I Picked Up the Fallen Earth

Chapter 32. Hajin Middle School (1)

After a day spent inspecting his territory, Jeron could finally sit in his office by evening. Despite the lingering heat within the office, a cool breeze swept in whenever he sat quietly on the terrace.

Having gulped down a bowl of cool water brought by Violet, Jeron began reading a handwritten letter from the Duke Langton, penned on a papyrus scroll.

[Dear Lord Farrow,

I do hope you’re keeping well in this scorching weather. I myself manage to endure the heat by splashing cold water on myself several times a day.
The political sphere is currently rife with fierce debates.

Skirmishes continue to erupt on the front lines, making their discussion a routine part of our agenda.

Our faction argues for a declaration of war this year, entering a full-scale conflict, while another faction suggests waiting one or two years – delaying the war only harms our soldiers, a truly frustrating situation.

You’re bound to step into the political arena someday, so understanding its workings in advance will certainly benefit you.

…ommited…

Your proposal is under consideration, but approval is difficult, as anticipated. The emergence of a new trading right holder could significantly impact the economy.

I’m promoting the idea of granting you trading rights temporarily until the threat from the north subsides, which garnered a generally positive response.

Disappointed that it’s only a temporary trading right? Well, the interpretation of law is subjective. The barbarians will never cease to be a problem, so your family will enjoy these rights in perpetuity.

Achieving a complete resolution requires unifying opinions within our faction. It’s time for you to show your sincerity.

Relations without mutual benefit cannot be considered true relationships, I advise you as your guardian, so don’t dismiss the words of an old man.]

“Guardian?”

It was an astonishing development. In these times, establishing a ward-guardian relationship wasn’t just about flaunting a connection; it was substantial.

Jeron had sent the Duke Langton wine on two occasions, which seemed to have been well-received. Of course, the Duke could unilaterally end this relationship, but until then, it would serve as a sturdy shield for Jeron.

So long as Jeron continued his gift offensive, there’d be no reason for the Duke to sever their guardian relationship.

“Is the old man suggesting my time is nearly up?”

It was a significant gesture of goodwill. Considering the customs of the nobility, it almost seemed overly generous, but it appeared the cheap wine Jeron consistently sent was to the Duke Langton’s taste.

Nonetheless, it was a welcome change. The Duke offered several pieces of advice in his letter, summarized as follows:

1. Start preparing for full-scale warfare from next year but begin groundwork now.

2. Ascend to the capital soon to broaden your connections.

3. Grease the wheels with the Crown Prince’s faction early on to use as a political shield.

4. Keep an eye on the political situation and establish connections in the capital.

Jeron fell into deep thought. The Crown Prince’s faction comprised about 20 nobles from court and regional lords, with roughly 10 core members actively involved in the central political scene.

There were many considered part of the Crown Prince’s faction, albeit powerless. Sending gifts to these 10 key figures was one thing, but winning favor from the entire faction through small gifts could also be a viable strategy.

However, this would bind Jeron entirely to the Crown Prince’s faction.

“Severing ties with the Duke Langton now would be unthinkable.”

The Duke had effectively become a fast track for Jeron’s future political entry. Full allegiance to the Crown Prince’s faction?

The Farrow household was a founding noble family, and their lordship over an independent territory was directly bestowed by the king.

Since the Crown Prince held the position of the future king, Jeron aligning with his faction posed no issue in principle.

Though currently powerless on the frontier, gaining accolades and expanding his territory would enable Jeron to act as a member of the legitimate royal faction once the Crown Prince ascended the throne.

Considering this for future prospects wasn’t a bad choice. Jeron retrieved carefully packaged whiskies from the storeroom. Most were aged between 12 to 21 years, with the 30-year-old reserves intended for the Duke Langton or the king.

Jeron had set aside a separate stock of alcohol for his family to enjoy. Among the ranking members of the Crown Prince’s party, distinctions were made based on their titles, lands, and wealth.

For the least influential nobles, such as a baronet who lacked significant clout, it was decided that gifts of precious metals would suffice.

After selecting the gifts, Jeron proceeded to write letters to be sent to the Duke Langton and the other nobles.

***

That night, dressed warmly, Jeron passed through the portal between dimensions. He felt his body smoothly transition through, immediately noticing the extreme difference in temperature.

It was midsummer in the Karen continent, while Earth was in the depths of winter. As the surroundings underwent a complete transformation, so did the view; Jeron’s modest room changed into a modern, undamaged villa.

“Phew.” Jeron took a moment to sit on the sofa, savoring the air of Earth as it filled his lungs, imbued with magic. On Earth, fatigue seemed a distant concept.

Despite the biting cold that his body was unaccustomed to, the dense mana in the atmosphere actually aided in his recovery.

His plans to soon head to the Hanes domain and seek assistance from the count in forming a circle remained unchanged. Acquiring a spellbook and mastering magic meant that training on Earth was indispensable.

After completing his training, Jeron headed to the rooftop connected to the fourth floor of the villa.

This rooftop was different from others; it was devoid of bodies or excessive trash, coated entirely in green waterproofing, and although slightly worn, it was furnished neatly with tables and chairs.

Jeron reviewed the middle school through his telescope, stationed at the rooftop railing. A cold wind brushed against his face, his eye sockets nearly freezing over as he looked through his telescope.

‘It’s just like last time.’ For over a month, he had been pillaging goods from in front of the middle school. After thoroughly raiding the stationery store, he transferred riot shields made of polycarbonate, riot gear, helmets, and fire extinguishers from a police mobile unit bus back to the Karen continent.

The absence of mutants thus far suggested the middle school was relatively safe. Though the desolate scene instinctively repelled him, he knew he must enter.

Based on its nature as a communal establishment, it was obvious without looking that it contained numerous bodies.

Still, he had to proceed. Simply farming goods had its limits in terms of developing his domain. He intended to search the library for any useful books.

Turning his gaze away from the middle school, Jeron also surveyed the areas a bit further from the school, a habit born from always prioritizing safety. The streets were still littered with blood, bones, corpses, and debris.

No notable movements suggested it was safe to head out. “Hmm?” Jeron’s gaze suddenly fixed on a specific spot amidst the passing scenes.

It was in the middle of a street far from his location, near the city’s entrance. Without his high-powered telescope, he might not have noticed anything moving at all.

Groups of survivors were moving together, numbering about seven or so in total. Jeron increased the telescope’s magnification to 30x.

Despite some blurriness, he had no trouble identifying the slow-moving people and the objects around them.

The survivors were moving from the city to the outskirts – a very wise decision, considering the city was likely teeming with mutants.

The problem lay in their appearance. Four men and women were dragging a family of three, bound by ropes, off to somewhere.

Armed robbers with pistols and victims wearing only their underwear. Though their expressions were hard to see due to the blur, the despair filled in the hearts of the family was palpable even from this distance.

Jeron doubted his eyes upon realizing the current weather conditions. It felt cold enough to be minus five degrees Celsius.

Wearing only underwear in such cold would be indescribably painful. The family of three shivered with fear, their faces pale, while the male and female robbers kicked them and cursed, laughing all the while.

A girl, who seemed to be around middle school age, stumbled and fell face first to the ground. The survivors grew angry, beating her mercilessly with clubs.

An enraged man rushed forward but was struck in the head by a robber’s pistol, blood streaming down his face. He collapsed onto the cold street, shivering.

“Damn these crazy bastards,” Jeron cursed involuntarily. Should he shoot them dead? But could he hit them accurately from this distance? A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind. This was a scene of destruction in a world gone to ruin.

In fact, Jeron had seen even worse during his time on Earth. In a world where law had completely collapsed, violence was the only source of power, and more people died from conflicts among survivors than from mutants. Witnessing such atrocities now ignited a burning rage within him.

“More barbaric than the Middle Ages.”

Click.

Jeron found himself loading his sniper rifle and turning its barrel towards the group of robbers. Holding his breath, he placed his finger on the trigger.

That’s when he saw it. Mutants from the city side rapidly approaching, leaping between buildings, charging toward the survivors.

Even amidst this chaos, the robbers continued to mock the family in their underwear, leisurely smoking cigarettes. Suddenly, two mutants pounced, slaughtering the survivors.

Bang! Boom!

The air was filled with the sound of desperate screams and the tearing of flesh.

As gunshots echoed, several more mutants swiftly approached. They ferociously tore apart the survivors. The screams intensified.

At that moment, the lines between victims and robbers blurred. Before the mutants, they were all equally prey. Soon, the screaming stopped. Heads and bodies were separated, upper and lower halves were torn apart.

Blood splattered in all directions, leaving no survivors. The mutants, like lions with their prey, slung the bodies over their shoulders and disappeared. Whooosh.

The cold wind blew. In the desolate city, only the frozen bloodstains proved that people were once there. Jeron, putting away his sniper rifle, leaned against the railing and took deep breaths.

“Damn…”

What had just happened was a commonplace event on Earth. As is often the case in lands of survival, there were those of ill repute and those whose human decency hadn’t completely worn away.

He hadn’t seen the kind of sacrifices for others that one might in a fully functioning society. Those people died within a few years after the mutants appeared. It was only after witnessing the scene that Jeron snapped back to reality.

Hopeful outlooks were futile here. He was once again reminded that survivors could be more dangerous than the mutants. After sitting for a few minutes to steady his breath, Jeron stood up.

It was time to move toward his destination.