Hey everyone,
I've been thinking a lot lately about where to continue sharing my stories. After trying out other platforms, it feels like things just aren't working out the way I hoped. So, I'm seriously considering reopening my Patreon account again.
This time, though, I plan to keep things a little cleaner — I won't be uploading the spicy or R-rated chapters there anymore. I want to focus on storytelling, worldbuilding, and giving you all consistent updates without worrying about content restrictions.
What do you all think? Would you still be interested in supporting and reading on Patreon if I relaunch it that way?
Your feedback really matters to me — it'll help me decide the best direction to take moving forward.
Thank you all for sticking with me through everything. Your support means more than words can express. 💛
*****
The bartender continued, "When that happens, they'll roam freely across the world, driven by instinct alone. Their evolution restraints will be lifted as well. Within days, they'll grow faster, stronger, deadlier. Hunting them will become ten times harder than before—and the danger will rise with every passing sunrise."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming faintly with amusement. "Let me give you a little clue for free," he whispered. "You don't actually believe only humans turned into zombies… do you?"
Ethan's pupils shrank. Images flashed through his mind—beasts, birds, maybe even other races infected by that same plague. He realized the true horror of what awaited outside these safe walls.
The bartender's words echoed in Ethan's ears long after they stopped. A chill ran down his spine, cold enough to seep into his bones. For a brief moment, he forgot to breathe.
His mind raced. If even the zombies had restrictions on their evolution… then what would they become once those were lifted?
He thought back to the city. Even though Jiang City had many zoos, not once had he seen a single wild animal. No birds in the sky. No cats in the alleys. No dogs barking in the distance. Even the mice that once thrived in the shadows had vanished. It was as if every living creature had been erased from existence.
The realization hit him like a blow.
The pets. The millions of them. Dogs, cats, parrots, hamsters… all gone.
His heart skipped. "Don't tell me…" he whispered under his breath.
The bartender, polishing a glass with calm precision, looked up but said nothing. His silence only made the air heavier.
Ethan's imagination spiraled uncontrollably. If ordinary humans had turned into monsters, then what about the lions, tigers, and bears in the city zoos? What about elephants? Or venomous snakes?
His mind went further, darker. What about the oceans? Sharks? Killer whales? Blue whales?
He clenched his jaw. The image of a zombified whale surfacing through the waves, its rotting bulk shaking the sea, sent a cold sweat trickling down his neck.
For a moment, goosebumps prickled across his skin. He felt his fingers tremble slightly.
But Ethan was not someone easily paralyzed by fear. He had seen too much already. He forced himself to exhale, long and steady, until his pulse slowed. His eyes sharpened again, calm returning like steel cooled after the forge. There were still too many questions left unanswered—too many mysteries he couldn't afford to leave untouched.
He looked back at the bartender, voice steady though a hint of tension lingered beneath.
"Tell me honestly… the restriction lifting—is it because of me?"
The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. Don't give yourself too much credit kid," he said. His tone was relaxed, but his eyes carried an odd gleam. "The system had already planned it. Originally, one month after the apocalypse began, the global restriction on zombie evolution was set to be lifted. You've simply arrived early, that's all."
He leaned casually on the counter, continuing, "After that one-month mark, the 'Search for the Novice Village' mission will officially end. Any novice village not discovered or visited by the locals will vanish completely. Only through completing certain requirements will new ones appear, and only then will the survivors in that region gain access to advanced items, skills, or class advancement beyond what their world originally allowed."
Ethan frowned. "So those who miss it… are just doomed to live as scavengers?"
The bartender shrugged. "Or die as one."
The cold indifference in his voice made Ethan's jaw tighten. Still, he pressed on. "Then what are the requirements for a novice village to appear?"
The bartender's expression brightened slightly, the gleam of a businessman returning to his eyes. "That'll cost you ten Survival Coins."
Ethan didn't hesitate. He reached into his pocket, placed ten coins on the counter, and slid them across the polished wood.
The bartender's fingers swept the coins away with the ease of long practice. "Each country, each major city—with a shopping district housing over one million people—will manifest at least one novice village. It's a system directive. Think of it as… a tutorial zone."
Ethan processed this quickly, his mind running simulations. So the higher the population density, the greater the chance of discovery. But that also means more zombies. His analytical gaze darkened. Risk and reward—classic system balance.
He looked back at the bartender. "Then how much for the information about zombie evolution?"
The bartender's smile thinned. "That, I can't sell. The system prohibits me from providing that information."
Ethan's brows furrowed. "Then tell me what happens after—"
"The system does not permit the sale of this information…"
"What about—"
"The system does not permit the sale of this information…"
Ethan's voice grew more insistent, asking about weaknesses, counters, and possible system loopholes—but every question met the same cold, mechanical reply.
"The system does not permit the sale of this information…"
"The system does not permit the sale of this information…"
"The system does not permit the sale of this information…"
No matter how he phrased it, the response remained identical, like an NPC caught in a code loop.
Eventually, he stopped asking. Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating.
Ethan looked at the bartender's face—a perfect imitation of humanity. The wrinkles, the calm eyes, even the faint scar at his jawline. But at that moment, the man looked less like flesh and blood, and more like a construct wearing a soul's memory.
He sighed and reached into his pocket again, sliding ten more coins across the table. "Fine. Then I'll buy advice. Any good suggestions?"
The bartender's expression shifted. For the first time, his casual demeanor faded. He straightened his posture, his tone grave. "You've reached level ten, haven't you?"
Ethan nodded slowly.
"Then listen carefully," the bartender said, his voice deepening with an edge of urgency. "Go change your job immediately. Buy everything you need to survive, and get out of Jiang City as soon as possible. When the zombies evolve, you won't stand a chance—not yet."
He paused, eyes gleaming faintly with mana light. "Changing jobs isn't just a formality. Each class comes with a unique skill—one that defines how you'll fight and survive. Once you have a class, you can use Survival Coins to purchase additional skills from the Career Centre. You already know the power of even a single skill. One extra ability could mean the difference between life and death. Between predator and prey."
Ethan's mind immediately began mapping priorities: job change, escape routes, supply points, allies. His analytical instincts worked faster than ever.
The bartender continued, his tone almost paternal now. "Before level thirty, most survivors can only possess three active skills. But job skills—those have no limit. The more you learn, the more versatile you become."
Ethan nodded slowly, the old man's words sinking deep into his mind like a heavy anchor dragging him down. He rose from his seat, sliding five more Survival Coins across the counter—not for more information, but as a silent gesture of gratitude.
As he turned to leave, the bartender's hand suddenly shot out, iron-strong, gripping his arm.
Ethan froze mid-step.
The old man's grip was unnaturally firm—like cold steel hidden beneath wrinkled flesh. His eyes, once dull with age, now burned with an unnatural glimmer.
"After twenty-four hours," the old man said, his voice low and grim, "what your world has experienced so far will only be 'Novice Difficulty.'"
Ethan's pulse quickened.
"The portals haven't opened yet," the man continued, his tone heavy with something ancient. "The portals haven't opened yet, and the creatures from other realms haven't arrived. Those lost to the sands of time have yet to awaken. What's coming will be far, far worse than anything you've imagined.."
His voice dropped to a near whisper—but that whisper carried an eerie resonance, as if reality itself trembled around his words.
"Remember this, boy," he said, leaning closer. "When the System lifts its leash… it won't just be the dead that evolve. The living will too. You'll need more than just strength—you'll need a team, a family… a city of people who would bleed for you. Because once the world resets, surviving alone won't be an option."
Then, as suddenly as it began, the grip loosened.
For the briefest instant, Ethan saw it—something flickering behind the bartender's eyes. A faint shimmer, a glimpse of something not human. Not even close.
Then the man smiled, warm and harmless once again, returning to wiping glasses as though nothing had happened.
"Stay alive, traveler," he said lightly. "The real game's about to begin."
Ethan stood there, frozen, the words echoing in his mind like a curse.
Then he turned and walked out, silent, each step heavy with dread. Behind him, the bartender exhaled softly and looked toward the glowing crystal behind the counter. The number within it burned and flickered, ticking downward—a countdown to chaos.
Outside, the world seemed quieter than before.
Ethan's hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly. For a moment, he genuinely feared he might collapse.
"Calm down, Ethan. Breathe… all will be well," he muttered, forcing air into his lungs in deep, ragged gulps.
The cold wind brushed against his face, grounding him. He stood there for several long minutes, trying to push the old man's warning out of his mind. Finally, his heartbeat slowed, his breathing steadied. His expression hardened into calm determination.
He started walking again, eyes scanning the city street. The faint hum of energy filled the air— the empty streets.
Ethan adjusted his coat and stepped into a towering white building—the Career Center. Its sleek, glowing architecture looked like something out of a pre-apocalypse utopia, untouched by decay.
The moment he entered, a melodic voice greeted him.
"Welcome! I'm the receptionist, Abigail."
Ethan's gaze lifted—and for a second, the chaos in his mind faltered.
She was stunning.
A woman in her mid-twenties, with long chestnut hair flowing like silk, flawless porcelain skin, and warm hazel eyes that glimmered under the neon lights. Her professional attire—a crisp white blouse with the top button undone just enough to hint at her generous swell of her breasts, paired with a short black skirt and thigh-high stockings—projected both elegance and confidence. Her high heels clicked softly as she approached, her red lips forming a perfectly polished smile.
"You've reached Level 10 and qualified for your first Job Change," she said brightly, her tone cheerful but professional. "May I ask what kind of profession you wish to choose?"
Ethan's eyes lingered for just a moment—long enough to recognize her beauty—but his mind was still racing, still processing the bartender's words. He couldn't even admire the beauty in front of him properly.