Chương 46: 20-1.Old World and the New

The iron doors sealed shut, and the entire box began its slow crawl upward with a vibration that got into your teeth. One hand braced against the wall, the other still gripping my sword. Nothing ahead but a gray door panel, yet my mind was entirely occupied by the glowing dead city below—and that phrase I couldn't shake: A. D. 2142. Alvira leaned against my side, saying nothing. Ever since the navigation system had mentioned the World Tree, she'd gone quiet in a way that wasn't her usual detached silence.

This was someone who had locked herself behind a door I couldn't reach, even her breathing carefully controlled. After a long while, she finally spoke.

"Cedric."

"What." She stared at the closed doors, profile cold as if nothing had happened.

"Don't say too much about what happened down there." I turned to look at her.

"Which part specifically?" I asked with deliberate innocence.

"The Old Civilization mall? The talking hologram? Or how we fell together and enjoyed a romantic underground tour?" Alvira's head snapped toward me.

"Are you trying to die?" Her reaction was bigger than intended—color flooding back into her pale face, the tips of her ears going faintly red. I was preparing a follow-up when she shoved something heavy into my arms, clearly aiming to aggravate my chest wound.

"This expedition's credit goes to you," she said rapidly, like she wanted the words finished.

"What you do with it is your business." I looked down at the bundle. Before I could respond, she added:"But if you start running your mouth about what's below—" She paused, meeting my eyes.

"I'll blow you apart first." I raised an eyebrow and opened the bundle. Packed full: medical supplies from the station below. Bandages, antiseptic, thermal blankets, and several Old Civilization items whose value was self-evident.... When had she even done this? I looked back at her. Alvira had already turned away, presenting nothing but cool indifference—as if the threat was the point, and the life-saving supplies were incidental. Looking at that expression, I nearly laughed.

"I see." I secured the bundle.

"So credit to me, liability to me, and if I say the wrong thing, you silence me."

"Accurate summary," she said flatly.

"Your brain appears intact."

"How reassuring."

"I wasn't expressing concern."

"Of course not." I nodded agreeably.

"You're just worried that if I blunder around sharing details, everyone suffers the consequences." Brief silence.

"... At least that part, you've stated correctly." I watched her for a moment, then swallowed the joke I'd prepared. Because I could hear it—this wasn't petty sulking. She genuinely didn't want people above knowing about what was below. Not to hoard credit, not from distrust, but because the entire complex—the operational systems, the AI, the words about the World Tree—carried a weight that made casual disclosure feel wrong. So I sighed and chose practicality.

"I'll need to give them something," I said.

"I can't report that we went on a date." Alvira pressed her lips together briefly.

"Say we found a backup Old Civilization facility," she said.

"Usable supplies. A route back up. Nothing else for now."

"Including the navigation system with the smile that makes you want to punch it?" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Especially that."

"Understood." I paused, then added:"So we're definitely not mentioning the date part?" This time she didn't turn. She just drove her elbow into my ribs. She'd clearly pulled the force for my wound's sake, but it still nearly extracted a sound from me.

"Shut up," she said coldly.

"One more word and I'll report that you spent the whole time crying and clinging to my legs." I stared at her.

"That's character assassination. That's a war crime."

"Then behave."

"... Yes, my employer." She ignored me. But after those words, her ears went faintly red again—barely, just for a moment. Unfortunately, I was standing close enough that pretending not to notice required divine intervention. I pretended I'd seen nothing and returned my attention to the doors. The box continued its grinding ascent, carrying us upward degree by degree. The dead mall below, the control room's white light, A. D.

2142, and Alvira's quiet "The Tree withered three hundred years ago"—all of it pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe. But no matter how heavy it sat, doors eventually opened. And whatever waited beyond wasn't going to let us breathe easily. The elevator jolted softly. The doors opened. Familiar stench hit me like a physical blow. Sulfur, rot, dried blood, and that specific burned smell of high heat applied to something between plastic and fat. Heavy as soaked cloth pressed against the face.

After the antiseptic silence below, I genuinely couldn't tell which level qualified as hell. I stepped out first. The same battlefield we'd left. Broken stone, mannequin debris, toppled displays, black corrosion pits where blue blood had eaten through. The torn flag still hung above, one corner drifting in windless air—as if someone had just passed beneath. We were back. Back where we'd fought the Graftling, where floors had collapsed, where I'd thought this was just a monster nest. But it looked different now.

The shattered displays, scattered merchandise, the row of child mannequins against the walls—no longer just unsettling debris. Too specific now. Too concrete. One more step and I'd see some afternoon that shouldn't exist—people browsing, children complaining, discount announcements instead of this wreckage that time and monsters had been gnawing together. This had been a place where people came to shop. That thought was more disturbing than any monster. Alvira stepped out behind me, pausing before moving forward.

Her ankle, though stabilized, clearly favored one side. I offered support; she didn't decline, but her gaze stayed fixed ahead, color worse than in the elevator.

"Still standing?" I asked quietly.

"Yes." Too fast. Like she wanted the question gone immediately. I nodded and didn't press. No tactical advantage in making someone admit weakness when they're still upright. The surrounding silence was wrong. Not safety—the aftermath of something concluded whose ending nobody had confirmed. Distant dripping from collapsed corners. Occasional cracks from broken fixtures overhead, like the mall twitching in dreams. I kept my sword raised and swept the floor. First thing I found: arrows.

Not Old Civilization debris—Jessi's arrows. Slender, fast, brutal, with fletching I'd recognize anywhere. Three in a toppled mannequin's chest, one in a distant pillar, another lodged in floor cracks with black blood sprayed around the impact. They'd been here. They'd fought, and lived through it. A few steps further: an unreasonably deep slash from display edge to floor, cleaving through steel railing in one line. That precision and force was unmistakably Matthews.

Nearby, a crushed shell casing—Lucas's powder gun had joined the conversation. The tension in my chest loosened slightly. Not the worst outcome, then. Alvira saw the traces too. She moved forward, gaze passing over fallen mannequins, then stopped. I followed her sight line. A white mannequin, cut in half, leaning against a display case—head still facing our direction. That smooth, featureless blankness caught firelight wrong, particularly offensive in the shifting shadows. Her breathing faltered.

"Don't look at it," I said. She didn't seem to hear. Those green eyes stayed locked on the thing, fingers tightening—as if that blank surface showed her something I couldn't see.

"Alvira." I stepped in front of her, blocking the angle. Her gaze slowly returned to me. Whatever had been surfacing—that unfocused quality—sank back down like something dragged from water's edge.

"That's not a person," I said quietly.

"It's a plastic shell. If you pick a fight with it now, I'm not filing injury reports." She looked at me. After two seconds, closed her eyes briefly.

"... I know."

"Good." I positioned her where the debris wasn't visible and returned attention to surroundings. Among battle traces, one more thing caught my eye. A small torn cloth. I crouched and picked it up. Legion-issue bandage material, edges stiff with recently dried blood, knot tied in recognizable style. Erina's work. It had fallen in relatively open area; beside it, shallow footprints extended toward the atrium's far side. Not a rout. Deliberate withdrawal with wounded.

"There's a trail." I showed the cloth to Alvira.

"Erina treated someone here. They're alive." She studied the cloth, expression finally sharpening. She nodded, voice recovering its edge.

"That direction."

"My read too." I tucked the cloth away. Before I could move, faint metallic sound reached us from ahead. Clang. Distant, but in this silence, unmistakable. We stopped simultaneously. Her hand went to her bow—then remembered its condition. I raised my sword slightly, listening. The next sound wasn't another clang. Glass, further away, cracked under careful footsteps. Not random monster crashing. A person. Moving cautiously. We exchanged looks. She gave a barely perceptible nod.

I drew breath of foul air, raised my sword, and led her along the trail. Crossing the central atrium where initial fighting had occurred, I glanced back at the elevator. The doors had sealed again, sitting flush with ruined walls as if they'd never opened. As if the luminous dead city, medical station, navigation system, World Tree, and 2142 were all extended toxin-induced hallucination. The chemical burn on my chest, freshly treated and aching, disagreed. So did the weight of supplies against my ribs.

I wasn't more enlightened. I just knew, more clearly than before, that I understood essentially nothing. Carrying that unhelpful realization, we moved past toppled display cases and finally saw it: faint firelight flickering behind a half-collapsed service counter. Faint, but alive. A shadow shifted near it. Then a voice I knew far too well—owed far too much—came through in carefully suppressed murmur:"...

Told you that shadow walking like someone whose spine lost an argument with a coffin lid could only be the young master." I stopped. Right. We were really back.