Dear Heroes, I really am a Villain-Chapter 65: The Wildland

Within the 3D map, every location within a one-kilometer radius was fully revealed to Maximilian. No matter how far he wanted to zoom in or what angle he wished to view, as long as it was within that radius, he could examine everything in precise detail. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Even underground structures, normally hidden from the naked eye, were clearly displayed. As Maximilian scanned the surroundings, he noticed several teams of rookie scavengers searching the areas near the city.

Since the ruins around the outskirts had already been stripped clean over the years, most of these teams were actually recovery units sent by the city, tasked with retrieving the equipment of fallen patrols or victims lost during past expeditions.

Only a handful of them were actual scavengers hoping to get lucky, dreaming of stumbling across a hidden cache or a forgotten basement. But even those had long since been looted, making these scavengers rookies among rookies.

He also detected several groups of raiders hiding among the ruins, waiting to ambush any scavenger teams that got too close, or even targeting patrol teams, provided they were well-armed enough to stand a chance.

The APC had been driving along the old road toward Manhattan for over two hours now, and the density of dangerous elements, mutated beasts, raiders, and mutants, was steadily increasing.

From inside, Maximilian continued observing through his internal map. He saw mutants and raiders watching the APC from their hiding spots. Most simply looked on with clear disappointment, recognizing the vehicle as too well-protected. A few, however, showed visible greed in their eyes, but none made any move.

Eventually, the APC veered off the old road and took a beaten path. Maximilian remained with his eyes closed, tracking the journey through the GPS feed overlaid with the 3D map in his mind. It was obvious to him what threats the team was trying to avoid.

Along the way, they passed multiple forts and barricades constructed by both raiders and mutants, designed to trap or halt expedition and scavenger teams.

By now, it was already noon. The APC came to a stop near some ruined buildings. Maximilian had already checked the The System GPS, these ruins were dotted with numerous green and yellow indicators, signifying that this was some sort of friendly outpost in the wild.

"Mr. Graham, we’ll rest here for an hour and refuel the APC before continuing," said Honiahaka. "I estimate we’ll arrive at Sector A-7 in Old Manhattan by tomorrow."

He exited the APC and was soon greeted by a few fellow Wildwalkers. They conversed briefly. Most of them bore names rooted in Native American culture, some easier to grasp, like Striving Gazelle, Cunning Fox, or Lone Wolf.

Those with traditional names or callsigns often displayed tribal tattoos on their bodies, marking them as distinct from the more common folk with everyday names like Billy, Timmy, or Susan.

As Maximilian quietly observed the area, Switch stole a quick glance at him before returning to her work, checking various APC systems.

The others tended to their tasks as well. Radio reviewed the communication system and double-checked the supply compartment. Doc, meanwhile, got out of the APC, stretched, and found a good spot to take a nap, he would need to resume driving after the break, so this was just a short rest for him and the team.

As for Dragon Fist, he took a glance at Maximilian and snorted before going about his own business, resting and socializing with the locals. He didn’t bother with Maximilian except to occasionally shoot a glare in his direction.

Maximilian, being the client and the one funding the team, didn’t need to do anything. His only obligation was to be present when the team departed to continue their journey toward Sector A-7 in Old Manhattan.

He took this opportunity to explore the hideout. From what he gathered through conversations with people in the area, this hideout was one of many established within the city ruins by the Fang Trader Enclave. These were set up in advance to serve as rest stops and trading hubs for various travelers.

The first floor of the hideout served as a garage with refueling stations and a market area where traders and scavengers could barter their goods.

The layout appeared to be meticulously planned. Based on Maximilian’s observations, the scavengers capable of reaching this location were either incredibly lucky or extremely well-prepared for the journey—clearly determined to strike it rich.

As for the lucky but underprepared ones, they usually sold off all their scavenged goods here to get some quick cash. That money could then be used to hire one of the Wildwalkers stationed at the outpost to guide them into the city, or simply to lighten their load and improve their chances of getting back safely.

The goods left at the outpost would later be collected by a large caravan dispatched by the Fang Trader Enclave. These goods would either be hauled back to the enclave or sold in the city.

This system had become a thriving cycle for the Fang Trader Enclave, one that allowed them to flourish in this post-apocalyptic era where countries had collapsed and only a handful of city-states remained across each continent.

Maximilian moved deeper into the building and saw many Wildwalkers and scavenger teams resting throughout the structure. He noticed several makeshift warehouses built into the ruins. These improvised facilities were welded together using scrap metal, with doors fashioned from heavy, rugged sheets of the same material.

But what really secured the warehouses wasn’t the door, it was the grumpy, fully armed guards stationed outside. They watched everyone with suspicion and, unless someone got too close, they stood so still they could be mistaken for statues.

As he continued exploring, Maximilian made his way to the rooftop and found the mess hall. There, many Wildwalkers were eating meals composed mostly of meat.

From what he had read on the net and through his general knowledge of this world, mutated beast meat was considered a delicacy, highly nourishing, delicious, and even classified as a strategic resource by military standards.

Yet here, the Wildwalkers were eating it like it was cheap cafeteria food. The meat was a regular part of the mess hall menu, served like an everyday dish in a common canteen!

Curious, Maximilian asked a passerby about it and learned that the Wildwalkers required the meat to sustain the powers granted by their Enhancement Tattoos. It served as fuel for their abilities. Without a constant intake of this meat, their powers would weaken. Otherwise, the Fang Trader Enclave might’ve sold even more of it to the city.

"So... this is the reason why mutated beast meat is considered a rare delicacy in the city," Maximilian muttered in realization.

It wasn’t that the Fang Trader Enclave didn’t want to sell it. It was that they needed the meat for their Wildwalker warriors to function. Any meat that was sold to the city was either considered surplus or too difficult to store and preserve. Only then did it become available for sale.

In fact, the city was the last place they sold to. Other Wildwalker Enclaves had first dibs, and considering the Fang Trader Enclave operated deep in the Wildlands, they would prioritize selling to nearby enclaves before even thinking about the cities.

Maximilian arrived at the rooftop, and he noticed several others already present. Some were quietly taking in the view, talking with each other, while others scanned the horizon, scouting and planning their next route. One of them was Honiahaka, the leader of the expedition.

The distant sounds of gunfire, the roars of mutated beasts, and the echo of explosions reminded Maximilian just how different this world was from the one he once knew. Amidst the ruined city, where danger hid in every shadow, people died every day here in the Wildland.

"You hear it too, right, Mr. Graham?" a familiar and friendly voice said.

It was Honiahaka, who had come to speak with him.

"The gunfire? Or the explosions in the distance?" Maximilian asked.

"It’s the sound of a struggle between species, Mr. Graham," Honiahaka replied, offering Maximilian a pair of binoculars.

Maximilian accepted them and looked through, focusing on a battle playing out several kilometers away. He spotted a group of scavengers fleeing from a pack of mutants. The mutants were monstrous, with thick, rhino-like skin and massive builds. They stood nearly three meters tall, their grey hide resembling armor more than flesh.

They were hunting the scavengers who had likely strayed too close to mutant territory.

Elsewhere, Maximilian saw another group of humans attacking a mutant outpost. The fortified structure, likely set up to defend the outskirts of mutant territory, was under siege. The attackers were plundering equipment, machines, and scrap, anything of value that could later be sold to the Fang Trader Enclave or the city.

As he watched, Honiahaka continued speaking.

"Mutants, by nature, need human flesh to survive. Even though they outnumber humans, possibly by a wide margin, they hunt in a way that preserves the human population. They hate humans, but their own survival depends on keeping them alive."

"They can’t let humans regain control of Earth. They can’t allow the human population to grow beyond their own. But they can’t afford to eliminate humans entirely either, otherwise, they’ll die within weeks without human flesh," Honiahaka said, pausing for a moment.

"Don’t you think that’s ironic? The only thing preventing human extinction is the mutants’ craving for human flesh," he added, scoffing at the bitter truth.

Maximilian lowered the binoculars and returned them.

"You speak as if you’re not human yourself," he said, noting the strange detachment in Honiahaka’s tone.