.

No, even my face had changed somewhat.

The blemishes and moles on my face had disappeared, and my nose had become slightly more prominent. My eyebrows had darkened, and my overall expression had softened considerably.

“What exactly changed?”

I’d become subtly more handsome, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I covered half my face with a booklet. The left-right symmetry was almost perfect. My left jaw used to be slightly angular, but now it was more oval-shaped.

Although it’s still my face, I felt confident that I wouldn’t stand out in a bad way anywhere. The kind of confidence everyone feels when looking at their clean face in the mirror right after a shower.

My physical condition had improved too.

I’d always enjoyed exercise, of course. Living in a cheap studio without an elevator meant climbing six flights of stairs daily, which helped.

But yesterday morning I’d been running around loading zombies, and spent the entire afternoon cycling around, yet now after waking up, I didn’t even have muscle soreness.

“Is this some kind of minimal adjustment?”

The mirror, naturally, offered no answer.

I put on the socks I’d hung to dry before sleeping and tightly tied my sneaker laces. Brown shirt reaching my wrists, jeans down to my ankles, and a brown leather belt.

This was practically a bare-minimum challenge situation, but I had to make do with what I had.

I gathered my equipment. An empty plastic water bottle, a hunting knife, and just an empty condensed milk can. I’d left my bicycle and briefcase in the container.

I decided to leave the backpack behind. That pink color would stand out too much against the green and brown forest. Above all, that Barbie doll’s strange smile was extremely irritating. I’d have to scrub it off later.

I stepped outside the container. The air opened up.

“Whew.”

The air was fresh and the forest quiet. No insect sounds, no bird calls. Only the awkwardly protruding electrical transmission tower above the forest seemed carefree.

First, I walked toward the rocky hill. There’s a concave rock at the top where, if you lie down, you can survey almost the entire surrounding area at a glance—known as the “sniper’s spot.”

Conversely, this meant I could get sniped and killed, so I had to move carefully.

I stopped beside a tree large enough to hide behind. I looked for another tree big enough to conceal me. The path to the nearest one was too exposed, creating a high risk of detection. Rejected.

Instead, I chose a tree further away. It had a slight slope to the right and many small shrubs, making it good for concealment.

I lowered my body, slid past, then knelt beside the large tree to catch my breath. I kept my eyes and ears open, not missing even the slightest disturbance.

Fortunately, I heard nothing unusual. A sigh of relief escaped me, but I quickly regulated my breathing again.

It would be satisfying to just dash straight to the rocky hill, but the problem is what comes after.

My goal is to return safely, not to reach the target point quickly. Moreover, unexpected situations can arise at any moment—that’s why they’re unexpected. I needed to conserve energy.

I continued walking. Along the way, I didn’t forget to grab handfuls of reeds or long grass and tie them into arch shapes.

Like snares, these simple traps don’t guarantee 100% success. That’s why you need to make as many as possible to increase the chances of catching something.

They don’t work well against humans, but they’re relatively effective against zombies. Those creatures drag their feet, and they can’t grasp the concept of “extracting one’s foot from a trap,” making them perfect for catching unsuspecting ones.

Rustle.

A sound I didn’t make.

I lowered myself further until the tall grass could hide me.

Flutter.

Thankfully, it was just a bird. Whether it had been dozing on a branch or had some other reason, it flew up from a nearby tree into the sky with a whoosh.

I walked along the edge of the paved road. A rusted truck came into view. It had crashed into a tree long ago and been abandoned. The doors had rusted off, and the oil that had leaked onto the dirt floor had left only traces.

Both then and now, the driver’s and passenger’s seats were unremarkable. Someone had probably taken everything already.

But like this, using the truck tire as a foothold to hop into the cargo area…

Creak!… Creak… Squeak… Squeak…

It made noise, but I couldn’t help it. I quickly grabbed a bundle of thin wire, a worn-out nipper, and two long wooden stakes, then jumped down. Clutching my finds to my chest, I ran back the way I’d come.

“Huff. Ha. Phew.”

As expected. Already a couple of zombies had gathered around the broken truck.

They knocked on the body of the truck, tilted their heads looking around, and then, finding nothing of interest, shuffled away into the forest.

There was a parking lot in the direction the zombies disappeared. It was some kind of forest recreation area with benches and tables.

It had quite a few zombies but nothing worth salvaging, making it a place of little value except in very special circumstances.

To catch my breath and stabilize the situation, I made simple snares with the wire in a more shaded area. I pressed the wire gently with the nipper and shook it slightly to minimize the “snap” sound.

I had never made a snare before. I’d only watched game characters moving their hands diligently.

Yet I managed to make a fairly decent snare quickly.

‘Is this also an adjustment?’

It seemed likely. If not, that would be even stranger.

Just as watching videos of master chefs preparing ingredients doesn’t make you an expert at dicing, there are many things you can’t do until you’ve practiced them hands-on. Making snares is one of those things.

I made four snares with neat knots. I firmly tied stakes to the ends of the snares. The stakes were quite sturdy and thick, perhaps intended for making a garden fence.

To two of them, I attached the empty plastic water bottle and the condensed milk can. When filled with stones and set up, they would make noise if triggered.

The sounds of plastic being hit and a can being rattled are distinctly different, so I’d quickly know where a problem had occurred.

I walked toward the rocky hill again.

I set up the plastic bottle snare in the thick grass beside the trail. I put small pebbles inside and covered it with fallen leaves and foliage I’d scraped together.

The sun shone brightly overhead. 10 AM? 11 AM? Probably around that time. The top of the rocky hill was covered with stones, so I could crawl without getting scratched or hurt.

I crawled like a spider, staying low. I surveyed the surroundings. The scenery was quite beautiful. Lying down at the sun-warmed sniper’s spot made me feel at ease.

“Grumble.”

A surprisingly loud sound. Perhaps because the tension had already eased, hunger suddenly hit me.

“Ugh.”

It was painful enough to make my stomach hurt. I curled up and clenched my fists. I regretted not bringing sausages, but they were salt-preserved and would have made me terribly thirsty.

A person needs to eat to live…

A faint voice seemed to echo in my ears. No. No way. I shook my head to clear my mind.

My stomach grumbled again, complaining. Perhaps accepting there was nothing to be done, it quieted down again.

Flutter…

I heard birds flying away. In the direction I had planned to go.

The forest keeper’s house.

A place with dried food, water, bags, weapons… nothing missing, though not abundant. It even had the nickname “Tasting Corner.”

But in my situation with nothing, even this would be a godsend.

Seeing birds fly away suggested zombies might be present, but that’s exactly why I’d brought the snares.

“Alright.”

There didn’t seem to be any problems. I carefully descended the rocky hill. I mechanically repeated what I’d been doing.

Choose a destination, scout it, crouch and run, weave appropriate vegetation into traps. Set wire snares in areas dense with small, thin trees.

I placed the condensed milk can snare near the stream, and one of the stakes without a can near a trail intersection.

Eventually, I reached the stream.

Three stepping stones looked cute. The sound of trickling water was refreshing. I was tempted to drink it, but decided against it, not knowing what might happen.

The sunlight grew stronger. It seemed close to noon. My mouth was getting drier. Thoughts of the stream lingered. I set my last snare.

And finally, I saw zombies. Two of them were shuffling around in the clearing in front of the forest keeper’s house.

Red checkered shirt, blue jeans, dirty beard, and a bald head. Definitely the forest keeper. The other one looked quite similar, probably a colleague.

The transmission tower forest, where beginners die most frequently. And among those places, the forest keeper’s house has the highest death toll.

If I rushed out thinking I could easily defeat two zombies, I’d either become another zombie in that clearing or, even if I won, be severely injured and bleeding. I might win, but wouldn’t make it back alive.

Of course, if you know the tricks, you can handle it more easily. It requires some luck, but luck can be overcome with effort.

For example, like this:

“Delivery!”

I walked deliberately and threw a stone. It missed. No need to be disappointed. I could throw another. Surprisingly, this one hit the shiny head dead-on.

“Grrrr!”

The zombie that used to be the forest keeper charged. At full speed. Without looking back, I retraced my steps at a quick pace.

This forest keeper must have had exceptional stamina when alive, as his walking speed was much faster than ordinary zombies and he was well-built. This meant he wouldn’t die easily even if showered with bullets.

Beginners who had only seen the other type of zombie—the ones that walk at a leisurely pace—freeze up. The weapon doesn’t work well, and the zombie charges surprisingly fast.

I stood still and turned around. The creature was approaching from over there, breathing heavily. His face was contorted into an expression that looked like fortune was fleeing from it. Unfortunately, he passed through the first snare.

Well, can’t be helped. I continued to back away. If you don’t win the lottery, you just keep scratching until you do.

He also passed the trail intersection snare. Instead, the one following behind tripped on the roughly woven grass trap.

Not enough. Something’s missing. What’s lacking? I thought deeply. No, I strongly felt I was missing something. Scratch. Scratch…

“Ah.”

Yes. That’s it. These two zombies aren’t falling for the traps as expected. Then, I need to make them fall for them. That’s charm.

Didn’t that veteran singer who transcended legend say it? A mere star makes only fans go wild, but a true superstar drives both fans and anti-fans crazy. I needed to become a superstar.

I turned around. The old man looked really upset. I… had failed to carefully observe the customer’s emotions.

So I struck a pose that people like to imitate when they’re in a bad mood. The key is to poke your cheek with your index finger and slightly twist your hip.

Anyway, when some idol group did it, it really improved my mood. The old man would feel the same.

“Graaaah!”

The forest keeper’s anger rose to his crown. No. Not enough. Not enough. Again. Hands on hips. Poke the cheek with the other hand.

“What’s the point of this choreography!”

I bounced my hips. Once, twice. Three times.

“Gyaaaah!”

The old man screamed like a girl and charged. They say men develop a girlish sensitivity as they age, and it seems true. That momentum, not stopping despite the sticky blood flowing from his forehead. Now the old man was a fan, and thanks to him, I had become a superstar.

But I knew my place and therefore didn’t attempt the moonwalk. That’s a realm mere mortals shouldn’t dare approach. Instead, I could crab-walk across the gravel by the stream.

I bounced my hips and struck an alluring pose. The old man, now transformed into a woman, screamed and foamed at the mouth.

But I could see it. How the old man’s ankles had twisted this way and that while treading the bumpy gravel path.

The strain on his ankles had caused him to drag his feet, and his walking speed had noticeably slowed.

Screech!

“Caught him.”