This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 561.2: Battle In The Night

Ample Time’s voice reached his ears. "Pull back now, head to the evac point! We’re about done here anyway."

Night Ten answered at once. "Roger! See you at base!"

He punched open a rusted safety door.

As he fell back from the rooftop to the top floor, the sense of danger grew ever sharper.

If he went down the stairs, he might run headlong into the Mutant Humans. In such cramped quarters, even his exoframe wouldn’t guarantee his safety.

Besides, melee wasn’t his specialty, he was a sniper.

With that thought, Night Ten had a flash of inspiration. He abandoned the stairs, slipped into the elevator shaft, and pried open the rusted doors with both hands.

The shaft was pitch black, making it impossible to see below.

He tugged on the cable dangling in the middle, testing its strength, then hooked on his lock and jumped into the shaft, holding fast to the rope.

Skrtkkkk!

Though his exoframe weighed over a ton, it was still within the elevator’s load capacity. His descent remained steady.

But the ear-splitting metal screech was far louder than he expected.

"Shit... Please don’t let them hear that."

Hopefully not.

The elevator shaft was supposed to be pretty soundproof, wasn’t it?

Just as he thought that, the outline of the car appeared below. Night Ten squeezed his legs and hook-locked, starting to slow down.

His boots thudded onto the roof of the car, making it creak and sway.

Night Ten shot a quick glance at the numbers on the wall and saw he was on the 10th floor before letting out a breath.

Taking the stairs from there should be fine. That was what his instincts were telling him.

Gripping the roof hatch handle with his right hand, Night Ten yanked it off the car and tossed it aside.

But just as he was about to slide one foot in, his face changed slightly.

"Damn?!"

The opening was too small!

The hatch was only about one and a half shoulder-widths, just enough to catch on his shoulder plates. If he got stuck halfway, wouldn’t Light who was peeking at his screen, laugh himself hoarse?

That would not do!

"Fuck me! Throwing me curveballs now?"

What could he do?

Night Ten’s eyes immediately searched for a way out, but at that moment, the support under his feet vanished and the sensation of ground below him disappeared.

Snap!

That split second of weightlessness nearly flipped him over. The explosion above his head told him exactly what had happened.

Someone had blown the cable.

Last serviced two centuries ago, the elevator’s brake system had completely failed. Once it lost its only traction, the car immediately went into free fall down the shaft.

Watching the floor numbers plummet, Night Ten’s face twisted.

His exoframe might have been a relic of the Orbital Airborne Division, but it still needed a drop pod. He had never heard of any suit that could land safely from such a high place.

Maybe some Pentagon super-soldier could. Unfortunately, his build was a perception type squishy.

Ahhhh!

He had been careless!

...

At the same time, several dozen kilometers away in Hope Town, Feather 1 standing at the edge of the settlement suddenly lifted its head. "Yiwu?"

Hearing the voice over the comms, Falling Feather halted and looked back at it.

"What is it?"

Feather 1 and Feather 2 exchanged a glance and tilted their heads, baffled. Feather 3 looked around before muttering, “Fuck!”

"..."

Sigh.

He had thought Little Feather had discovered something, but it turned out it just wanted to swear.

Relieved, Falling Feather was about to catch up with the convoy when he noticed a green-skinned figure stepping out through the town gate.

It was already night, and the light under the palisade gate was dim, but he was certain he wasn’t mistaken. The face beneath the hood was green.

For some reason, though, the figure wasn’t as burly as a mutant. Its bones and body lines were closer to a human’s.

Every hair on Falling Feather’s body stood on end. Almost by reflex, he drew his weapon and aimed at the figure’s head.

The sudden move startled everyone around.

Squad leader Wu Wenzhou didn’t know what was happening, and the green-skinned figure mirrored Falling Feather’s motion. That, in turn, earned ten more rifles aimed at his head.

Seeing the standoff, the old town guard at the gate took the rifle off his back, shouldered it, and walked over.

"Hey! Stop, folks! No private fighting within 100 meters of the town!"

Seeing the pitch-black exoskeleton, he instinctively felt a bit of dread, but he still barked the warning.

"Mutant Human!" Falling Feather stared hard at the green-skinned figure. "Does this settlement allow Mutant Humans to come in and trade?"

"That guy... actually isn’t."

The guard looked awkward, unsure how to explain and hesitant about whether to help the fellow.

Settlements undoubtedly forbade armed brawls, those were the rules, especially for Hope Town, which relied on trade to survive.

Without rules, everything fell apart.

To be honest, he didn’t like the green-skins either. Even if they looked more human, half their blood was still mutated.

Especially those who mostly came from the Qi Mutant Human tribe.

No survivor in the Brocade River Province didn’t hate them.

The green-skinned figure gave Falling Feather a cold look, then suddenly curled his lip, put away his weapon, and silently took off his pants.

Startled, Falling Feather hurriedly freed his left hand to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t block completely and still aim, so he left a slit between two fingers.

"Whoa, what are you?"

Huh?

Nothing there?

Staring at the smooth green skin, Falling Feather froze.

He had read on the official site that some Mutant Humans didn’t have a little ding-dong, especially the oldest batches.

They hadn’t been created through reproduction, but born in vats. Some were even engineers and scholars. If they hadn’t gone mad, they might still have human-level intellect. But such cases were exceedingly rare.

Most who had been canned and forced into mutanthood went insane for various reasons, becoming animals through and through. Very few stayed lucid.

Since vat-made strains couldn’t reproduce, their population growth couldn’t compete with mainstream wasteland species, so nearly no one ran into them.

This weirdo had thrown him off his game.

By the time Falling Feather came back to himself, the figure had already pulled up his pants and was walking away.

"... A half-blood. You occasionally see ones like that," the guard said. "They inherited more of the mother’s genes. They have no reproductive capability and none of the mutant physique. I’ve heard maybe one or two in 10,000 mutant infants turn out that way, but who knows? Mutant Humans don’t exactly breed in front of us."

"Mutant Humans don’t much like them either. They usually treat them as shameful and toss them into the wasteland to fend for themselves."

Squinting after the man’s departing back, the guard continued, rifle on his shoulder.

"How should I put it? They’re like mules born of a horse and a donkey, haha."

He let out a chuckle to lighten the mood, the rest of the caravan laughed along, but Falling Feather felt vaguely uncomfortable.

That comparison didn’t just draw a line between them and the half-bloods with half human blood in their veins. It felt like it lumped in the captives unlucky enough to be taken by Mutant Humans.

He didn’t know how to judge the former, but the latter were innocent and shouldn’t be the butt of a joke.

"What... What was that guy’s name?"

"Who knows. They all look alike, no one cares enough to stare at their faces, and they usually keep them covered. If you need him, just holler at them. They’re good hunters and sometimes take mercenary jobs. They are cheap, but they don’t usually leave the area."

"If they don’t leave, they can’t run trades," Wu Wenzhou said, clapping Falling Feather’s shoulder with a grin. "Forget him. Interested in a couple drinks?"

"Mm." Falling Feather nodded. He also wanted to gather some local intel.

According to Ample Time’s theory, taverns were the easiest places to collect information, especially those frequented by traveling merchants and mercenaries.

Wu Wenzhou glanced at the ten formidable and loyal enforcers behind him.

"What about those folks?"

They were strong, but they never took off their helmets. He hadn’t even seen a visor lifted once.

If possible, he wanted to get along with them. Not just for his boss, but for himself.

Falling Feather paused, then smiled.

"Ah, Little Feather doesn’t need to."

Little Feather?

Which one is Little Feather?

Wu Wenzhou looked at the 10 of them. They all seemed to react to the name, and he couldn’t tell who it referred to.

Not that it mattered, there were plenty of oddities on the wasteland.

He laughed it off, told his men to park by their usual inn, and then dragged this tough customer to the bar by the gate.

"The Grizzly and the Streetlamp... That’s the name. This place is great!" At the door, Wu Wenzhou took a rapturous deep breath, then strode inside.

Frowning and flaring his nostrils, Falling Feather braced himself and followed.

The tavern’s frontage looked plain, but the hall and bar were nearly full. The clamor was nonstop, and the speakers blared eardrum-torturing music like someone scraping a fork across a chalkboard.

The air was thick, not just with smoke and sweat, but a strange moldy scent.

He couldn’t say what it was, but the people didn’t seem to mind.

Perhaps for most of them, that was what feeling alive meant.

Out on the wasteland, only 100 meters away, the feeling of being alive was far too thin. Even powerful awakener could lose their lives in an instant.

Within 100 kilometers or so, only in the tavern could one relax over a drink without worrying about an enemy blowing your head off, unless they had a death wish.

Chattering about the bar’s history, Wu Wenzhou led Falling Feather to a quiet corner, ordered a few small dishes and two large beers from a tray-carrying server.

"Everything’s expensive in Brocade River Province, except food."

Well... There was one more thing that was cheap.

People.

Men or women, old or young. On the fertile and chaotic land, all were shockingly cheap, often half the price of elsewhere.

But considering the mercenary guy was a Shelter resident, Wu Wenzhou tactfully skipped that topic.

Falling Feather took a sip of the beer. The rich taste was indeed good, but the air carried that odd smell.

He had noticed it as soon as they walked in.

"This smell feels off."

Thinking he meant the beer, Wu Wenzhou smiled. "Not used to booze outside your homeland?"

"It’s not the beer," Falling Feather said, glancing around and muttering, "There’s something off here."

He didn’t know what it was, but Little Feather had told him.

It said it had smelled something bad as soon as they entered the town, and the closer they got to the bar, the stronger it became.

Just then, a server came by with a basket of bread and a greenish jar, setting them on the next table.

"Pinenut bread, a local specialty."

A mercenary at the next table eyed the green jar and asked curiously, "What’s that?"

Before the server could answer, the man sitting beside the merc chuckled. "Hope Town’s special jam! Delicious stuff, all the rage in the area lately. Try it and you’ll know! I bet you’ll love it!"

"Hah, spare me. I don’t do sweets. I only eat meat!"

"Just try it. My treat anyway."

Prodded by his buddy, the mercenary twisted open the glass jar, dabbed a bit with his finger, popped it in his mouth, and smacked his lips. "Kinda weird. Lemme try again."

Staring at the green jam, Falling Feather suddenly recognized it, his eyes bulging.

Well, hell.

Na Fruit jam?!

He finally understood what had been making Little Feather uncomfortable...