I Became a Swordsman of a Dystopian World

I instinctively take in the situation first.
The interior is lined with countless capsules.
Each capsule’s outer shell is covered in scratches.
Looks like someone tried to break them open to rescue whoever was inside—
and failed.
Now, all the eyes glinting faintly through those gashes are fixed on me.
A brief silence follows.
“……”
Are they too weak to speak?
Or afraid to respond to sound?
Maybe both… it’s hard to tell.
And in a moment like this, I have no idea what words could even be said.
But then—
the strange stillness suddenly breaks.
With the cautious voice of an old man:
“Cough, cough… already that time, huh.”
What’s going on?
He reaches out and activates something, then listens closely.
—Chhhk.
What comes through next is completely unexpected.
—Chhhhk… ah, mic test, one-two, one-two.
Ah, are we live? Hello, everyone!
Coming to you at 6 p.m.… this is BJ Zhenya’s Ark Radio!
…What?
Did I hear that right?
That was definitely Yevgeniya’s—
—Chhk! First, today’s news!
A faint voice echoes through the quiet.
Even through my confusion, that voice somehow doesn’t alarm the others.
—Chhhk! Now, the crisis our Captain faced! Drumroll please—dugu-dugu-dugu!
“…What the hell is this.”
“Shhhhhhh!”
The old man presses a finger to his lips.
His eyes are deadly serious.
Around us, others do the same—
even the little boy beside him glares at me to be quiet.
‘Right…’
—Haaah… a tragic development, I’m afraid.
A solemn tone, impossible to read.
‘What? What happened?’
Murmurs of despair ripple around us.
“Damn it…”
“Ah, ahh…”
—…Just kidding! Turns out he only fainted from exhaustion!
“…!!”
“…!?”
“…!!!?”
Silent gasps fill the air.
Even in the hush, the emotion is palpable—
then voices rise, quietly buzzing.
“That BJ Zhenya… so wicked…”
“Thank goodness…”
“Cough—thank god…”
“Phew…”
They whisper cautiously, but their words are clear to my ears.
What… exactly is happening?
I remember authorizing radio broadcasts from HQ—
to help any potential survivors,
to let people know the Ark Division was still out there,
still fighting against collapse itself.
But I never imagined there were people listening like this—
holding their breath,
swaying between despair and hope at every word.
‘So this is how they’re avoiding sensitive information leaks—
by delaying the broadcasts.’
Not bad.
No—wonderful.
Just the fact that someone was cheering us on.
—Chhhk… and finally! The Captain and Ark Division have rebuilt the cultured-meat cultivation plant! Bang bang!
“Khhh… cough! I knew it…”
Around me, similar reactions break out.
“I told you the Ark Division would do it this time.”
“Heh °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° heh heh.”
For the first time, the stillness is replaced by a flicker of life.
But one question still lingers.
“Elder, how did you even get this radio?”
The old man doesn’t answer.
“Shhh… just wait a moment.”
—The Captain says winter is coming soon, so we need to prepare—
Instead, it’s the little boy who speaks.
“Mister, you don’t know the Ark Division?”
“Well…”
Of course I do.
I’m the Captain.
But I can’t bring myself to say it.

“They say the Ark Division’s in Gold River. Super strong too! The Captain’s really tall, and he’s beaten more than a hundred monsters all by himself!”
“I see.”
It’s not an exaggeration.
Because it’s true.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The Captain of the Ark Division’s way more than that.”
“……”
“Just saying he’s strong doesn’t cut it. He’s an amazing man—a hero. If I were younger, I’d join his unit right now.”
“I see.”
“Cough… then he’ll definitely come save us too. I’m sure of it. They say he’s already rescued five thousand people once! Don’t know his name yet, but it’s gotta be something cool.” For some reason, the old man’s eyes sparkle.
“The Captain of the Ark Division might not be such a good person, you know.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“…Sir?”
“Cough, don’t cross the line. Kids these days, no manners at all…”
“……”
I let it go.
I had no intention of revealing who I really was.
So instead, I turned to the boy.
“Then how’d you make that radio?”
“Some adults came and showed us.”
I can picture it now.
A message sent from the Central Control Center to all major facilities.
Someone from a nearby facility must’ve come here.
The broadcast tech and frequency setup—Eli probably spread those.
‘You really did something great.’
That couldn’t have been an easy choice.
And to come here, of all places—the Egg residential zone…
No doubt another ripple from the Control Center’s butterfly effect.
One of the results of everything we’ve built.
“We’re gonna go there too,” the boy said.
“Where? The Ark Division?”
“Yeah! They say it’s safe and there’s lots to eat!”
For some reason, I couldn’t answer.
Maybe because I was ashamed—
ashamed of still weighing their worth in my own mind.
Eggers.
That’s what the world calls those who live in the “chicken coops.”
It’s meant to insult, but behind that crude term…
lies a bitter truth.
Because “Egger” also means empty shell.
“Heh, can’t even properly welcome a guest. Cough, cough.”
When the life fades from his voice, his eyes look half-dead.
“Well, since we’ve met, let’s at least introduce ourselves, eh?”
Something about him feels subtly off—unnatural.
“Ah, manners first. My name is… uh…”
An abyssal feeling grips me.
Like staring into the bottom of the deep.
“……”
Because the Eggs weren’t just built for shelter.
They were constructed to use human brains as computer components.
‘Damn this place.’
Once again, I’m reminded of what dystopia really means.
The old man soon forgets what he was saying and rummages around.
“I had something stored here somewhere, hmm…”
The only reason the coop residents can survive in these cramped capsules
is because they live their lives inside virtual reality.
And the moment they connect—
their brains are used as processors for the network.
The price for that?
They slowly lose themselves.
Not permanently, they say—
but as long as they live here, they’ll live like fools.
Empty shells.
That’s why they’re called Eggers.
Their childlike excitement at hearing the radio—
their laughter and despair—
that’s part of it too.
The vulnerable have no other way to live.
If they can’t even manage this,
they end up as vagabonds on the streets.
That’s this world.
These people—living in tiny capsules,
dreaming of being rich in their fake world—
were they happy?
The thought crosses my mind.
I doubt it.
If it were me,
I’d have been crushed by self-loathing,
watching myself grow dumber day by day.
That’s why I hate this place.
Players hated it too.
Not just because it was tragic—
but because it was a mirror of reality.
A place that forces you to face your real self—
holed up in a small room, staring at a palm-sized screen,
slowly becoming an idiot.
A dystopia, yes—
but no different from my own life.
That’s why it feels so unbearable.
And yet, now that I’ve returned here,
I just feel pity.
“Cookie, come here.”
Caw! Caw!
The crow flaps more lively now.
The old man reaches through the capsule’s gap to gently pet it.
Then, sheepishly, he says,
“Cough, hehe… sorry about the smell. Haven’t been able to wash.”
The stench doesn’t bother me.
Nor the filth-covered floor.
“It’s fine. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. Old folks like me are meant to die.”
Then he glances back—
at the rows of capsules,
at the dying survivors between them.
Is this truly an act of saving them?
That question forms before I can stop it.
But before I can dwell on it, the old man brightens.
“Ah, yes… here! I wrote it down somewhere…”
He quickly realizes he’s being too loud and lowers his voice.
Still, I’m curious.
“What is it?”
“My name.”
“Ah.”
“It’s Homunculus.”
“Homunculus?”
“Cough, that’s right! The man from Faust, the one born in a flask—that’s me.”
“That’s… your name?”
Strange name, but his next words explain it.
“Before that, I’ve been called lots of things—bum, egg-man, senile old fool.”
“Hmm…”
“But this time I chose my own name. Heh heh.”
“I see.”
“I don’t remember my real name.”
He laughs like a child.
I stay silent, holding down my emotions.
Then he asks,
“What’s your name, son?”
It doesn’t feel like he’s just asking for my name.
Something about this feels unfamiliar—
talking so warmly with a stranger I just met.
“My name is…”
Maybe because he carries no hostility,
no suspicion toward me.
Before I can answer, the boy cuts in:
“My name’s Dummy.”
“Cough, Dummy? That’s not a good name, kid.”
“I’m dumb, so I’m Dummy.”
“Hahaha!”
Dummy…
Maybe that’s how he copes with his guilt—
by turning it into a name.
My tongue tastes bitter.
Before I know it, I’m ruffling the boy’s hair.
“How about something else instead?”
“Like what?”
“Pinocchio.”
“……”
He looks puzzled.
I explain simply:
“You’re too thin. And the bad things aren’t your fault—it’s the world’s.”
No reply.
Just quiet acceptance.
Then I feel their eyes on me.
They want to know my name too.
But strangely, it’s the one thing that won’t come out easily.
What I want to be—
what defines me—
has always been just one thing.
“Kyle.”
“Kyle?”
“Kyle Han. That’s my name.”
And in that moment, I realize—
saving these people isn’t about rescuing the pitiful.
Ding!
[Guidance of the Black Bird]
—You’ve arrived at the Egg residential zone, led by the crow.
The crow asks for your help.
[Rescue the old man]
[Do not rescue the old man]
The homunculus from Faust.
Maybe that name is the old man’s wish—
a being born inside a flask,
longing to escape it.
A man wanting to crack the egg and live again.
In his frail struggle to keep defining himself
against an unchanging reality,
I see… my past self.