Chapter 111: Level 6 Zombie

I hurriedly exerted my will, and a translucent sword appeared in my hand. Bullets were utterly ineffective against these mutated zombies; rather than wasting ammunition, close-quarters combat was far more satisfying. The figures lying on the ground were clearly low-level zombies. Before they could even scramble to their feet, I reached the group. With a swing of my Ice Sword, the zombies just rising were decapitated. At a rough estimate, there were over a dozen of them. After dispatching three low-level ones, I quickly withdrew my blade and aimed for the neck of a mutated zombie. The Ice Sword struck its neck with a crisp, metallic clatter, as if hitting solid steel; the force was so great that it sent a numbing jolt through my hand.

While I was cutting down the low-level zombies, the mutated ones launched their assault. The one I had been attacking was my only clear path to escape. I had expected a single strike to sever its head, but I had clearly underestimated their defenses. Now, surrounded by several zombies, escape seemed nearly impossible. My Ice Sword failed to finish it off and was instead seized by its steel-like hand. I pulled with all my might, but that massive hand, covered in uneven, calloused skin, held my blade like an iron vice. Zombies to my left and right reached out for me simultaneously.

I hastily abandoned the sword and ducked, my movements fluid and continuous. Their claws swept through the air just above my head, and I swiftly slipped out of the swarm. The zombie I had struck earlier discarded my Ice Sword and marched toward me. If the zombies I had encountered before moved like slow-motion footage in a film, these were like fast-forward. Their reaction times were significantly sharper. After missing, they immediately turned and advanced, instinctively reaching out with their mutated arms to tear at me. Would I let them? Foolish creatures. I quickly drew two revolvers and fired a barrage of shots into their eye sockets. The leading zombie took a hit to the eye, faltered for a moment, and then pressed on. I was stunned—it didn't die? Could it be that after mutation, their weakness was no longer the head? Impossible. I fired several more shots, all into the same eye socket, until it finally collapsed in frustration. So, it was just a matter of insufficient firepower.

I retreated while firing, and as soon as my ammunition ran dry, I used my will to manifest more, flicking the chambers open and reloading in mid-air without wasting a single second. After another volley, another zombie fell. It seemed they were nothing special after all. I grew bolder with each kill; how could these mindless wretches withstand the invincible revolvers of a crack shot like me?

I fought and retreated, leading the zombies in circles. Another one fell at my feet. As their numbers dwindled, I fought with even less restraint. Whenever one drew near, I would drive it back with a kick before delivering a final shot to the eye. Finally, only three remained. I aimed both revolvers at the eyes of two of them and pulled the triggers simultaneously. Blood sprayed from their sockets as they dropped. It seemed these brainless creatures were nothing to fear! With mutated humans becoming increasingly common across the Divine Demon Continent, the zombies would eventually be wiped out, and the land would see the light of day once more.

The two zombies fell almost in unison. Only one remained. It had been hiding in the back, but now that its companions were dead, it was time to send it to hell.

Bang! A shot rang out, and the zombie let out a howl, but it did not fall. Instead, it accelerated, its thick, swollen arms flailing in the air. I wouldn't let it get close. I backed away, pulling the trigger in a rapid sequence, burying bullets into its eyes. Both were completely destroyed, though I wasn't certain if they relied on sight to navigate. I expected that to be the end of it—any further struggle would be futile—but to my surprise, it didn't die even after a full cylinder. It seemed to grow fiercer, rushing right up to me. Before I could reload, I struck its chest with my elbow, forcing it back two steps, and I retreated the same distance. I reloaded, using my will to draw bullets from my spatial ring and flicking the cylinder to catch them—a technique I had mastered to perfection, saving precious seconds. I should have had enough time, but suddenly, a powerful force slammed into my back. Caught off guard, I lunged forward, colliding head-on with the clawing zombie.

Before I could fathom what had struck me from behind, the zombie had gripped me in a tight embrace. The bear hug was so sudden I couldn't react. I felt my body going limp under its powerful arms when suddenly, a searing pain tore through my back, as if a sharp weapon had pierced my body. I let out a roar, tore myself free, and jammed my revolver into the zombie's eye, firing repeatedly at point-blank range. The creature collapsed. I quickly rolled across the ground, dislodging the weapon from my back. Looking back, I saw it was one of the zombies I had previously shot. It hadn't been dead after all; its hand was held in a rigid, parallel position, its sharp nails a full three inches long.

A Level 6 zombie? I had skimmed the books in the World Alliance mission hall, which included specific entries on zombies. They stated roughly this: Level 1 zombies have zero intelligence and slow reflexes; an average person with a steady mind can easily kill them. Level 2 zombies have speed equal to a normal human; without weapons, it is best to avoid them. Level 3 zombies are faster than average, and their rotting bodies begin to regenerate. By Level 4, the body is basically restored, covered in a hard shell, with speed triple that of an average human. Above Level 5, their armor is so tough that even a Level 5 expert cannot easily break it; their nails are sharp as blades, over two inches long, and their speed is astonishing—up to ten times that of a normal person. Level 6 zombies possess rudimentary intelligence, even harder shells, three-inch-long nails, and are highly venomous.

The creature before me matched the description perfectly: three-inch nails, a hard shell, and rudimentary intelligence. I had watched it fall, yet it had ambushed me from behind. It seemed my observation had been flawed. Though my physique was sturdy, I couldn't withstand such a vicious strike; I had nearly been run through. Moreover, its nails were coated in a potent toxin. This wasn't a common virus—I was immune to those—but a poison from a Level 6 zombie. Just as I manifested a protective shield, the world began to spin, and my head grew dizzy. The Level 6 zombie stepped toward me.