Hero Party After the Nuclear War

Chapter 1

"Almost heaven. West Virginia."

The ruins of collapsed buildings.

Abandoned cars of an ancient civilization, untouched for over 200 years.

Buildings that once declared the glory of human civilization tower here and there, along with shopping centers that still carry the scent of people.

But whatever happened, the tall buildings were half-collapsed, exposing their skeletal interiors, and not a single window remained intact.

Inside the shops, either thick layers of dust covered everything, or the remains of the ancient humans were left to decay, reduced to scattered bones.

Those who visit this place, the Red Grave Wasteland, for the first time say it's no different from a living hell. But once you look around, you'll quickly realize this place is actually tame compared to other real 'hells' that exist.

After the demons from the Demon Realm practically rained nuclear bombs on this dimension, most of human civilization was reset in this manner.

The Red Grave Wasteland was relatively spared from that 'reset.'

To prove it, a lone survivor in the urban wasteland of Red Grave walked with an 'earphone,' a relic of the old civilization, plugged into his ears as he hummed a classic song.

"Country roads. Take me home.

To the place. I belong."

A jet-black coat. Slightly curly hair. Two pistols dangled from both hips, dancing with each step, crucial for surviving in the wasteland.

He carried a small travel bag on his back and held a military assault rifle, an M4A1 with a grenade launcher attached—who knows where he got it.

Why is this man traveling the desolate wasteland with earphones in his ears? The reason was, in a way, very simple. This was his job.

[Radiation detected. You feel an unusual level of radiation spreading around you.]

When the terminal on his left arm displayed a warning about radiation lingering from the nuclear bombs dropped 200 years ago, he frowned briefly and manipulated the terminal to bring up a Geiger counter.

"F*ck it. Who cares about some damn radiation."

Just as he casually brought up the Geiger counter on the screen, he saw the meter spike rapidly and immediately pulled a gas mask from his bag and strapped it to his face faster than anyone.

"F*ck, if the levels are this bad, you should've warned me! What the hell is going on? Is it a radiation storm or something?"

When he asked the terminal on his left hand, the PDA he was wearing quickly responded.

[Checking weather information. A whirlwind from the Atomic Desert is expected to strike Red Grave.]

"I knew it."

He hunched his shoulders and looked around, then manipulated the terminal on his left arm to display nearby location data.

Radiation itself is harmful to the body, but even 200 years after the nuclear war, the surface still holds radiation, a byproduct of war, and this lingering radiation has mutated the magical energy from the Demon Realm, creating a new, harmful synthetic substance.

The mana mutated by this radiation, commonly called 'Maso,' has a lower fatality rate than real radiation, even with prolonged exposure.

But if there's a benefit, there's always a downside.

Unlike regular radiation, long-term exposure leads to a severe 'disease' that makes you wish you were just dead.

Regardless of whether it's pre-war or post-war radiation, there's nothing good about exposure, so he quickly asked the terminal's AI.

"How far is it to the Magi-Tech Research Facility the client mentioned?"

[Entrance is 320 meters ahead.]

If there were an old fallout shelter used by 'humans' nearby, he could've taken refuge, but with the destination so close, there was no point wasting time.

Wearing the gas mask and scanning the surroundings, he quickly followed the terminal's directions to find the entrance before the full force of the storm arrived.

It was a sealed building with no windows. Because of that, unlike other buildings with shattered glass all around, the exterior looked relatively intact compared to the rest of the wasteland.

Just before the ominous, radiation-laced sandstorm swept in, he narrowly opened the door to the 'Magi-Tech' facility and slipped inside.

"Phew."

At least he avoided the miserable fate of dying in that goddamn radiation storm. As he caught his breath, he looked around and noticed that it seemed a few others had arrived before him.

And those earlier guests clearly didn't look friendly, unlike 'him,' who had come seeking shelter from the radiation storm.

They wore flimsy armor cobbled together from scrap metal and were armed with makeshift rifles and pistols, glaring coldly at 'him' who had barged into their den.

"Uh. Umm."

He awkwardly raised his left hand and waved with a forced smile.

"Hello?"

The reply to his greeting came quickly.

It wasn't a 'greeting'—it came in the form of 'bullets.'

Ratatatatatata! Tatat! Ratatatat! Tatat!!

As bullets rained down, he quickly reopened the lab door he had just entered and dashed back out, yanking a grenade from his belt—"a bit of a waste, but"—pulled the pin, tossed it inside, and locked the door with a chain left outside.

BOOM!

"Ugh!?"

The grenade's blast was stronger than expected, and the door blew outward. But whether by luck or foresight, he had pressed himself against the lab wall and escaped the blast unharmed.

"Of all people, damn Rogues had to be in there."

Rogues.

A term for 'bandits' roaming the Red Grave Wasteland. Instead of settling and farming, they raid nearby settlements for money or ambush adventurers and merchants like 'him'—they're scum.

Many of them have bounties on their heads, and some even rob major cities, making them a real nuisance. So much so that even 'he' occasionally received requests to deal with Rogues.

Click. He inserted a magazine into his M4A1 assault rifle and pressed his ear to the wall, listening intently.

That wasn't a Molotov or makeshift explosive—it was a real military grenade. The one closest was probably killed instantly, and those farther away likely lost limbs.

"Where the hell did that bastard go?!"

One of the big guys, veins bulging in rage after the grenade gift, stormed out of the lab.

Waiting for this moment, 'he' slung the rifle on his back, grabbed the big guy by the collar with his left hand, and swiftly sliced his neck with the machete hanging from his belt.

Blood gushed out, soaking his coat and clothes, but there was no helping it in this situation.

Using the large guy's corpse as a shield, he charged back into the lab, tossed the machete to the floor, and drew his backup M1911 pistol to deliver a bullet to the head of one of the 'earlier guests.'

A black coat.

A 'pre-war relic' on his left arm.

And the incredible combat prowess to take down a few Rogues with ease.

A Rogue whose head hadn't yet been blown open quickly realized who he was and screamed as he fled.

"Raven, it's Raven! Get more people from inside! We can't... GAAAH!!!"

[Shall we activate the aiming assist system? Y/N.]

"No need. Not for these kinds of guys."

Tossing the now-useless meat shield to the floor, he grabbed the M4A1 slung on his back and riddled the unarmed Rogues with pinpoint three-round bursts.

"Oryaaaaah!!!"

A few thugs, apparently in the middle of a meal, charged with sauce still on their lips, swinging spiked clubs and baseball bats at Raven.

But melee weapons only trump guns when all the bullets are gone.

A seasoned 'Raven' never makes the dumb mistake of going into a mission short on ammo.

He tripped a nearby enemy with a kick, shot him in the head, then dual-wielding pistol in left and rifle in right, turned the charging enemies into Swiss cheese like a Japanese kamikaze, then slid forward and took cover behind the lab desk.

Bang! Bang! Bang!!

He dodged bullets from a makeshift scrap pistol-sniper hiding afar, then, to conserve ammo, threw a throwing knife from his belt to finish him off.

[You've taken down the approaching Rogues without the aiming assist system.]

"Damn. Wasted five rounds."

Judging by the looks of it, they had holed up in the lab to avoid the incoming radiation storm. Who knew he'd end up doing pest control too.

He figured he'd have to squeeze more money out of the client.

With that thought, 'Raven' took the bullets from a dropped makeshift pistol and loaded them into his own gun, hurrying on his way.

"Navigate."

[Scanning optimized route to target. * * * Complete. Beginning guidance.]

Just as a holographic sign visible only to Raven appeared, he sensed a few more presences deeper in the lab, crouched low, and gripped his pistol tighter.

Pistols—especially standard .45 ACP rounds—only work against 'humans.' Against anything else—like 'monsters'—these bullets are useless.

No way a regular Rogue group would summon spirits or hire a summoner... but better safe than sorry.

"Scan for any 'spirit' signatures inside. Or summoner signs."

[No spirit or summoner presence detected.]

"You sure?"

If that's the case, he could proceed inside without worry. With that judgment, he searched the lab lobby for the emergency stairs going down.

Thanks to 'Navigate,' he quickly found the stairs, but unfortunately, even the mighty Magi-Tech Research Facility with its ancient magical technology couldn't withstand the brutal force of a nuclear bomb—the path was completely blocked by collapsed debris.

"No choice then. Mana supply status."

[Mana supply to this facility is currently cut off.]

"So I can't take the elevator down. Where's the emergency power generator?"

[Located in the basement.]

"You think I'm asking because I can get to the basement stairs right now?"

If it came to that, he could consider blasting through with spare explosives. But after using a precious grenade to exterminate that 'pest', he didn't want to waste any more explosives.

Raven stood in front of the elevator leading down to the basement and kicked the door with his foot. After confirming that it had last stopped at the third floor above ground, he operated the small PDA terminal mounted on his left arm.

[Summon: Spirit-Type Pixie.]

"Yahoo. You called?"

From the terminal on his left arm—what he and other 'summoners' usually called a 'summoner'—a green light burst forth, and a winged fairy, slightly smaller in build than Raven, popped out and flew around him.

At the same time, the revolver cylinder displayed at the top of the screen rotated slightly, showing the current remaining number of 'actions'. Originally marked as 6/6, one action had been used, reducing it to 5/6.

"Right. We're going to go down this shaft now. If I just jump, I'll crash, right? Use your wings to guide me down gently."

"Leave it to me."

[Spirit-Type Pixie: Flight.]

As he felt the pixie gently lift his body, Raven jumped into the deep shaft of the elevator without hesitation and slowly descended underground.

The request he received from the client was simple.

Retrieve one of the relics created by Magi-Tech—the 'Holy Sword of the Hero'—along with the discarded equipment of the 'Hero'. Even Raven didn't really know what a hero did or what kind of person that was.

According to the client, it was supposedly a 'Great Demon Human Weapon' created by ancient human civilization before the war. They planned to commercialize the 'sword' used by that human weapon and sell it at a high price.

"I hope the security's lax. Let's take a look, shall we?"