179

It was the second day of searching the facility.

Before I knew it, a full day had passed, so it was a space worth searching.

One of the reasons was that I kept misjudging the light level and repeatedly fell into mana shortage, but there was no doubt I had been improving little by little, so if I considered it growth on the side, it was a net positive.

Next, as for what I had gained so far: the researcher’s diary, confirmation of the information I already had, and then mostly fairly pointless knowledge.

Personally I would count my sister’s photo as a gain too, but that was outside the objective, so I would exclude it.

That meant I still hadn’t achieved any major results.

I needed to keep my guard up and continue searching.

After finishing a late lunch that was closer to dinner in terms of timing, I went down underground again.

Praying that today I would obtain the information I wanted, I stepped into the unexplored area.

Then I found the door I had broken on the day I awakened.

(I remember punching it and blowing it away… so the room where I woke up is ahead.)

Relying on my no-longer-clear memory, I went down the narrow corridor and found the room where the cold-sleep device I had been in was installed.

I went in at once and inspected it.

There was nothing, so next.

I never thought it would be a room with nothing but the device.

Grumbling that there should at least be a document or two, I entered the next room.

“Jackpot.”

I knew the moment I stepped inside.

Several bookshelves.

From the countless binders and books left there, I inferred this was a room where documents had been stored.

There was a lot of empty space on the shelves, but they were probably taken out.

Even so, with this much left behind, there had to be one or two pieces of useful information.

With this quantity, the option of taking them outside to read also became viable.

Stopping every time just to recover mana was inefficient.

So I decided to carry them to the front of the gate, and I carefully gathered them one by one into a single spot.

Since it was a whole room’s worth, it wouldn’t all fit into one bookshelf.

By splitting it into multiple trips, I took the first bookshelf out of the room.

Because the corridor was narrow, carrying it was a bit difficult, but I managed to haul it to the front of the gate safely.

First, I checked whether it would properly pass through the hole I had dug.

As expected, if it was sized for my body to fit through, this kind of bookshelf would be fine too.

It snagged a bit on some uneven spots, but I carried it beyond the gate without incident.

Before it got dark outside, I decided to read at least what I had for now, put three randomly chosen volumes into a bag I’d picked up, and returned to the surface.

I had left my pack underground, but once it got dark I would go back underground anyway, so there was no need to retrieve it now.

Back on the surface, I opened the first binder at once.

I skimmed the letters and numbers as far as I could read them.

After flipping pages for a while, I closed the binder with a snap.

“This isn’t it.”

Apparently it was documentation on the drugs used and their data.

It was probably valuable in its own way, but it wasn’t what I was looking for.

Relieved that the first binder hadn’t taken as long as I expected, I picked up the second binder.

This one had “Tactics / Abilities” written on the title, which sounded like it would contain information I needed.

To cut to the chase, this one was a miss.

In summary, it was yet another experimental-stage document about “if you had these abilities, these tactics would be possible.”

This one was no good too, so I took out the third.

When I opened an unmarked binder, there were several faded photographs pasted inside.

It was a record observing a person starting in human form and gradually losing human shape.

Seeing pages upon pages of that, and witnessing the process of transforming into a grotesque form, I felt mildly nauseated.

When I kept turning pages, it was a naked man next.

And when I kept turning, it was a woman next.

She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but… my hand stopped.

It couldn’t be helped.

So those three were misses.

I went back underground and brought another five.

So, resetting my mind, the first one.

“Oh, this is…”

The title was promising enough that a voice slipped out.

I traced the cover that read “Nemesis Code Experiment Record” with my finger.

At last I could approach one core truth—or at least, that’s what I thought fifteen minutes ago.

In a word, it wasn’t what I expected.

It was just endless records of implanting the Nemesis Code into guinea pigs and documenting the process.

Yes—the subjects were guinea pigs.

With that, there were too many unknowns, and it was useless as reference.

Sighing, I switched to skimming and flipped through the pages.

It was coincidence that a certain line caught my eye.

There were many unreadable sections, and I couldn’t grasp the full content.

But the part that read “as if a switch flipped” stirred my anxiety beyond help.

I turned back pages and read every line that seemed related.

All of it was only fragmentarily legible, and the terrible condition of the material blocked understanding.

I even tore something in excess, but since it was an unrelated part, it was fine.

In the end, I couldn’t find any related mention in the readable pages before and after, and even reading on gained me nothing.

I gave up and took out the next binder.

That one also had the words “Nemesis Code Experiment Record.”

To be safe, I checked the rest, and every single one had the same title.

“…Give me my time back.”

At this awful punchline, I cracked a wry smile with facial muscles that didn’t do their job.

If all of them had the same title, then reading them in order was best.

So I compared them, but… whoever put them together must have been truly terrible at organizing, because the order inside the binders was a complete mess.

“Ah—this is infuriating!”

I was supposed to be deciphering materials, and at some point I’d ended up doing a puzzle.

And just when I had more or less finished rearranging and could finally read them as proper materials—time was up.

The surroundings were starting to darken, and reading without a light source beyond this wasn’t appropriate.

It irritated me enough that I even thought, myself, the emotional suppression function’s switch sure didn’t flip on well.

So I lit a fire and read the organized materials.

Since there was no useful information at the start, I skipped ahead, and I quickly found a passage that bothered me.

I first checked how the pages connected before and after, and they were probably properly aligned.

Reading again, it was missing in places, but the word “switch” was definitely there, and I could also make out words like “progress.”

“…Is this ‘emotion’ and ‘suppression’? The emotional suppression function… a switch? It progresses? No—makes it progress…?”

I connected hard-to-read words within a single sentence.

There were many unclear parts, and it wasn’t like I could read everything.

But the sentence I formed by connecting what I could read had more than enough destructive power to steal my words.

(Does the emotional suppression function become a switch and make the Nemesis Code progress?)

The sentence I had forced into meaning made the blood drain from my face.

But then I remembered: the emotional suppression function wasn’t installed in every test subject.

Was it only me?

Or was this only about an experiment?

Could there be an important word in the unreadable part?

I calmed my impatience, kept my composure, and turned the page.

After staring down text where more than half was unreadable for a while, I finally found related remarks that contained the words “experimental data” and “not adopted.”

I let out a breath of relief.

And the conclusion I reached as I read on was this.

“So basically, these are experiment records for functions they came up with on a whim.”

They were truly bad for the heart.

I took the last binder, and when I learned its contents were no different from the others, I closed it.

I put out the fire, returned underground, and first separated the bookshelf contents into those with titles and those without.

Among what remained unclassified was this diary.

When I flipped through it, a dangerous entry jumped out at me immediately.

“An idiot showed up who forcibly jammed in a function made in an experiment. I’m pulling an all-nighter today. When I pressed that idiot and demanded a reason, he gave the ridiculous answer, ‘Because we went to the trouble of making it.’ I can’t believe such a fool is on the same team.”

I couldn’t believe it either, I thought, and kept reading.

It was a relief that deciphering was easy because it was in good condition.

Also, according to this diary, it seemed the idiot in question was properly punished.

The function linked to the embedded Nemesis Code had also been deleted, and it ended by saying the project’s course had been corrected.

Just when I thought that meant I could relax, I found a mention of “Assault Mode” here.

Apparently Assault Mode had originally been intended to be used in combination with Stealth Mode, and together they had been tentatively called “Assassin Mode.”

Perhaps because of that legacy, the transition into Assault Mode seemed to be a switching process similar to Stealth Mode.

It did say that both altered the outer hide.

It was an unexpected gain, but was it really okay that more useful information was found in a diary than in the materials?

I immediately began testing to confirm.

And then, only five minutes later, in the underground lit by magical light, I confirmed a definite change.

“Discoloration—my arm turned black?”

To confirm, I tested the texture with my other hand that hadn’t changed color.

It had hardened like a mineral, and when I tapped it like knocking with the back of my hand, the sound was different.

But the discolored portion quickly returned to normal.

“This… will take getting used to.”

Still, I had found a foothold.

It would only be a matter of time before I mastered Assault Mode.

At this point, it was fair to say the only remaining problem was the Nemesis Code.

There were still things I wouldn’t know without spending time verifying Assault Mode, but even so, that side had settled down for now.

I wanted to devote as much usable time as possible to the biggest problem.

Returning to the diary and reading on, it seemed the author was a serious researcher who single-mindedly pushed the Genetically Enhanced Soldier Project forward.

He often clashed with other researchers and complained that he wanted to go back to the research facility he used to be at.

Just as I was about to decide there wouldn’t be any more gains, I saw the words “Nemesis Code.”

Just a little more, I thought, and read on—and it seemed he was someone who supported using the Nemesis Code.

“I cannot understand it at all. If necessary, genetically enhanced soldiers may also have to be disposed of. Why can’t they see that the Nemesis Code is optimal as a means to minimize countless risks? The data proves that the ferocity manifested when the incorporated monster genes come to the fore is unquestionably enough to make the test subjects be recognized as monsters. What is needed is a reason. And a righteous pretext. Genetic modification technology elevated into military technology. A doctor who resented it and went out of control. The script is already complete. Why ruin it? It’s not that it’s too late after damage occurs—we must think about what comes after damage occurs. You fools who spout nonsense about incorporating monster genes and still living within human society should think about what it means to suffer by being kept alive. They all volunteered. That is why they are here—they were prepared. The first thing we must consider is winning the war. And yet they have lost sight of even what must be done for that. Ah, if only I hadn’t come out from the Seventh…”

I closed the diary.

There was more, but thinking any further was painful.

“I didn’t have any resolve.”

That was surely a mismatch that occurred between those who gathered the test subjects and the researchers—or the fact that “that’s how it was treated.”

It was possible I simply hadn’t known.

Even so, I couldn’t hold back my words at this discrepancy.