"How about it, do you have any impression?" I asked.
"The name Mazao... I seem to have some impression," he replied.
Hearing the mapmaker say this, I concentrated my spirit even more.
He then stroked his chin, which was covered with fine stubble, and said, "Is she really your partner? You just said ’possibly’..."
"I just have some residual memory of these two names," I said. "Maybe I just came across them somewhere and noted them down by chance... But if it’s true what you said, that I have forgotten a lot of things, and based on that I remember these two names, then it’s probably very likely they are partners."
"Or perhaps they are enemies?" the mapmaker suggested. "I’m sorry, I also have only some impression of the name Mazao, but I can’t recall where I heard it."
"Perhaps when I return to my safehouse, I can provide you with substantial information. I have a habit of keeping a diary, maybe there’s content related to this in it."
"But don’t hold too high expectations for a diary; it’s not reliable and often inexplicably loses information."
"Diaries can lose information too?" I asked.
"Of course," the mapmaker said as if it was obvious, "just like our memories, the diaries we write often have big sections blacked out."
"Electronic media isn’t useful either. I’ve heard that some people use cameras and voice recorders to document their memories, but after a while, the data starts getting corrupted. It’s as if there’s an invisible ghost accompanying everyone, destroying the records of our past when we’re not looking."
This was the first time I’d heard this. Maybe it’s one of the peculiar phenomena happening on Doomsday Land. It’s understandable. If keeping a diary could preserve one’s memory, then lone travelers in the Doomsday Era wouldn’t need to worry about losing memories, or even their names.
The mapmaker’s recollection of the name Mazao didn’t exceed my expectations. Mazao should be a well-known figure in the Doomsday Era, though I don’t know exactly how famous. It’s not a rare occurrence that the first survivor I met in the Doomsday Era had heard of her name.
But Little Bowl was different. Although Little Bowl was someone close to Mazao, her image to the outside world should be of just an ordinary little girl. Rumors related to Mazao might overlook Little Bowl, or even ignore her existence altogether during the spread.
Unexpectedly, after pondering, the mapmaker came out with this sentence, "As for Little Bowl... I think I’ve heard about her somewhere?"
"What?" I was surprised.
"Oh right... I remember, it was from one of my partners," the mapmaker said. "He once mentioned the name ’Little Bowl’... uh, I don’t know if the one he mentioned is the same person you’re talking about, or if it’s even the same name, could be just a homophonic word..."
"You have other partners?" I asked. "When your partner mentioned Little Bowl, what were they talking about specifically?"
"Yes, I have two other partners at the safehouse," the mapmaker answered the first half of the question. "When we go out to collect resources, it’s best to explore in pairs, while two others stay back at the safehouse. We currently only have three people; we need at least one more person. That’s why I’m inviting you."
Then he answered the second half of my question, "I’m sorry, I can’t recall what was being discussed when my partner first mentioned that name."
"But once I bring you to the safehouse, I can let you meet him. Just... don’t hold too much expectation on this matter."
"Because now, he is already mentally unstable, and has lost the ability to communicate with people, only occasionally mouthing some fragmented words... Ah, I remembered..."
Toward the end, he hesitated, unsure, "He might have mentioned ’Little Bowl’ during one of his crazed episodes...?"
A survivor who had succumbed to madness... mentioning Little Bowl’s name?
A cloud of doubt rose in my mind.
To have clues related to Little Bowl appear before me so quickly, such rapid progress filled me with delight and also provoked further reflection.
Previously, I had reassured Mazao, saying that a strong connection linked us to Little Bowl. Could it be that my words were prophetic, and this powerful bond is now pushing me to shorten the distance between Little Bowl and me?
"Can you take me to your safehouse now? I’d like to talk with your partners," I said.
"Of course. Also, I am somewhat intrigued by the person named Little Bowl," the mapmaker said. "Although the journey back to the safehouse’s length depends on luck, there’s no need to worry. The time it takes to arrive at the safehouse has nothing to do with the time we spend on the road."
In truth, I considered showing my true power in front of the mapmaker, making him obediently comply with my wishes, but since I already had a reasonable position to inquire for information, doing anything extra might instead arouse unnecessary suspicion from him, leading him to resist taking me to the safehouse or meeting his partners.
Nevertheless, I had no interest in being evasive. If anything, I prefer the type where "showing up impressively" is more fitting.
To reveal true power, at least it’s best to wait until he leads the way to the safehouse.
Incidentally, as I followed the mapmaker, I quietly confirmed the current state of the Fake Water Moon. During the previous interrogation of the Great Success Rank Evil, the Fake Water Moon developed a crack, diminishing its power and rendering it unable to control the spirit of a Residence Level opponent, barely coping with a Bad Level opponent.
Adding the fact that the Power of Word Spirit is not effective now, I currently lack the means to directly ignore others’ will, forcing them to speak the truth or act according to my wishes. Unless absolutely necessary, it’s best not to resort to violence against this scarce living soul I’ve just encountered, especially since he appeared with goodwill, offering help with a drawn blade unselfishly.
As for the bizarre being embedded on the outer wall of the jump tower, the mapmaker didn’t kill it but instead dismantled some steel pipes from the rollercoaster and nailed it additionally.
The best way to deal with such an undying monster is naturally to seal it. Although it’s uncertain whether this method is truly effective, it’s worth a try.
It’s evident that the mapmaker possesses considerable strength, able to twist steel by force. The method of shooting rebar to pierce the bizarre being initially demonstrated his adeptness in utilizing his own power.
I casually asked, he smiled but didn’t offer detailed explanations concerning the origin of his strength.
"I dare to move alone outside, naturally not without confidence," he said. "You also have your own self-preservation methods, we’re quite similar."
He’s most likely a Blessed Monk.
"Blessed Monk" sounds like a pleasant title. In reality, it’s people who enhance their power by killing and refining souls. Mazao mentioned that some Blessed Monks get addicted to the pleasure of soul devouring, specifically hunting survivors on Doomsday Land, eventually degrading into Sin Demons.
Perhaps he’s also scheming similarly, waiting for an opportunity to kill me... But in that case, the rebar he shot initially should have targeted my head, not just the bizarre being.
Therefore, his reason for concealing the origin of his power may simply be to avoid misunderstandings and suspicion of him being a soul-refining murderer. Even if, in his eyes, I’m a forgetful individual who doesn’t remember the basics of the Doomsday Era, who knows if I still retain memories related to Blessed Monks.
I’ve also asked the mapmaker how to return to his safehouse. From what I observed, his safehouse and partners are certainly not located within this abandoned amusement park. Due to spatial chaos, it’s extremely difficult to return to one’s original departure place. For instance, I currently don’t know how to find my way back to the residential area I started in.
Additionally, I’m quite intrigued by his previous statement.
The time we arrive at the safehouse, having no relation to the time spent on the road...
"Our method to return to the safehouse is this."
The mapmaker answered while raising the old-fashioned kerosene lamp he was holding.