Omega Manual chapter 38

Are you out of your mind?

“What do you mean?” Shelley asked absentmindedly, still fiddling with the water bottle. 

Irey frowned.

“There are no trains from Duhaat to Marwen. If you want to get to Fuba Port to take a ship, you’ll have to detour from Duhaat to North Luna, then loop down from Lorion. Even if you’re willing to make such a detour, this train is a one-way route with no return trip,” Irey said. “There are five barrels of gasoline and a ton of supplies in that sports car. You just ditched it all, and now it’s impossible to go back and retrieve them.”

Shelley was silent for a moment, putting down the water bottle. “My money isn’t on the car.”

“Huh?”

“My money. My phone, cash, savings cards, I carry them all with me,” Shelley said. “Even if the money on the cards isn’t enough, I can continue to transfer money from my phone account. Everything you mentioned—supplies, gasoline, your suit, the car, the house, even this train we’re sitting on—I can buy it all. It’s not a problem.”

This left Irey dumbfounded. “…No, really, how much money do you have?”

Irey knew Shelley was wealthy, exceptionally wealthy. But his lifetime of living in the impoverished lower district left him unable to grasp the level of wealth Shelley was describing.

And why would anyone in the world have that much money? Everyone has two eyes and a mouth, where did his boss get so much money?

Shelley noticed his confusion and chuckled softly. “Let me explain it this way. Imagine there are two small islands, each inhabited by a group of people living independently without interfering with each other.”

Shelley placed the water bottle in a gap on the small table in front of him. “Now, if you build a bridge between the two islands, allowing the residents to communicate and trade, wouldn’t transactions arise and money start flowing?”

Irey nodded.

“Now, imagine the world as a vast archipelago, each island with a fixed group of residents, and a bridge connecting every island. Wouldn’t that allow free communication and trade among all people?” Shelley asked. “But they would all have to cross the bridge. If everyone has to pay a dollar each time they cross, the toll would be the population multiplied by the number of times each person crosses. If they pay ten dollars, it’s that amount multiplied by ten. As long as the islanders need to communicate, this money would flow endlessly like a river, right?”

Irey was beginning to understand.

Shelley put the water bottle back in place. “I am the one who built the bridge.”

Irey leaned back in his seat and exhaled, squeezing out a word from deep in his throat, “Impressive.”

“So, you don’t need to worry about me running out of money,” Shelley said nonchalantly. “Even if I bought a house in every city and bought all the trains on the route just for myself, it would last for a hundred years.”

With that, Shelley shifted his gaze from the gap in the small table to the pitch-black window outside.

In the carriage, the kerosene lamp’s light had dimmed considerably, swaying and casting ghostly shadows on the train windows like will-o’-the-wisps from another world.

“Moreover, you don’t need to worry so much. Just know that we won’t run out of money on this trip,” Shelley said, resting his chin on his hand, speaking softly. “Even if one day the money runs out, by then I would have already…”

“Died,” Irey’s voice suddenly came.

Shelley was startled, his heart skipping a beat. He quickly turned to Irey, only to find him holding his phone, sighing regretfully, “I was so absorbed in listening to you that my game character died.”

The phone screen showed a “Game Over” message and an absurdly high score.

At that moment, Shelley didn’t know how to describe his feelings. “…You’re unbelievable.”

Irey clicked his tongue. “Such a high score, what a pity.”

Shelley couldn’t stand it anymore and pushed his hand away, standing up from his seat. “I’m going to the restroom.”

Irey immediately pointed in a direction. “Go straight to the end. If the door doesn’t close, just kick it. Want me to go with you?”

“No need,” Shelley refused bluntly. “I’m not a kid.”

Irey smiled, turning slightly to give Shelley a clear path to leave.

Fortunately, it was late, and most of the passengers were sound asleep. He watched Shelley maneuver around each “zombie” carefully and, seeing no danger, turned his attention back.

The guy sitting opposite them with glasses finally stopped snoring, changing his position and making a funny, shrill whistling sound from his nose.

Shelley’s bag was hanging on the seat, swaying with the train’s movement.

The phone, cash, and savings cards for a hundred years were all in that bag. His boss really had a big heart.

Irey quickly reached out to steady the bag, intending to place it in a more secure position. Just then, a small medicine bottle fell out.

He bent down to pick it up and stared at the label for a long time.

Irey wasn’t well-educated and didn’t know many medications, but this one he recognized.

When his mother was alive, especially after his father abandoned them, she often cried through the nights, unable to sleep, and had to take large amounts of psychiatric medication to barely calm down. Caroline was still very young then, and it was his job to buy the medicine, so he knew the difficult names of these drugs by heart.

He opened Shelley’s bag to put the bottle back, but found more familiar medications inside.

Sleeping pills, tranquilizers, antidepressants, painkillers…

Many bottles lay quietly next to the phone, cash, and savings cards, most of them already half empty.

When Shelley returned, Irey was sitting in his seat smoking, the choking smoke filling the cramped space. Shelley frowned as soon as he sat down.

“Don’t you think you’re smoking too much?” he looked at him displeased. “It’s one thing outside, but here you’re making the whole carriage breathe your secondhand smoke.”

“They’d be secretly delighted,” Irey said nonchalantly, flicking the ash on the floor. “Do you know how many people can’t afford a single cigarette?”

“At the rate you smoke, you’ll get lung cancer and die,” Shelley sneered.

Irey shrugged and took another drag before exhaling a smoke ring and turning to Shelley, “Boss, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Is it absolutely necessary for you to go to Mount Yinbu?” Irey asked.

“Absolutely,” Shelley answered without hesitation.

“No matter what happens, you have to go?” Irey pressed.

“No matter what happens,” Shelley confirmed firmly.

Irey nodded and dropped the subject. He stood up, leaned over Shelley, and opened the window.

A cold wind rushed in, dispersing the smoke inside the space. The deafening roar woke a few sleeping passengers, who muttered some nasal curses, but Irey ignored them. He took one last deep drag from the filter and slowly exhaled the choking smoke.

The white smoke was quickly carried away by the biting cold wind, disappearing into the pitch-black night. Irey flicked the extinguished cigarette butt out the window and closed it.

“Get some sleep,” he said, sitting back in his seat and turning to Shelley. “By the time you wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll be in Duhaat.”

They say that once you reach Duhaat, you’re in the presence of God.

Duhaat was the city of gods, the city of God, the city of Allah, but unfortunately, it was not a city for people.

So this city, the origin and development site of countless religions, was relegated to the lower town.

But that didn’t stop the faithful from trekking thousands of miles to make pilgrimages here. These ragged, starving devotees firmly believed that in this equally dirty and impoverished city, there was an omniscient and omnipotent deity who would stay for them and save them from their suffering.

As the sun rose in the east, it cast a golden glow over the city with its countless churches. Travelers disembarked from the train in an orderly manner, automatically forming a line at the city gate. There was no pushing or shoving, and everyone wore a silent, devout expression, in stark contrast to when they boarded the train.

Even the checkpoint at the city entrance was converted from an old church. A meteor had collapsed most of the dome, but the central stained glass remained almost intact. Sunlight poured through it, casting a radiant, colorful halo that fell at the feet of every traveler about to enter the city.

But this did not clash with the filthy ground, the wailing homeless, or the rats scurrying across the street.

This strange, polarized atmosphere made Shelley very uncomfortable.

The checkpoint inspector wore a white robe that made him look more like a pastor performing baptisms than an inspector. After checking each person, he would bow his head and mutter something before making a sign on his chest. This was repeated without exception.

Shelley felt a strong urge to run away from the line, but Irey held his hand, leading him forward step by step, forcing him to brace himself and walk towards the colorful halo.

The inspector lifted Shelley’s hair as usual, but when he saw his gland, he sighed with a mix of regret and heaviness, “You’re an Omega.”

“I have a mark; he’s my Alpha,” Shelley explained with difficulty.

“We’re performers, touring between cities,” Irey reiterated their usual story.

The inspector nodded, stamped their passes, and just as Shelley thought the process was over, the inspector suddenly pulled out a silver flask from under the table and splashed water on his face.