Dozens of zombies had surrounded the trees, encircling them completely. They clawed at the bark and sniffed the air like beasts locked onto prey.
There was no way down. No way forward.
No escape.
"Trouble!"
Ethan's voice was low, grim. He stood by the window, peering through the cracked glass at the chaos outside. His brows furrowed in frustration.
The only viable exit from the dormitory had been completely overrun. Thick clusters of the undead blocked every path—moaning, twitching, dragging themselves forward with relentless hunger. Getting out now looked almost impossible.
Their only weakness was the head—but their strength, toughness, and sheer brutality made even a scratch from them a death sentence. And that was if you were lucky. Facing more than three at a time without a gun was suicide. Even elite soldiers would struggle to survive without heavy weapons.
If not for their slow speed, this apocalypse would've ended humanity within a day.
A loud bang echoed from behind—wood splintering, hinges snapping. The door to Ethan's room shook violently.
Then it gave way.
Two zombies staggered into the room, their pale faces twisted with hunger, eyes blank and clouded like soured milk.
But Ethan wasn't alone.
A blur of bone and motion surged forward—the Skeleton stationed by the dorm door raised its axe with mechanical precision. With one brutal chop, it cleaved through the skull of the first zombie, splitting it like rotted fruit.
Ethan's sharp eyes caught it: a ball of white light—faint, like the glow of a firefly—emerged from the corpse and floated into the Skeleton's chest, vanishing into its ribcage.
The second zombie hissed, dragging its broken foot as it lunged forward.
Shunk!
Another clean blow. The head rolled away, landing near Ethan's feet with a wet thud. The floor was slick with black, rancid blood. Again, the white light flew into the Skeleton.
Ethan's face twisted in frustration.
"So that's how it works... the experience goes to the summon."
He clenched his jaw.
"Summoned monsters only gain experience for themselves," he muttered bitterly. "None of it transfers to me. No EXP sharing in this damned world."
That single realization shattered the foundation of his entire survival strategy.
Originally, he had intended to let his summoned skeleton handle the zombies. As an undead creature, it was immune to infection, felt no fear, and had no stamina stat—meaning it could fight endlessly, day and night. Ethan had seen it as the perfect solution: remain in the background, let the skeleton do the work, and quietly accumulate EXP.
With the staggering number of zombies in the University alone, his estimates had been optimistic—he could easily level up at least five times, even if the required EXP doubled with each level. That growth would've been enough to unlock a second skeleton summon, accelerating the grind exponentially.
But now?
Now that strategy was dead.
There was no EXP sharing.
Summoned monsters earned experience for themselves alone. Their growth didn't reflect back on him. It was like a bucket of ice-cold water poured over his ambitions, instantly extinguishing them. If he wanted to grow stronger—if he wanted to survive—he had to step into the battlefield himself.
No more watching from the sidelines.
If Ethan wanted to level up...
If he wanted to survive...
He'd have to step into the blood-soaked arena himself.
No more hiding.
No more shortcuts.
Worse still, his Eyes of Perception had labeled every zombie so far as Level 1. But that wasn't reassuring—it was terrifying.
Either they could level up just like humans… or there are stronger ones still lurking in the shadows.
Neither option gave him comfort.
This world—his world—was changing. Twisting. It wasn't just random chaos. Skills, systems, classes—this wasn't just an apocalypse. It was a game. No... a trial. And someone—or something—was watching from above.
A god? An entity? A cosmic torturer with too much time and not enough empathy?
He didn't know.
But he knew this much:
Without strength, he wouldn't last.
A sudden noise yanked him out of his thoughts.
Three more zombies appeared, crawling through a breach in the side wall near the hallway. Their jaws snapped, teeth grinding. One of them dragged its broken spine behind it like a leash.
Ethan readied himself.
He opened his mouth— "Ske—" —then paused.
Skeleton.
That name won't do. It's too cold... too generic. This thing has been keeping me alive.
It deserves more than that.
But this wasn't the time to name a companion.
"Skeleton! Take the two on the left!"
The undead obeyed instantly. Its axe swung once, then again—savage, efficient. One zombie's head burst open like a melon. Another staggered forward, only to be caught by a horizontal chop that cracked its neck and jaw in a single blow.
The third zombie reached the debris-filled doorway, tripped over a broken chair, and fell to the floor. It flailed, trying to get up.
The Skeleton showed no mercy. It stepped forward, its bony foot crushing the creature's wrist before hacking its axe down through the skull.
Black blood sprayed up the walls.
One more remained.
It was crawling slowly toward Ethan, its face already chewed beyond recognition. Patches of flesh were missing. One white eye dangled from its socket, swinging like a grotesque pendant.
Ethan's heart pounded.
His legs trembled—but he didn't retreat.
He gritted his teeth, gripped his novice staff with both hands, and stepped forward.
I have to do this. I need that EXP. I need power—now.
With a shout, he brought the staff down on the zombie's head. The first strike cracked the skull. The second twisted its neck. A third—and finally, the light went out of its one remaining eye.
A familiar white glow floated upward.
But this time—it came to him.
It sank into his chest like warm electricity, seeping into his bones, his muscles, his very soul.
So that's what it feels like... real experience... real growth.
Still, he wasn't taking any chances. He gave a sharp nod to his Skeleton.
"Finish it."
The axe came down. The head separated from the body with a wet crunch.
And then—silence.
Only the soft drip of black blood from the blade remained.
Ethan leaned against the wall, panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The last zombie inside was down—but the nightmare wasn't over. From outside, the guttural moans and erratic footsteps continued. Shadows flickered through the cracked window panes, and rotten fists banged violently on the door.
The horde was still coming.
"A lot of zombies…" Ethan muttered, his brows furrowing as he wiped sweat from his forehead.
He peeked through a gap in the door—his heart clenched. More than a dozen white-eyed corpses were crowding the hallway, their bloated forms packed tightly together like maggots squirming into a carcass. Their lifeless, milky eyes and open mouths twisted into eternal snarls gave off an oppressive aura that made his skin crawl.
This wasn't just survival anymore. This was a siege.
Melee combat drained stamina rapidly, and in a world like this, even a scratch from a zombie meant death. Facing one was already risky. Facing over a dozen? That bordered on suicide.
Luckily, the entrance was narrow. Only three could squeeze through the door at a time, their bodies jammed together as they clawed to get in. One more zombie was already halfway through the side window, its arms flailing and fingernails scraping the wood.
So four active threats. The rest of the undead were still stuck outside, grunting and pushing to force their way in.
The weight of the situation pressed heavily on Ethan's shoulders, but he didn't crumble. He was calculating, focused, and determined.
"Skeleton! The three at the door are yours!" he commanded, his voice sharp with authority.
The skeletal minion, now visibly more fluid and agile than before, sprang into motion without hesitation. After leveling up earlier, its movements were no longer stiff and awkward—it was learning.
Ethan dashed toward the window with renewed resolve. Gritting his teeth, he raised his novice staff and brought it crashing down on the half-intruding zombie's skull. The blow landed with a sickening crack, twisting the head grotesquely to the side and sending shards of bone flying.
The skeleton stomped over the corpse-strewn floor and brought its axe down in a powerful arc, cleaving one zombie's head clean off. Rotten flesh and bone splattered across the floor as the undead corpse slumped.
Two more zombies shoved their way through the broken entry, crawling over the body of their comrade. The moment they tumbled in, they slipped over the gore-slick floor and crashed to the ground.
Ethan didn't hesitate. Seizing the opportunity, he lunged and struck hard, smashing one of the downed zombies directly in the face. Its head caved inward with a crunch, and it stopped twitching.
The skeleton followed up with brutal efficiency, swinging its axe like a veteran warrior. Another head rolled across the floor.
But the flood wouldn't stop. Another four zombies were pushing through the door and window. Ethan's arms burned, his lungs ached, but he grit his teeth and kept going. There was no other option.
A grotesque sight met his eyes—one zombie trying to crawl in through the window had its eyes bitten out, bloody sockets dripping down its cheeks. Ethan charged forward and smashed its face so hard it bounced back against the window frame before going limp. A flash of white light burst from the corpse and surged into Ethan's chest.
[You have advanced to Level 3. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
The robotic voice echoed in his mind, but there was no time to celebrate.
"Strength, Stamina!" Ethan gasped, selecting quickly as another zombie approached. He needed more force in his strikes, and the endurance to swing until the very end.
A wave of heat surged through his body as the changes took effect. His muscles tensed, his breathing steadied just a bit, and new energy flowed into his veins.
The skeleton, now looking eerily confident in its movements, swept its axe in a clean horizontal strike—slicing another zombie's head in two. Its body twitched and dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.
A strange glow flickered at the skeleton's chest. From the bloodstained floor, a chunk of bone rose and reformed into a new, pale chestplate, layering over its torso like a bony armor upgrade.
"It grew again… Its growth is insane," Ethan thought, glancing over.
While he could only add 2 points per level, the skeleton's stat growth was fivefold. In raw numbers alone, it was rapidly catching up to him—or even surpassing him in close combat.
Now significantly stronger, the skeleton surged forward and cleaved through two more zombies with minimal resistance. The rest of the horde, for now, had been cleared.
The banging finally ceased. Silence returned.
Ethan stood still for a few seconds, listening carefully. Nothing but the distant echoes of moaning from far-off streets. The immediate threat was gone.
Blood and blackened gore coated the room like an artist's nightmare. Corpses—twisted, mangled, headless—lay sprawled around him. The floor was a swamp of rotting flesh and blood. The stench was overwhelming, so thick it clung to the tongue.
Holding his breath, Ethan donned a pair of worn gloves and began checking the corpses. He didn't expect much, but his eyes scanned each body for one thing—black Survival Coins.
They had no immediate value, not yet anyway. But in a world where chaos ruled and power was everything, he was sure they'd become essential. Maybe for trade. Maybe for crafting. Maybe for leveling. He didn't know—but he was certain they mattered.
Once he collected what he could, Ethan returned to the window and sat with his back against the cold wall, resting the novice staff on his lap.
His breathing was ragged. His limbs ached. But his mind was already racing ahead, calculating, planning.
He had survived. Barely.
But this was only the beginning.
"Can't stay here too long."
Ethan's voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
He stood at the threshold of the dorm room, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the carnage within. The space reeked of death—thick, metallic blood pooled across the floor like spilled ink, congealing in sick puddles beneath more than a dozen headless corpses. Limbs were twisted at unnatural angles. Torn clothing clung to their frames like shrouds. The walls, slicked in gore, glistened beneath the flickering emergency lights. Every breath he took was saturated with the rancid stench of rot.
This wasn't just a room anymore. It was a massacre site. A graveyard. A curse.
Ethan frowned. The sight didn't horrify him—it exhausted him.
His throat burned. The dry air, combined with his labored breathing from the earlier battle, had turned his mouth into a desert. Each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper down his windpipe. And yet, despite the thirst clawing at his insides, he didn't so much as glance toward the sink. He knew better than to trust the tap water.
Who could say if the infection had already seeped into the pipelines? One sip could be a death sentence.
He couldn't stay. Not here. Not surrounded by the remains of those who had fallen before him. If he lingered, he'd join them.
With stiff legs, Ethan collapsed into the farthest corner away from the corpses. He let the cold wall press against his back and closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow. His limbs trembled—not from fear, but fatigue. It felt like his body had been hollowed out, drained dry.
Ten minutes crawled by.
A faint sense of vitality began to return to him, a whisper of strength threading through his tired muscles. He checked his stats with a mental command.
Stamina: 4 → 7.
Twenty more minutes passed.
Stamina: 8.
Ethan's brows furrowed slightly. "It doesn't recover at a constant rate… the lower it drops, the longer it takes to bounce back," he muttered to himself, committing the observation to memory.
His mind, even now, remained sharp—always observing, always deducing.
That sharpness wasn't accidental. In his past life, Ethan had graduated with a degree in aerospace engineering, trained to solve problems no human had ever encountered before. He'd designed systems meant to operate in the cold void of space, among radiation storms and zero-gravity anomalies. But more than his degree, it was his bloodline that forged this relentless instinct.
His father—a senior aerospace systems analyst. His mother—a planetary geologist who once led survey missions on Mars' polar canyons and even the Europa deep crust scans.
They had fallen in love during a mission to study atmospheric particle decay on a high-orbit research station—bonded by intellect, united by curiosity.
And now, that same relentless curiosity—the need to understand the world around him—was the only thing keeping Ethan alive.
So he sat quietly, even in the stink of death, analyzing how his body recovered, how stamina returned, how stats shifted. He needed answers. Every data point was a lifeline.
In this hellscape, knowledge was power.
And Ethan intended to hoard it like gold.
Eventually, he stood.
His dark eyes scanned the world outside the cracked dorm window. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the blood-streaked campus. The chaos that had erupted earlier now seemed to simmer into a deceptive calm.
The screams were gone.
Either the infected had finished off the living… or the survivors had found places to hide.
Zombies shuffled across the grounds in twitching, aimless movements—some moaning, some sniffing the air. Most had already wandered toward the commotion caused by Aaron's group. Ethan had counted at least six people sprinting across campus earlier, drawing attention like moths to a flame.
It had worked in his favor.
The male dormitory's perimeter now lay eerily empty. Only a few stragglers—four, maybe five—lingered nearby in a daze, swaying like broken marionettes.
Time to move.
"Climb down."
Ethan didn't need to speak loudly. His tone carried weight. His words were law.
A rattling sound echoed softly behind him as his skeletal summon stepped forward. Bone joints clacked and echoed against the floor tiles. Its eye sockets blazed with green soul-fire—cold, eerie, and intelligent.
The Skeleton silently placed its bone axe across its back, then moved toward the window. With surprising agility, it clutched the makeshift rope Ethan had anchored earlier—a knotted fire hose—and began its descent, each movement smooth and precise.
No hesitation. No fear. Just obedience.
It landed on the ground below with a dull thud, the sound louder than expected in the still, heavy air.
Four nearby zombies immediately twitched. Their milky eyes locked onto the Skeleton, and they turned as one, groaning low as they began to stagger forward.
Ethan followed swiftly, his camping backpack strapped tightly across his shoulders. He gripped the rope and climbed down in controlled, rapid movements. The moment his boots hit the pavement, he crouched low and took in the surroundings.
The undead were closing in.
The Skeleton stepped forward first, raising its axe high before cleaving down with brutal force. One zombie's head detached cleanly from its shoulders, flying a few feet before hitting the ground with a squelch.
Ethan didn't waste time. He rushed behind another one, and with a savage shout, smashed his novice staff into the creature's temple. The skull caved in with a sickening crunch, the zombie collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
Two more remained.
The Skeleton spun on its heel, dragging the axe horizontally this time. Two heads fell in perfect unison—clean, silent, and final.
It didn't flinch. It didn't pause.
It simply stood, axe dripping with black blood, waiting for the next order.
Leveling up twice had transformed it into a cold executioner. Its movements were efficient. Surgical. Even a horde wouldn't intimidate it—unless it were dozens strong.
No fatigue. No fear. No hesitation.
Zombie bites? Worthless.
Pain? Nonexistent.
Ethan smirked inwardly.
The Skeleton was practically the grim reaper with Wi-Fi—always connected to his command.
He shook his head, amused for half a second before returning to business.
His eyes drifted toward a nearby building—a small, run-down supermarket not far from the dorm's eastern wing. Supplies. Water. Maybe even some medicine or snacks if they were lucky.
He pointed.
"Advance in that direction," Ethan ordered, voice cold and steady.
The Skeleton didn't respond verbally. It didn't need to.
It simply turned and bolted forward—bone axe in hand, feet pounding against the concrete like a harbinger of death.
Ethan followed, gripping his staff tightly as he moved behind his summon.
Every second mattered now.
Ethan was running with everything he had, lungs burning and heart pounding in his chest. But no matter how hard he pushed, the gap between him and the undead servant widened.
The difference in stats was undeniable now. With 12 points in Agility, the Skeleton surged ahead with an unnatural speed, its bony limbs pumping rhythmically, leaving Ethan trailing behind within seconds. The cold, hard truth hit Ethan like a slap—he wasn't fast enough.
Their rapid footsteps echoed down the cracked asphalt street, their movement a sharp contrast to the eerie stillness of the ruined city. The rhythmic thuds, though brief, had already drawn unwanted attention. The moaning of the dead soon followed, low and guttural, like a rising tide of despair.
From alleyways and broken windows, zombies emerged one by one, slowly staggering toward the noise like moths to flame. Though slower than the living, their sheer numbers made up for it. Dozens now followed—arms raised, eyes lifeless, jaws gnashing.
A sense of crushing pressure bore down on Ethan's chest. If he were to be surrounded by them here, in the open, without a fortified position—he would be torn apart. There would be no miracle rescue, no deus ex machina. Just pain, screaming, and the end.
His eyes locked onto their objective: a small supermarket nestled inside the school campus. But even that wasn't safe.
Four zombies roamed lazily near the entrance, heads twitching toward the approaching sound. The Skeleton didn't hesitate.
With a soundless war cry, the undead warrior rushed forward. Its bone axe cleaved through the air in a clean arc—Splat! A zombie's head was launched into the air like a grotesque soccer ball, its body crumpling before it hit the ground.
Two more zombies lunged at the Skeleton, clawing and screeching with mindless hunger. They scratched at its bones, trying to rip apart what had no flesh. But the Skeleton's response was swift and brutal. It raised its axe and swung twice in perfect succession—thud, thud—decapitating them both in a single fluid motion.
By the time Ethan arrived, breath ragged and legs aching, the battle was already over. The corpses of the undead lay scattered in twitching heaps. The supermarket entrance was clear.
"Damn..." Ethan breathed, his voice laced with awe and envy. "That was amazing."
He stared down at the twitching, headless bodies surrounding the Skeleton, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy. As an undead being, his summon didn't fear pain or infection. It didn't hesitate, didn't need rest, and it never held back. It was a relentless killing machine—and in this world, that made it invaluable.
Ethan, on the other hand, was human. Fragile. Vulnerable. One mistake, one wrong move, and it was game over.
His current weapon, a novice's staff, was solid but blunt. It lacked cutting power. Cracking a zombie's skull with it required absurd amounts of effort and a perfect hit. Even then, the force reverberated painfully through his arms, jarring his wrists and elbows. After just a few swings, the fatigue began to creep in. His grip loosened, his reaction time dulled. And that was a death sentence.
He knew the science behind it—blunt weapons disperse force over a larger surface area, requiring more strength per impact. Sharp weapons, like the Skeleton's axe, focused that force into a single point, allowing cleaner, quicker kills with far less energy.
But knowing wasn't the same as having.
Ethan's gaze drifted toward the nearest corpse. Something bright caught his eye.
"What's that...?"
There, nestled among the blood and broken limbs, was a glint of red. An apple. Still pristine. It had been wrapped in a plastic pouch, somehow avoiding the gore and grime around it.
Without hesitation, Ethan scooped it up. As soon as his fingers touched it, a faint shimmer of information flashed before his eyes—like a pop-up window in his mind.
[[Apple of Vitality]
A rare fruit infused with revitalizing energy.
When consumed outside of combat, it restores 4 stamina points over 5 minutes.
Note: Only effective while in a non-combat state.
Sell Value: 15 Survival Coins]
"Jackpot," Ethan muttered with a grin.
He tucked the apple safely into his pocket, snatched up four loose Survival Coins from the corpses, and darted inside the supermarket before more zombies could show up.
Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered weakly overhead, casting the narrow aisles in a pale, sickly glow. The smell of stale air and dried blood lingered, but it was bearable—for now.
Ethan's eyes swept the room quickly, instinctively scanning for movement. Two former employees, now reanimated husks, lay at the back with their heads severed—already dealt with by the Skeleton.
"Clear," Ethan whispered to himself.
Now came the real scavenging.
He dashed toward the snack section with practiced urgency, hands moving fast. Candy bars. Biscuits. High-calorie chocolates. Anything with sugar. He swept them into his mountaineering backpack with ruthless efficiency.
In a world like this, calories meant life. These snacks weren't luxuries—they were fuel. When you were on the move, fighting for your life, nothing kept you going better than concentrated energy.
After clearing the shelves, he turned to the dry goods. A few packets of instant noodles—easy to carry, even easier to cook. He stuffed them in. Then he moved to the water aisle and grabbed three large bottles of purified packed water, strapping two to the sides of the pack and cramming the third inside.
His backpack was now full—stuffed to the brim with food and water.
In the old world, this might've been a casual grocery trip. Now? It was a major victory. Every item in his bag was another hour of survival bought with sweat, fear, and blood.