"Throw your soldiers into positions whence there is no escape, and they will prefer death to flight. If they will face death, there is nothing they may not achieve."
— Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter 11, translated by Lionel Giles
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Day 5
Morning began with a sound that was almost not there. It wasn't a scrape or a crash — it was metal singing. Low, at the very edge of human hearing, the steel of the shutters, stretched to its absolute limit, began to sing. The sound resembled the hum of a string wound so tight it was about to snap, yet still holding an impossible weight.
Arthur lay motionless, absorbing this vibration through the back of his head, through the cold concrete. He understood what it meant even before opening his eyes. Veridis was already awake. Her head was raised, her nostrils flaring with predatory instinct — she could smell what humans only realize at the moment of death. Arthur touched her scaly side, simply to let her know: he was alert too, and slowly rose.
Pre-dawn twilight still reigned at the window. Pressing close to a crack, he saw that the parking lot had finally disappeared beneath a layer of bodies. There were more of them now — unjustifiably, impossibly more. They were arriving like thick grey resin, filling every centimeter of free space. Now they weren't just standing; their combined mass, with all its weight, was pressing against the building with a quiet, relentless force. Against a strike, you can raise a shield, but against this kind of pressure, there is nothing except time — which they had almost none left.
Arthur stepped away from the window. Two days. Three at most, if the metal proved to be of good quality and luck was on their side.
The hall was waking heavily. The thick smell of shattered hopes and stagnant fear hung in the air. But today, something new was added to the usual panic — a premonition of a schism.
The conflict had ripened in the far corner where the adults had settled. Takagi was already there — her notebook and sharp gaze were omnipresent. When Arthur approached, she was listening to an elderly man named Fujimoto. He spoke quickly, almost without gestures, but his face was drawn as tight as those very shutters at the entrance.
Through Takagi's translation, Arthur learned: Fujimoto was demanding they go to the official evacuation zones. His phone had caught a fragment of a signal two days ago — the government was supposedly holding a perimeter at the port. Soldiers, ships, order.
"Two days ago was an eternity," Arthur replied, and his voice made Fujimoto flinch. "The official zones are traps. Everyone goes there, which means they will go there too. The port right now isn't salvation; it's a slaughterhouse."
"Where does such confidence come from?" Fujimoto clenched his fists. "You're just a boy."
"I know what will happen next." Arthur looked the old man straight in the eyes.
His voice held that icy firmness which is impossible to fake. Fujimoto didn't agree, but fell silent, slowly sinking back to his place. It wasn't a victory, only a temporary truce.
In the afternoon, Arthur sent Takagi and Hirano back to the jewelry store on the second floor. He needed everything: gold, silver, coins — every gram. Takagi no longer asked questions. She simply nodded, made a businesslike note in her notebook, and led Hirano upstairs. She was beginning to get used to the fact that every one of Arthur's actions had a hidden, often bloody, but effective logic.
While they were working, Arthur sat against the wall, planning the route. One bus. Two trips. They needed to split the group, take the first ones to the coast, then return for the rest. The logic was flawless, if not for the variable Shizuka had introduced — gasoline. Her "approximately" in the fuel calculations meant a margin of error that, on a road clogged with the dead, turned into a death sentence.
In the evening, Marin came to him.
She walked across the hall slowly, and there was none of her usual lightness in her stride. Without her bright lenses, her eyes seemed deeper, and something cold and honest was frozen in them. She stood before him, waiting through a long pause before speaking through Takagi, who had come over.
"I want to talk about Gojo," she said. Her voice was quiet, but didn't tremble. "I don't believe the zombie story. Gojo was too careful. He couldn't just... make a mistake."
Takagi translated smoothly, but Arthur noticed her pencil freeze over the paper.
"I have no proof," Marin continued, looking him straight in the face. "And I won't start shouting about it in the hall. But I want you to know: I remember. And I will keep remembering."
Arthur looked at her, assessing this sudden flash of moral fortitude. Under the mask of a carefree girl lived a personality that couldn't simply be bought or intimidated. She wasn't demanding justice — she was simply refusing to participate in the lie.
"Alright," he answered. "You will remember."
Marin blinked, clearly not expecting such a direct acknowledgment without excuses. A flicker of confusion passed through her eyes — she had come up against an emptiness that couldn't be filled with anything.
"Are you coming with us?" Arthur asked.
Marin looked back. There, against the far wall, the five Nakano sisters were watching her. Ichika stared without looking away, her gaze heavy and adult. Yotsuba was visibly nervous, her hands pressed to her chest.
"Yes," Marin finally exhaled. "Because there's nowhere else to go."
She turned and walked toward the sisters. Yotsuba asked something, but Marin only shook her head. Ichika continued to watch Arthur across the hall until he himself averted his gaze.
At night, the shutters sang louder. The hum became distinct, physical. Arthur lay in the darkness next to Veridis and understood: tomorrow. They had to leave tomorrow. If they waited another day, the metal would simply burst, and instead of an organized retreat, a chaotic flight over corpses would begin.
He closed his eyes, sinking into his inner world. In the white mist stood a tree. There were two branches on it: one — alive and pulsing with warmth, the other — dark, quiet, smelling of steel. Next to them, in the emptiness, two completed blueprints shimmered: the Portal and the Altar.
Everything was ready. All that remained was to announce the end of their stay in this concrete crypt.