Chapter 127: Pursuit

Leaving my squad members aside, there might have been children among the ones already rescued who felt grateful to Caster.

“They fought bravely. But…”

So after saying that, I let out a frustrated sigh and left the conclusion vague.

Whether the words that followed were but they died or but in the end they were pieces of shit, so I killed them, the result right now was the same. There was not much difference.

The four bodies left in the wasteland, each with holes punched through them, would be dealt with by the Insectum, stray dogs, or scavengers who could turn even corpses into money.

Some of the children cried.

My heart hurt a little.

Well.

Only a little.

So I decided not to worry about it.

“Yuno, take the others and return to camp.”

“Yes, sir! …Um, what about you, Mr. Touji?”

—What are you going to do?

I answered her while continuing my preparations.

“For me, this is where the real work starts.”

As I spoke, I packed dull-shining rounds into the detachable magazines lined up on the table.

According to Master, a first-rate sniper was particular about even a single bullet, carefully choosing each one.

I did not especially do that.

The reason was simple. Also according to Master, the truly top-rate did not fuss over a single bullet. They could do the job with any round.

No—only someone who could do that was truly top-rate.

So there it was.

It was absolutely not because it was a pain.

As should be clear from the fact that I was making preparations, unfortunately, my work was not over.

In truth, it was not even overtime.

This was still within regular working hours.

Since the original objective was the capture of the kidnappers, the job had only truly begun once A0 started tracking them.

There were things I wanted to know—such as why a pursuit force had come at all—but first, I needed to replenish the supplies we had used and follow.

“I’ll ask just in case. Do you want anyone to stay behind?”

“Sorry, but—”

No need.

I said it with a shrug, and Ox Unit rolled up to me.

Apparently, the construction materials, food, and water had been restocked.

“done.” “worked hard.” “praise us!”

Then three little brats arrived.

I had asked them to prepare the magazines for the Type Seven light machine gun, which I was not nearly as attached to as the Type Five, whose rounds I loaded by hand myself.

“Good work.”

As payment, I gave them some of the mint candies I still had left.

“…Understood.”

They looked deeply conflicted, so I gave them some ration chocolate instead.

They were very happy.

Yuno looked like she wanted some too, so I gave her one.

***

I rode Monok as far as the attack site, then began following A0’s trail from there.

The markers were the beacons Rooster Unit had dropped behind like breadcrumbs. Finding a disk barely four centimeters across in the wasteland would be a nightmare, but if that disk was giving off a signal, the story changed.

Mercurius.

The silicon bodies belonging to Rat Unit and Rabbit Unit, made by Arawn—the small Monoz designed for information warfare—picked up the disguised, encrypted signal and traced the trail.

Apparently, this era’s Hansel and Gretel did not simply walk along and drop beacons behind them like honest fools. They recorded the real location data, then fired the beacons off with a shooter.

That meant we could not pick up the second beacon’s signal from the first beacon’s location.

The disguise worked like this: find the first beacon, identify the place it had been fired from, follow the direction of travel from there, and only then would the second beacon’s signal come into range.

“…”

Complicated.

Rudo, who had apparently been planning to track by scent, now had no role to play and looked somewhat dissatisfied. I scratched behind his ear. He gave a soft, spoiled little whine and pressed his face into my hand.

Well, because of all that, Rudo and I had nothing to do.

We walked through the wasteland, following Rabbit Unit’s ears and Rat Unit’s reading.

Rooster Unit had probably chosen such a troublesome method out of concern that the enemy might realize they were being followed. I could not waste that consideration. I endured the urge to ride Monok and walked, stabbed by the heat.

Yes.

Walked.

For half a day.

“—”

We were not catching up.

I narrowed my eyes. The horizon stretched far away. No structures in sight. We were going to be walking for quite a while yet.

“Horse Unit.”

Human legs were slow.

Rudo was short enough that the reflected heat from the ground seemed hard on him too, so I loaded him up with me.

A tail of sand streamed behind us across the wasteland, loudly announcing:

I am here.

I decided to waste Rooster Unit’s consideration.

***

From there, after roughly five hours of sleep and a full day spent running, it finally came.

Was it Rooster Unit? Dog Unit? Or Snake Unit, going for the unexpected?

At the very least, I wanted to believe it was not Tiger Unit or Monkey Unit, who belonged in the same broad, sloppy category as me.

Starting from a beacon some distance before the destination, messages had been added telling me to dismount from Monoc. They must have gone all the way to the goal, then doubled back and added them.

“…I see.”

So this was the consideration of a man who was popular with women.

I should learn from it.

No, impossible. Too much trouble.

Forget it.

I obeyed their consideration and got down from Horse Unit. If the destination was close, then I ought to be cautious. I sent ahead one small unit and one dog: Rabbit Unit, small and unobtrusive and serving as our ears, and Rudo, whose colors blended into the wasteland and who could keep watch with both nose and ears.

I endured the heat as well, wrapped myself in the ghillie suit Sheep Unit had made, and joined the second group with Rat Unit and Sheep Unit.

“…You stand out. It can’t be helped, can it?”

The four large units—Ox Unit, Dragon Unit, Horse Unit, and Boar Unit—blinked their eyes slowly, somehow looking dissatisfied, so I had them form the third group at the very rear.

“Rat Unit, observation.”

I took the Type Five from Ox Unit, attached the scope, and adjusted it.

The Type Five was a fine rifle, and resistant to heat, but the heat of the wasteland was merciless and cruel.

Its “face” had changed a little.

A thin layer of makeup.

That was how it felt.

Was this where the habit of giving guns women’s names came from?

You look beautiful today too, Shirley.

“…”

For some reason, E.B.’s face surfaced in my mind, so I stopped.

I slung the Type Five over my back. Since we would be walking, I put on Centipede’s head armor to prepare for a sudden attack.

It shuddered heavily, and the light from the single eye fell onto the wasteland.