Life Game In Other World
Chapter 1142: The Mayor of Minte City (Requesting Monthly Passes)

Chapter 1142: Chapter 1142: The Mayor of Minte City (Requesting Monthly Passes)

"Pfft, what a cold-hearted guy."

Lockte sneered as he watched the roaring motorbike speed away without any pause.

Drifting snowflakes settled on his shoulders, landed on the tips of his hair.

The chilly wind brushed against his face, causing him to shiver unconsciously — the bone-chilling cold made his already uncooperative body even stiffer.

He suddenly realized that the man had been standing in the draft all along, blocking the cold wind for him.

His expression calmed down.

He lowered his head, looking at the wallet he had thrown on the ground, looking at the cards scattered from it.

He gazed at the wallet, at those beautiful and exquisite cards.

Slowly he reached out his hand, hunched his body, and crawled to the wallet, grasped it, and began gathering the scattered, fine cards.

The howling cold wind and snow grew fiercer, making him feel the deep chill to his bones.

He held the increasingly cold cards in his hands, lifted his head, and his gaze finally fell on the shack beside him.

He had been next to this shack all the while. Just now, ’Suote’ had fought with Denock, deliberately pushing Denock away and not affecting him,

which is why this shabby little shack remained.

"Lucky you, you poor devil," he muttered, clutching the cards, trying to stagger to his feet.

He tried twice and failed both times.

On the third attempt, he clenched his teeth and finally stood up, squeezing toward the shack’s rickety iron door.

The iron door wasn’t locked and was easily pushed open by him.

He stumbled into the room and looked around.

The room wasn’t big, just two to three meters in length and width, basically square, with walls roughly clad in metal sheets.

The inside of the room wasn’t warmer than the outside; the shack’s roof was already broken, with snowflakes drifting through the gaps.

The silent cold wind squeezed through the gaps in the metal sheets, stirring the plastic sheets on the walls, creating a rustling sound.

Mr. Lockte looked up at those plastic sheets ’flyers’ tacked all over the walls.

Those flyers were more or less tainted with stains, as if they had been used to wrap food.

And in the center of the flyers, the spirited ’Mayor’ stood beside a stove, smiling as he looked ahead.

Beside him was his campaign promise to provide warm clothes and stoves for every citizen of Minte City, ensuring a warm winter.

These flyers were pasted densely on the walls, attempting to block the drafty gaps.

But in the end, they were blown open by the cold wind, flapping helplessly in the breeze.

Mr. Lockte swayed, staring at the dense flyers, at the spirited ’Mayor of Minte City’ on them.

He tugged at his cheek, seemingly trying to make an expression, but in the end, nothing came of it.

He staggered forward, passing through the middle of the room.

There was an old electric heater, unplugged and seemingly out of service, or perhaps there was no money left to pay for the electricity.

Eventually, he walked past the heater and staggerly sat down.

Next to him was a dirty cushion, on which sat a person with a stiff expression and a smile on their face.

Dense and filthy plastic bags were scattered around the cushion; some bags still held unfinished food, and even in the cold winter months, a faint scent of decay lingered in the air.

A large hole was torn right above the cushion.

Sitting nearby and looking up, one could see the gloomy sky interspersed with neon lights and the snowflakes dancing in between.

Mr. Lockte extended his hand, a snowflake fell from the roof and landed in his palm; he tried to grasp the pristine snowflake, but ultimately, it just melted slowly in the warmth of his hand.

He lowered his head, looking at the ’houseowner’ next to him whose body had already stiffened.

The ’houseowner’s’ smile was warm; it seems that in the last moment before death, he experienced the ultimate warmth of life.

He could feel the presence of a somewhat twisted spirit beginning to gestate within the houseowner’s body.

The houseowner had been dead for too long without being discovered, and the body was beginning to mutate.

Logically, the Scavengers should have found all of this, should have taken care of the dead.

Such thoughts flickered through Mr. Lockte’s murky mind.

Oh.

He suddenly remembered.

He thought hiring Scavengers was too expensive, so he cut their budget in half.

Where did the saved money go?

It went to renovate the Mayor’s Square and statues; then through construction companies as a front, it lined his pockets.

Mr. Lockte looked down at the glittering gold cards in his hand, feeling his brain becoming sluggish.

He was dying.

He reached out to touch the wrist of the ’houseowner’ beside him, only to touch a cold, half-screen-off, long dead smart band.

He withdrew his hand and lifted his own smart band, dialing the Scavengers’ number from a vague memory.

A few ringing tones arose in the empty room.

After a brief yet seemingly long wait, a voice thick with exhaustion and impatience followed, "Scavenger, what’s the matter?"

He hadn’t bothered to look at the incoming call number, nor did he seem to care to whom that number belonged.

"North First Avenue, 227 here, there’s a dead body."

A hoarse voice sounded in the empty room.

"A body? How many?"

The impatient voice on the phone asked quickly.

There was a silence in the room until snowflakes started falling piece by piece through the broken roof.

"Two."

The hoarse voice rose again.

"Alright, you’ve still got 72 bodies ahead of you, probably won’t get to you until tomorrow afternoon. If you can wait, then wait; if you’re broke, find some snow to cover them up and make do with preventing decay. If you have money, find your own crematorium to burn them."

The voice on the other end spoke rapidly, almost cutting off before the sentence was fully finished, and then hung up the phone.

The silence was once again filled with the sharp busy tone echoing in the quiet space.

In the midst of the trembling busy tone, Mr. Lockte lowered his head, taking cards out of his wallet one by one.

In his hands, cards adorned with gold and gems, embossed with various noble figures and patterns, piled up.

Flipping to the last one, a photo card appeared in his hand.

In the photo, an Elderly soaked in blood stood behind a podium with the White Jasmine Emblem engraved, while the blazing remnants of a Sky Behemoth served as the backdrop to the Elderly’s figure.

The Elderly gazed out from the photo, his eyes deep and spirited.

Mr. Lockte stared at the photo, and at the numerous exquisite cards in his hands.

"Heh, heh heh, heh heh heh."

He lifted them up, then suddenly threw them out.

Gold and gems scattered in the sky, blending with the pristine snow, fluttering about.

They fell into the old gaps, on the filthy cushions, among the rotten food, and on the blood-stained clothes and cold bodies.

That lightest photo card finally fluttered down, landing between Mr. Lockte’s unfocused eyes.

A slight cold breeze blew in from outside, flipping the photo, covering half of Mr. Lockte’s gaze.

The fluttering snowflakes settled on the back of the photo, blurring the drawing there.

In this drawing, fluttering petals of peach and plum blossoms swept over the pitch-black Coffin, while an endless procession of mourners filled every corner of the streets like flowing water.

Cold snowflakes danced down, melting on the drawing and skin, becoming streams of water, mixing with the chill wind and passing over a face that had already lost all signs of life.

Leaving behind trails of watermarks.

——

North Twelfth Street, 156.

A butler-like figure slowly pushed open the door, lighting up the room.

He gazed at the empty space before him, stepping up to the old fireplace, gently touching it where there was still a hint of warmth.

Then he moved forward slowly, while walking deeper into the house, he called out with a smile, "Mr. Viko, are you there? I’m the butler to the Minister of Internal Affairs; you’ve seen me before when you visited the Minister,"

He raised his hand, pushed open the master bedroom door, quickly surveying the scene within while maintaining a gentle smile, loudly calling out, "The Minister of Internal Affairs has business with you, he needs to see you."

His tone steadily rose as he approached the door to the secondary bedroom, "It’s about the matter you mentioned last time, taking you to meet Mr. Lockte. Didn’t the Minister say he would consider your proposal seriously? He said today that it’s not impossible."

His hand slowly touched the doorknob of the secondary bedroom.

Bang—

A slight noise suddenly came from the corner.

The butler looked up to see a cat with grey and white fur standing in the corner, gazing at him.

A slight smile curled on his lips, and he gestured ’silence’ at the cat.

In that instant, as if sensing the terror of death, the cat tensed its body, not daring to move.

The butler, still smiling, took his gaze off the cat and slowly turned the doorknob of the secondary bedroom, softly calling out, "Mr. Viko, are you there?"

As the room door was pushed open, a breeze blew out, brushing the butler’s cheeks.

Next to the small bed in the secondary bedroom, a large window was flung open, facing the street outside.

The bedding by the small bed was crumpled into a heap, covered with dirty footprints, as if someone had not long ago hurriedly trampled over the bed to escape through the window.

This room was on the ground floor, with the street just outside the window.

Flurries of snow and a cold breeze were blowing in from the window, brushing the butler’s cheeks.

He slowly approached the window, stepping on the bed, and peered outside to the street.

The street lay empty, with no trace to be found.

"Sigh,"

The butler sighed, squatting on the bed, his hand pressing on the dirty footprints.

Boom—

Suddenly, his hand burst through the bed, tearing the sturdy iron bed in half.

He lowered his head, his gentle smile looking at the slender man curled up beneath, "Mr. Viko, we meet again."

At that moment, the roaring sound of an engine erupted from outside, with spinning wheels crashing directly into the open window.

Striking the butler, who still wore a smile, across the cheeks.

Before the butler could react, his body was flung by the spinning wheel, smashing against the wall.

His expression icy, just as he was about to unleash fury, a flash of crimson brilliance crossed, severing his head.