Chapter 90
What kind of person to be, that is the question.
But what Yoren now faced was not a matter of choice. Judging from the current situation, if they wanted to live legally, their only path would be to register as the lowest of the low—legally infected individuals.
Yoren couldn't help but picture it: being confined to designated areas, areas crawling with other infected. He didn't need to see it to know the place would be filthy, chaotic, and dangerous. With their health failing so rapidly, people would likely be dying every few days. And even if illness didn't take them, the despair would. Suicide would be just as common.
And he? As a so-called backbone of society, he'd be forced into a labor factory for infected. Working himself to the bone for scraps. Exhausted like a dog, and paid next to nothing.
Yeah... This wasn't exactly the kind of peaceful life he had once dreamed of.
Looking at the pale faces of Snowsant and Ifrit, Yoren immediately dismissed the idea. There was no way he'd work part-time. Never in his life. If someone tried to force him to? Well, someone was going to get hit.
After wandering through several streets, Yoren and his group finally found a small hotel before darkness settled in.
Compared to the one he had stayed in back in Columbia, this one was quite the upgrade. Yoren led the others through the front doors into a modest but decently decorated lobby, where a middle-aged woman from the Feilin tribe sat behind the reception desk. She barely glanced at them as they entered.
"Looking for a room?" she asked flatly.
"Yeah."
Yoren leaned against the counter and gave her a charming smile.