This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 568.1: How Did I Run Into Someone I Know In This Deserted Place?
In Hope Town, guarding the gate was an easy job.
Although only a door separated it from the wasteland, and two more steps forward meant stepping into a hell where no one cared if one lived or died, it was not the wasteland itself. That meant one could collect a decent wage without taking too much risk.
And the work was respectable enough.
No matter whether a person was doing honest trade or shady business, once they came near a settlement, they would more or less restrain themselves.
Even marauders needed such a safe place where they could trade their stolen goods for other things they needed.
Otherwise, the loot they seized was worthless trash, left for scavengers to pick up or taken as trophies by other wastelanders.
Especially now, when most wastelanders in this region had already armed themselves with automatic rifles made in the River Valley Province.
Trying to survive with a handmade iron-pipe rifle had become almost impossible. They too needed to keep up with the times, hiding in the places where they could hide best...
Standing at the west gate, Mark yawned, pulled out his rusted pocket watch, and checked how many hours remained until his shift was over. The job was nothing more than a way to kill time.
It was especially so at the western gate, where wastelanders rarely came.
Just as he was wondering where to drink after work, the guard beside him suddenly raised his head and looked westward, frowning as he muttered, “What’s that sound?”
“What... What sound?” Snapping the brass lid shut, Mark put away his watch and looked at the new recruit.
The lad had only joined the town guard a few months ago. He was the son of a hunter in town. Mark vaguely remembered his father, he had shared drinks with him before.
“You didn’t hear it?” The young man looked at him and continued, “Something just exploded.”
Hearing this, Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “Haha, isn’t that normal? Just a few steps past here is the wasteland, gunfire and explosions are as common as dirt... You’ll get used to it.”
To be honest, it actually wasn’t that common. On the wasteland, loneliness and cold were more common than death.
On endless barren plains, years could pass without seeing a single living creature, the same swaying grasses repeating decade after decade.
If one day a wolf’s howl suddenly echoed there, that was when one should truly be on guard.
But Mark did not want to think that way. Rather than worry about what was happening so close in the wasteland, he preferred to assume it was an accident that had nothing to do with them.
Minding one’s own business was the way to survive. He knew well that the reason he had kept the guard position was precisely because he never poked into matters that weren’t his.
The young man lay flat on the ground, pressing his ear to the dirt, still muttering to himself. “There’s gunfire... and running footsteps. They are at least 30 or 40 kilometers away... There’s a lot of it as well... Someone’s fighting.”
Mark couldn’t resist walking over and kicking him in the backside. “Quit sticking your damn nose where it doesn’t belong, get up and stand your post.”
After that kick, the young man stood up awkwardly, clammed up, and said no more.
But the disruption ruined what had been a decent mood for Mark until noon.
Once someone knew something big was happening nearby, without knowing exactly what, their mind would wander endlessly, filling with worry, especially when there was nothing else to do.
Mark was no exception. While the young man seemed to let it go, Mark couldn’t help running it over in his head again and again.
Who was fighting whom?
Come to think of it, were there any larger settlements westward?
Just then, the forest nearby rustled, and suddenly came a sharp whistling through the air.
Before Mark even realized what was happening, an arrow brushed his hat and struck the wooden post behind him with a metallic thud.
Startled, he quickly grabbed his rifle, chambered a round, flicked off the safety, and aimed toward the direction the arrow had flown.
“Who’s there!”
No one answered.
Mark swallowed hard, his eyes flashing with confusion and nerves as he aimed steadily at the shadowed woods, too afraid to advance and check.
At that moment, the young man ran behind him, pulled the arrow from the post, and yelled, “Sir! There’s something tied to the arrow!”
“What is it?” Still staring through his sights at the trees, Mark called back without turning.
“It’s a roll of animal hide! Looks like something’s written on it...” Unrolling it and barely making out the words, the young man suddenly froze, falling silent.
Animal hide?
Mark blinked, desperate to know what was written, yet unwilling to let down his guard.
Keeping his rifle trained, he slowly stepped back to the young man’s side, freed his left hand, and snatched the hide.
Sure enough, scrawled in animal blood were two crude lines of writing.
There were many words which were misspelled.
Guessing the meaning by context, Mark’s face drained of all color, pale as if white paint had been slapped on it.
“Damn it...” He cursed under his breath, then shot a warning look at the dumbstruck young man.
“You stay here and keep watch. I’ll go report this... Don’t breathe a word to anyone!”
The lad nodded numbly.
Mark glanced at the forest, gritted his teeth, slung his rifle, and carrying the arrow and the hide, bolted toward the town without looking back.
From within the forest, a pair of green eyes beneath a hood watched the guard’s retreating back. Only when Mark vanished through the gate did the figure fade back into the shadows...
...
At the very center of Hope Town stood the public hall.
Around the round table in the meeting room sat all the most prominent figures of the town.
The owner of The Grizzly and the Streetlamp, the elderly carpenter, the tannery’s owner, the landlord with a thousand acres, and the mayor who oversaw a thousand households.
None of them were idle sorts, yet there they sat, silent, puffing on cigarettes.
Even though the harsh smoke stung their eyes, they sealed the doors and windows tight, not intending to let in the faintest draft.
Likewise, no one spoke.
On the table before them lay an arrow.
Around noon, someone had shot it at the west gate, and the guard on duty had picked it up.
Tied to it had been a roll of hide, scrawled with two bloody lines.
[Oge want eat... people.]
[Run quick!]
“If this is a joke, it’s the crudest, most vicious one of the year!” It was the mayor who first broke the silence.
His name was Ma Hechang. Though already fifty, he was still sturdy, with high prestige in town.
Not far from him, the owner of the tavern clutched his head in anguish and muttered, “Why would something like this happen?”
The room filled with mutters, complaints, fearful arguments. Panic and unease showed on every face.
They did not know what an ‘Oge’ was, but with words like ‘eat people’ and ‘run’, it wasn’t hard to imagine.
Ordinary marauder tribes wouldn’t dare strike a settlement like Hope Town with its thousand households. It had to be those unreasonable Mutant Humans.
Still, people found it hard to believe.
The Qi tribe hadn’t just appeared the day before or something. They had been there for a century and a half. Those green-skinned baboons were indeed frighteningly strong and numerous, but unlike other Mutant Humans, they rarely attacked surrounding settlements.
Some rumors said they kept slaves within their tribe, so they didn’t need to raid as often. Others claimed their ancestors were once human and, by accident, transformed, thus restraining their descendants from attacking villages and farms.
But those were only rumors.
Most who believed them didn’t really understand why things were the way they were, just excuses to reassure themselves and others, a fragile comfort against fear.
The Qi tribe had existed for over a century, and so had the settlers in the area. No one knew why they hadn’t been eaten before, nor why the tribe would change its mind now.
Suddenly someone spoke. “Could it just be a joke?”
No one acknowledged him.
That was pure nonsense.
Even if most people secretly thought so, no one dared gamble their families’ lives on it.
Ma Hechang glanced at the head of the town guard and asked quietly, “Have the sentries been dispatched?”
The guard captain nodded nervously. “They’ve already been sent... There is no news yet.”
The mayor let out a faint sigh of relief. At least he didn’t have to fear green-skins bursting in mid-meeting.
Sweeping his eyes across the table, his tone turned firm. “What we must find out first is, who warned us? If that person truly had certain knowledge, why send it this way instead of telling us directly?”
“I thought the same! If it’s true, why not come forward? We’ll thank him, even pay him!” The glassware seller grumbled.
Suddenly the mayor turned to the blacksmith at the table. “Do you recognize this arrow?”
“... Yes. I sold it, that much is true.” After scrutinizing the arrowhead for a while, the blacksmith frowned. “But most hunters in town use my arrows. That proves nothing.”
For seasoned hunters, rifles weren’t cost-effective. Traps and bows made better sense.
The mayor’s face showed disappointment.
At that moment, a portly man in a Devil's Silk robe spoke up. “Ahem, listen. There’s too much that doesn’t add up... I think someone wants to scare us off and rob us.”
His name was Xiao Zhixue, a beer merchant. He ran a brewery with about 20 workers. Most of the alcohol sold to wastelanders came from him.
A shopkeeper shot back, “But what if the message is true?”
