03: The Zombie Virus Spreads

Hayato left the school and witnessed the strange city.

It was daytime, yet no vehicles moved along the roads, and no human figures appeared.

Cars parked by the roadside, motionless zombies standing in place—this confirmed the records he had read at school were true.

—Sacred magic could treat it. Provided the infection occurred before becoming a zombie.

Zombie viruses, which use mana, can be removed by sacred magic acting on the mana.

But zombies are already dead. Removing the virus only returns the body to death.

The time from infection to death varies, depending on how much virus was injected.

One bite might take one to two days.

Multiple bites could take just a few hours to over ten hours.

—It could be cured before turning into a zombie, but it still feels like a life sentence in confinement.

If the government learns of Hayato’s existence, they might confine him somewhere near Izu Oshima and force him to serve as a zombie treatment attendant indefinitely.

Being exiled from the otherworldly Black Empire and imprisoned by the Japanese Black Government—can this truly be considered an improvement in circumstances?

If it were a game of doctor-play limited to beautiful girls, it might not be so troubling.

But to tell a middle-aged man, “Yes, please roll up your jacket,” is something Hayato would rather not say.

Doctors are not saints, are they?

While entertaining such impolite thoughts, Hayato made a firm vow within himself to stop promoting his own services.

—First, stop by the supermarket and look for something.

Records indicate looting has been rampant. The likelihood of food supplies remaining is nearly zero.

What remains is likely only if zombies were packed tightly into the supermarket.

Consuming food from such a place was distasteful. But if it was canned, it might be possible to force it down.

Fortunately, the contents of the spatial storage remained intact. There was ample food and water.

The spatial storage contained enough provisions for 1,000 Imperial soldiers to sustain themselves for one month. The current remaining amount was approximately one-third of the original.

Water barrel, salt sack.

Wooden crate containing rye bread, cheese, dried meat, dried fruit.

One hundred spears, three hundred bows, three hundred bow racks, three hundred quivers, four thousand arrows.

Two hundred sixty tents for four people, one thousand forty blankets.

One thousand forty oil lamps, plant oil sufficient for ten days of eight-hour daily use.

And Hayato’s personal belongings from the other world.

If asked, “What exactly are you fighting?” the reply would be, “The Demon Army.”

Yet among the available supplies, there were no candies, no chocolates.

—Back then, if told I’d trade spears, I might have diverted a few.

Lost in battle, they’d assume the loss was from combat.

Medieval-level armies operated on rough estimates.

Silence spread around. No zombies moved.

Loud noises attracted zombies. Hayato moved without sound.

Eventually, the supermarket entrance came into view.

The shutter had been torn open, likely by a vehicle collision.

“This is the end of the world.”

Hayato stood at the entrance, took a deep breath.

Inside, the supermarket was dim and ransacked.

Hayato gripped his spear, stepped quietly inside.

—Zombies are hiding here.

In the dim corridor, a few zombies wandered between shelves.

Hayato stopped where he stood, scanned the store, confirmed the new battlefield.

He noted the number of zombies between the shelves, memorized the positions of shelves that would impede movement.

—Four.

He checked the grip on his spear, gauged the distance to the zombies.

Then held his breath and dashed forward.

He swung the spear upward and down with quick precision, crushing the first zombie.

Zugan— a loud sound echoed through the store.

Responding to the noise, multiple zombies groaned in unison and rushed forward.

Hayato stepped back, reset his stance, and swung the spear repeatedly.

The sound of air splitting and skull cracking tore through the silence.

—Too narrow.

The space was too tight for effective spear swings.

Hayato struck the zombie from above, swinging the spear downward to avoid hitting the shelves.

Three years ago, he might have hesitated before attacking.

But the knowledge and combat experience gained in the other world left no mercy for zombies that still retained human form.

After felling the final zombie, silence returned to the supermarket.

"Zombies were here. Something might still be left."

Hayato stowed the spear and scanned the dim interior with his oil lamp, peering into shelves and counters.

The shelves were completely empty. Nothing remained.

Not just food. Chopsticks, paper plates, cooking utensils, plastic wrap—none were present.

The only items he found were a few remaining cleaning supplies.

Cleaning supplies could not be eaten. They consumed little and lasted long.

The items he chose to bring back were likely those the raiders had left behind.

— I can carry this, but will it be of any use?

Hayato hesitated, placing cleaning tools he had never seen in the other world into his spatial storage.

No other goods were present.

— Back home, then.

Hayato muttered, turning on his heel and stepping outside.

He inhaled air better than that inside the supermarket filled with zombies, then exhaled.

The Earth was in dire condition. Hayato was in dire condition too.

Among those summoned to the other world, Hayato was the only one still alive.

No help from Earth. He had survived on his own.

Yet expecting Earth to rely on self-reliance was callous. He could not believe in "I will become a Japanese-made zombie virus removal drug!"

— What should I do?

It was the first day since his return from the other world. No decisions had been made about the future.

He decided to head home, though he thought his parents were unlikely to be there.

If they were present, he would explain the situation. They would not sell their own child, even if he had gained power through transference to another world.

If not, there was nothing to be done.

"Even if they're at the shelter, meeting up isn't likely."

Hayato walked through the abandoned vehicles, weighing the options, until he reached his home.

His house, seen for the first time in three years, was not as he remembered.

The front door was locked, but the window glass was shattered. Signs of forced entry were clear.

Was this the punishment for breaking into the supermarket?

Though chronologically, the home had been broken into first.

"Welcome back."

Hayato retrieved the key he had held three years prior from his spatial storage and entered the house.

Walking through the first floor, signs of blatant looting were obvious.

The refrigerator door hung open. Seasonings and other supplies had been taken entirely.

It was fortunate the zombie parents had not been in the house.

Hayato returned to his room after three years, surveyed the room slightly disturbed.

"Nothing to eat, I suppose."

He wished the looters had spared the children's room.

Yet he accepted his own actions at the supermarket as legitimate survival. He collected his personal belongings from the room.

As he reached for a manga, he paused.

"My manga—gone."

Apparently, the survivors who had searched the house had taken some.

Hayato frowned. He stored his entire bed in his spatial storage and left the house.