Apocalyptic Era: Starting from picking up a Bishoujo
Chapter 524 - 492 Bloodstain Tracking

Chapter 524: 492 Bloodstain Tracking

The range of the white light from the lantern was limited, and the amusement rides in the abandoned amusement park appeared and disappeared in the darkness.

At a certain moment, the white light no longer illuminated the amusement rides from the surrounding darkness, but instead illuminated a gray wall beside us with a slogan encouraging study. At some point, we had left the vicinity of the abandoned amusement park and arrived at a middle school.

I doubt many leaders in this world would think of building a high school next to an amusement park. It seemed unusual that we arrived at this school so quickly after leaving the park. Clearly, we had experienced another chaotic shift in the unstable space.

Fresh bloodstains and footprints appeared again on the concrete ground ahead. Fresher than before, yet the footprints were identical. The cartographer was indeed successfully tracking the footprints.

"Can the guidance of the blessing also be used to track survivors?" I asked.

"The blessing itself doesn’t have that function. It’s more like a personal skill of mine. It doesn’t work every time, to be honest. If it succeeds once in ten tries, that’s considered lucky," the cartographer chuckled, "I’ll explain this skill in detail later when we get back. Let’s focus on the task at hand now."

"Even though I didn’t intend to fail in tracking, such good luck worries me a bit."

What he saw as suspiciously good luck was just a regular occurrence for me. Whenever there’s a chance to delve deeply into an event, various coincidences always push me forward.

In other words, perhaps there is some sort of "deeper strange vortex" waiting for me at the end of this trail of footprints.

I had worried earlier whether the broom star power had already disappeared from me, but given how smoothly I obtained the clue related to Little Bowl earlier, and now smoothly tracking the source of the bloodstains, perhaps the broom star power is still entangled with me.

These two seemingly unrelated clues might have a correlation we cannot grasp at the moment.

However, such favorable momentum is likely temporary. If I can’t reunite with Mazao, I will eventually lose this added protection.

I contemplated this while analyzing the surrounding chaotic time and space.

For me, being able to sense the surroundings through heat perception is as natural as ordinary people seeing their surroundings with their eyes; especially after becoming Impermanence, my perception of metaphysical concepts has become as instinctual as breathing.

Yet now, my perception of natural concepts is entirely dark. The heat feedback I receive is filled with chaotic noise, like walking in dense fog where visibility is minimal—I couldn’t adapt at all.

If I could parse the residual order in this chaotic space-time and adapt to it, I might not be able to fully recover, but I should be able to restore some of my perception. This kind of parsing and adaptation isn’t my strong suit, and I’ve never learned the spells to parse nature and space-time. Tasks like these are supposed to be left to the demon hunters who specialize in them.

However, most demon hunter spells, including those for parsing space-time order, are ultimately poor imitations of Impermanence’s inherent abilities. Observing space-time change patterns is a minor task, and if I focus, I should be able to handle it. I aim to solve this problem quickly.

At this moment, a panicked scream came from afar.

I looked up and exchanged a glance with the cartographer. Then, the cartographer rushed towards the direction of the sound, and I closely followed behind him.

The source of the scream wasn’t far, separated only by a school building, and it was moving towards us. We didn’t need to run far before we saw a young man in khaki casual wear, with a wound on his shoulder, sprinting towards us at full speed. Behind him, a peculiar beast, like an ink polymer, was in hot pursuit.

The beast was the size of a horse, its shape constantly shifting, yet it generally maintained the outline of a four-legged carnivorous animal. The distance between it and the young man was close enough that a single pounce could bring him down to be devoured.

The young man saw us too, perhaps too panicked to think clearly. He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Help me! Please help!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the beast made a pouncing motion, its head splitting open like a vice to bite at the neck of its prey.

The cartographer seemed to have limited means to deal with this. Despite his great strength, he lacked proper long-range attack methods. Right now, he could only pull out a steel pipe he had dismantled earlier in the abandoned amusement park, likely intending to use it as a projectile weapon.

From my perspective, both his movements and the beast’s movements appeared as if in slow motion. The beast’s weight seemed far heavier than the previous strange creature, and the cartographer’s projectile attack might not be enough to knock it away, let alone strike a fatal blow. To be safe, I stood behind him and raised my arm, launching a fireball.

In this seemingly time-stopped world, only the fireball traveled at normal speed, hitting the ink beast frozen in mid-air.

The ink beast instantly ignited and then vanished in the flames.

Time resumed.

The cartographer, just about to throw the steel pipe, abruptly halted his action. He glanced at the direction where the ink beast had disappeared and then looked at my unhidden attack motion, finally saying, "That was you... Are you a Blessed Monk? But I didn’t sense any mana fluctuations..."

"I did it," I admitted directly. "As for the Blessed Monk you mentioned, though I have some impression of the term, I’m probably not what you call a Blessed Monk."

"Then what are you?"

When it comes to humans capable of wielding supernatural powers in the Doomsday Era, they are called Blessed Monks, so it’s understandable that the cartographer would ask this question.

"I think I’m a supernatural power user," I said.

"Supernatural power user..." The cartographer repeated the term in a strange tone.

Although I didn’t intend to expose my true power level in front of him, showing this level of skill was fine. It’s far better to reveal some ability proactively than to be forced to reveal it when faced with danger.

This might make him suspect that I am a Blessed Monk who practices Soul Refining, but on the one hand, he himself might very well be a Blessed Monk; on the other hand, considering my earlier fearless reaction to the strange creature, he’s likely already suspicious of my extraordinary abilities.

He probably decided to invite me as an ally on this basis. If I were overly secretive, it would appear suspicious and cause him to doubt me even more.

The young man seemed to realize that the monster chasing him had been dealt with, but he still sprinted towards us before daring to look back. Then he stopped, propped his hands on his knees, panting heavily, making a sound like a broken bellows.

"You... you..."

The young man looked at me, speaking intermittently, "Was it you who took down that monster? I think I saw a flash of light in your palm..."

"That’s right." I glanced at his injured, bleeding shoulder.

This young man is likely the owner of those footprints; he might bring some surprises.

While replying, I carefully observed him.

The impression he gave me was rather odd. Take the cartographer beside me, for example. Despite his constant display of steadiness and patience since we met, which starkly contrasts the stereotype of self-interested, cold-blooded, deceitful doomsday survivors, he possesses the skill and vigilance expected of one.

Even now, I can feel that the cartographer hasn’t completely let down his guard against me. Although it seems contradictory to invite me as a partner while maintaining a sense of caution, this guarded attitude seems ingrained in his bones. Even if I appeared harmless, he’d naturally maintain this wariness as easily as breathing.

This tendency is also evident in Mazao; I consider it a commonality among doomsday survivors.

The young man, however, was not like this. He stood so close to us, panting heavily and posing in such an unguarded manner, full of vulnerabilities that I couldn’t bear to look at directly.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration crossed my mind, bringing back the lie I told the cartographer when I introduced myself.

"You... you don’t know about the Doomsday?" I asked.

"Doomsday? What Doomsday?" The young man looked bewildered.

"I see, yet another unfortunate person left alone, having lost too many memories?", the cartographer sighed, "Perhaps forgetting everything might also be a form of happiness..."

"However, before we officially continue our discussion, could you answer one question for me?"

With that, he tightened his grip on the steel pipe in his hand. Though his expression seemed calm, there was a hint of murderous intent in his eyes.

"Do you still remember your name?" he asked.

Unlike his earlier demeanor towards me, the cartographer’s attitude now was much more transparent. Presumably, if the young man gave the wrong answer, he would mercilessly crush the young man’s skull with the steel pipe.

This difference in attitude might be due to the disparity between my and the young man’s aura. Initially, I presented myself in a way that indicated I could handle strange occurrences alone, even without his intervention; he couldn’t immediately assess my abilities. Conversely, the young man seemed a weakling running for his life, clearly seen by him, a "strong one," as mere meat on the chopping board.

I realized why the cartographer, despite being a doomsday survivor, appeared so kind and benevolent earlier. It is said that if you are strong, you will only encounter good people wherever you go. A truer word was never spoken.

The cartographer’s face, with its fine scars, and his mantled in burlap, wielding a broken steel pipe, seemed to have intimidated the young man. Yet, the young man appeared not to sense the cartographer’s intent to kill, displaying a unique dullness seen only in those soaked in peaceful, safe environments.

Like an average person who unfortunately encounters gangsters on the street, he wore a submissive smile and glanced at me, his savior, with a plea for help.