LTTH C90

Chapter 90

“It’s a bit of a distance, so we’ll take a vehicle from here.”

Mac pointed toward the hazy silhouettes in the distance and climbed into the transport. The vehicle resembled a military carrier—heavy, armored, and rumbling through the dust until it stopped before a relief zone. White tents stood stark and bright, almost startling in contrast to the pitch-black dark zone sprawled beside them.

The landscape was bleak, but different from before in one remarkable way. Those who had once been imprisoned within the dark zone were now walking outside it. Their movements were hesitant, their expressions shadowed by lingering fear, but they were receiving supplies at the relief zone—out in open air, beyond the darkness.

Hansol’s gaze followed their path. Wherever a recently escaped infected stepped, the ground briefly tinted black—only to fade quickly back to normal. It was just as James had said: the dark zone was slowly purifying itself.

“As you can see, they can come outside without issues. It just may be… unsightly at first glance.”

Mac misunderstood Hansol’s expression and awkwardly tried to defend the roaming infected. Even after, he kept stealing glances at Hansol, visibly anxious.

Han­sol tilted his head. What on earth did he think I was reacting to…?

“…Don’t tell me, this is what you meant by ‘not a pleasant sight’ earlier?”

“Yes, exactly… is that strange?”

Hansol barely suppressed a sigh. How in the world did these people perceive healers? What image did they have of him? At this point, healers everywhere might need mandatory empathy training.

“Darling doesn’t care about things like that. If you asked him to walk straight into the cluster of infected, he’d go without blinking.”

“…Excuse me?”

James wasn’t wrong. This kind of scene didn’t bother Hansol in the slightest. He had come precisely to help them—getting closer only made things easier. Meeting Mac’s cautious gaze, Hansol nodded firmly.

“…I see. It seems I lacked faith in the Messiah. My apologies.”

Faith. Again. Just like in Kassie’s England, the deification only intensified here. Hansol gently looked away from Mac’s dazed, reverent eyes and turned toward the infected. They pretended not to stare but peeked constantly—curiosity and hope shining equally in their eyes.

“Ah, we’ve prepared a safe area especially for the Messiah. Please, this way.”

“…Just a moment. There’s something I’d like to check first.”

Mac pointed to a barracks some distance from the dark zone, guarded by lightly armed personnel. Retreating there to purify from a safe enclosure wouldn’t have been bad. But Hansol wanted to test the purification field. So he declined Mac’s guidance with a polite shake of the head and walked toward the blackened ground.

“H–hey…?”

“W–wait! Please don’t go any closer!!”

The closer Hansol approached, the more panic rippled across the infected’s faces. Relief workers guarding the tents rushed forward as though Hansol were about to throw himself into contamination on purpose. Their faces were pale—they clearly thought he was some unstable survivor trying to sacrifice himself.

Guess my face hasn’t spread this far yet.

Hansol was grateful for that. He spoke simply—he always preferred to prove things through action.

“Purification.”

Despite having system authority now, the familiar pair of selectable system prompts appeared. Hansol chose the first, and light bloomed instantly beneath his outstretched hand. The white radiance swept outward in a great wave. Those trembling inside the dark zone, and those still outside but stained, were all enveloped without distinction. Their original skin color returned one by one.

“A…ah…”

Mac reached Hansol’s back just in time to collapse to his knees. The long-standing boundary of black and white dissolved before his eyes. Watching Hansol’s silhouette framed in radiant purity, Mac mouthed “Messiah” like a mantra—over and over. He seemed one revelation short of founding a religion.

“…My God…”

“They’re… they’re turning back to normal…”

Even the relief workers who had rushed out to stop Hansol froze, wide-eyed, as the miracle unfolded. Once their skin regained its natural color, the once-infected were indistinguishable from any ordinary citizen—perhaps even more so now that many wore clean clothes provided by the relief zone.

Still more left…

Hansol couldn’t expand a purification field wide enough to reach every remaining infected all at once. The ones farthest away still stood upon tar-blackened ground. The newly cured, still conditioned by trauma, instinctively sprinted toward the dark zone—as if they still belonged there.

Hansol moved first, purifying the rest before they could re-enter. Just a simple matter of releasing the field and recreating it. In the end, the infected who had been America’s lingering wound for years were restored to their original lives in only two applications.

“As expected of darling.”

“I truly have no capacity for surprise left. I am beginning to wonder what limits Hansol-nim’s ability actually has.”

James spoke with pure pride; the Tower Master with unsettling mania. Hansol pretended not to hear. Instead, he turned to the stunned former infected and declared the end of their nightmare.

“…You no longer need to run.”

The fear and doubt in their eyes melted into shimmering hope.

“…Truly?”

“We’re allowed… outside?”

“Are you… a god?”

They rushed toward him with the instinctive fervor of chicks returning to their mother. Surprised by the swelling crowd, Hansol stepped back—and James leapt forward, slamming the ground.

“Enough! The person you should be going to is over there, not here.”

James jerked his chin toward Mac. Meeting Hansol’s gaze, Mac quickly wiped his tears and ran over—looking so much like a harmless uncle next door that Hansol couldn’t help laughing softly.

“Hansol-nim, with your ability, I believe we can finish the rest rather quickly.”

“You mean the infected in the other countries?”

“Yes. Of course, since accommodations have been prepared for today, let’s rest first.”

But the sun’s still high…?

Hansol had only used two purification fields since arriving. He was nowhere near tired. They still had Japan and Russia left at minimum. There was more than enough time and stamina to handle them.

“No.”

“…Pardon?”

“No, Hansol.”

“Yeah. No. Darling.”

“…I didn’t even say anything yet.”

The three of them fixed Hansol with synchronized stares—like a jury who already knew the verdict before the trial. Their eyes said, We know exactly what you were about to suggest.

“Nothing is collapsing immediately, so one day of proper rest will be fine. And for America’s hospitality.”

“Right! Darling, we’ll treat you in style—nothing less than the Tower!”

Before Hansol could protest, their combined pressure pushed him back metaphorically and literally.

“Messiah! Please don’t leave us—not yet!”

“….”

And to top it all off, Mac—somehow squeezing through the crowd—latched onto Hansol’s trouser leg. With no escape, Hansol could only promise he wouldn’t go anywhere. The only silver lining was that unlike the chaotic arrival, they now had coordinates Mac provided—meaning they could teleport directly on departure.