Chapter 8 -. A New Servant
The 1st rule of the Zombie Apocalypse.
Survive.
The 2nd rule of the Zombie Apocalypse.
Follow rule 1.
It wasn't as hard as I'd thought to live by those two rules of survival.
Above all, follow my instincts first.
And always keep my finger light on the trigger.
In a world that had gone to hell, other humans were a threat you had to watch as much as the named Zombies.
If I judged someone to be a threat to me, I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger—woman, old man, child, it didn't matter.
Standing in front of a time bomb with a 90% chance of going off, I didn't have the luxury to care about the 10% chance it wouldn't.
That was just the kind of world it was.
The turning point that changed me came during my childhood in the Central Plains Murim of my 3rd playthrough—after I happened to meet my Master at an inn in Hwaeum County. He was an absolute being among the unorthodox, infamous as a raving lunatic.
The man called my Master was quietly guzzling Shaoxing wine in a corner of the inn.
Then, after our eyes met a few times—me, picking at dumplings across from him—he instantly read my condition and came at me saying, "I'll fix that rotten look in your eyes", and grabbed me by the hair.
He was literally a madman.
From that day on, my Master dragged my resisting self all over the place and beat the hell out of me every single day, and I worked tirelessly to uphold rules 1 and 2 carved into my head.
I tried ambushing him with a hidden dagger, and I tried slipping deadly poison into his food. I even put out a contract with an assassin sect, and I tried hiding under the latrine at night and lunging at him with a blade.
But ridiculously, I didn't succeed even once.
I finally got sick of it.
[ Ah, I lost. I never should've gone for dumplings that day. ]
[ With Poison energy sunk into your bones, why's your persistence this pathetic? Don't be like that—try harder. Didn't you run your mouth about rule 1 and rule 2? ]
[ What's the point when it never works? ]
[ Tsk tsk, you still haven't been beaten enough. You're worse than a Yunnan Province shit-dog. ]
[ Then just kill me. ]
[ You idiot. If I kill you, all the time I've spent beating you goes to waste, doesn't it? I'm even teaching you martial arts while I beat you, and you don't even know how to be grateful. ]
My Master was the real deal Madman, and he was frighteningly good at beating people.
Not killing them—just making it hurt exactly enough to feel like death.
For two years, I was dragged around like a dog under the excuse of being his disciple and beaten senseless.
In just those two years, the twisted personality I'd carried since Reincarnation finally started to straighten out—at least a little.
[ Stop hitting me, you bastard! ]
[ I thought you'd keep your mouth shut and take it in silence till you died—so now you've learned to say "stop hitting me", huh. You've improved by leaps and bounds. ]
[ If you hit me again, I'll report you to the authorities. ]
[ Go ahead. Want me to take you there myself? ]
[ Fine, I get it, so please stop hitting me. ]
[ Now you're less like a beast. But you still need more beating. Because the way you talk—especially—has no manners at all. ]
The effect of the beatings was undeniable.
Even a guy whose mind had completely snapped—if you torture him steadily over time and beat him to the brink of death, he'll change eventually.
I experienced firsthand that relentless beatings and violence could change even a lunatic who'd lived 25 years in the Zombie Apocalypse.
But sometimes there are days like that.
Like a bone that had been set properly suddenly popping out—dislocating with a thunk—the personality of my 2nd playthrough, which I'd assumed was long gone under my Master's savage beatings, would suddenly surface.
Every time it happened, I'd marvel in genuine admiration.
My Master really was right.
I still hadn't been beaten enough.
Maybe I hadn't regained my humanity through beatings at all—maybe the 2nd-playthrough personality, terrified of my Master's beatings, had simply been shoved somewhere deep into my subconscious.
Twenty years is a long time to stay buried.
It made sense, so I nodded.
Press. Press.
Then I touched my face with my fingertips.
A wound that still throbbed hotly.
What a ridiculous bastard I am.
"My Master never even put a knife to my face."
I kept walking briskly.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The gun bag rattled cheerfully.
***
West Junktown, 17th Street.
A district packed to the brim with pubs, clubs, and brothels.
No matter if it was the signs or the buildings, everything was smeared with layers of red neon in every shade, and I couldn't help wondering—why do slums and poor districts always look like this at night?
Just looking at it made my head spin.
"Oppa! How do I look today?"
And the Sex toys—half-naked, pestering passersby—were annoying too.
Androids that didn't quite feel human, with a strange sense of uncanny discomfort. Probably cheap units, or old secondhand models.
"Excuse me, I'm passing through."
"Oppa! I'll do it really cheap!"
"I'm a woman."
"Women are fine too—I can cover that no problem."
"Yeah? Then I'll take a quick look around and come back."
"Then at least leave your clothes here before you go!"
"Let's get through."
I walked past the skilled Sex toys who clung to me with friendly familiarity. The deeper I went, the fewer the hawkers became.
How much farther did I walk?
At the far end of 17th Street, I spotted a Sex toy who couldn't even manage to solicit, just fidgeting hesitantly, and I approached.
When I asked if she could do it once, her face brightened instantly.
"O-of course! Just follow me!"
The place she led me into was a shared brothel where freelance Sex toys took customers.
A room with a small bed and soft blankets, neatly prepared in a cute little arrangement.
I asked the Sex toy, whose eyes were shining.
"How much?"
"80···no, 90 Credit!"
"Back at the entrance, I saw someone saying they'd do it for 50 Credit. Guess I should go there."
"···Th-then I'll do it for that price too! But no play that damages your body or anything like th——"
She was an inexperienced rookie Sex toy—pushed into a corner by the veterans near the entrance.
"Fine. This is better than that moldy inn room, at least."
"Yes?"
I transferred 100 Credit to the rookie Sex toy and asked.
"Can I stay alone in here for about two hours?"
I didn't know what she'd think of me, but the Sex toy slipped out of the room with a face that couldn't hide her joy at the unexpected easy money.
"Don't worry! Enjoy your time!"
I sat in lotus position on the bed where Sex toys and unknown perverted men had probably tangled bodies, because I needed to circulate my energy without being disturbed.
The Inner power I'd used up completely while fleeing all the way here began to refill little by little.
After accumulating Qi for ten years with nothing but breathing, using a proper mental cultivation method to circulate my energy made it hit home all over again that I'd escaped that damned Control chip's control.
Time passed quickly.
After finishing a simple recharge before battle, I left the shared brothel with my body and mind clearer than before.
The bastards' base that the woman at the gun shop had told me about was a two-story bar one block away from the entertainment center of 17th Street.
It wasn't hard to find.
One guy in a military vest, with a handgun shoved into his waistband so it was clearly visible, stood guard outside an unusually quiet bar in an alley off 17th Street.
A rose tattoo proudly inked on his forearm.
The exact same tattoo as that bastard Rudolph.
I walked up and asked cheerfully.
"You still open?"
"Open? What, is this dumb kid out of his mind? Does this look like an ordinary bar to you?"
"I already paid the cover charge. 5,000 Credit."
"What the hell are you babbling about? You want a hole in your head that bad——"
The doorman sneered and slid his hand toward his holster. He looked used to killing.
"Since you came all this way, take this one to go. You dumb little——"
Thud!
I sprang up in an instant and buried my Dagger beneath his collarbone.
"Ghk!?"
The doorman's eyes bulged wide.
I slammed him against the wall.
"Answer properly. If you spew bullshit, I pull it out."
"D-don't pull it out!"
"If you're loud, I pull it out."
He lowered his voice and groaned.
"······Please calm down, friend. If you want something, don't do this—let's talk it out nice and easy. I was a little rough, huh?"
Looks like I've made a friend.
Violence really is an efficient tool.
"When an outsider from outside the town doesn't pay the cover charge, what happens?"
"Why the hell——"
Crunch!
As a taste test, I twisted the blade slightly.
A fast answer came immediately.
"Khng···fuuuck! Y-you roll them until they pay."
"How?"
"If it's a woman, we send her to a business we manage."
"And men?"
"F-factory! I heard they get sent to a factory."
"What kind of factory?"
His pupils shook like an earthquake.
"I don't know exactly."
"Fine. Then this—red rose tattoo, ugly skinny bastard. You know who I mean."
"Vance? Yeah. I know. Ngh···."
"Where is he now?"
"I-in here···! He's in here right now. Hey! I don't know what's going on, but I have nothing to do with that idiot Vance. You can go kill him, I don't care——"
So I'd definitely found the right place.
"That sounds good. Let me borrow these."
I let go of the Dagger I'd been gripping and stripped his handgun and vest, then put them on.
"P-please spare me. I haven't been doing this long. It's true···."
The man, with a knife stuck under his collarbone, whimpered pitifully.
I pulled a rifle from my gun bag, inserted the magazine, then slid a spare magazine diagonally into the waist of the vest. Then I walked up to the man gasping for breath.
"Got any money?"
"N-no. I really don't."
"Figured. By the way, who's inside that bar? Is that mage, or your boss, in there too?"
"Mage? Th-that guy is somewhere else right now! I'll tell you everything. It's at——"
"Wow. You can really act."
"What?"
"You already called the guys inside, didn't you? It's too quiet in there."
"Wh—no! Fuck! I swear, I didn't! I didn't do anything! There's a knife in my neck——!"
"Got it. I can feel your sincerity. But."
I grabbed the handle of the Dagger sticking out of his neck like a grip.
Crunch.
And pulled it out with a light twist.
"I told you I'd pull it out if you were loud."
"You crazy——!"
As red blood spurted, he panicked and clamped both hands over the wound.
Genie, the Memory management program, provided extremely accurate information—except for the brainwashing about its owner.
The same went for information about gangs, mafias, and slums: there's no one living a normal life among those bastards.
A 99% chance they're bottom-feeding human trash.
And if it's the remaining 1%···well, that's unfortunate.
"Ghk······!"
"My friend, don't talk—just listen. If you shove your fingers into the wound to block the blood vessels, you can hold out. Yeah. You can definitely do it."
After giving the collapsing doorman my heartfelt encouragement and a survival solution I'd just made up, I leveled the muzzle and stepped through the entrance.
First floor of the bar.
Under dim lighting, lively beep-beep arcade game monitors, loud music, and a single Humanoid bartender mixing and selling cheap liquor greeted me.
No people in sight yet.
What drink do you require? On a gloomy day like today, I recommend a bittersweet Blue Martini.
Ignoring the bartender, I climbed the stairs.
That was when—
From upstairs on the second floor, I heard voices.
He really wired 5,000 Credit. I was wondering what kind of guy he was.
Did he rob a pawnshop or something?
Dunno. Anyway, his face was decent, so I made him a real man, and then he threw a tantrum. If it hadn't been shift change, I'd have shot him dead already.
Feisty little bastard. Wanna go see his face?
Heh, you're insane.
I peeked my head out to confirm.
The second floor of the bar looked like a spacious hotel Lobby.
They lounged sloppily on sofas, smoking and chatting. Eight of them total. Their guns were tossed carelessly on the table.
And most importantly—Rudolph was there too.
Mm.
We don't need conversation, do we.
These chunks of iron and lead will express my will more than enough.
I sprinted up the stairs in one burst.
Click—
I flipped the rifle's selector to full-auto.
Keep the trigger light, always.
Brrrrrrt—
The muzzle spewed fire over the heads of the unguarded granny gang bastards.
The three who'd been grinning and yapping, and the pervert who'd been showing off his bulging pants with his posture stiff as a board, died on the spot, and the surviving half threw themselves behind sofas and tables.
Four left now.
"W-what the——!"
"That motherfucker, who is he?!"
"Guns! Hey, where's my gun?!"
Tick! Tick!
The magazine ran dry from the spray.
Stomp. I slammed my foot into the floor with Inner power loaded into it, and the table in front of me toppled forward.
While they flailed in panic, I used the thick metal table as a shield and swapped magazines.
Clack.
"Can't hear you, fuck!"
"Shut up and just fire!"
Thunk thunk thunk···!
Their desperate bullets hammered the table, kicking up sparks and dents.
When the terrifying gunfire slowed for a moment—
I kicked the table I'd been using as cover.
Screeeech—
With a shrieking scrape, the table slid across the floor toward them.
And I chased right behind it.
From the side, one of them suddenly rushed me.
I shouldered the rifle, then with my other hand drew the Dagger at my waist and stabbed straight into the palm of the bastard charging in.
Thud!
"Gyaaah!"
I shoved it in hard.
Crack.
The Dagger punched through his palm like a skewer and sank deep into his chest.
That heavy feel in my hand.
Once you taste it, it's hard to quit.
That's how most lunatics from the unorthodox and demon cult are.
"Why aren't you shooting, you bastard?!"
"Ah, fuck. The rounds jammed——"
I raised the muzzle over the table.
Brrrrrrt—
I raked every last round in the magazine toward the direction of the shouting, and red blood spread wide across the floor.
Now it was just two left, including Rudolph.
For a moment, the echo of gunfire that had been pounding my ears died away.
A second floor turned frighteningly quiet.
Clack.
Behind the table, I locked in the last magazine and spoke.
"Try to persuade me."
Somewhere in the silent second-floor Lobby.
The trembling sound of someone breathing tickled my ear.
"Like you've got a kid you love, or you donate every month to charity, something like that."
"······."
No answer.
"Nothing, huh. Fine."
Screeeech—
I kicked the table hard again.
But this time, I didn't follow behind it.
I rolled sideways in place, and spotted the last extra with a flushed face, wasting bullets on an empty table.
Bang-!
Now only Rudolph remained.
And then, right at that moment—
My eyes met Rudolph's in the corner, staring at me with an awkward, half-ready posture. He desperately yanked his charging handle.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
I smiled.
"Well, damn."
"Y-you crazy bastard."
I walked slowly toward Rudolph.
His eyes, wide with terror, reminded me of a deer's trembling gaze. Something in my chest ached, and for a moment I pitied him.
"You said you'd killed people before. So this is your first time using a gun, huh."
Poor bastard.
In the middle of the corpse-strewn room, Rudolph, unable to do anything, spat out whatever came to mind with a deathly pale face.
"Y-you really think you can do this? Are you sure? Our captain is already coming this way——"
"Rudolph."
I cut him off indifferently and asked.
"That 1st-generation Linkport stuck to your temple—ever thought about slotting a nice chip into it?"
"······What?"
I rummaged in my pocket and pulled out a small object that caught on my fingertips. It reeked faintly of stale blood—
A full-brain control chip for forced enslavement.
Since he'd already had his Linkport pierced, compatibility wouldn't be an issue.
Of course, since I'd be implanting it into someone else's head, the performance would be worse than when I used it myself, but still.
"Anyway, I just hope Rena likes her new servant."