He watched and waited. The two girls walked into the distance. The Pregnant Corpse’s body lay untouched on the cold street.
“Why?” The stalker muttered, his brow tight with a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “Was it not them… or am I seeing things?”
Suddenly, his mind was stabbed by a burning, invisible needle. Agony.
He jerked his head up just in ti to see the girl who was walking away turn her head. Her deep, empty gaze t his.
In that instant, the world seed to tear and rebuild. He was right in front of her. Then the impossibly fast, familiar crimson blade he’d just witnessed ca slashing toward his neck from behind…
Clang!
A sharp, tallic crash snapped him out of the nightmare.
“Ah!” Vulture gasped, his greasy face etched with terror and the shock of a close call. An instinctive block had saved him.
What in the hell was that? A vision? It was more… He was attacked. While trapped in the vision, soone struck. His instinctive reaction to the illusion had saved his life.
The realization hit him instantly. He snapped back to full alert. His eyes shot to the figure who had attacked from the nearby shadow. “Who are you?”
He got no answer. The “knightess” in worn armor, radiating a heroic air, struck again. Her sword cut the air, sharp and final.
He barely raised his blade to block.
Clang! Clang! Clang-clang!
Her attacks ca like a storm, giving him no room to breathe.
At first, he held a shaky defense. His three months of wasteland survival, his poisoned steel, his decent armor—they counted for sothing.
But soon, her superior strength and skill overwheld him. He was helpless against the onslaught.
Clang!
Another deafening crash. The steel sword was ripped from his grip by a force more refined and more brutal than his own. His guard shattered.
The cold blade bit into him. Wound after wound. So shallow, so deep. Blood soaked his already filthy cloak.
He had no strength left to fight. Survival instinct and helplessness twisted his face into a pitiful mask. A look of pure begging. He began to wail for rcy.
He pleaded. Hoped his attacker was a fresh graduate, not yet hardened to killing. Hoped he could spark a shred of pity.
But…
Aurora was a true knight raised in a dieval world. Her training, besides absolute loyalty, included learning to “adapt” to killing—especially lowlifes who threatened her master.
To her, the man before her was a stalker. A threat. A vile track that had ant harm. She felt no compassion. Only pure, cold…
Killing intent.
The single thrust pierced his chest cleanly, puncturing the heart.
The stalker’s body went rigid. The light in his eyes faded fast. Gone.
Aurora let out a soft sigh. She coldly pulled her sword free, wiping the blood on his cloak.
But when she looked up toward Pandora’s direction, the two familiar figures had already vanished around the street corner.
She stood there, dazed for a mont. Finally, she sighed quietly. Her back looked slightly lonely in the hazy fog.
………………
Behind the French window, Pandora watched quietly as that slightly lonely figure disappeared.
She felt a twinge of guilt. An odd remorse. But she didn’t change her mind.
Yes, the scene proved Aurora could now competently kill a strong opponent—showing imnse growth in three months.
But the task Pandora was about to do was still too dangerous for her. And, most importantly, it “involved” the system. It wasn’t right to bring her.
“Alright,” Pandora’s voice sounded faint in the empty room. “The tail is gone. We need to move faster.”
She paused, glancing sideways out the window at the row of houses she’d already “cleaned.”
“Honestly, clearing them one by one is too slow. We’re not housekeepers. We need to speed things up.”
As she spoke, she rubbed her throbbing temple. She found herself missing the “assembly line” zombie disposal she’d had on the lighthouse. One after another.
Kill one, hear a crisp chi, then extract. An entire village of zombies turned into climbing resource numbers in no ti.
Perfect.
But it was harder to find a similar setup here.
Sure, any apartnt corridor might work—luring them in one by one.
But in reality, it wasn’t so simple.
The city’s buildings were too complex. Too many structures of the sa height blocked sound. Too much noise drew the wrong kind of attention.
This wasn’t that dieval orchard world with just regular zombies. Attracting too many “mutated zombies” would be a problem.
And avoiding the “watch” of other Demon Hunter apprentices mattered too. Pandora didn’t want anyone witnessing her using the system.
She had to find a balance. A delicate “sweet spot.”
“This is giving a headache…” Pandora rubbed her temples gently.
Just then, Elsa’s cool, even voice cut in unexpectedly. “My Lady, I know a place that might et your requirents.”
Pandora’s eyes lit up imdiately. Elsa rarely volunteered suggestions. When she did, the answer was always solid.
“Tell …”
………………
Right then, in a hidden back alley, drops of dark red blood fell from pale fingertips.
Plip.
Sweat soaked Nicole’s smooth forehead, mixing with blood and dirt, making her already pale face look ghostly. She wanted to press her hand hard against the vicious gash at her waist to slow the bleeding, but…
The wound was too big. She couldn’t cover it.
Nicole looked down at the small puddle at her feet, mirroring her wrecked state. The right half of her body was mostly okay. The upper left side looked mangled, as if sothing had taken a savage bite out of her torso. Glossy, glistening organs lay exposed to the cold, polluted air.
She could even see her own heart—shimring with a strange tallic sheen—still pumping hard.
“Heh…” Nicole let out a soft, bitter laugh. If she were just an ordinary second-rank “Corpse-Plague Acolyte” from the Corpse Hall, a wound like this would’ve killed her long ago.
That bastard, “Blighted Hand” Wilbur! Leaning on his connection to the third-rank “The Blood Tonic” Aldrich, he’d taken the detailed intel on the “Sakura Road” district she’d worked so hard to gather, refused to pay, and tried to silence her.
Thankfully, her skills were top-notch. Her thods were varied. Otherwise, despite calling herself “the Corpse Hall’s finest, most dedicated information broker,” she’d be dead today by Wilbur’s corpse-poison-coated hands.
This grudge… I’ll rember it. Blighted Hand, Wilbur… I’ll make you pay.
Nicole’s expression turned ice-cold. Her eyes, blurry from blood loss, now held a sharp, hate-fueled focus. “The Corpse Hall’s finest, most dedicated information broker” might be her own boast, a bit self-mocking, but she really was good at her job.
If she lived through this and learned her lesson, even if she couldn’t kill Wilbur directly, she could at least make a “big problem” for him. ss up his push for third rank…
But just as Nicole leaned against the cold wall, forcing her mind to plan revenge, a faint, spine-chilling sound ca from behind.
The sound was weird. Like so thick liquid slowly filling a rusty tin can. A “gurgle… gurgle…” bubbling noise.
The mont Nicole heard it, her face changed. One thought flashed: Bad!
That thing… had caught up!
She didn’t hesitate. Almost the instant the gurgling started, she shoved herself forward, bursting out of the suffocating alley in a spray of blood and filth.
But the mont her feet hit the alley mouth, the scene outside made her heart sink further.
Thick, heavy fog. It carried that mutated zombie’s unique stench—a mix of rot and chemicals. The distance was completely swallowed. Only the shadows of tall buildings lood in the haze, like dead giants.
This place was dangerous even for a Demon Hunter apprentice in good shape. Let alone in her current… half-wrecked state.
The next second, her pupils shrank! Every hair on her body stood up!
Pure combat instinct made her throw herself violently to the side!
Thud!
A dull, heavy impact. A huge, clumsy shadow almost brushed her back, smashing into the spot she’d just been standing. Right after ca several sharp whistling sounds tearing through the air!
The thing didn’t let up.
Nicole dodged. Even with a near-fatal wound to her upper body, her moves were still swift. She barely avoided this wave of attacks, the edges of unknown sharp appendages grazing past her.
But the cold sweat on her forehead and her slightly trembling body showed she wasn’t having an easy ti.
Without a second thought, Nicole reached back to a pouch on her belt. She pulled out a palm-sized, plain-looking canister and hurled it backwards with all her strength.
Crack!
The canister exploded mid-air. A burst of blindingly intense light flared.
SCREEEEE——!!!
An ear-piercing screech ca from the dark shape.
Nicole spun and ran in the opposite direction, her mind racing.
Her luck today was terrible. Extrely, extrely terrible.
First, betrayed and almost killed by a client. Now, running into a “Rot-Spider”—sothing that shouldn’t even be in these outer districts at all…
Among all second-rank mutated monsters, this thing was notorious. Tough. Heavy shell. Sharp appendages that could shred steel. Normally, it wouldn’t be here, and it rarely moved alone. They mostly worked as nest guards for a “Mother Corpse-Spider,” hardly ever leaving the nest or hunting actively.
What was going on today…?
No. Wait.
Nicole’s blood-drained brain sparked. She hazily guessed the reason.
Those third-ranks! Lately, every single one of them had been preparing, openly or secretly, for “that business.” For heavyweights like “The Blood Tonic” Aldrich—the third-rank backing Wilbur—targeting a Mother Corpse-Spider for their plans wasn’t strange.
Maybe so third-rank had hit a distant Mother Corpse-Spider nest in another zone. Caused a big stir. Panicked the guards. Sent this one fleeing blindly… right into her path.
Swoosh!
The sharp sound of a blade cutting air sounded again! The scythe-like appendage, long as a sword, sliced past her cheek, passing straight through the empty cavity of her left chest.
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