Chapter 69: Seed City Was at the End of Its Rope
Fortunately, the back of the slip detailed the “effects” of several food items.
Sugar-Roasted Chestnuts — Purges 1% Toxicity. For the day of consumption: Positive Emotions +20%, Frigid Environment Endurance +10%.
Boiled Corn — Purges 1% Toxicity. For 2 hours post-consumption: Stamina Recovery Rate +10%.
These descriptive lines on the reverse side were easily the neatest, most legible text on the entire page.
Perhaps the writer knew his handwriting was an eyesore, making a conscious effort to rein himself in stroke by stroke on this side.
That intensely restrained chicken scratch delivered a massive shock to Yves and the other guards.
“Purges toxicity, lifts positive emotions, boosts cold endurance… and restores stamina!”
Keith’s voice trembled with poorly suppressed awe and disbelief.
Every man in the room was a veteran who had stood beside Yves for years, bearing witness to endless tragedies in this post-apocalyptic ruin.
They understood better than anyone the sheer seismic shift this crumpled paper could bring to Seed City’s desperate plight—if its contents held true.
“These are today’s new arrivals, which explains why they have notes attached.”
Snapping out of his shock, Yves compared the note against the items, noticing that several dishes lacked any annotations at all.
This meant the restaurant outside the West Wall was not only real, but offering a diverse menu.
One that very likely provided varied tactical buffs.
“Commander, should we interrogate 86 and 87 at once?” Keith asked.
Yves gave a curt nod, adding, “Take these provisions and have the inspectors pull a detail from the wards to run a controlled study. See if the physiological effects align with what is written here.”
“Yes, sir!”
…
And so, the interrogation had been conducted only after the provisions sent by 87’s kin had been firmly seized.
Keith could not fathom why, throughout the entire questioning, the Commander had never uttered a single word about the parcel.
“Number 87 is cut from a different cloth than 86. Her wariness and hostility toward us were written plain across her face,” Yves remarked instead of answering directly.
“Indeed.”
“She was masking her tension. Number 87 has stronger psychological resilience than 86, and her tone was far firmer. That alone proves 87 knows considerably more than 86.”
“You mean to say she was lying to us with premeditation?”
Yves rose to his feet, turning to Keith. “Have you considered why both of them, visibly terrified as they were, preferred to spin fabrications in an interrogation room beneath the muzzles of the overseers’ rifles rather than tell us the truth?”
“Because they refuse to be coerced by us?” Keith pondered for a moment. “It seems that establishment outside the walls has offered the people considerable aid, enough to tip the scales of their loyalty.”
Yves nodded slowly. “That restaurant holds the people’s hearts far better than we do.”
“…” Keith parted his lips, then hesitated.
“Why the long face? Feeling bitter about it?”
“No, sir.”
“Bullshit. You’re thinking about how our men stand guard over Seed City day and night. You’re wondering what our brothers’ blood and sacrifices were for.”
“…”
Yves reached out, clapping a firm hand on Keith’s shoulder. “From the very second we took our oaths, we pledged our lives to humanity’s future. For that end, death holds no regrets.”
“I remember, sir,” Keith replied softly.
“Then purge all thoughts of recompense from your mind. There are burdens the citizens need never know. Everything every single one of us has poured out will be carved into our headstones; someone will remember.”
“Yes, sir!”
Yves’s expression grew solemn. “This is a blessing. At the very least, from 86’s reaction, we can deduce that the restaurant outside the walls bears no ill will toward the people of Seed City.”
Rap, rap, rap.
An urgent knock drummed against the heavy timber.
“Enter.”
A city guard marched in, grasping several sheets of paper.
“Commander, an urgent dispatch requiring your immediate review.”
Yves took the folder into his hands.
The header read: [Emergency Situation Report: Mutations Beyond the South Wall of Seed City].
“…The contamination has breached the base of the South Wall. Toothed-bone monstrosities are gnawing through the masonry. Environmental toxicity has spiked past the upper thresholds of our field sensors. Standard perimeter containment protocols failed to suppress the breach; six KIA, four WIA. The bone beasts clinging to the outer wall were barely cleansed.
…Urgent reinforcements and heavy ordinance requested. Extrapolating from current telemetry, the mutant entity beyond the wall is at least B-rank, highly likely encroaching on A-rank, and exhibits predatory luring capabilities. If left unchecked, the ramifications will be catastrophic.
Commander, the South Wall requires Awakener reinforcements. The South Wall requires Awakener reinforcements. The South Wall requires Awakener reinforcements!”
At the foot of the parchment, the plea for Awakeners was repeated three times in blood-red ink.
Standing beside Yves, Keith took in the grim lines, his expression turning grave.
None knew better than he that their urgent missives to the Three Great Cities had vanished like stones cast into the deep ocean.
The only reply to arrive after months of waiting had ordered them to stand by.
Stand by for what?
The crisis outside the South Wall had reached a breaking point.
Month after grueling month, countless guards had perished while waiting for elite Awakeners who never came.
Once the South Wall collapsed, every soul in Seed City would be reduced to fertilizer for mutated abominations.
To make matters worse, the Black Fields were falling into disarray; the increasingly volatile mutations of the iron black wheat were claiming laborers and overseers in rapid succession.
If this attrition continued, the garrison would soon lack the numbers to maintain basic civil order within the walls.
Or worse.
—The South Wall would breach long before that.
Misfortune loved to strike where the cord was frayed; things could hardly get any darker.
Seed City had the smallest population and the most modest scale among the four frontier outposts.
What did the central high command intend? Were they abandoning them to their fate?
Having scanned the dispatch, Yves flipped to the attached page.
[Test Observations: Penal Inmates under [Group A: Control (No Corn)] and [Group B: Variable (Corn Ingested)]]
Within 5 minutes of consumption: Group A exhibited no physiological variance. Group B showed trace toxin recession, though some subjects displayed no overt cutaneous change. All subjects exhibited marked stamina elevation.
One hour post-consumption…
…
[Test Observations: Penal Inmates under [Group A: Control (No Chestnuts)] and [Group B: Variable (Chestnuts Ingested)]]
Within 5 minutes of consumption: Group A exhibited no physiological variance. Group B showed trace toxin recession, though some subjects displayed no overt cutaneous change. All subjects exhibited enhanced cold tolerance. Due to biological variances, endurance under identical low-temperature parameters was extended by thirty to sixty minutes. Emotional states…
His gaze raked across the text line by line, turning pages as he absorbed the clinical trials run on every single food sample.
Conclusion: Corn and chestnuts align precisely with the documented properties.
Presumed effect of roasted sweet potatoes: Trace toxicity purging (insufficient sample size and laboratory conditions preclude definitive metrics).
Presumed effect of rice porridge: Trace toxicity purging, neutralizes hallucinations, auditory illusions, and mental corruption induced by mutated entities.
Reaching that final line, Yves’s fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, crumpling the fiber.
“Keith. Issue the orders at once. Muster two detachments of city guards in the square before the clock tower. Full battle gear, maximum toxic-containment protocol.”
Having read the findings over his shoulder, Keith snapped to attention, heels clicking: “Sir!”
“We march back to the square immediately. We deploy at once—to the West Wall!”
Seed City was at the end of its rope.
Fortunately, Yves could finally catch the scent of a turning tide.
