Ethan paused, thinking ahead. Time was ticking. The longer they stayed, the more likely they'd be surrounded.
"Can any of you drive?"
That got their attention.
Ethan explained, "There are at least thirty zombies between us and the school's main gate. My skeleton and I can take them down, but it'll burn a lot of stamina. We need a faster way out. If we can get to the school buses, we might be able to smash through the blockade."
Aaron and Roby shook their heads.
William raised a hand. "I've driven cars before. Not a school bus, but... I know the basics."
Ethan studied him closely. "You're confident?"
William nodded. "The controls can't be that different. Brake, gas, steering—same concept. I can handle it."
Ethan gave a rare smile. "Good. Then we've got a plan."
He looked at the others.
"We find a school bus. We hotwire it. William drives. My skeleton and I clear the way. You two stay quiet and stay useful."
He turned back toward the shattered storefront.
"This place is a graveyard waiting to happen. We don't move fast, we're going to be buried in it."
Ethan stood in silence for a moment, deep in thought. His eyes flicked toward the shattered windows and the flickering lights above. Then he exhaled and made up his mind.
"It seems like we don't have much of a choice," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "We need to get that school bus."
The silence that followed was immediately broken by Roby's protest.
"Are you insane?" Roby's voice cracked with panic. "That's too dangerous! The streets out there are crawling with the undead! Why don't we just stay here? Look around—we've got clean water, canned food, even medicine. And the nearby zombies were taken care of already! We can wait it out. Eventually, the army will come and rescue us. Isn't that the smarter option?"
Ethan listened without interrupting, but his expression didn't change. Roby's words weren't foolish—just fearful.
Although Ethan had reached Level 3 and grown significantly stronger, he wasn't invincible. He still had to be careful, especially when facing a horde of just seven. The campus was surrounded by more than a thousand zombies. One wrong step, one careless moment, could mean death.
Roby, it seemed, didn't want to take that chance.
Aaron and William looked at each other, their faces pale, shoulders hunched. The fear was contagious. After all, who would willingly gamble with their life when safety was an option, however temporary? The small supermarket, with its food and water and the nearby undead already slain by Ethan and his skeletal companion, felt like a fortress. A fragile one—but a fortress nonetheless.
Ethan gave them one final look, eyes calm.
"Alright. Stay if you want. I'll go."
Without another word, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the exit. His skeletal summon followed, its empty sockets glowing faintly in the dim light.
Though Ethan had saved them, he didn't have the right to order them around. If they didn't want to walk the same path as him, he wouldn't force it.
The moment the heavy door creaked open and Ethan stepped outside, an overwhelming sense of dread swept over the three left behind. Watching their only protector vanish into the light, they were left with the cold truth—without a shield like him, their chances of survival were slim.
"…If I'd known it'd be like this, I would've learned how to drive better…" Roby muttered, regret thick in his voice.
Outside, Ethan turned his gaze toward the school bus parking lot at the top of a ramp. The wind blew against his coat as a faint smile curved his lips.
He wasn't smiling out of confidence. No—he was thinking. Despite knowing how to drive, he didn't like the idea of being the one behind the wheel. If something unexpected happened, he wouldn't be able to react fast enough while also handling a vehicle. He needed someone else to drive—but there was no one else. He'd have to do it himself.
"It all comes down to me again… Hopefully, the key's still inside."
Taking a deep breath, Ethan set off toward the ramp. The school bus, battered but intact, waited at the top like a lifeline.
Unlike standard cars, the Qinghua University buses were built like tanks—big, reinforced, and powerful enough to plow through crowds of zombies. Most regular vehicles would get swarmed and stalled within seconds, but that bus? That was a weapon in itself.
As he neared the bus, he caught sight of movement.
Eight zombies were staggering across the pavement at the top of the ramp, groaning softly. Their senses dulled, but their hunger was sharp as ever. When they heard Ethan and the clattering bones of the Skeleton, they froze for a moment—then turned and began to shuffle toward the sound with rising urgency.
Without hesitation, the Skeleton surged forward, its axe already in motion. The dull thud of undead flesh being split echoed through the air as its blade sliced one zombie clean in two.
Ethan was right behind him, eyes sharp, muscles coiled.
With a swift swing of his novice staff, he crushed the skull of another zombie. The force of the blow sent the creature's head snapping sideways at a grotesque angle, bone cracking under the impact. His strength stat had increased by four points—over a 40% boost—making the act of killing feel less like a struggle and more like muscle memory.
But Ethan wasn't just swinging blindly—his mind was moving fast, reading enemy movement, calculating distance, conserving stamina. Every step, every strike was in mind.
One after another, the zombies fell under their relentless assault.
It was brutal. Efficient. Controlled.
A man and a skeleton—two forces of death, leaving no room for the undead to breathe, if they even could.
When the last of the eight dropped with a hollow moan, Ethan straightened his back, breathing heavily. A soft chime rang in his ears, and a familiar voice echoed inside his head.
[You have advanced to Level 5. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
"Put both into Stamina," Ethan said immediately.
He didn't hesitate. In this world, stamina wasn't just for running or fighting—it was survival itself. Without it, you died. You couldn't swing. You couldn't flee. You couldn't think straight.
Warmth rushed through his body like a pulse of energy. The fatigue that had begun to creep in faded, and he felt lighter—stronger. More alive.
He turned toward the basketball court beyond the ramp and froze.
Dozens of zombies had been aimlessly wandering there. Now, they were slowly turning in his direction. The sounds of the earlier fight had drawn their attention, and one by one, they began to shuffle forward, hungry groans rising in a chorus of death.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, gripping his staff tighter. He still had a mission—to get that bus running. And if these corpses wanted to stop him?
They were about to learn that death had already claimed his soul—and he was coming to collect theirs.
Ethan's eyes scanned the scene quickly. A horde of undead—dozens strong—staggered across the cracked concrete of the basketball court, their grotesque faces twisted in hunger. Not far off, a faded yellow school bus sat still, its door creaking open in the breeze. His instincts kicked in.
"A bus... If it's working, I can escape in one shot."
Ethan bolted for it, heart pounding in rhythm with each footstep. He yanked the door open, vaulted inside, and lunged toward the driver's seat.
"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, his hands scrambling around the dashboard. "No keys in here!"
He frantically rummaged through compartments and under the seat, flipping down the sun visor and sweeping across the footwell.
Nothing.
Not a single damn key.
Time was slipping through his fingers.
From behind the windshield, he saw them—the shambling dead were closing in fast. And worse, from the nearby residential buildings, another wave was being drawn by the noise. More than ten of them were now lurching toward him, their mouths gaping, arms clawing.
"Can't fight all of them... not yet." Ethan muttered. "Break through!"
He leapt out of the bus, landing in a crouch. His eyes darted across the open area, calculating angles, escape routes, choke points. But before he could decide—
A whirlwind cut through the chaos.
A blur of black hair and tight jeans streaked across his vision. A girl—no, a goddess in motion—sprinted from the side. She moved with lethal grace, her long, raven-black hair flowing behind her like a banner of midnight silk. Her body, wrapped in denim and a simple top, was an intoxicating blend of elegance and danger, her curves flowing perfectly into each motion. In her hand was a novice's staff—but she wielded it like a master.
Thwack!
Her staff struck like a serpent, coiling and snapping with devastating precision. A zombie's head twisted unnaturally sideways, the neck crushed by the force. Another came from the left—she spun, pivoted on her heel, and slammed the base of the staff into its skull with a cracking thud.
It dropped instantly.
With the hourglass figure and bounce of her breasts, with skin as white as snow, adding an ethereal quality to her beauty, making her appear almost otherworldly.
Zombies scattered around her like dry leaves before a storm. None could get close—she was untouchable, untouchable and hypnotic.
"Follow me!" she barked, not slowing as she passed Ethan's side.
Ethan blinked in surprise. "Grace?" The name echoed in his mind, tugging at a buried memory.
He didn't hesitate. He ran.
Together—Ethan, Grace, and the tall skeleton at his command—they weaved through the chaos, fighting and falling back toward a nearby pavilion built over the lake.
It was perfect.
A narrow bridge led to it—barely wide enough for one person at a time—and the surrounding waters offered a natural defense. As long as they could reach it, they could hold their ground.
The skeleton moved to the front, its axe already wet with black, rotted gore. Every step forward by a zombie was met with a brutal swing.
Slice. Crack. Smash.
Heads rolled. Bodies crumpled. Limbs were severed mid-reach. On that narrow pathway, no zombie could stand before the relentless power of Ethan's summoned warrior.
In the relative safety of the pavilion, Grace finally turned to Ethan, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Yet even breathless, even blood-spattered, she looked like a vision from a dream—skin pale like winter snow, lips plush, eyes luminous and deep with emotion. Her voice, when she spoke, was sultry and sharp, equal parts charm and command.
"Hey there, classmate. I'm Grace. Mind telling me your name?"
Ethan smiled slightly, brushing a smear of ash from his shoulder.
"Grace, huh? Of course. I'm Ethan. I think there's hardly a soul at Qinghua University who doesn't know who you are."
Her lips curled into a slight smile.
In front of the girl who has smooth glossy black shoulder length hair, an exquisitely pretty face, tall and buxom, dark blue eyes, skin white as snow, is recognized as the most beautiful in Qinghua University, Grace.
Ethan remembered her now. Just over a year ago, at the university's New Year's Gala, Grace had performed a traditional sword dance. Clad in crimson robes, her movements were ethereal, mesmerizing every student and faculty member alike. Her beauty and elegance left the crowd breathless. Since that day, she had become the dream of nearly every man on campus. Rumor even had it that young heirs from powerful families arrived in flashy sports cars just for a glimpse of her.
But now… that beautiful, untouchable girl stood beside him, staff in hand, blood on her clothes, and courage in her heart. Ethan had to admit—she was more than a campus legend.
She was a fighter.
Grace glanced at the skeleton warrior, curiosity flashing in her eyes.
"That thing—your summon. Is it your power?"
"Yeah," Ethan nodded, his expression calm. "Something like a Necromancer."
Grace's gaze lingered on the undead warrior for a moment, then returned to Ethan, her voice softening with urgency.
"I need your help," she said, stepping closer. "My friend... she's trapped in the girl's dormitory. I couldn't reach her alone—there were too many zombies swarming the building. Will you come with me to rescue her?"
Ethan considered it for only a moment before giving a firm nod.
"Of course. But I'll ask the same in return. I've got someone I need to save too. Once we stabilize things here... I want your help getting him out."
Grace's face lit up with approval. Her blue dark eyes locked onto his, full of sincerity and strength.
"Deal. I'm all about keeping things fair."
Ethan smiled inwardly. In a world gone mad, she was not just beautiful—she was brave. And in this apocalypse, bravery was priceless.
He looked at the skeleton, who stood silently beside them, its empty eye sockets flickering with deathless loyalty.
---
"Did you rest well here? If everything's fine, please follow me," Grace said crisply ten minutes later, her voice echoing faintly against the cold concrete walls of the dorm corridor.
Ethan rose to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. His eyes had regained their sharpness, the fatigue from earlier gone.
"Good enough," he said, cracking his neck. "Let's move."
After the short break, Ethan's stamina had recovered back to 10 points—he was once again battle-ready, fully capable of sustaining short stretches of combat.
Grace, now gripping her novice staff like a seasoned warrior, was the first to step out. Her movements were graceful, calculated, and filled with a confident energy. Despite the worn clothes and the tension of survival, there was an unshakable beauty to her—high cheekbones, stormy blue eyes, and dark hair tied in a loose ponytail that danced behind her like a banner in the wind.
The hallway was painted in red and rot. Dozens of headless corpses lay sprawled across the narrow path—former zombies that had been lured here during their last battle. Their bodies were twisted in unnatural ways, necks hacked clean by something unnaturally precise.
That 'something' stood silently a few meters away.
The Skeleton.
Clad in nothing, its empty eye sockets glowed with a dim, otherworldly green fire. It stood unnervingly still, its axe dripping with foul zombie blood. Despite the gore, there was something... regal about the way it stood.
It had leveled up again. Now at Level 6, its combat stats had surged.
Grace gave the Skeleton a quick glance, then turned to Ethan with a playful grin. "You're a damn useful guy to have around."
Ethan chuckled. "I do my best."
Unlike living fighters, the Skeleton didn't suffer from fatigue. It could fight endlessly without food, sleep, or hesitation. In sheer continuous combat potential, it already outmatched both Ethan and Grace combined.
Ethan moved among the corpses, crouching and sifting through the remnants for loot. Survival Coins glittered faintly in the dim hallway light. He pocketed them one by one, moving with the practiced swiftness of someone who'd looted the dead before.
Then something caught his eye.
A faint red glow.
Nestled between two bodies, partially hidden under a shredded backpack, was a thin, leather-bound book. His heart quickened.
He reached for it instantly.
[[Small Fireball – Level 1]]
Type: Active
Effect:
Allows the user to conjure and hurl a concentrated fireball at a distant target. This basic pyromancy spell, once wielded by lesser demon mages, unleashes a burst of flame with explosive force upon impact. Despite its small size, the fireball burns with unstable energy and causes moderate area damage upon detonation. However, its inefficient structure draws heavily from the user's mana pool in its current form.
Ideal for surprise ranged attacks, clearing weak mobs, or testing elemental resistances.
Activation Cost:
8 Spirit
Cooldown:
3 Days
(Cooldown significantly decreases with level upgrades.)
Description:
A volatile spell passed down from the ash-stained tomes of defeated demonkin. Though crude in construction, its destructive potential remains feared by novice adventurers and scavengers alike. With refinement, this ember of destruction could one day blaze into a true inferno—but for now, wield it with caution, lest it consumes more than just your enemies.]
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"Too unstable. Not my style."
He weighed the book in his hand. The spell wasn't suited for him—especially one who relied on undead minion and fists more than magic bursts. But its value was decent.
Grace came closer, her curiosity piqued. Her presence brought a subtle fragrance of crushed herbs and something wild, something alive.
"What is it?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.
"Level 1 Small Fireball. Basic, long-range, drains a lot of magic. You want it?"
She shook her head with a polite smile. "I prefer hitting things up close."
"Figures."
He tucked the book into his backpack and slung it across his shoulder. "Let's go."
Together, the three left the safety of the old pavilion. But peace was a distant memory in this world. No sooner had they stepped out than the groans began—low, guttural, and close.
Dozens of zombies had already caught their scent.
The infected staggered forward from the cracked pavement and crumbling buildings—some with bloated jaws, others with bones jutting through skin like twisted armor. A pack of twelve shuffled into view, eyes filled with bloodlust.
Grace's eyes narrowed. "If we don't break through fast, we'll never reach the girl's dormitory."
With no hesitation, she shot forward, her staff spinning in her hands like a dancer's ribbon—only deadly.
Her speed surprised Ethan. Her limbs moved like flowing wind, long strides powered by impressive agility. For a moment, she didn't seem like a rookie—she looked like a warrior born from fire and blood.
Ethan's voice snapped like a command.
"Move forward—cut them down!"
The Skeleton's eyes flared brighter. Its response was immediate—charging ahead with terrifying speed. The very earth seemed to quake under its bone-feets. Like a hurricane of death, it smashed into the undead horde. Its axe rose high, then came down like divine punishment.
Crack!
A zombie's skull burst open like a melon. Its head sailed several meters into the air, painting the wall with black ichor.
Grace gasped. "That skeleton… damn, he's amazing!"
Inspired, she darted behind it, her staff jabbing and twisting like a venomous serpent. Each strike was precise—aimed for eyes, throats, or temples.
Ethan soon joined the bloodbath, his staff swinging with brutal force. He ducked under a zombie's swipe and crushed its twisted face with a single, well-placed strike.
Their synergy was near perfect.
The Skeleton acted as the vanguard. Grace was the swift striker, and Ethan held the line with calm calculation and strategic strikes.
One by one, the zombies fell. Bones cracked. Heads rolled.
In less than a minute, eight of the twelve were turned into twitching corpses on the ground.
"Go, now!" Grace called out, panting slightly, her cheeks flushed from battle.
They dashed ahead, not sparing a second to look back. The remaining four undead would follow—but distance and speed were now on their side.
Then, just as Ethan passed a fallen corpse, something colorful rolled into view.
A radiant, vibrant apple.
Its skin shimmered with faint green light—it looked impossibly fresh, untouched by decay or rot.
"The Apple of Vitality?" Ethan muttered, eyes gleaming. "Nice!"
Without breaking stride, he bent down, snatched the apple, and sprinted after the others.
The trio hacked their way through the wave of the undead, their weapons slicing through rotting flesh and bone with swift brutality. They dispatched six aimlessly wandering zombies in quick succession, their bodies crumpling to the bloodstained pavement. Without hesitation, the group pushed forward, heading straight toward the girl's dormitory at Qinghua University.
As they neared the building, ten zombies standing outside jerked their heads toward them, their cloudy eyes locking on the scent of fresh flesh. With guttural groans, they began to shuffle and stagger forward, their arms raised like broken marionettes.
"What a damn waste..." Ethan muttered, halting for a moment as he laid eyes on the approaching undead.
The ten female zombies, once young, vibrant hotties full of dreams and laughter, now looked like walking tragedies. Torn cheeks, blood-slicked chins, and sunken eyes replaced once-flawless features. Their curvaceous bodies, which in life would have turned heads in any hallway, were now tattered and grotesque, their clothes barely hanging onto their decayed forms. What remained of their former beauty made the sight even more haunting.
Their sexy curvy bodies weren't attractive any more.
'They should've been celebrating youth... not condemned to this nightmare,' Ethan thought bitterly.
But the Skeleton felt no such sentiment. A soulless reaper of the dead, it surged forward with mechanical purpose. With one brutal swing of its rusted axe, it cleaved through the neck of a zombie girl, her head launching into the air before crashing lifelessly against the pavement.
Grace was next. Like a whirlwind, she darted into the horde, her figure elegant yet deadly. Her novice staff danced like a serpent in her hands, its movements fluid and precise. She bashed forward, the head of the staff cracking into a zombie's skull with a sickening crunch, sending its head tilting at a disturbing angle.
Ethan moved in sync, slipping between the chaos with surgical finesse. His strikes were clean, swift, and merciless—each swing of his staff a perfect execution. His experience as a fighter as lead it shone in every movement, his mind calculating angles, spacing, and enemy numbers in real-time.
Within moments, the ten zombies lay in mangled heaps at their feet. Not one had survived the trio's deadly rhythm.
Without wasting time, Ethan dashed toward the security room of the dormitory. He scanned the desk quickly, his sharp eyes locking onto a heavy ring of keys and an industrial-grade padlock. He grabbed both and sprinted outside, securing the main gate of the girl's dormitory with practiced hands.
But the brief moment of victory came with a price.
The commotion had stirred the dead.
Outside the dormitory, hundreds of zombies began to shuffle toward the noise, their grotesque moans forming a dreadful chorus. A sickening tide of rot and hunger slowly closed in from all directions.
Unlike the ramshackle boy's dormitory—protected by little more than splintered wooden doors—the girl's dormitory had been reinforced after a series of burglaries years ago. In order to protect the safety of the girls, in the aftermath of that event, every room had been outfitted with aluminum or even iron doors, making them far more secure in a crisis like this.
That precaution now stood between life and death.
Inside the dormitory, the groans of zombies echoed from behind closed doors. Many rooms had remained shut when the apocalypse began, as students had been taking afternoon naps, blissfully unaware of the nightmare that was about to unfold. Now, those same rooms were filled with undead, slamming violently against the metal doors.
Still, over twenty of them had already managed to get out. They now roamed the corridors with twitching limbs, bumping into walls, dragging torn limbs behind them.
The building was surrounded. With nearly a hundred zombies outside and more emerging within, escape would soon become impossible.
"We'll be torn apart if they box us in," Ethan said under his breath, scanning the area. His mind raced—every second counted.
"Follow me!" Grace commanded, her eyes sharp and focused. Without waiting for a response, she darted toward the stairwell.
Ethan and the Skeleton immediately followed, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. But the stairs were no safer.
A couple of zombies loitered in the narrow corridor. The trio rushed at them, dispatching them with efficient brutality. Blood sprayed the walls as heads were bashed in and limbs were crushed underfoot. Within minutes, the stairwell fell silent again—except for the steady beat of their own breathing.
Just as they reached the third floor, four more zombies suddenly lunged from the next landing, having been drawn by the clamor. With ravenous shrieks, they barreled down the narrow stairwell toward Grace, cutting off her path.
There was no space to dodge. She was trapped.
Gritting her teeth, Grace struck out with her staff, the tip cracking into one zombie's face, sending it reeling to the side with a screech.
But the remaining three pressed forward without pause, snarling as they pounced on her.
"Grace!" Ethan shouted, already moving.
Before she could scream, the Skeleton was there—its axe sweeping in a wide arc with brutal grace. One zombie's head exploded like an overripe melon under the blow, chunks of flesh splattering the railing.
Ethan followed, leaping forward. His staff whistled through the air and smashed into a second zombie's skull, twisting it with a bone-snapping crunch. But the momentum of his strike knocked Grace off balance. She tumbled backward, hitting the floor with a gasp.
The last zombie, maddened and hungry, raked its claws across Ethan's left arm.
The sound of tearing fabric and the sharp bite of pain followed. His sleeve was shredded. His muscles screamed from the impact—it had nearly dislocated his shoulder.
"Damn it!" Ethan growled, stumbling back.
But he didn't falter.
Even as pain flared through his arm, his mind remained cold, focused. He gritted his teeth and pivoted, drawing power into his next strike. He couldn't afford to stop—not now, not while Grace was down, and they were still surrounded.